midnightoncoruscant

Latest Posts by midnightoncoruscant

THIS IS GORGEOUS- so soft and wonderful and I need Wrecker to have his happy ever after so badly ❤️❤️

Wrecker x shop keeper reader

*Based on Pabu*

⸻

Your little sushi shop didn’t look like much from the outside—just a corner nook with faded sea-blue paint and a handwritten chalkboard menu—but it was yours. A quiet dream built on fish markets, rice steamers, and the salty Pabu breeze.

And it had one very big, very loud, very lovable regular.

Wrecker.

He first stumbled in by accident, really. Something about Omega spotting the place and dragging him along with promises of “raw fish and weird seaweed rolls” she wanted to try.

You remembered watching him duck to fit through the doorway, nearly taking the paper lantern with him. The moment he sat on the cushion—you swore it gave up the ghost. You’d nearly burst out laughing. So had Omega.

And yet, after one massive order (three rolls, two bowls of rice, and miso soup he drank straight from the pot), he patted his stomach and declared it the “best food I ever had that didn’t come in a ration pack or get cooked over a fire by Crosshair!”

He meant it. He kept coming back. Sometimes with Omega, sometimes alone.

And over time… you fell.

It wasn’t sudden. It wasn’t fireworks. It was slow. Like the way he grinned with soy sauce on his cheek. The way he lit up whenever Omega told stories and always listened like every word was gold. The way he tried to use chopsticks and ended up stabbing his sushi like it had wronged him. The way he always complimented your food. Even on the days you messed up the rice.

He sat at the same spot. Always the far left cushion, near the open window where he could watch the sea and keep an eye on Omega playing with the local kids.

He told you stories too. About the Batch. About the war. About planets you’d never heard of and creatures he’d wrestled, often embellishing the size.

“I swear, the thing was this big!” he’d gesture, arms spread wider than your doorway.

You’d laugh. You always laughed.

But lately, it hurt a little. Because you loved him. And you didn’t know if he saw you as anything other than “the sushi girl.” A friend. A safe place. A routine.

You weren’t extraordinary. You didn’t fly ships or fight droids. You didn’t save people or have scars to show for anything but kitchen burns.

You were just… here. Making sushi.

And he was Wrecker.

⸻

It was a quiet evening when he came alone. The sun painted everything in gold, the sea calm and whispering.

You were cleaning up when you heard the familiar grunt of him ducking through the doorway.

“Hey, Wrecker,” you said, smiling softly. “No Omega?”

“She’s off with Hunter. Some market thing.” He rubbed the back of his neck. “Thought I’d drop by anyway. Got a seat for me?”

“Always.”

He took his spot. You brought out his favorite roll without asking.

You didn’t talk much at first. Just the quiet sound of chopsticks failing and him switching to his fingers after a few tries.

“Y’know,” he said suddenly, “I like it here.”

You paused, halfway to wiping down a table. “Yeah?”

“Yeah. It’s peaceful. And you’re always nice to me. Even when I eat too much.”

You chuckled, heart thumping. “I like having you here.”

He looked up at you then, serious in a way he rarely was.

“I hope this ain’t weird,” he said. “But I think about you. A lot. When I’m not here.”

Your breath caught.

He kept going, nervously, like he was charging into battle. “I don’t really get how all this… love stuff works. But I know how I feel. And I know I wanna be around you more. If that’s okay.”

Your hands were shaking. You smiled, eyes misting over.

“I thought I was just a friend to you,” you whispered.

“Nah,” he said, softly this time. “You’re more.”

He stood, awkwardly towering over the bar, then reached out and touched your hand with his massive, callused fingers.

“Unless you don’t want that. Then I can just keep eatin’ sushi and shuttin’ up.”

You laughed through a tear. “I want that. I’ve wanted that.”

⸻

From then on, nothing changed—and everything did.

Wrecker still sat in the same seat. Still made a mess. Still laughed too loud.

But now he held your hand under the table. Now he walked you home after close, grumbling that he had to make sure you were safe—even on the safest island in the galaxy. Now he left tiny gifts on the counter: shiny shells, carved wood, one time a flower that got squished in his fist but still smelled sweet.

Omega noticed right away, of course. She beamed at you both.

“Took you long enough,” she said, biting into a rice ball. “He talks about you all the time.”

You just smiled and passed her another plate.

Your heart full. Your quiet dream now shared.

⸻

Well, since we're on a Boba kick, let's go with classic Bounty Hunter Boba. You ran away from home before you were sent away to be the mistress of a distasteful Imperial Officer. When Boba finds you, because of course he does, you offer up your charms in exchange for freedom. I feel like at first he'll be all cocky, like you'll need to prove it to him that your ✨️charms✨️ are worth it. But then, once he has a taste, he's hooked...

BESTIE I LOVE HOW YOUR MIND WORKS

your parents are rich, like royalty of a whole system of planets rich. you've always been aware of the fact that you'll be married off to whomever they deem appropriate, and while you don't like it, you also understand that this is just how the galaxy works.

but then, you find out that not only is your husband-to-be an imperial officer, he's had three previous wives, all of whom died under suspicious circumstances. you try to bring this up to your parents, but they won't hear anything of it, already dreaming about the influence they'll be able to wield with their daughter as the wife of an important imperial officer.

you're determined that you won't let this bastard kill you, so you make the brave (or maybe stupid) decision to run away before the wedding.

your parents, being as rich as they are, of course hire the best bounty hunter in the galaxy.

meanwhile, boba is of the impression that this is going to be easy. you're essentially a spoiled princess, running away from home because you don't like the husband mommy and daddy picked out for you. he's seen this all play out before. you're just looking for a bit of a thrill, but soon enough you'll be hanging off your husband's arm, dazzled by the riches and influence he supposedly wields.

but.

slowly, his opinion begins to change. it takes him weeks to find you. he's never had a bounty hide out from him for this long. it's almost impressive, if he weren't so annoyed.

he finally corners you on hoth of all places, and he's completely stunned to see that you've managed to set up a small ice cave, lined with furs you must have skinned and cleaned yourself, and meagre but filling rations. you're wearing surprisingly sensible clothes, warm but also unassuming. you don't have any technology, but you wield a knife with unerring accuracy. you were prepared, that much was obvious. still, you're not formally trained, and boba's the best in the business.

it takes him longer than he'd like to admit to subdue you, and the scuffle ends with you on your back as he straddles your hips, hand pinning yours above your head as he holds a vibroblade to your throat.

"kill me," you whisper, and he once more finds himself caught off guard. "kill me, or keep me for yourself, but don't take me back to him."

he scoffs, the noise doing a poor job of masking of how rattled he is by your request. "not how this works, princess."

but you don't flinch. "either you kill me, keep me, or take me back. and I promise you, if you take me back, I'll take my own life before I let him do it."

boba doesn't want to think about what that means.

he stays quiet, pulling out a pair of cuffs and locking them around your wrists. you sigh, having expected this. he pulls you to your feet and leads you to his ship.

there, he pauses in front of the carbon-freezing unit. you can't see his expression behind his helmet, but you wonder if he's considering your offer.

but, he says nothing, and gestures for you to step into the unit. you close your eyes for a moment, already planning how you'll get access to the poison you need for a swift but painless death once you're delivered to your fiancé.

you step into the carbon-freezing unit, and the world goes dark.

~~~

when you come back to awareness, it's slow and painful. you're dizzy, confused, and you can't see a thing. your hands are no longer bound, so when you feel a firm grip on your shoulders, you instinctively lash out at who you assume is a guard, or your fiancé.

you manage to get a punch in before your wrists are grabbed, and a surprising voice filters in through the fog.

"easy, princess."

you still, eyes searching but unable to see anything.

"f-fett?"

he doesn't respond, but you allow yourself to be moved until you're settled into a seat, the cushion soft beneath your aching legs, sore from the pins and needles rushing up and down every inch of your body.

"give it a minute, princess. let me know when you can see."

it's difficult, just sitting there, vision blank, but slowly, shadows and light begin to filter back in, followed by blurry colors and shapes that slowly form into a clear picture.

the bounty hunter is sitting on a table in front of you, still in most of his armor, which explains the pain in your knuckles, but his helmet is off, revealing a stern expression, though it softens almost imperceptibly when he sees the recognition in your eyes.

"I can see you," you whisper, eyes darting around as you try to make sense of your surroundings. "where am I?"

he lets out a low laugh.

"you gave me three options, princess. remember?"

your mind flashes back to the ice cave, where you'd fought for your life, and been subdued regardless.

"kill me, keep me, or take me back and I'd kill myself."

he nods.

"it'd be a shame to kill such a pretty young thing," he says softly, tone almost mocking. "even bigger shame to let you kill yourself over that piece of bantha shit."

your mind jumps to the third option.

"so," the bounty hunter says, contemplative, with a hint of a challenge. "convince me why I should keep you."

you don't give yourself any time to second guess. you lean forward, hands landing on his broad thighs as you place your lips against his. you nibble lightly on his lower lip, letting your tongue flick out to beg for entrance. he grants it to you, though you can't tell if he's just humoring you or not.

as soon as your tongue brushes against his, he's pulling back, and you worry for a second that you've done something wrong.

but his arm wraps around your waist and yanks you forward so you're perched in his lap, hands flying to his chest to steady yourself. he looks up at you, eyes dark and hungry.

"that's a good start, princess. why don't you see what else you can do to convince me to keep you?"

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

All Lost Time

Pairing: Gregor x fem!Reader

Words: 9,547

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Your heart jumps again when the door slides open.

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

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

"Hi," he says softly.

"Hi."

There's a pause. A long one.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"How was Felucia?" you ask, breathless.

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

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

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

"What do you think?"

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

"You feel like one piece to me."

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

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

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

"You have?"

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

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

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

"Not at all."

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

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

"What?"

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"But—"

"Oh, yes you are," he cuts you off. 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"Gregor?"

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"Gregor, please," you moan.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

You giggle, breathless.

"Oh, yeah?"

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

You grin, letting go of his thumb.

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

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

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

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

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

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

"Nuh-uh," he replies.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"I said..."

"Yes, sir."

Gregor grins, and his eyes light up.

"There's my girl," he murmurs.

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

"Go," he says when he pulls away.

You nod.

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

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

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

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

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

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

"Gregor?"

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"Not so fast, beautiful," Gregor says.

"You're teasing me."

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

"Gregor—"

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

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

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

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

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

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

"That's what I thought."

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

"Gregor, please," you say again.

"Please what?"

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"W-what?"

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

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

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

"Gregor..."

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"Gregor—“

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

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

"Don't need it."

"You'd get hungry."

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"Please what?"

"Let me touch you."

"No."

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

"Please."

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

"But I want to," you protest.

"And I want to touch you."

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

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

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

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

You break.

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

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

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

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

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

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

"But you didn't—"

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

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

"Not. Yet."

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

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

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

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

"Um... I..."

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

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

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

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

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

"No, not like that," he says.

"Then... how?"

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

"What are you—"

"Come sit on my face."

Your jaw drops. Your eyes go wide.

"You're kidding."

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

"What? Why?"

"Because I said so."

"That's not an answer."

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

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

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

"Gregor—"

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

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

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

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

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

He pulls back, and you gasp in relief.

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

"No," you gasp, swallowing hard.

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

"No."

"Good."

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

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

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

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

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

"Stars, yes," Gregor groans.

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

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

"You look like a mess," you say.

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

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

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

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

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

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

"And what if I can't?"

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"Barely."

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

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

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

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

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

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

"Positive."

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"Me neither."

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

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

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

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

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

"I love you."

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

"Again."

"I love you, Gregor."

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

"Good?” you ask.

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

"Too good?"

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

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

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

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

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

"Gregor."

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

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

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

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

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

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

"Damn right it is."

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

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

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

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

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

"Neither am I."

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

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

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

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

"Wow," you murmur.

"Yeah," he agrees with a sigh.

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

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

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

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

"Fair enough."

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

You're nearly there when he speaks again.

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Does he have the authority to do that?”

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

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

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

"Neither can I."

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

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

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

"I love you, Gregor," you whisper.

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

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

taglist: @covert1ntrovert @stellarbit @spicy-clones @kindalonleystars @totallyunidentified @lovelytech9902 @frozenreptile @etod @puppetscenario @umekohiganbana @resistantecho @dindjarins1ut @tech-aficionado @aynavaano @burningnerdchild @ihatesaaand @lolwey @chocolatewastelandtriumph @hobbititties @mere-bear @thegreatpipster @lordofthenerds97 @notslaybabes @ayyyy-le-simp @mali-777 @megmegalodondon @dangraccoon @heavenseed76 @bimboshaggy @bunny7567 @lostqueenofegypt @anything-forourmoony @9902sgirl @jedi-dreea @salaminus @ghostymarni @gottalovehistory @mrcaptainrex @maniacalbooper @burningnerdchild @callsign-denmark @julli-bee @moonychicky @sonicrainbooms @captn-trex @feral-ferrule @webslinger-holland @marchingviolist @deerspringdreams

The Bad Batch, deleted scene ep 107

on your side / wolffe x fem!jedi!reader

for @ireadwithmyears <3

summary: having to distance yourself from wolffe after a slip up is a lot harder than you thought it would be

tags/warnings: 18+ for suggestive stuff, angst! with a happy(ish?) ending, forbidden relationship, love confessions, kinda idiots in love, wolffe is down bad and not sorry about it, reader is lowkey delirious and v emotional bc of lack of sleep, allusions to sex but otherwise sfw

song: on your side — the last dinner party

prompts: #21 "when's the last time you actually slept?", #9 "come lie with me, let me hold you."

a/n: okay it's official, wolffe is my fav clone to write for. um, idk if anyone else has ever been so exhausted but not able to fall asleep to the point where you’re literally distraught? I hope this is not a unique experience otherwise this fic makes no sense lol

event masterlist / star wars masterlist / join my taglist / wc: 3.1k

request period for this event is over, dialogue prompt is in bold :)

You messed up. Big time.

The memory of your misdeeds still replayed in your mind, days, weeks later. Your mind lingered on how his rough hands felt against your skin, how his breath mingled with yours, bodies melding together. His words haunted you, adulations whispered in a tone you’d never heard, sentiments you wouldn’t soon forget, no matter how you tried to.

Wolffe had invaded your brain even before you'd fallen into bed with him, but now it was inescapable.

You'd known it was a mistake as it was happening, that stepping over the line would do something irreversible, something you couldn't follow up on. The guilt of doing that to Wolffe, of letting him believe it was something that could be, was eating you alive. If you didn't feel so strongly for him then all of this would be so much easier, and could be written off as a simple blunder — but nothing about this was simple.

Wolffe had been shipped into an active warzone only hours later, and though worry pulled at your heart more than ever, you couldn't help but be partly relieved. When he’d returned, you felt even more conflicted.

He had caught your eyes from across the hangar, something distinctly timid and unlike him in the way he looked at you, and you had to tear your gaze away and leave the space. You couldn’t be anywhere near him. It hurt too much. You knew he’d noticed that you were avoiding him, it would be impossible given how close you were before everything had transpired, but he obviously had the restraint not to mention it.

Sleep was eluding you because of it. Pulling away from Wolffe felt like a physical pain, like the connection you had unwittingly created through the force was being sawed at, and you could feel every ridge of the knife as it cut. If anything, it was proof that you had become too close, that your connection ran too deep.

Now, duty demanded you be in the same room as him, and it was every bit as excruciating as you had expected. You were stood beside him in the command centre, and while your eyes were plastered to Plo Koon, all of your attention was taken by Wolffe.

You could feel the heavy weight of his gaze on you as you spoke, almost feel his breath against your cheek, the warmth of his body beside you. His presence was intoxicating, and even when you closed your eyes you weren’t free of it. His unique presence in the force reached out for you, and while you knew he wasn’t doing it intentionally, you wished he would stop. The familiar feeling made it so much harder not to fall into his arms and forget everything that held you back; a warm blanket, a comforting steadiness, deep red in colour, like the very last sight of the sun against the horizon.

You escaped as soon as you could, scampering from the command room at the first opportunity, but it seemed that Wolffe was done with the silent treatment. He grabbed your arm as you made it out into the corridor, dragging you into a quieter corner of the ship, a hall that ran to a dead end. His gaze was serious when you finally met it with your own, and it turned your stomach. You didn’t know if he was angry or hurt, nothing was given away in his demeanour.

Finally he spoke in a low voice, “are you alright?”

You blinked up at him, wondering how he could be so concerned by you at this moment. His hand still gripped your arm gently, his eyes darting between yours, brows furrowed. He took in your features like he’d never seen you before, and the scrutiny made your gaze drop.

“I’m fine” you murmured, trying to keep your voice even.

“You weren’t in your room last night”

Your eyes raised back to him as your heart skipped a beat, “how do you know that?”

“I went to see you” he confessed, never wavering in his serious gaze.

“Wolffe…” you sighed, looking up at him with a pained expression, “you shouldn’t have done that”

He huffed, stepping into your space, “why not?”

You exhaled slowly, “you know why”

Something in him stiffened, and he took his hand away from you, “what were you doing?”

“I just… I couldn’t sleep” you admitted, running a hand over your face.

“Why not?”

You sighed at his persistence, “it doesn’t matter”

“It matters to me” he muttered, his eyes flashing with hurt. He tentatively brought his hand up to your cheek, running his thumb under your eye. You knew you must look exhausted, and closed your eyes to let the feeling calm you. “When's the last time you actually slept?”

“I don’t know” you spoke quietly, almost ashamedly. Your eyes fluttered open to see the stern look he was giving you.

“Sarad’ika” he whispered the name he called you in only the most quiet of moments, drawing closer so his forehead almost touched yours. “If you won’t…” he sighed, “if you won’t let me take care of you then you need to take care of yourself”

Your heart seized up in your chest. “I—” you didn't know what to say, everything was running through your mind but it was all getting caught in your throat.

Your stuttering was interrupted by the sound footsteps reverberating off of the walls of the otherwise empty hall. Wolffe backed away from you, though he still started at you intently, even as someone walked between the two of you. Unlike him, it snapped you out of it.

“I— I uh… I'm going to my quarters now” you mumbled out, tongue tripping over your words.

You turned quickly, stalking down the hall in wide strides and not daring to look back.

It was the middle of the night and still, sleep wouldn’t take you. The frustration was getting on top of you again, and you paced back and forth in the small space of the ship that was yours. Hot tears sprang to your eyes, wetting your cheeks, and your hands gripped at your hair as if it would alleviate the tension in your head. You had been silently crying long enough that your head had begun to ache, and you silently begged to gods you didn’t believe in to let you sleep, to shut your mind of for just a few minutes so you might finally slip into unconsciousness.

It had been coming to this every night, where you felt as if you were being driven insane because sleep eluded you.

With a small sob, you darted for the door. A distraction, that’s what you needed now. You might wander the halls of the ship as you had in previous nights, or hole up in a cupboard somewhere so you could cry until all your tears were spent. You grabbed your robe as you went, clutching the thick material in a tight fist, but as the door zipped open you almost collided with something, someone.

Wolffe stood tall in the doorway, his hand raised as if he were about to knock. He took in your distressed state, eyes widening at the recognition of tears staining your face, and he reached out to you on instinct, taking ahold of your arms.

“Hey, it’s okay. You’re okay” he immediately began to soothe you in a voice that was too soft for him. It only made your breathing more unstable, and you choked on your sobs. Wolffe backed you into the dark room and closed the door behind him, “what’s going on?”

The confusion — the worry — it was so plain in his eyes. It made you feel sick to your stomach. You dropped your robe to the floor.

“I just—“ your words were halted by your own sob, and you hid your face in your palms, “I’m so tired, Wolffe”

His hands wrapped around your wrists, his skin warm against yours, and he peeled your hands away from your face. He snaked his arms around your waist without another word, offering the relief you would never ask for but so desperately needed. You took it unashamedly, burying your face in his chest, letting yourself relish in the comfort of his touch. As your weeping continued, he held you tightly, one hand on the back of your head to stroke your hair as he whispered comforting words.

The exhaustion had clearly got to you. There was simply no other reason for this display of raw emotion.

As your breathing calmed, the storm in your mind subsiding to a grey fog, Wolffe’s grip loosened. He pulled back and took your face in his hand, and you couldn’t help but lean into its warmth just a little.

“Now,” he spoke quietly, “are you going to tell me why you can’t sleep?”

You sighed deeply as you averted your gaze, “do I have to?”

“No” he replied, “but it could help”

Your eyes creeped across his handsome features, taking in every mark, every freckle. You couldn’t burden him with everything that clouded your mind, you wouldn’t place another weight upon his shoulders when the war already saw him stretched so thin.

You shook your head, releasing yourself from his grasp and turning away, “it won’t help, it’ll only make things worse”

“Stop shutting me out” Wolffe’s voice was stern as he spoke up, and you looked up to find his brow furrowed deeply, the hurt evident in his eyes and the downturn of his lips.

“I have to” you said quietly, almost a whisper.

“No you don’t” Wolffe huffed, moving to crowd you against the table behind you, “I don’t understand why you’ve been acting like this, why you won’t look at me all of a sudden. I thought—”

He stopped himself. In all honesty, you hadn’t been thinking an awful lot about what Wolffe may be thinking about what had transpired, and as much as you knew you should bury the whole incident, move on and forget, a part of you needed to know. What he thought, what he was thinking now, what he felt. You shouldn’t ask, but you couldn’t stop yourself.

“Thought what?”

You could see that he regretted letting the words slip. “I thought things would be…” he trailed off for a moment, searching your eyes with a hint of desperation, “I don’t know, I just thought it’d be different from this, after—“

His teeth ground together. A quiet curse escaped him as he hung his head in defeat. He knew as well as you that this conversation would only breed more unease. You swallowed, taking a moment to centre yourself.

“We can’t be like that” you muttered.

You knew it was cruel, that he didn’t deserve to hear it put so bluntly, nor did he deserve what had already happened. You had been cruel, consistently, in entertaining this idea of the two of you, and even crueller in making him believe it could be. That was why this was necessary. It couldn’t go on.

He was quiet for a long moment, and when he spoke, it was uncharacteristically timid, his words almost shy.

“Would it be so bad?” he asked.

“Yes! Well, no it— but we can’t, I mean— I don’t know!” you could feel your breath becoming short again, and Wolffe placed his hands on your shoulders.

“Hey, breathe” he spoke softly.

You didn’t deserve him, that was clear to you now. He was too gentle, too good to you when you didn’t deserve it. Your breath steadied under his touch, and you couldn’t face pushing him off this time.

“This is what’s got you worked up?” he asked, and you nodded in reply. His face softened, and he raised a hand to your cheek. “Ner cyare” he whispered, “please don’t trouble yourself over me”

“I can’t help it Wolffe, I—”

I love you

You could so easily say it, and you would mean it, but putting it out into the world would go beyond crossing the line.

“I’m sorry, that I’ve been pulling away, but I can’t— I can’t do this” you insisted, gesturing vaguely between the two of you, unable to name exactly what it was.

“Why not?”

It was a simple question, but the answer was far more complicated. Wolffe gave you nothing but patience as he waited for the reply. His gaze was soft, as soft as it got with him at least, though any amount of tenderness that could be drawn from the man would be considered a feat. It was part of the reason that you struggled to answer him. It was simply too distracting, witnessing the depth of his feelings for you first hand.

When the two of you had slipped up, spent the night with limbs entangled in the cot just a few short steps from you now, it had somehow not occurred to you that Wolffe was in just as deep as you. He had shown his admiration in more ways than one; whispers against your lips and skin, tender touches and a sense of care in every endeavour. In the throws of pleasure it hadn’t registered as anything but that — seeking pleasure.

Now you weren’t sure.

“Because…” you began, barely uttering the word.

There were reasonings you could use, but none would present themselves as you looked into his eyes and were confronted with the depth of your own feelings.

“Because…?” he prompted, and you couldn’t help but sigh.

“Because nothing” you frowned, “because I’m a fool, and because you don’t deserve the only kind of relationship I could give you”

Wolffe matched your frown, “what’s that supposed to mean?”

“Think about it Wolffe, I’m… I’m a Jedi, right? You know what that means?”

He pressed his lips to a hard line, unimpressed at the reminder “I know what it means”

You exhaled shakily, and a sadness washed over you, “I couldn’t… I could only be yours in private, I wouldn’t be able to touch you in front of others, to hold your hand or even smile at you for too long. I wouldn’t be able to show the galaxy how much I love you, and that hurts me”

A second passed, and you realised what had been said.

It was as if an airlock had been opened, and all the air sucked from the room. The both of you stood perfectly still, staring at each other with widened eyes. You had crossed the line. It was all hypothetical up until now. But now, it was real. Neither of you moved, or breathed, until Wolffe let a quick and heavy exhale slip, as if in disbelief.

“Love?”

You swallowed thickly.

“I—“ you bit the inside of your cheek as your cheeks burned hot, “I didn’t mean to… tell you like this”

“Is it true?” he asked, deadly serious. His eyes searched yours, for what you didn’t know, but you knew the answer was already obvious in the way you dropped your gaze guiltily, as if the very act of falling in love were wrong.

“Yes” the whisper had barely left you when Wolffe surged forwards and met your lips with his.

He was warm, inviting, eager. He kissed you like a man starved, as if he’d been waiting a lifetime for this moment, and you let yourself give in. You kissed him back more insistently, and let his tongue pass the seam of your lips as he begged for entrance. His arms wrapped around you, holding you to him tightly, as if he was scared you might slip from beneath his fingertips. This feeling was becoming too known to you, too comfortable. It felt too right.

He pulled away, placing his forehead on yours with intention, “I love you, ner sarad’ika”

Your breath was knocked from you upon hearing the words, and you couldn’t help the way your mouth stretched into a tentative grin. You advanced forwards and pressed a more chaste kiss to his lips, and felt him smile back against you. Something about it set your heart fluttering more than anything before. Wolffe still held you, a hand flat against your back to keep you close, where the other held your jaw.

He ran his thumb over your bottom lip as he regarded you, speaking softly, “you have such a pretty smile”

A heat crept up your neck even now, after everything that had happened. Though soon, it began to transform in its meaning. Your smile faded, tears collecting in your waterline once more, and the heat burned at your collar uncomfortably. You didn’t cry as you had before, but the tears fell freely all the same.

Wolffe sighed, wiping them away with a disapproving shake of his head, “I said not to trouble yourself over me”

Your lips twisted with doubt, “you deserve so much more than this, Wolffe”

“It’s not about what I deserve” he reasoned, “it’s what I want”

“But I can’t give you anything”

“I don’t need anything”

You deflated with a huff, “it’s a lot more complicated than you’re making it out to be”

“I disagree” he mused, pressing a kiss to each cheek to collect the remnants of your tears, “I love you, and for maker knows why, you love me. I think that is all that’s important”

You pressed your lips together to stop them from shaking as you felt yourself welling up again, but Wolffe was all too quick to swoop in.

“We’ll figure it out” he promised, “together”

Looking up at him through teary eyes, you found your lips twitching upwards, “together”

The word was a comfort. Neither of you would have to navigate the struggle in isolation, you would support each other.

Wolffe nodded against you, and took your hands in his. You only realised now how they were shaking, and he pressed his forehead into yours with more purpose, peering deeply into your eyes as if he were looking upon your very soul.

“Come lie with me, let me hold you”

Your brow pinched, and you nodded your head in reply. He tugged you over to your cot gently and laid you down in the soft sheets, then stripped himself of his armour to lay beside you.

No more words were exchanged that night, for everything had already been said. His body was warm against yours, and though it didn’t magically lull you to sleep immediately, it was an undeniable comfort. Wolffe fell into unconsciousness before you did, his arms still wrapped tightly around you. Watching him rest calmed your mind. It gave you faith that any hardship the two of you faced going forward would be worth it. He was worth it.

taglist: @darthnihila @cdblake1565 @heidnspeak @burningnerdchild @orangez3st @clones-cyare @stellarbit @liopleurodean @asgre

Thank you for the tag @returnofthepineapple! 💙 I need to get back into working on my WIPs, maybe this will help me focus on one of them.

Game Rules:

Make a 24hr poll with the titles of every WIP you plan to work on even if it’s only one or two.

Once the poll closes, write one sentence for every vote received on the WIP that gets the most votes.

* contains smut

NPT: i'm not sure who is writing rn but @captn-trex @freesia-writes @cloneflo99 @stellarbit and anyone else who wants to do this, pretend i tagged you and then tag me so i can vote!

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

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

A truth acknowledged universally (part 1)

Wolffe x fem!Reader

Rating G

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

You are so kind ❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️

I’m envisioning Papa Plo as a Mr Bennett figure, patiently trying to shepherd the wolf pack through polite society whilst Waxer and Boil attend every ball in high spirits like Kitty and Lydia Bennett.

Wolffe meanwhile stands back from polite society, reserved and alone and worries for the fortunes of his brothers once the war ends. His closest confidant, his brother Fox, has moved to London to support the Prime Minister in the war effort but Wolffe fears for him too as a darkened shadow of the ministers influence falls over Parliament.

Originally this was supposed to be Wolffe x reader where you're at a party enjoying goodies with Papa Plo and the Wolfpack...but it didnt stay that way 🤣

P.s. Thank you @dystopicjumpsuit (and the Plo simps) for coming to the conclusion Plo bakes good cookies!

Using the prompt Holiday Cookies for @clone-wars-winter-challenge !

Warnings: mentions of sw typical violence and treatment of clones, papa plo is nosy, reader has no formal pronouns but is a strategist, secret relationship, 1 mention of children. If I missed something lemme know

Buir's Cookies

Wolffe x Reader

When you'd been invited to the temple by general Plo Koon, you originally had thought it was because you were in trouble. Perhaps you had given the wrong maps, calculated the wrong trajectory, anticipated the wrong strategy for a battle...perhaps your battle plan had resulted in a great loss - though you never got any report saying such...

Regardless, you put on your best clothes, did yourself up the best and most professional-ish way you could and made your way over.

You'd never been in the temple before, only ever saw glimpses of it from afar. So standing at the enterance now, amongst the excessively large statues...well you'd be lying if you said you had nerves of beskar and that you totally didn't leave your stomach behind right then and there.

Thankfully, General Plo had decided to wait for you at the mouth of a long walkway, either side showcasing just how large and ornate the temple was

"I was beginning to think you had not received my message" his tone left little error to beleive he was anything but teasing

"I'm so sorry general, I...I've never been to the temple" you admitted a bit robotically

"It's quite alright, I can see how the temple is daunting to one who has never stepped foot on its premisies." he explained with a smile to his voice "You'd be surrpised how many younglings end up crying upon seeing it fir the first time"

"Really?" you asked in surprise "I always thought they could sense it was their spot"

"Really" he confirmed turning anf beginning to walk "this way"

You hurried to follow in step with the Kel Dor

"Younglings often are unsure about the temple at first, everything they knew before is gone and this is what they are brought to in return. I try to avoid the front entrance if I am bringing a little one in" he explained as you walked "We are going to one of the gardens, I hope you do not mind"

"Not at all, General" you said quickly, not wanting to offend

"You can relax, you are not in trouble" Plo chuckled, having sensed your nervousness through the force - or perhaps just from having been alive so long he's learned to pick that up in anyone...

"The garden we're going to is encased, so you won't have to worry about the biting air" the jedi added sweetly

"I appreciate that"

You followed him down a few more corridors, making small chit chat along the way, before he paused at an archway and gestured for you to enter first.

The moment you stepped inside, you felt overcome with a tremendous awe. It was like a small, tamed forset within! Plants littered most of the space, in all their glory - be that hanging along trelisses or shooting straight up, proud and tall or as sweeping sprawls of colour. Each plant looked unique yet somehow they all seemed to fit perfectly with one another as if they were always meant to have been that way - nor did they appear groomed, somehow existing perfectly without a single blemish or weed.

"This is beautiful!" You exclaimed, gawking at all around you

"I thought you would appreciate this garden over a sitting room" the jedi beamed as he followed in behind you "I've set a table for us to sit at while we chat"

You smiled and followed your general to a small but ornate looking garden table with three chairs. The table's surface was covered in sweet pasteries and somehow had a teapot and three cups squeezed within.

You raised your brow at the third setting but dismissed it as you took the seat he offered you and watched as he settled upon the other side

"I wanted to thank you for being such a valuable asset to us all" he began softly, as he poured you each a cup

"I'm just doing my job" you defended softly

"You do much more than that" he insisted "You spend hours pouring over information and only ever suggest strategies once you are entirely sure. You never leave opportunity to let my men faulter without a back up plan...or three"

You blinked in surprise, you hadn't noticed he paid that much attention to your efforts to keep him and the wolfpack safe...

"Cookie?" he settled the kettle down and waved his hand above the array of shapes and flavours

It was a bit overwhelming if you were entirely honest, but they all looked so absolutely delicious...

Nodding, you reached and grabbed a dark vermillion coloured cookie that was cresent moon shaped. Bringing it to your mouth, you paused noticing his attention zeroed in on your reaction

"Go on," he urged gently "Let me know how it is"

You peeked at the cookie, briefly wondering if you were about to be poisioned and that is how jedi fire people from the grand army of the republic...but then you took a bite

"This is really, really good general..." you mumbled, cheek full of cookie

"Good, I'm glad" he beamed, an unseen grin plastered to his face

You took a sip of your tea and then took another bite of your cookie

"Now, what are you intentions towards my dear Commander Wolffe?"

You froze at the sudden ask. Not only because of its nature but his unreadably guarded tone

"I...uh..."

Your mind raced a mile a minute, as did your heart, as panic begun to flood your system. How did he know? How long has he known? You and Wolffe both thought you were being extra careful around one another. Wary to not let on to the nature of your relations. Nobody knew about your sneaking off to see him and vice versa. About the passionate nights or the stolen kisses - right?

"General?"

Your head whipped to the right, where you'd entered the gardens, to find your beloved commander standing there with his helmut in his hands

"You...called me here...?" his mismatched gaze settled on you and for a brief second his eyes widened before he returned his attention to your shared jedi general

"Yes. Wolffe, come here" Plo urged sweetly, patted the third seat settled between your forms. "I have a spot for you as well"

You felt sweat begin to pool on your body as you watched Wolffe cooly made his way over, settled into his seat and place his helmut upon his lap

"I wasn't aware we were having a strategy meeting..." he mumbled already reaching for a cookie, clearly this was a norm with the two

"Oh you aren't...I am" Plo admitted while pouring Wolffe some tea as well

"I'm...I'm sorry sir?" Wolffe gawked

"I hope you are" The jedi huffed, setting the kettle down once more "I'm tired of you two thinking you can hide this from me"

Both you and Wolffe sat a bit straighter, wanting to glance to the other for assistance but unable and unwilling to risk showing your hands more than you already had.

"I have been alive for a very, very long time" Plo explained in a gentle yet scolding tone "Did you two think I cannot see? I am not blind behind these pressurized goggles"

The tease did nothing to ease either your nor your beloved's nerves and upon seeing such, the Kel Dor sighed

"I have no intention of punishing either of you, but I must know" he then turned to pointedly look at you "Do you love Wolffe?"

Your heart pounded in your ears and your emotions began to overwhelm you as panic left you unable to respond

"I see, I picked the wrong one to start with" Plo muttered under his breath then turned to his commander "Wolffe? Do y-"

"Yes" Your lover's words came forth as suddenly and sure as his hand had reached under the table to hold your own trembling one

You gasped softly at his unabashed or faultered words, watching him as any and all air left your lungs at his proclamation

Unseen to you, Plo relished in the emotions he was sensing through the force. Your utter surprise and delight, Wolffe's determination and honesty. Then watched as Wolffe turned to you and said in a more tender tone

"I'm in love with you"

Your heart felt as if it would burst any moment as you took in the most wonderful information you'd ever been privy to

"Well...? What do we say....?"

You barely heard Plo's encouragement but felt compelled to admit your own feelings aloud. The ones you'd kept locked away and only allowed to leak out in affectionate actions, but never words

"...I love you, Wolffe..." you whispered

You watched as his eyes creased and grew soft as he gazed down at you, his hand squeezing your own breifly before moving to tangle your fingers together

"Well...now that is settled..." Plo breathed in releif before asked as if he were relaying a scandalous secret "When am I to expect my grandbabies?"

"G-General!"

Plo laughed gleefully at both your young, flushed faces. Perhaps that was a question that should have been reserved for another time with more cookies...

Winter Solstice Fics Masterlist

Yule dividers by me

Reblog divider by dystopicjumpsuit 💜

This is DELIGHTFUL - I’m envisioning this scenario almost like a regency romance in the Jedi temple as Plo keeps guard of his young charges heart ❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️

Also really enjoyed a non Jedi’s reaction to the temple - you explored that really well.

Thank you so much for sharing this @moonlightwarriorqueen

Originally this was supposed to be Wolffe x reader where you're at a party enjoying goodies with Papa Plo and the Wolfpack...but it didnt stay that way 🤣

P.s. Thank you @dystopicjumpsuit (and the Plo simps) for coming to the conclusion Plo bakes good cookies!

Using the prompt Holiday Cookies for @clone-wars-winter-challenge !

Warnings: mentions of sw typical violence and treatment of clones, papa plo is nosy, reader has no formal pronouns but is a strategist, secret relationship, 1 mention of children. If I missed something lemme know

Buir's Cookies

Wolffe x Reader

When you'd been invited to the temple by general Plo Koon, you originally had thought it was because you were in trouble. Perhaps you had given the wrong maps, calculated the wrong trajectory, anticipated the wrong strategy for a battle...perhaps your battle plan had resulted in a great loss - though you never got any report saying such...

Regardless, you put on your best clothes, did yourself up the best and most professional-ish way you could and made your way over.

You'd never been in the temple before, only ever saw glimpses of it from afar. So standing at the enterance now, amongst the excessively large statues...well you'd be lying if you said you had nerves of beskar and that you totally didn't leave your stomach behind right then and there.

Thankfully, General Plo had decided to wait for you at the mouth of a long walkway, either side showcasing just how large and ornate the temple was

"I was beginning to think you had not received my message" his tone left little error to beleive he was anything but teasing

"I'm so sorry general, I...I've never been to the temple" you admitted a bit robotically

"It's quite alright, I can see how the temple is daunting to one who has never stepped foot on its premisies." he explained with a smile to his voice "You'd be surrpised how many younglings end up crying upon seeing it fir the first time"

"Really?" you asked in surprise "I always thought they could sense it was their spot"

"Really" he confirmed turning anf beginning to walk "this way"

You hurried to follow in step with the Kel Dor

"Younglings often are unsure about the temple at first, everything they knew before is gone and this is what they are brought to in return. I try to avoid the front entrance if I am bringing a little one in" he explained as you walked "We are going to one of the gardens, I hope you do not mind"

"Not at all, General" you said quickly, not wanting to offend

"You can relax, you are not in trouble" Plo chuckled, having sensed your nervousness through the force - or perhaps just from having been alive so long he's learned to pick that up in anyone...

"The garden we're going to is encased, so you won't have to worry about the biting air" the jedi added sweetly

"I appreciate that"

You followed him down a few more corridors, making small chit chat along the way, before he paused at an archway and gestured for you to enter first.

The moment you stepped inside, you felt overcome with a tremendous awe. It was like a small, tamed forset within! Plants littered most of the space, in all their glory - be that hanging along trelisses or shooting straight up, proud and tall or as sweeping sprawls of colour. Each plant looked unique yet somehow they all seemed to fit perfectly with one another as if they were always meant to have been that way - nor did they appear groomed, somehow existing perfectly without a single blemish or weed.

"This is beautiful!" You exclaimed, gawking at all around you

"I thought you would appreciate this garden over a sitting room" the jedi beamed as he followed in behind you "I've set a table for us to sit at while we chat"

You smiled and followed your general to a small but ornate looking garden table with three chairs. The table's surface was covered in sweet pasteries and somehow had a teapot and three cups squeezed within.

You raised your brow at the third setting but dismissed it as you took the seat he offered you and watched as he settled upon the other side

"I wanted to thank you for being such a valuable asset to us all" he began softly, as he poured you each a cup

"I'm just doing my job" you defended softly

"You do much more than that" he insisted "You spend hours pouring over information and only ever suggest strategies once you are entirely sure. You never leave opportunity to let my men faulter without a back up plan...or three"

You blinked in surprise, you hadn't noticed he paid that much attention to your efforts to keep him and the wolfpack safe...

"Cookie?" he settled the kettle down and waved his hand above the array of shapes and flavours

It was a bit overwhelming if you were entirely honest, but they all looked so absolutely delicious...

Nodding, you reached and grabbed a dark vermillion coloured cookie that was cresent moon shaped. Bringing it to your mouth, you paused noticing his attention zeroed in on your reaction

"Go on," he urged gently "Let me know how it is"

You peeked at the cookie, briefly wondering if you were about to be poisioned and that is how jedi fire people from the grand army of the republic...but then you took a bite

"This is really, really good general..." you mumbled, cheek full of cookie

"Good, I'm glad" he beamed, an unseen grin plastered to his face

You took a sip of your tea and then took another bite of your cookie

"Now, what are you intentions towards my dear Commander Wolffe?"

You froze at the sudden ask. Not only because of its nature but his unreadably guarded tone

"I...uh..."

Your mind raced a mile a minute, as did your heart, as panic begun to flood your system. How did he know? How long has he known? You and Wolffe both thought you were being extra careful around one another. Wary to not let on to the nature of your relations. Nobody knew about your sneaking off to see him and vice versa. About the passionate nights or the stolen kisses - right?

"General?"

Your head whipped to the right, where you'd entered the gardens, to find your beloved commander standing there with his helmut in his hands

"You...called me here...?" his mismatched gaze settled on you and for a brief second his eyes widened before he returned his attention to your shared jedi general

"Yes. Wolffe, come here" Plo urged sweetly, patted the third seat settled between your forms. "I have a spot for you as well"

You felt sweat begin to pool on your body as you watched Wolffe cooly made his way over, settled into his seat and place his helmut upon his lap

"I wasn't aware we were having a strategy meeting..." he mumbled already reaching for a cookie, clearly this was a norm with the two

"Oh you aren't...I am" Plo admitted while pouring Wolffe some tea as well

"I'm...I'm sorry sir?" Wolffe gawked

"I hope you are" The jedi huffed, setting the kettle down once more "I'm tired of you two thinking you can hide this from me"

Both you and Wolffe sat a bit straighter, wanting to glance to the other for assistance but unable and unwilling to risk showing your hands more than you already had.

"I have been alive for a very, very long time" Plo explained in a gentle yet scolding tone "Did you two think I cannot see? I am not blind behind these pressurized goggles"

The tease did nothing to ease either your nor your beloved's nerves and upon seeing such, the Kel Dor sighed

"I have no intention of punishing either of you, but I must know" he then turned to pointedly look at you "Do you love Wolffe?"

Your heart pounded in your ears and your emotions began to overwhelm you as panic left you unable to respond

"I see, I picked the wrong one to start with" Plo muttered under his breath then turned to his commander "Wolffe? Do y-"

"Yes" Your lover's words came forth as suddenly and sure as his hand had reached under the table to hold your own trembling one

You gasped softly at his unabashed or faultered words, watching him as any and all air left your lungs at his proclamation

Unseen to you, Plo relished in the emotions he was sensing through the force. Your utter surprise and delight, Wolffe's determination and honesty. Then watched as Wolffe turned to you and said in a more tender tone

"I'm in love with you"

Your heart felt as if it would burst any moment as you took in the most wonderful information you'd ever been privy to

"Well...? What do we say....?"

You barely heard Plo's encouragement but felt compelled to admit your own feelings aloud. The ones you'd kept locked away and only allowed to leak out in affectionate actions, but never words

"...I love you, Wolffe..." you whispered

You watched as his eyes creased and grew soft as he gazed down at you, his hand squeezing your own breifly before moving to tangle your fingers together

"Well...now that is settled..." Plo breathed in releif before asked as if he were relaying a scandalous secret "When am I to expect my grandbabies?"

"G-General!"

Plo laughed gleefully at both your young, flushed faces. Perhaps that was a question that should have been reserved for another time with more cookies...

Winter Solstice Fics Masterlist

Yule dividers by me

Reblog divider by dystopicjumpsuit 💜

Stolen Nights and Shared Dreams

Captain Howzer x Reader (fluff)

The knock was soft but unmistakable, sending a little spark of anticipation through me. I didn’t have to wonder who it was. Howzer’s visits were rare, but each one was a balm to my heart. The galaxy’s chaos faded, if only for a few hours, whenever he was around.

I opened the door, and there he was: looking tired yet undeniably handsome. His hair was a bit tousled, and the shadows under his eyes hinted at the day he’d had, yet his gaze softened when he saw me.

“Hey, you” he murmured, his voice low and warm.

“Hey” I replied, unable to keep the grin off my face. I reached out, taking his hand and guiding him inside. As the door clicked shut behind us, it was like we’d stepped into our own little world.

“Rough day?” I asked, gently squeezing his hand as he began peeling off his armor piece by piece.

A sigh escaped his lips as he ran a hand through his hair. “Something like that. But I’d rather not think about it right now. I’d rather… just be here. With you” His words were simple, but the way he looked at me made my heart skip a beat. Howzer had this gentle sincerity about him, and when he was with me, it felt like I was the only thing in the galaxy that mattered to him.

“Good” I replied, pulling him into the living room. “Because I made tea, and it’d be a shame if I had to drink it all by myself”

He chuckled, a deep, warm sound that melted away some of the tension in his shoulders. As we settled onto the couch, he wrapped an arm around me, pulling me close as he took his tea. “I missed this” he murmured, pressing a soft kiss to my temple.

Leaning into him, I closed my eyes, letting myself sink into his warmth. “I missed you” I whispered back, my hand finding his where it rested on my shoulder, fingers threading together. His grip was gentle but firm, a silent promise that he was here and wasn’t going anywhere tonight.

For a while, we just sat like that, basking in each other’s presence. Just us, sharing a simple, peaceful moment. Howzer leaned his head back, closing his eyes, and I took the opportunity to trace my fingers along the strong lines of his jaw, admiring every detail of his face.

He cracked an eye open, a lazy smile playing at his lips. “Enjoying yourself?”

I chuckled, brushing a kiss against his cheek. “Maybe a little”

His hand came up to cup my face, thumb brushing along my cheek as his eyes softened, gaze filled with a warmth that sent a sweet ache through my chest. “I don’t know what I’d do without you” he murmured, his voice barely above a whisper. He leaned in, his lips meeting mine in a soft, lingering kiss that made the outside world disappear.

The kiss deepened, and when we finally broke apart, we were both breathing a little heavier. His forehead rested against mine, and for a moment, we just stayed like that, wrapped up in each other.

“Stay with me tonight?” I asked softly, fingers tracing the lines of his chest, feeling the warmth of his skin beneath my palm.

Howzer’s smile was gentle, but there was a spark in his eyes that told me he felt just as strongly. “Nothing could keep me away”

I pulled him down onto the couch with me, wrapping us both in a blanket. He settled beside me, our legs tangled together as he wrapped an arm around me, holding me close. His hand trailed up and down my back in slow, soothing circles, and I felt myself relax, safe and warm in his embrace.

He kissed my forehead, lips lingering as if to savor every second. “You know, being here with you like this… it’s the only time I really feel at peace” he whispered, his voice barely above a murmur.

My heart swelled, and I snuggled closer, pressing a kiss to his collarbone.

“Do you ever think about what we’ll do once the war is over?” I asked, my voice soft.

A thoughtful look crossed his face, as he considered his answer. “All the time. I think about finding somewhere quiet… maybe a place near the ocean” His lips curved in a small smile. “I don’t know if I’d know what to do with all that quiet, but if you were there…” His voice trailed off, and he looked down at me, eyes full of a longing that made my heart ache. “I think I’d be just fine”

I smiled. “I’d love that. Just the two of us, finally getting a chance to… just be”

He held me a little tighter, his hand tracing the curve of my shoulder. “Maybe we’d have a little garden,” he murmured. “Somewhere we could put down roots. Real roots”

My heart swelled at the thought. “We could have all the time in the world, no more rushing off to fight battles. Just… peace”

His voice was low and tender as he added, “And you’d never have to worry about me leaving. I’d finally be able to be here. Fully” He kissed my forehead, and I felt him press his cheek against my hair, lingering there, breathing me in.

For a while, we spoke of dreams, letting our imaginations run wild with little details—a small home, lazy mornings, and a life filled with quiet moments just like this. We laughed about the little things, like whether he’d actually be able to sleep past sunrise, and whether I’d be able to cook without burning something.

Finally, he sighed, a content, almost sleepy sound. “Thank you… for giving me something to look forward to. Something beyond all of this” He kissed the top of my head, lingering, as if savoring the moment.

“Always” I whispered, resting my head against his chest, listening to the steady rhythm of his heart. 

We lay there, wrapped in each other, sharing quiet whispers and gentle touches, each one an unspoken vow to hold on to these moments for as long as we could. I knew in this very moment that no matter what the galaxy threw our way, we’d always have this—our dreams, our little world, and the promise of a life we’d one day build together.

The night passed in a blur of whispered words, tender kisses, and soft laughter, and for the first time in a long while, I felt like the galaxy was exactly as it should be.

_____________________________________________________________

You can find my masterlist here x

1st, 2nd, and 3rd

Wrecker x Fem! Reader

Warnings: Fem!reader, hurt/comfort?, First kiss, Making out-ish, kind of one bed trope.

Summary: Reader gets hurt so she can no longer sleep on the small couch, meaning she'll have to share a bed with Wrecker for the night. Will this result in a confession of feelings? (Duh)

Words: 2,297

Your eyes strained against strong fluorescent lights, the smell of disinfectants causing your nose to scrunch. You took in a deep breath, heavily moving your hand against the rough medical blanket. A droid was in your face as soon as you came to your senses, spewing information which was quickly cut off after being smacked away and replaced by one of your favorite people. “Mesh’la are you feelin’ okay?!” Wrecker's face enveloped your entire vision, not like you minded. 

Hunter's gruff voice came from the bottom of the bed. “Give her some space Wrecker, she just opened her eyes.” You carefully titled your head to look at him.

“How long have I been out?” The words slid out of your mouth, it felt odd, like you hadn’t said them. Your eyelids grew heavy again, memories of getting hit… stabbed? started to come back blurrily. “Did they give me drugs?” You whined out, frustrated with the off sensations.

“No? Just bacta…” Wrecker questioned, bringing his palm to cradle your face gently moving it towards him, “Are you sure they said she was okay?” He worryingly turned to his brothers while you faded in and out of consciousness. 

At the ready, Tech’s eyes look up from his data pad, “Her vital signs are within acceptable ranges, despite the blood loss. Typically individuals can survive losing up to 10-15% of their total blood volume without any major issues. She has lost 30% of her blood volume and is having trouble transporting oxygen.” Tech stares, waiting for a response. 

Wrecker was lost for a moment, “So she’s lost too much blood?”

“That is correct” Tech gave a curt nod.

“Y’know Tech, you could jus’ say that.” Wrecker’s nose scrunched up as he gave his little brother a sidelong glance, you couldn’t help but smile and let out a soft giggle at the interaction.

“Kriff, she is acting like she’s high” Echo sighs.

Omega looks up at him confused, “What does that mean?” Everyone looks at each other.

“Maker” Hunter whispered with his head in his hands, slumping back into his chair near the end of the hospital bed.

“She might have to stay another night here.” Echo said, crossing his arms and examining your state.

Tech looked up from his data pad where he was leaning against a wall near the door. “Incorrect, she has already recovered, we only have to wait for the medics to discontinue blood transfusion.” 

I face contorted in confusion “Where is here?... How many nights have I already stayed?”

“We had to take you to a hospital, there wasn’t a way to treat you with our resources.” Tech offered, typing away.

Echo noticed the unanswered questions on your face, “The mission Cid sent us on was… eventually a success. You ended up getting stabbed and nearly sliced open from your hip down to your thigh. You-”

“Wrecker had to carry you back to the ship.” Omega interrupted, you blushed at the fact. Trying to conceal it you glanced at Wrecker with a raised brow. He only nodded with pursed lips.

The silence was loud as you put your head back on the pillow with a soft grunt. Wrecker sighed, his hand still near you on the bed, “You gave us all a good scare, being here 4 days unconscious and all.” My eyes didn't widen, with the damage that supposedly happened, it sounds about the right amount of time to have been sleeping.

Hunter rose from his seat, ruffling Omega's hair who protested and shoved his hand off of her with a giggle. “We should head back to the ship for the night when you get enough blood back in you.” You nodded in agreement, You hoped the drowsiness would start to wear off as soon as you woke up little by little.

“Go back to sleep cyare, i’ll tell ya when we’re leavin’ okay?” Wrecker stroked your hair and with a whispered “Okay”, you couldn’t help but let your eyes drift shut again.

⸺

The trek back to the ship wasn’t horrible with Wrecker by your side, supporting you with an arm under yours and a hand around your waist. The contact made you blush, though you played it off as strain from attempting to walk. That wasn’t even half true with Wrecker practically lifting you off the ground, you didn’t really have any weight on your feet.

You made your way up the ramp onto the ship, one look at the too small couch that you usually slept on had both you and Wrecker cringing  on the position it would put your leg in. “uhm…” I looked around the ship as if something would randomly click into place and reveal a perfect place for me to sleep.

“You can sleep in my bunk?” My heart skipped a beat at his offer. My head started to shake in decline, but one more glance at the small couch forced me to reconsider.

“Okay..” I said, I swore I saw his eyes brighten for a split second. Wrecker Gently led me to get settled in his bed, and tucked strand of hair behind my hair. He picked up Lula and walked over to the couch I usually slept on, my heart clenched at his show of selflessness. “Wrecker?” I questioned, he hummed in response and stomach fluttered thinking about what I was going to say.

“You don’t have to sleep on the couch…” He raised a brow, “We can share, I’m cold anyway.” I gave him a reassuring smile, he gave one back. Wrecker was a big boy but tech had slightly modified Wreckers bunk to be slightly bigger anyway. He removed his armor and when he was down to his blacks, you felt his warmth seep into the sheets as he slipped into the bed.

“We’re going to run some errands.” Hunter said in the doorway, startling you. “We are down to nothing and you’ll need food to fully heal.” He explained, answering your questioning gaze.

“Meg’s going with?” I asked. 

Hunter chuckled, “Yeah, she insists it’s not her bedtime yet and she and the others want to stretch their legs after sitting in that hospital for so long.” He lifted from his lean against the door, slipping out. 

“Take care of her, Wreck!” Echo shouted from the front of the ship.

“Will do!” Wrecker shouted back with a chuckle, and they were gone, leaving you and Wrecker alone. You turned to face the wall, and closed your eyes to let sleep envelop you once more.

⸺

You woke to a tickle on the small of your waist from his hand coming into contact with it. You shifted a bit, his palm ⸺rough and warm⸺ half on your skin from the sleep shirt riding up slightly. It sent a tremor of nerves through your body. You didn’t know what he felt, was he touching an imperfection? You cringed. He whispered your name and you froze.

“Hey uh, are you okay?” His voice was gruff with sleep. You ignored how it sent a shiver down your spine and turned to face him, his hand didn’t move, now resting on the other hip.

Your breath hitched, his face was only a few inches away, “Yeah.” Your voice was quieter than you had hoped. Your eyes traced the lines of his scar to see how it blended into the corner of his soft-looking lips. You wanted to kiss him, butterflies erupted in your stomach at the thought.

“It was a tough day, r’ you still hurting?” You tried not to flinch as his fingertips gently traced over the bandage wrapped around your hip, down to your thigh.

You decided to brush it off, “I’ll live.” 

“S’ not what I asked.” His large hand moved from your leg to run the back of his fingers over your warm cheek. You couldn’t stop yourself from blushing as your eyes flicked up to meet his. Even laying down, he towers over you, his beautiful brown eyes ⸺one glazed over with white⸺ already on yours as he looked down at you. You were mesmerized by him, how sweet and caring he was, how strong and handsome and-

“Your eyes looked really pretty up close.” You blurted. Wincing, you quickly lowered your head to look down at your hands, twisting and pulling at the fingers. Wrecker didn't move an inch, he was frozen, like you had been a few moments ago, you’d hoped it was a good thing.

“Mesh’la…” He spoke so softly, like he was afraid you would run away. He dipped his head down, bringing his curled pointer finger under your chin to lift your gaze back to his.

Then you saw it, Wreckers beautiful, eye crinkling and contagious smile. A giggle started to bubble up in your chest out of embarrassment, bringing your hands up to attempt to cover your blushing cheeks. He let out a breathy chuckle which died into a sigh, his hands pushed yours away to reveal your face, he’s too strong for you to protest. He slyly slipped his hand into yours, bringing your intertwined fingers to your side.

You stared into his eyes again, but this time, they were focused on your lips. He leaned closer and your entire body buzzed. Your breath was starting to become heavy and your palms sweaty. Your mind blazed through every holodrama scene you could think of trying to pick your next move. You took a deep breath ⸺as quietly as you could manage⸺ and pushed off your shoulder to move up towards his lips, letting your eyelids flutter closed. 

Then his lips were on yours. Everything about him was warm and soft, his muscles relaxed as he leaned into the kiss. Your whole body was ridged and borderline shaking with nerves. You moved your free hand to run across the side of his head, but the constant nagging of your brain was reminding you that you didn’t know what you were doing.

He broke the kiss only for a second before he swiftly pulled you on top of him, making you feel absolutely weightless. You straddled his large thighs and sighed into his mouth when you felt his hand gripping the back of your un-injured thigh. He chuckled in response, his fingers threading into the hair at the back of your head. He was taking the lead and you were grateful. Both of your hands splayed out on his pectorals, not sure what else to do with him. You let him kiss you and it felt unbelievably wonderful. But it was still odd, and you were still quivering with nerves.

The both of you broke apart slowly⸺ he was perfectly happy, but his face contorted in confusion as he took in your expression. You looked like you were just struck by lightning, eyes a bit wide when they opened, eyebrows furrowed, lips pouted, and still trying to get a handle on your heartbeat and breath. He removed his hand from your hair, bringing it to rub the back of his neck. “That was okay right? Sorry ‘forgot to ask, I should’ve- it’s just- ‘thought you-” You interrupted him with another soft peck on the lips, sending a thrill through you. 

You smiled sheepishly at him, willing yourself to say something. “Nono, yeah, I-uh- I liked it.” You chewed at the inside of your lip, he moved his hand back to your face to gently pull it away. Your cheeks felt impossibly warm from his touch.

“Is somth’n wrong?” He asked softly.

“No! no. It’s just that- well-” You cleared your throat, scooting back to sit down on the bunk. “It’s just that I haven’t- It was my first kiss and all…” Your voice withered while his eyes grew. His expression quickly morphed from surprise to smugness. 

“I’m your first kiss, Mesh’la?” He wore a confident smirk that made it hard for you to hold back a smile. You nodded, knowing your words would probably fail.

“And technically second too…” You joked.

He paused to sit up, contemplating something before saying lowly, “Well, do you want me to be your third?” 

I swallowed, trying to clear my throat, yes, that’s exactly what I wanted. “If I wasn’t clear enough already… yes." I said with a small breathless chuckle. And with that confirmation, Wrecker leaned up to push hair behind your ear and with a gentle smile, he re-twined his hand into your hair and brought your lips back to his. Your stomach flipped when he broke the kiss to lay you onto your back under him, you flushed when you saw the muscles in his arm bulge as he braced it beside your head. 

He brought himself closer again, lips locking with yours. He was careful not to crush you with his leg between yours, slowly bringing all of the points of your bodies to touch. He felt like a warm weighted blanket on top of you, yet his lips and hands made you feel like you were floating. He nipped at your bottom lip and slipped his tongue through them when you gasped at the touch, you felt his smile against your lips as you gripped his bicep, your other hands nails digging into his shoulder. You felt the vibration of his grunt against your lips, only adding to the amazing sensation of everything. 

He broke away once more, staring into my eyes and sliding to the side of me. Wrecker maneuvered me to rest my head on his chest, I giggled at the ease in his movements. “Wrecker?” I asked softly, eyes drifting low from exhaustion. 

“Mesh’la?” He responded, only making my smile and blush more apparent. I rested my chin on his built, soft, chest to look into his eyes when I told him…

“I Love you.”

Guys any tips on making story's less shallow? Lmao i feel like I just loose patience and want to finish them. Anyway, I loveee this piece so much and I hope you did too! Please Like, Reblog, and/or Comment to support my writing! <3

Masterlist ~ Requests: Open

I HAVE A MIGHTY NEED TO BAKE FOR THE WOLFPACK NO ACTUALLY THE ENTIRE GAR.

@moonlightwarriorqueen what do you meannn they don’t get cookies??? My inner grandma WILL NOT STAND FOR THIS.

(Academically I know they’d only have rations but the boys deserve all the sweet things forever)

I know you warned us about the levels of cute in this but I’m biting the bars of my enclosure because of the adorable-but I love them so much and soft!Wolffe is the literal icing on the cake.

Okay so, confession time!

This was originally a fic for Wolffe (with a different title) but Comet fucking took over by storm like the monsters inc swat 💀 so I wrote it all...but then it was weird cuz there's all this Comet in Wolffe's fic 😅 So I split them, gave Comet's a new title and BAM! Here we are.

Fingers crossed I can fix the Wolffe parts into what was supposed to be his fic 🤣

Warnings: cuteness overload. Wolffe being playful with his bby bro...? Comet stealing your fucking heart cuz he's a cutie patootie

Comet and Cookies

Comet x Reader

Life was simple, albeit a little boring, nothing extraordinary came your way.  Every day, week, month and year came and went like the last - sure there were a few small differences. Friendships that came and went, hobbies that flitted by...but ultimately...life was just a set of actions and events set on repeat.

But then war came.

Suddenly everyone and their grandmother were speaking about the battles, the carnage and of hatred. Hate for the other side...and hate for the soliders that were part of the now established army of the republic. It was jarring at first, but your life wasn't much disrupted...until one night.

You were closing up from a day of work, shop void of customers, the bewing stations and ovens no longer thumming loudly...it was then that you ran into something most jedi now saw everyday.

A clone trooper.

He seemed a little frazzled, as he waved at you enthusiastically from the glass door, though it was hard to tell with his helmut on.

Strangely, you had no unease or fear...so you made your way to the locked door and opened it a crack

"...yes...? I'm sorry we're closed" You said politely

"Ah, I'm sorry...I got seperated from my brothers..." the clone laughed sheepishly "And my comm isnt functioning properly. Could I use the store's? I...need to call them to come get me"

You stared at him for a moment, debating on what to do...but found yourself letting him in - your heart going out to him over the nervous tone vibrating through his helm.

"Thank you so much...!" He breathed a sigh of releif.

The trooper followed you in and right to the communication device the store had, promptly removing his helmut and pressing buttons.

He was young, you noticed, probably relatively new to the war and his armour, while painted, seemed absolutely flawless. It's design was an intricate sweeping of lines, something you'd seen in pinstriping artist's work.

"-I'm at...one second," he leaned his head away from the device and whispered to you "Where am i?"

With a soft smile, at his confused boyish attitude, you walked over to say loud enough for the clone across the line could hear.

"Mid levels, the place is called 'Caf and cookies'. We're up the street from that seedy old theatre" you then leaned a bit more into his space to make sure his brother heard your directions as you gave him the formal address

"Alright, Comet. Stay put, I'll come get you" Came the exhausted sounding reply

"Yes, sir"

Just as the call was ending, you could hear another clone in the background

"Did our Vod'ika finally answer?!"

The two of you stepped away from the comm. As you did, you turned to the trooper, Comet, before you

"So...new on this planet...?"

"Unfortunately...my brothers thought it was a good idea to go to 79s to celebrate...and I may have tripped and fell...a few levels... into the back of a speeder" Comet mumbled embaressed "This place is very different than Kamino"

You only smiled and gestured him to a stool as you continued to clean up, then offered him a drink and one of the handful of cookies left over

"Sorry they're not fresh, but they are from today" you called as you yanked a mop from the cupboard

"We don't ever get cookies, so...as far as I'm concerned, this is the best they'll ever be" He beamed excitedly

You laughed softly, though saddened by his remark, and made your way back over to the mop

"Wait, wait! Let me do it!" Comet jumped up, cookie crumbs on his lips

"Oh...uh...it's alright, I can do this" You said softly with a touch of surprise from his eagerness

"No way! You've helped me so much already, its my turn to help you back!" he pleaded with glittering eyes

Who were you to refuse?

"Alright, so we just dunk this end into the bucket-"

When Wolffe arrived at your establishment he wasn't quite sure what to do at first.

You were sitting on a stool, knees pulled up tight as you balanced carefully, while you laughed and spoke to his baby brother. He only intended to knock, wait for Comet to run over then yell a 'thank you' to you before dragging the young man away. But now, as he stood watching the two of you, he felt unable to pry you two apart. He'd been worried about Comet's quiet demeanor since setting foot off the battlefeild. And yet...here he was, watching some random woman getting his little brother to laugh and be playful. You were doing what his entire batallion hadn't been able to.

But soon enough, whatever little spell had kept you and Comet contained to a happy little bubble popped. Having been spotted, Wolffe gave an awkward hand up in acknowledgement before you rushed to let him in

"I'm so sorry...!" you rushed out in an embaressed fluster "I should have been paying attention"

"'ts fine, I was a little distracted watching you two have fun" he mumbled, such a phrase seemingly for your ears only

"Why don't you come in? I'll put together the rest of the cookies and you two can share" You offered, feeling a bit of heat travel to your cheeks.

The commander glanced to Comet, to see a sheepish grin and the trooper setting the mop against the wall carefully, then returned his gaze to you. Wolffe studied you for a moment, taking stock of what he could of you, but relented with a slight nod as he saw only sincere kindness in your gaze

"Perfect, just give me a moment!" You scurried back into the kitchen, leaving the two alone

"So...learning to mop?" Wolffe jabbed with a stern kind of playfulness

"Ah, yes sir...I felt bad...ya know, with her gifting so much assitance and not giving anything in return" Comet stood straight as a needle as he spoke, but Wolffe made note of the colour tinting his brother's cheeks

The commander shook his head then patted his Comet's shoulder

"It was good to see you loosening up, we were all wondering if the battlefield had stomped you out for good"

The two were quiet for a moment. Just existing in the quiet before you came barrelling through the doors with a box done up with a bow

"Are those ours?" Comet gawked

"You...didn't need to do this...really" Wolffe mumbled, watching you make your way to them both

"Nonsense, I can't eat all these myself..." you teased softly

You took Wolffe's gloved hand and settled the small box in his palm

"And...." you glanced at your new buddy "I put the address and comm of the shop, as well as my personal one. Should you get lost..." you then glanced back to the older of the two "and should you lose him again."

"Really, this is too much..."

"Just in case" you smiled, showing them out "I have a feeling this won't be the last time someone shows up here"

And it wasn't.

Perhaps it was the force that dictated that poor Comet get lost again... Perhaps the force decided that afterwards Comet would go out of his way to retreat to you, inevitably bringing his big brother along to collect him again and again. As such, you came to expect your little oddities in your days and nothing brought you more joy then the sound of fabric-covered knuckles rasping against the glass in the same little pattern that only Comet would ever omit.

"Lost again...?" you teased as you stepped back and let the young trooper into the closed shop.

"Actually...not this time" he smiled, bucket under his arm as he nervously ran his hand back and forth over his scalp

You eyed him curiously, but waited for him to continue at his own place

"Was wonderin'...maybe...this time..." he mumbled with pink dusting his cheeks "Maybe instead of you finding me...I steal you...?"

You felt your lips twich and scrawl open as you couldnt help beaming at his sweet words

"Are you...asking me on a date...?" you taunted playfully

"No..." he glanced away, but his gaze only left you for a moment or two "I'm asking if i can steal you...for the night"

You let him squirm in place for a few moments before you ultimately gave in and let out a giggle.

Nodding, you turned around and ran back into your shop. You threw the mop haphazardly into the closet then all but slammed your hand down on the light switches before you rushed back to the door with your sweater in hand.

Comet chuckled at your actions but otherwise just watched you with a lovestruck look on his face and dopey grin to match it.

"Steal me away" you urged in a coo, holding your arm out for him to snag

Instead, he wrapped his arm around your middle and hugged you tightly

"You sure...?" he whispered softly, lips just brushing your cheek

"Absolutely...I'm all yours" you promised sweetly in return.

Unprepared for the sheer level of excited bliss oozing from him, you squeaked as Comet held you tightly and spun you one, twice, thrice around before setting your feet back on the ground

"Let's go! The night's young...and I can't wait to spend every moment with you!"

It was then that you truly realized...your life would be nothing but happy and sweet from now on.

Star divider by Saradika and can be found here

Reblog divider by dystopicjumpsuit 💜

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

By Your Name

Part One

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

Words: 7,998/19,226

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

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

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

Previous Work | Next Work | Masterlist

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"Me, neither," he replies.

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

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

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

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

"Have you?"

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"Sorry, Tech.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"But—"

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

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

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

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

"Later," Crosshair says, his tone bored.

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

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

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

"Enjoying what?" he asks innocently.

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

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

"React like what?

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"Not particularly," you reply.

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

"What?"

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

"Maybe," you whisper.

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

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

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

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

"Kriff, cyare," he breathes.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"Hey!"

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

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

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

"Yes," you say, clearing your throat.

"Yeah?"

"Yes," you repeat with a smile.

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

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

"Beautiful," he murmurs.

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

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

"Yes," you breathe.

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

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

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

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

"Wrecker, I can't—"

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

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

"I can't—"

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"Fuck," you gasp.

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

"Yes," you whimper.

"More?"

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"Oh," you manage.

"You good?"

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

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

"Wrecker, what—"

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

"I can't," you whimper.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"Hi," he murmurs.

"Hey."

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

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

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

"Yeah?"

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

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

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

"I could kiss you forever," he murmurs.

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

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

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

"Kriff," you breathe. "You're—"

"Big?" he says, grinning.

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

"That's putting it mildly."

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

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

"Yeah?"

"Yes."

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"Or what?" you ask.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"Oh," you whimper.

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

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

"Wrecker," you say. "Please."

"You sure?"

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

"Tell me what you want," he growls.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"Holy shit," he breathes.

"That good, huh?"

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

"I'll take that as a compliment."

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

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

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

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

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

"Fine," you grumble.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"Mesh'la," he whispers.

"Hmm?"

"I love you."

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

"I love you, too."

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

@spicy-clones @kindalonleystars @cw80831 @totallyunidentified @heidnspeak

@lovelytech9902 @frozenreptile @chocolatewastelandtriumph @etod @puppetscenario

@umekohiganbana @resistantecho @dindjarins1ut @tech-aficionado @aynavaano

@burningnerdchild @ihatesaaand @lolwey @hobbititties @mere-bear

@thegreatpipster @lordofthenerds97 @tentakelspektakel @notslaybabes @mali-777

@schrodingersraven @megmegalodondon @dangraccoon @dreamie411 @sukithebean

@bimboshaggy @anything-forourmoony @9902sgirl @jedi-dreea @salaminus

@ghostymarni @gottalovehistory @burningnerdchild @yoitsjay @callsign-denmark

@julli-bee @sonicrainbooms @captn-trex @feral-ferrule @webslinger-holland

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

@floofyroro @veralii @chubbyhedgehog @meshlajetii @heaven1207

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

@kashasenpai @kkdrawsdecently @isaidonyourknees

Oh goodness this is perfect. The way you write Wrecker is heart achingly beautiful @jetii - the way you’ve kept him soft despite everything they’re fighting through just makes me melt into a puddle.

AND DONT GET ME STARTED on the preciousness of reader never wanting to be let go. I think I’d live inside this fic if I could.

And there’s protectiveness from the rest of the batch as well which makes me want to eat my phone in glee.

Thank you so much for sharing these with us ❤️

By Your Name

Part Two

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

Words: 11,228/19,226

Tags/Warnings: angst with a happy ending, hurt/comfort, forbidden romance, unrequited feelings, love confessions, some kissing and heavy petting, smut in part 2

Summary: Ever since you were assigned to the squad, Wrecker has delighted in calling you pet names in Mando'a — an'edee, cyar'ika, mesh'la, the list goes on. Little does he know, you understand every single one of them, and it's starting to become a problem.

A/N: I wrote this months ago and got around to editing it recently and whoa, was not prepared for the sad. Sorry about that! This is mostly self-contained to part one, with part two being purely a smut add-on for my own amusement. I'll post that next week.

Previous Work | Next Work | Masterlist

You hit the ground hard, skidding to a stop face down in the dirt, your whole body aching. The ringing in your ears slowly subsides, and the sounds of battle come back in bits and pieces. The roar of blasterfire, the clatter of droids and metal feet, and crunch of tanks rolling over rubble. You groan and turn yourself over onto your back, coughing and trying to get the taste of dirt out of your mouth, just in time to see a droid bearing down on you, cannon aimed.

You try to move, but you’re completely winded. Your lightsaber was thrown from your grasp when you were sent flying, and it lay several feet away, taunting you with the idea of your own survival. You close your eyes and prepare for the worst, waiting for the searing pain of a laser bolt tearing through you

There’s the sound of metal tearing as a large hand grips the droid’s head and rips it clean off its neck, and your eyes fly open as the metal body falls to the ground in a clatter of lifeless metal, its head still in the hands of your savior.

You look up and meet Wrecker’s eyes, and he pushes his helmet up with the back of his hand to offer you a toothy grin, the droid head held aloft in the other. The relief at seeing him alive and well washes over you like a tide, and you can only manage a weak smile back, your ribs smarting from the impact of your fall.

"That was a close one!" he says, tossing the head away like a child throwing a ball for a dog. It pings off the chest of a droid advancing on the pair of you, sending the metal soldier careening backwards.

"A little too close for my liking," you wheeze, and you take his offered hand. Wrecker pulls you to your feet with ease, the motion tugging you close to his chest, and his arm wraps around you to steady you.

“You okay, cyar’ika?” he shouts over the sound of another tank exploding, a cloud of debris flying up and raining down around you in a shower of dust and smoke. You nod, the movement stiff and stilted, and you pray he doesn’t notice the flush on your cheeks at the use of that Mando'a word.

And that's the problem, isn't it? Cyar’ika, sarad, mesh’la, all the words he said to you in his native tongue, thinking you wouldn't know the difference. It made your heart race and your head spin, and the fact that you understood exactly what they meant only made it worse. It was like a secret between you two, one you weren't supposed to know.

The words made your heart do cartwheels, but the tone he said them in?

That was what was really going to kill you.

The soft way he said the words, the gentle, affectionate way he looked at you when he thought you weren’t paying attention, the way his hand seemed to linger on your shoulder after pulling you back up from a fall, the way his smile made your knees weak... It all came together to paint a picture of how Wrecker felt. It was a picture that made your face feel warm and your throat dry, and it was one that was starting to drive you crazy.

It also drove you to distraction, so much so that you hadn't even noticed the AAT firing at you until you were flying through the air.

And now you're here, in Wrecker's arms, your heart beating fast for more than one reason. You take a moment to gather yourself before stepping back, Wrecker's arm falling reluctantly from around your shoulders, and you give him a grin that's a little stronger this time.

"I'm alright, thank you!" you shout back. "We need to stop that tank!"

Wrecker nods, and the two of you turn to face the massive tank, which was slowly making its way through the city, demolishing everything in its path. The cannons swivel back and forth, destroying a building to your right, then to the left, then forward.

You call your lightsaber back into your hand, and it flies past Wrecker's head into your awaiting palm. You ignite the blade and glance at him, and he grins and cracks his knuckles before slamming his helmet back onto his head.

"Ready, cyare?"

Your breath catches in your throat. It wasn't the word you thought he'd use, but the endearment has the same effect. He doesn't seem to realize what he's said, and you decide not to bring it up.

You can think about it later. For now, you had a droid army to stop.

"Ready," you murmur.

Wrecker holds his hand out to the side, bowing his head in a courtly gesture. "After you."

You roll your eyes and step past him, and you feel the heat of his gaze on the back of your neck.

"Keep up, then."

It doesn’t get any easier.

You try your best not to let it affect your performance. You focus on the missions, on keeping your men safe, but Wrecker is always there, with a compliment or a gentle touch, and the feelings grow until they threaten to burst from your chest.

He does everything in his power to make you laugh, and every time he does, your stomach feels like it's doing backflips. He calls you pet names and winks at you, and your knees get weak. He smiles at you, and the world seems to get brighter.

He does everything he can to protect you, and you find yourself falling for him, hard.

And you can't let it show.

So you ignore the feeling, try to bury it deep inside, but you can feel it growing, day by day.

You have never wanted to tell someone how you feel so much, and yet you are absolutely terrified to do it. It's almost funny, really. You’ve stared down the barrel of a blaster a hundred times, fought dozens of battles, and yet this one man is the only one who can make your heart race.

But there's a difference. With the other things, you could always fight back, try to fix the situation. But how can you fight against feelings? How can you stop yourself from falling in love with the most wonderful person you've ever met?

You can't, and you know it.

Every night, you think about telling him, but every morning, the fear stops you. In the light of day, the idea of a Jedi and a clone being together is ridiculous. It's impossible, and you can't risk your career and his life for something so foolish. So, each time, you say nothing, and the words go unsaid, lingering between the two of you, a heavy weight that seems to follow wherever you go.

You try your hardest not to think about it, but it's like a constant buzzing, an annoying insect that's always in your ear, always nipping at your thoughts, always reminding you of something you don't want to deal with. It's dangerous, and distracting, and it makes you worry that someday, someone will find out.

And that's the most terrifying thing of all.

If the Council ever discovered what was going on between you, they would have no choice but to separate the two of you. The thought of never seeing him again fills you with a deep dread, and the knowledge that it could happen at any time drives you crazy.

Every time the thought comes to the forefront of your mind, you try to push it away, and the effort has become a daily struggle. The others have noticed your preoccupation, and have done their best to cheer you up, but even their good-natured attempts have become frustrating, the reminders of what you were trying not to think about grating on your nerves.

The only person who doesn't seem to notice is Wrecker.

It's ironic, really. It's Wrecker who causes all the trouble, and it's him who's oblivious to it. He doesn't know the effect his words have on you, and if he does, he doesn't acknowledge it.  Instead, he seems to be more affectionate, more playful, more himself than ever, and the more you try to push away your feelings, the harder they come crashing back.

It's like being caught in a riptide, unable to stop yourself from being pulled farther and farther out, no matter how much you struggle. You wish he would stop, wish he would just back off and let you think, but a part of you doesn't want him to. A part of you wants this, wants him, and it's slowly consuming the rest of you.

The only thing that keeps you sane is the knowledge that you will have to return to Coruscant soon, and that when you do, you can go back to the Order, and put the distance between you that you sorely need.

You can't hide anything from the Council. The Force is your ally and enemy, and it shows you exactly how they would react if they ever found out about you and Wrecker.

Dismissal. Disapproval. Disdain.

All things you're not ready to face, and the sooner you're separated, the better. That thought, the idea that you won't have to see Wrecker every day, helps to soothe your anxiety, and, despite the guilt and sadness it brings, you look forward to the mission ending.

The sooner you can distance yourself from him, the easier it will be.

At least, that's what you tell yourself.

You have no idea how wrong you are.

The tunnel network on Akiva is a mess, a winding labyrinth of tunnels and dead ends. The six of you have been trying to navigate them for hours now, and it's starting to take its toll. You've lost the trail of the tactical droid you're hunting multiple times, only to pick it up again an hour later. Your patience is wearing thin, and the squad is getting restless. You're all tired and hungry, and the dim, flickering lights of the tunnels are giving you a headache.

"How many turns have we made?" Crosshair asks, his voice echoing in the narrow tunnel. He's leading the pack with Hunter, whose trying his best to keep up with the trail, though it's growing colder by the minute.

"I...have lost count," Tech admits bitterly, squinting at the holographic map of the tunnels displayed on his datapad. "Perhaps we should have split up, that would have made the task—"

"Not happening," Wrecker cuts in, his voice firm.

"I wasn't finished," Tech snaps.

"Yeah, but you were gonna suggest splitting up," Wrecker says, "and that ain't gonna happen. We're all staying together."

"Tech, if we split up, we might lose each other," Hunter adds, his voice strained as he concentrates. "This trail is difficult enough to follow as it is. I don't need the distraction of trying to find a missing man on top of it."

Tech opens his mouth to reply, but stops when he catches your eye, and you give him a subtle shake of your head. He sighs and nods, looking back down at his datapad. "As always, the logical course of action is the least popular," he mutters.

Hunter snorts, but says nothing, and you and the rest of the group continue down the tunnel. You trail behind the group, trying to keep your frustration in check, when you suddenly feel a presence behind you, and you glance back to see Wrecker fall into step next to you, a small smile on his face.

"Hey," he says softly, and you can't help but return the expression. You realize what you're doing and try to school your features, but the damage is already done, and Wrecker's smile widens.

"Hi," you murmur.

"You holding up okay?" he asks.

You nod, the movement stiff. "I'm fine."

"You sure? Cause you look like you're ready to kill someone."

You grimace and glance ahead, where the others were slowly disappearing from view, and you lower your voice. "I'm sorry. It's been a long day."

"Ain't that the truth," Wrecker mutters.

"This is a mess," you sigh, glancing around the cramped, dimly lit tunnel. "We're not gonna find anything at this rate."

He shrugs, and his elbow nudges yours gently. "It'll be alright, cyar'ika. We'll find him."

The affectionate word is like a bucket of cold water thrown over your head, and your heart skips a beat. You swallow hard, and nod, hoping he can't see the flush on your cheeks.

"How can you be so sure?"

"Cause we're the best there is," Wrecker says. His arm brushes yours as the pair of you walk, and his fingers bump yours. He pulls his hand back quickly, but not before his fingertips brush against the back of your hand, and you can't suppress the shiver that runs through you. "And we have the best General in the galaxy."

"Stop," you groan, the tips of your ears burning. "I'm not the best. I've gotten us lost three times today, Wrecker. Three. If I was a better General, I would have found this stupid droid by now."

"Hey," he murmurs. "It's not your fault."

You keep your eyes on the ground, but his hand comes up and his fingers brush the back of yours. Your hand twitches, but you don't move, and his thumb runs gently over the back of your hand. You're too distracted by his touch to notice that the group had stopped walking, and it's only when Hunter speaks that you snap back to reality.

"Guys, we've got a problem."

You and Wrecker stop short, and you pull your hand from his quickly, ignoring the way his face falls. You glance up and see the other clones gathered around the entrance to a large cavern, their backs turned to you.

"What's wrong?"

Crosshair steps aside to allow you to join the group, and his eyebrow arches as his eyes flicker between you and Wrecker, a smirk crossing his face. You pointedly ignore him, and he shakes his head before returning his attention to the task at hand.

"Dead end," Hunter says.

"I don't understand," Tech murmurs. He steps forward to scan the walls and floor of the cavern with his datapad, and Echo peers over his shoulder. "According to the map, this tunnel should continue on, not stop at a room."

"Well, clearly it does," Crosshair snarks as he moves past you into the cavern. "Or are we supposed to climb the wall?"

"The structural integrity of these walls is poor," Tech replies. "Climbing would only serve to bring the ceiling down upon us."

"Then how are we supposed to get through?" Echo asks, and you bite your lip, the wheels turning in your mind.

Crosshair's flashlight pans over the walls and floor, illuminating the room, and it's then that you see the marks in the dirt. Footprints, dozens of them, some large, some small. Hunter crouches down and brushes the prints, and he frowns and pulls his glove off, running his fingers along the floor.

"These are fresh," he murmurs.

"So are these," Echo says. He and Crosshair are crouched by the far wall, examining a patch of disturbed dirt. You move to take a step forward when a chill runs up your spine, and you freeze, the hairs on the back of your neck rising.

Something is wrong.

You feel it, the air becoming thick with danger. Your muscles tense, your hands clenching at your sides, and the others must sense it, too. They rise to their feet and turn to you, their weapons ready, and the only sound is the distant dripping of water and the soft whirring of Tech's datapad.

"What is it?" Hunter whispers, his voice barely audible, but you can't answer. Your eyes dart around the cavern, searching for the threat. There's no cover in the room, nowhere to hide, and it's making your skin crawl.

"I don't know," you whisper back.

Suddenly, the ground beneath your feet starts to sha, and the men shout in alarm as the shaking gets worse. Dust falls from the ceiling, and you scramble backwards, trying not to fall as the walls start to crumble.

"Go! Go!" Hunter shouts, and the group bolts for the tunnel. You trip on a stone, and the ground cracks and splits open, swallowing the rocks whole. Wrecker grabs you and pulls you to your feet, and the pair of you race after the others, the cavern falling apart around you.

"This isn't natural!" Tech shouts, and he ducks as a rock flies towards him, missing him by inches. "The droid must have set charges!"

"Doesn't matter! Just keep moving!" Hunter yells.

There's a loud roar, and the ceiling comes crashing down. You barely have time to throw up your hands before the weight of the cave-in hits you, and your arms tremble with the effort of holding it up. Ahead of you, the others shout, but the dust and rocks muffle the sound. Your knees buckle, and the rubble starts to push down on you, your back bowing.

No, no, no, no...

The rocks shift, and your hands slip, and the ceiling starts to come down again, and all you can think is that you're not ready, not ready, not ready—

There's a flash of black, and suddenly Wrecker is diving towards you, his arms wrapping around your waist, and the two of you are thrown to the side, out of the way of the falling rocks. He wraps himself around you, his broad shoulders protecting your head, and the pair of you hit the ground hard as the rest of the cavern collapses.

The impact knocks the wind from your lungs, and you're left gasping for breath, unable to move as the cave-in rages around you, the sounds of the others muffled by the rocks. After what feels like an eternity, the noise and movement ceases, and silence settles in, save for the soft tumble of stones.

Your eyes fly open, and you're greeted with darkness. It takes a moment for them to adjust, and you blink away the grit, a shudder running through you. Your limbs feel heavy, and it's only then that you notice the crushing weight on top of you. You can feel the hard edge of plastoid digging into your chest, something softer cradling your head, and Wrecker's heavy breathing fills your ears.

"Wrecker?" you rasp.

His body moves against yours, and his helmet buried in the crook of your neck, his chest rising and falling as he pants for air.

"Yeah?"

"Are...are you okay?"

He laughs, a soft, wheezy sound, and his grip around you loosens, his arms pulling back, allowing the air to return to your lungs.

"Am I okay? I should be askin' you that!"

You laugh, the sound coming out as a half-sob, and you feel his hand cup the back of your head, his fingers threading gently through your hair. "What...what happened?"

"You almost got crushed," he replies, his voice hoarse. "Had to get you outta there."

You blink rapidly, trying to get the dust out of your eyes, and the dim light illuminates his form. He's curled around you, his body protecting yours, and his arms are still holding you tight, one wrapped around your waist, the other cupping the back of your head, his fingers gently stroking your hair.

"Oh," is all you can manage.

"Yeah," Wrecker chuckles, and his grip tightens. "'Oh' is right."

"How did you...?"

"I dunno," he mutters, and his chest rumbles with his words. "I just knew I had to get to you, no matter what."

"Well, thanks."

You swallow hard, trying to ignore the fluttering in your stomach. His hand is large enough to cradle your entire head, and his thumb gently strokes the skin of your neck. You're suddenly hyper-aware of the feeling of him pressed against you, the weight of him, the warmth, the smell of metal and dirt and sweat, and you can't help the way your face heats up.

Your hand pushes at his chest plate, and his grip on you loosens. "Uh, we should—"

"Right!" Wrecker exclaims as his arms unwrap from around you. "Sorry!"

"No, no, it's okay!"

"I shoulda let go sooner," he babbles, and you can hear the flush in his voice. "I didn't mean to..."

"It's fine," you assure him, and you sit up, wincing at the aches and pains in your body. You can hear him move beside you, his armor scraping the floor as he stands, and a moment later, a gloved hand appears in front of your face.

"Need a hand?"

"Thanks," you say, and Wrecker helps you up. The pair of you stand for a moment, listening to the silence around you. The room is dark, the only illumination coming from the narrow gaps in the stones above you, and the occasional shift sends dust falling from the ceiling.

“—al…Wrecker! Are you alright?" Hunter's voice crackles through the comms, the sound distorted by static.

"I'm okay," Wrecker replies, stepping back a little as he activates his comm. He pauses and glances down at you, and his head tilts slightly, like he's looking you over.

"What is it?" you ask, and Wrecker hesitates, his fingers brushing yours.

"You sure you're alright, cyar'ika?"

The endearment is like a slap to the face, and you blink rapidly, taken aback.

"I'm fine, thank you," you say, trying to keep your voice steady.

Wrecker doesn't seem convinced, and his fingers curl around yours. "You don't sound fine."

"I am."

"Really?"

"Yes, Wrecker," you snap. "I'm fine."

"Wrecker, report!" Hunter's voice demands, and Wrecker pulls his hand from yours and activates his comm again.

"We're okay," he says. "Me and the General."

"Thank the Maker," Hunter replies. "What happened?"

You let Wrecker answer while you try to calm yourself, your heart pounding against your ribs. It's just a word, you tell yourself, and yet the knowledge that he was willing to put himself in harm's way, risk being crushed by the rocks just to get to you...

You're not sure how much more of this you can take.

"Is anyone injured?" you ask, cutting off Wrecker mid-sentence.

"No," Hunter replies. "A few bumps and bruises, nothing serious."

"Good," you say. You walk toward the wall of rubble, reaching out with the Force and testing it, searching for a way out. There are gaps here and there, large enough for a person to fit through, but the amount of debris is daunting, and you know that without tools, the task would take hours.

"Well, this is a karking mess," Crosshair grumbles, speaking your thoughts aloud.

“You can say that again,” you say. “We’ll try to dig our way out, but it might take a while."

“Negative,” Tech’s voice cuts in immediately. “This tunnel system is too unstable. Any further attempts to excavate the debris could result in further cave-ins, which could cause catastrophic structural damage.”

You sigh, leaning your head against the rocks. "So we're stuck?"

"It would appear so," Tech replies, and you can practically hear him grimace.

“What are your orders, General?” Echo asks. You can tell by the sound of his voice that he knows what you’re about to say, but the question still makes your stomach twist. You take a deep breath, trying to calm yourself, but the feeling of the walls closing in is growing, and the anxiety is starting to become overwhelming.

"You're going to have to leave us," you say softly.

The words are met with a chorus of protests, and you squeeze your eyes shut, trying to block out the noise. Behind you, Wrecker has fallen silent, and his eyes are burning into the back of your skull, his presence looming, waiting.

"You'll be walking blind," Hunter argues. "Without Tech, you could get lost."

"Or crushed," Crosshair snarks.

"It's dangerous," Echo adds.

"It is," you reply. "But we can't stay here. We need to find the tactical droid, and the longer we wait, the colder the trail gets. So get moving. That's an order."

There's a moment of silence, then: "Copy that."

“May the Force be with you,” you reply, and you turn off your comm and close your eyes.

The silence seems deafening after the sound of the voices, and you stand there for a moment, collecting yourself. You can still feel Wrecker behind you, and his presence is as comforting as it is suffocating. You take a deep breath and steel yourself before turning to face him, and you offer him a small smile.

"Ready to get outta here?"

He doesn't reply, and his gaze is so intense that it makes your skin crawl. You clear your throat and glance away, and when you look back, he's still staring.

"Wrecker?"

"You really think they're gonna leave us here?"

"They don't have a choice," you say gently. "And neither do we."

He grunts, but says nothing, and he turns away to scan the rubble, the flashlight on his helmet casting eerie shadows on the walls. You watch him as he walks the perimeter of the cave, and it's not until he's made his third trip around the space that he speaks again.

"There's a gap over here," he calls, and you cross the cavern to join him.

He's right; the rocks have formed a tunnel, large enough for you to crawl through, and when you peek through the other side, the tunnel stretches on for several meters, the walls and floor clear of debris.

"Well, at least we have somewhere to start," you murmur.

"I'll go first," Wrecker offer, and he drops to his knees and crawls into the opening, his wide shoulders brushing the stone. You follow close behind, crawling over the jagged rocks, and when you reach the other side, Wrecker grabs your arm and helps you stand.

"Thanks," you murmur, and the pair of you turn and shine your lights down the tunnel. It stretches on ahead of you, twisting and turning, the path vanishing around a corner.

"When I get my hands on that droid..." Wrecker growls.

"If I don't get to it first," you mutter, and the two of you set off down the tunnel.

It's slow-going, with the two of you constantly checking for traps or pitfalls, and the longer you walk, the more nervous you become. It's too quiet, and the tension between you and Wrecker is thick, like an unspoken word lingering in the air.

You've been trying to think of something to say, but every time you open your mouth, your throat dries up, and the words die on your tongue. Every time, you convince yourself to tell him how you feel, and how you can't deal with his attention, his affection, but each time, your nerves get the better of you, and you lose the courage.

After a while, you turn and glance back at him, and his gaze is locked on you, his head tilted.

"What?" you ask, and the word is sharper than you intended, but the tension is starting to make your skin itch.

"Nothin'," he says. You can hear the smile in his voice, and you sigh and look ahead again, trying not to think about his eyes on you.

"Stop looking at me like that," you grumble.

"Like what?" he asks, his voice low.

"I don't know," you say, your frustration getting the better of you. "Just...just stop."

He falls silent, and you bite the inside of your cheek, the guilt starting to eat at you. It's not his fault, you remind yourself. You're the one who has the problem. He's doing what he always does, and it's driving you insane, and he has no idea, and it's not his fault, it's yours.

"I'm sorry," you murmur.

"No, no, it's okay," he replies. "I'll...I'll try not to stare."

You can hear the disappointment in his voice, and you swallow the lump in your throat. It's not his fault, it's yours.

"Thank you," is all you manage to say.

Silence settles in again, and the two of you continue on, your footsteps echoing off the walls. Wrecker keeps his promise and doesn't look at you, and it only makes the tension worse, the distance between you yawning wider.

It's hard to see anything in the dark, and the tunnel seems endless. The walls are crumbling, and the ceiling is low, and every time the stone shifts, you're afraid the tunnel will collapse on you, and that'll be the end of the Jedi and her trooper, crushed in the tunnels on Akiva. It's not the way you expected to go out, but you suppose it could be worse.

It's not a very Jedi-like thought, and you shake your head, trying to clear your mind. The exhaustion is starting to creep up on you, the long day finally catching up, and you're not sure how much longer you can stay focused.

"You okay, mesh'la?"

Wrecker's voice, soft and low, catches you by surprise, and you glance up to see him watching you, his head cocked. You're not sure what's worse, the fact that he can see right through you, or the fact that he's still calling you those names.

"Fine," you lie, turning away so he can't see your face. "Just tired." 

"We can stop if you want," he offers. "Rest for a bit."

"No," you say, forcing a laugh. "I'll be fine. We need to keep going." 

"You sure?"

"Yes."

"Okay," he replies. "But tell me if you need to stop."

You nod and walk a little faster, leaving him behind. The sound of his footsteps behind you makes the hairs on the back of your neck stand up, and it takes all your self-control not to turn around.

You need the distance.

The longer the two of you are together, the closer you feel to him, and the closer you feel to him, the harder it will be to say goodbye. And if the way he looks at you, the softness in his voice when he speaks, the gentle brush of his hand against yours is anything to go by, Wrecker isn't planning on leaving your side anytime soon.

The thought makes your heart swell, but you push it down, ignoring the longing it brings. You can't get attached. You can't let him get attached. It's not fair to either of you.

Wrecker's hand finds your shoulder, stopping you in your tracks. His grip is firm, but not painful, and his fingers gently squeeze, pulling you back a step.

"Cyar'ika, slow down," he murmurs. "Don't go runnin' off."

"Sorry," you mutter, and his thumb runs over your shoulder.

"S'okay. Just be careful."

He doesn't release you, and his grip stays on your shoulder, his thumb running gently over the fabric of your robes. You should pull away, should shrug his hand off, but his touch is comforting, and you can't help but lean into it.

"I will."

You don't move, and his fingers stroke your shoulder, the motion slow and rhythmic.

"What's wrong?" he asks, his voice barely a whisper.

"Nothing."

"Don't give me that," he says. "There's something bothering you. I can tell."

"It's nothing, Wrecker," you say, and this time, your words are firm. His grip on your shoulder tightens, not painfully, just enough to make his presence known. "Everything's fine."

"You can talk to me, y'know," he says, and the gentleness in his voice makes your throat close up. "Whatever it is, I'm here for you."

You stare at him, torn between wanting to scream and wanting to cry. Instead, you take a deep breath and let it out slowly. You can't do this right now. You can't handle his concern, his kindness, his affection.

"I said I'm fine," you say, your voice tight. "Just drop it, Wrecker." 

He stares at you for a moment, then his hand slips from your shoulder and falls to his side. 

"Okay," he says flatly. "I'm sorry."

You want to reach out and grab him, pull him back and apologize, but you can't. You can't even bring yourself to say anything, to explain yourself. You just watch him as he walks away, and the distance between you feels like a chasm. He's only a few steps away, but it might as well be miles.

You stand there, frozen, for what feels like an eternity, before finally you turn and start walking again. The silence is unbearable, but there's nothing you can do. You're trapped, with nowhere to go, and the man you care about most is walking away from you. It's a helpless, hopeless feeling, and you can't shake it. But you have to keep moving, so you do.

At some point, Hunter checks in and lets you know they're close to finding the T-1, but the knowledge does little to ease the pain in your chest. You keep walking, pushing yourself as fast as you can, but it doesn't seem to make a difference. The darkness, the silence, and the weight of your emotions seem to swallow you whole.

Wrecker doesn't seem to be faring much better. He keeps casting glances your way, and his posture is tense, his steps heavy. You know he wants to talk to you, but the words won't come. So you both suffer in silence, each step feeling like a betrayal, and the air is thick with things left unsaid.

When the two of you finally reach the end of the tunnel, the sun has started to set, casting the world outside in shades of orange and gold. The entrance opens into a field, the long grass swaying in the wind, and the sky is a vibrant shade of purple. It's a welcome relief from the stifling confines of the tunnel, and the sight of the sky is enough to make your heart ache.

I never want to be underground again, you think, and you take a deep breath, relishing the taste of the air. Beside you, Wrecker does the same, ripping off his helmet and sucking in a deep lungful of air.

"Fresh air," he groans. "I love fresh air."

"Me too," you murmur.

His head turns, and he smiles. "Glad we're outta there, cyar'ika?"

The affectionate word is enough to ruin the mood, and you glance away. "Yes. Glad."

"Good," he replies. His voice is soft, and when you look up, he's staring at you, his eyes searching your face. You want to look away, to avoid his gaze, but his eyes are like a magnet, drawing you in.

"Wrecker—"

"There you are!"

The sound of Hunter's voice startles you, and you tear your gaze away from Wrecker's to find the rest of the squad running towards you. Tech has his datapad in his hand, and his eyes are bright with triumph.

"I have good news," he says. "The tactical droid is—"

"Dead," Crosshair interrupts, and he tosses something at you. You reach up and catch the object, and the metal is still warm from Crosshair's grip. It's the head of a tactical droid, its expression fixed in a permanent nonplussed grimace, the red light behind its eyes extinguished.

"How...?"

"Hunter ripped it apart," Echo explains.

"I didn't like the way it was talking," Hunter mutters, and his shoulders shift uncomfortably.

"So, that's it, then?" Wrecker asks.

"Yep," Echo says. "Mission's done."

"Then let's go home," you sigh.

The men cheer, and the squad gathers around, jostling each other playfully. You smile at the display, and the weight on your chest starts to lift. You're free, the mission's over, and everything is going to go back to normal. It's a relief, and yet...

Your gaze wanders, and your eyes find Wrecker, and your chest aches. His expression is bright, a grin splitting his face, but his eyes are dark, and his smile doesn't reach them. Your hand tightens around the droid's head, and the guilt is almost unbearable.

It's better this way. You remind yourself. Safer. For both of us.

You can't risk the Council discovering what's been going on. If they ever found out, the repercussions would be disastrous. The thought of the men being punished for something that's your fault makes your stomach turn, and the idea of losing them, of never seeing Wrecker again...it's too much.

So you put on a smile and try not to think about the future, try not to think about what's waiting for you, the distance that will grow between you, the way you'll feel when the time comes to say goodbye.

The six of you pile into the ship, and Tech takes the controls, lifting the ship off the ground and flying into the evening sky. The takeoff is bumpy, and the ship groans under the strain, but eventually, you're in the air.

All you want to do is hide in your bunk, but there's a debrief to be done. Hunter is giving his report, and you're trying to pay attention, but all you can think about is the look on Wrecker's face.

You can't get it out of your head, and it's starting to drive you crazy. He was so happy when you got out of the tunnel, and now he looks like he's in pain, and you're the cause. You hate yourself for it, but the fear is still there, lingering, a constant reminder of the dangers that await you, and it's enough to make you stay away.

"We made it out with a few scrapes, but nothing too bad," Hunter finishes. He turns his head, looking between you and Wrecker. "What about the two of you?"

You open your mouth to answer, but the words die on your tongue, and the silence grows. All eyes are on you, and the longer you wait, the more concerned the men become. You look at Wrecker, hoping he'll say something, but he doesn't. He's staring at the floor, his shoulders tense.

"Uh, we're fine," you reply, and the words feel like glass. "No injuries. We're...we're good."

Wrecker scoffs and pushes himself out of his seat, stalking out of the cockpit. You watch him leave, a knot forming in your throat.

"That's odd," Tech murmurs, his eyes following Wrecker.

"Yeah," Hunter mutters. He shakes his head and sighs, then follows Wrecker, leaving you alone with the others

Crosshair raises an eyebrow and turns to look at you, his sharp eyes scanning your face. "Well?"

"What?"

"You really expect us to believe that?" he asks, his tone mocking. "You're a terrible liar, General."

You glance between him and Echo, and both of them are staring at you, their expressions unreadable. You swallow hard and force a laugh, shaking your head.

"There's nothing to tell."

"If there was nothing to tell, Wrecker wouldn't be sulking," Echo points out.

"And you wouldn't be sitting here looking like you're about to throw up," Crosshair adds.

"I am not," you argue.

"Oh, please," Crosshair snorts. "It's written all over your face."

"It's pretty obvious," Echo says, his voice gentler than Crosshair's. "What's wrong?"

You shake your head and rise to your feet. "Nothing."

"We're not gonna leave this alone," Crosshair calls after you.

"We're worried about you," Echo adds.

"Fine," you say, trying not to sound as defeated as you feel. "Worry. It doesn't matter. We'll be on Coruscant soon, and then I won't be your problem anymore."

"What's that supposed to mean?" Echo asks, his voice sharp, but you ignore him and keep walking. You can hear them arguing, their voices rising, and the words they're throwing at each other make your stomach churn. You keep your head down and keep walking, but before you can reach the bunks, you see Hunter and Wrecker. They're standing in the middle of the hallway, their backs to you, and Hunter's hand is on Wrecker's shoulder.

"—just give her some space," Hunter is saying.

"But she's—"

"She's fine," Hunter cuts in. "She just needs some time to herself. You've been a little clingy, and she needs a break."

Wrecker's shoulders stiffen, and the hurt in his voice is palpable. "Is that what she told you?"

"Well, no," Hunter says slowly. "But—"

"Then how do you know?" Wrecker demands, pulling away. "How do you know that's what she wants? How do you know she doesn't..." He trails off, his voice thick, and he turns, and his eyes land on you. The two of you stare at each other, the space between you charged with emotion, and when he speaks again, his words are quiet, and heartbreaking. "...want me?"

"She's a Jedi," Hunter says softly. "They don't...feel those kinds of things."

Wrecker stares at you, his expression open, the longing on his face so plain, so obvious, that your knees feel weak. You can't take it anymore. You turn away, ducking into the refresher and locking the door behind you

The room is silent, the air still. There's no sound but the pounding of your heart, the blood roaring in your ears. You lean against the door and slide to the floor, wrapping your arms around your knees.

You know what you have to do, but the idea is terrifying, the thought of saying goodbye to Wrecker too painful to bear. But he's hurting, and it's because of you. You can't put him through that, not any longer. He deserves better. He deserves someone who can be with him, can give him the affection he deserves, not a cowardly Jedi who can't handle the consequences of her actions.

The realization hurts more than you thought it would, but there's nothing you can do. You've known all along that this would have to end someday, and that someday has come.

The only thing you can do is let him go.

The next day passes in a blur, and the tension is thick in the air. Wrecker doesn't say a word, doesn't look at you, doesn't acknowledge your presence, and you're grateful for it. You can't bring yourself to look at him, and the others are quick to pick up on the change. They cast furtive glances at each other, their concern growing, and their efforts to cheer you up only make the situation worse. You'd much rather they focus their attentions on Wrecker, so you avoid all of them as best you can. 

It's easier this way. Safer. Less painful. 

And maybe, if you keep telling yourself that, you'll start to believe it.

Once you land on Kashyyyk to refuel, the five of them disappear into the village, leaving you alone to meditate. It's the one thing that can help you clear your mind, and you welcome the chance to relax.

The ship is silent, the hum of the engine the only noise, and the quiet helps soothe the ache in your chest. You close your eyes and settle onto the floor, clearing your mind and reaching out with the Force.

When you were a youngling, you were told that the Force was your ally, and you believed it. Now, you know better. The Force doesn't take sides. It simply is. It exists in everything, every living thing, and sometimes, when you meditate, you can feel it. It's a gentle brush against your senses, like a soft caress, and you let yourself sink into the feeling, allowing it to envelop you, and for a moment, everything seems to fade away.

That's why, when you hear the sound of someone approaching, you're startled, and your eyes fly open. You frown, remembering Hunter saying he'd comm you when the others were headed back. It's more than likely Tech sneaking away from the group to tinker with the ship, and so you stand, turning towards the sound.

What you see instead, however, makes your blood run cold. 

Wrecker is standing at the top of the ramp, his form silhouetted by the light outside, his eyes burning into you. You're frozen in place, unable to move, unable to think. All you can do is stare at him, trying to make sense of the expression on his face, but all you can see is anger, and your heart sinks.

"What's going on?" he asks. His voice is low, but there's an edge to it, and his shoulders are stiff.

"What do you mean?"

"I'm talking about the way you've been acting," he says, stepping further into the ship. "Ever since we left Akiva, you've been avoiding me. Why?"

"I haven't been avoiding you," you lie, turning away from him.

"Like kriff, you haven't!" he exclaims, and you flinch, the anger in his voice catching you off guard. "I've tried to talk to you, and you walk away! You won't even look at me!"

"That's not true," you argue. "I'm always—"

"Yeah, it is," he snaps. "You think I don't notice, but I do. You're always running away, avoiding me. Why? Just tell me why. Talk to me. Please."

"Wrecker..."

"Don't say my name like that," he pleads, his voice cracking. "Don't push me away. Please, cyar'ika, I need to know what's going on."

The endearment sends a jolt through your system, and you squeeze your eyes shut, trying not to cry. You've spent the past twenty-four hours doing nothing but thinking about this, trying to steel yourself for what's to come, and yet here he is, begging for answers, and you're not ready. You can't bring yourself to say the words, can't bring yourself to push him away, but if you don't, it will only get harder.

"Please," he whispers. "What did I do? How did I hurt you?"

You can't look at him, but you can't ignore him, either. The last thing you want is for him to think any of this is his fault, and so you force yourself to turn, your eyes meeting his, and your resolve breaks.

"You didn't," you murmur. "It's not your fault, I promise."

"Then tell me what's wrong," he pleads, and his voice is soft, and the desperation in it is enough to break your heart. "Tell me what I can do to fix this."

Wrecker reaches out and takes a step towards you, his hand outstretched, but the gesture is hesitant, almost as if he's afraid to touch you. When you don't move away, he steps closer, his fingers brushing the hem of your sleeve. His gaze is intense, his eyes searching yours, and the ache in his voice is enough to make you want to scream.

"I'm not good at this," he admits. "This...talking stuff. I never know what to say, and I'm sorry. If I made you uncomfortable, or did somethin' wrong, I'm sorry."

"Wrecker..."

"I just want to make things right," he whispers, and his fingers curl around your sleeve. "Just tell me how, and I'll do it. I'll fix it."

He's so earnest, so sincere, and the guilt is crushing. You can't lie to him, not anymore. Not when he's looking at you like this.

"It's not that simple," you say, and the words feel like lead in your mouth.

"Why not?" he asks, his voice raw.

"Because," you say, the words tumbling out before you can stop them. "Because I can't do this anymore, Wrecker. I can't..." You trail off, the words dying on your tongue. You can't bring yourself to say them, can't bring yourself to end things like this. But it's too late. He knows.

He drops his hand, and the look of pain on his face is almost enough to break your heart.

"Do what?" he asks, his voice shaking.

"This," you say, gesturing between the two of you. "Whatever this is. I can't keep pretending that I don't know what you mean when you call me those names. I can't keep acting like it's nothing, because it's not." 

Wrecker stumbles back a step, eyes wide.

"You knew?" he asks, and his voice is barely audible. "This whole time...?"

"Of course I knew," you say, trying to keep the frustration out of your voice. "You think I could have missed it?" You try to laugh, but it comes out as a choked sob. "You're not exactly subtle, Wrecker."

"Oh," he says, and the single word holds a world of hurt. He turns away from you, his hands curling into fists at his sides, and the tension in the air is palpable. A heavy silence settles in, and when he speaks again, his voice is a hoarse whisper.

"Why didn't you say something?" he asks. "Why didn't you tell me to stop?"

"I couldn't," you say, swallowing the lump in your throat. "I...I liked it too much."

"What?" Wrecker turns, his head snapping around to face you, and his expression is torn between hope and horror.

"You heard me," you say, fighting to keep your voice steady. You turn away, but his hand finds your chin, gently tilting your face back to his. The heat of his palm burns into your skin, his touch so gentle, and your heart leaps into your throat.

"Then why are you doing this?" he asks, and the words are barely audible. "If you like it, why are you trying to push me away?"

You close your eyes, trying to gather your thoughts. It's a good question, and one you're not sure you can answer.

"Because," you start, and then trail off. When you open your eyes, his face is inches from yours, and the pain in his eyes is overwhelming. "Because I'm not meant for this. For us." You motion between the two of you. "I have a duty. A responsibility. I can't...I can't give you what you want. What you deserve."

"But I don't want anyone else,” Wrecker says softly, his thumb brushing your cheek. "I just want you."

The words hit you like a punch to the gut, and you close your eyes, trying not to cry. You can feel the warmth of his body, the weight of his hand, the scent of him surrounding you. You want to pull away, to run and hide, but the way his hands cradle your face, the gentleness in his touch, makes it impossible.

"You don't mean that," you whisper, the words like poison. "You can't. I'm a Jedi. You know what that means. You know what my life is. I can't give you anything, Wrecker. I can't even be there for you. I can't..."

"Stop," he whispers. 

His hands drop, moving to your shoulders, and he turns you, pulling you closer. You let him, and his arms wrap around you, his forehead resting against yours. The touch is warm and gentle, and his eyes are soft, full of pain and love. 

He's never been anything but gentle with you, even when he didn't have to be. Even when the mission demanded he take risks, put his life on the line, he was always careful with you. Always protective. Always gentle. And now, here, when the mission is over, the danger gone, he's still treating you like something precious, something to be treasured.

It's too much.

"Don't say that," he murmurs, his voice low and rough. "You don't get to tell me how I feel. You can't decide for me, cyar'ika. I'm not gonna change my mind. I'm not gonna stop caring about you. So just...just stop. Okay?"

Your hands find his, curling around his wrists. His pulse is pounding under your fingertips, and his chest is rising and falling with each breath, the beat of his heart matching the rhythm of yours. It would be so easy, so tempting, to let yourself give in. To give him the answer he wants. To give him the one thing you've wanted to give him for so long.

But you can't. You can't let him sacrifice his future, his happiness, for you. It's too much. Too selfish.

"Wrecker, please," you say, squeezing his wrists. "Don't make this harder than it has to be."

"Then don't do this," he whispers. "Don't walk away from me. Please." His voice breaks, and his fingers dig into your shoulders. "Just...just give me a chance."

You want to scream. You want to cry. You want to hit him, to shove him away, but you can't. All you can do is stare up at him, his face inches from yours, his eyes begging. It would be so easy, and yet, impossibly difficult. If you do this, if you give in, it's not just your life on the line, but his. If you give him what he wants, if you allow him to care for you, it will only lead to more heartbreak. More pain.

And yet...

You can't bring yourself to pull away, can't bring yourself to deny him. And, if you're honest with yourself, you don't want to. You've wanted this for so long, wanted him, and now that the moment has finally come, the opportunity has presented itself, you can't let it go.

"I can't," you whisper, your voice shaking.

"Why not?"

"Because I'm scared," you confess. You reach out and cup his cheek, running your thumb over the scarred tissue beneath his eye, and his expression softens. "I'm not supposed to feel like this. I'm not supposed to...to love you." The words come out choked, and the tears in your eyes blur your vision. "It's wrong. It's forbidden. It's...it's..."

"It's what?" he asks, his voice rough with emotion. "It's amazing? It's the best feeling in the galaxy?"

"Yes," you whisper, and the tears spill over. "But I can't do this. I can't...I can't let you sacrifice yourself for me."

"You think that's what I'm doing?" Wrecker asks. His hand slips from your shoulder, his fingers stroking your cheek, catching a tear as it falls. "Cyar'ika, I'd sacrifice myself for you a hundred times over. You think I care about what they'd say? They can go kriff themselves. I'd fight every single member of the Council for you, if I had to. But I don't need to. 'Cause they can't tell me what to do, and neither can you."

"You say that now," you mutter. "But—"

"I'll say it every day," he cuts in. "Every single day until you believe me. I don't care about them. I don't care about the rules. I just want you."

"Wrecker, stop," you whisper, but he shakes his head, his hands cupping your face, his thumbs brushing your cheeks.

"I know you're scared. I know you're worried about what's going to happen. But we don't have to think about that. We can just be together. Just us. Nobody has to know. We can figure this out. Together. But you gotta let me in."

You stare at him, stunned by the strength and certainty in his words. He's right. You are scared. You're terrified. And not just of what the Council will do, or what the consequences might be. 

You're afraid of him, of the power he holds over you, the way you feel about him. But standing here, with his hands on your face, his eyes searching yours, it's enough to make you reconsider. Enough to make you question everything. And so you swallow your fears, and you say the words.

"I love you, Wrecker."

His lips part, and his eyes widen, and the sound that comes out of his mouth is halfway between a laugh and a sob.

"You mean that?" he asks, his voice tight with emotion.

"Yes," you say, and the word is like a weight lifting off your shoulders. "I do. I love you."

His arms slip around your waist, and he pulls you into him, pressing his forehead against yours, his breath warm on your face. He doesn't say anything, just stares down at you, his gaze burning, and the silence stretches on, charged with anticipation. And then, finally, he speaks.

"I love you too, cyar'ika," he says, his voice trembling. "More than you know."

Your heart feels like it's going to burst. You pull him close, burying your face in his chest, and his arms wrap around you, holding you tight. It's an overwhelming feeling, this affection, this love, but you can't deny it. Not anymore. And as you stand there, his body wrapped around yours, his hands running through your hair, you know that he's right.

"Don't let go," you whisper, your voice muffled by his armor. "Please, don't ever let me go."

"I won't," he says, his voice a rumble in his chest. "I got you, an'edee. Always."

The words send a jolt of warmth through your body, and you melt into him, allowing yourself to be swept away by the feeling. It's like coming home, the warmth and comfort washing over you, and the tension melts away, leaving only relief in its wake. 

You're not sure how long you stay there, wrapped up in each other, but when he finally pulls away, you're stunned by the look in his eyes. No one has ever looked at you like that. No one has ever seen you like he does.

"Better?" he asks, his voice gentle.

"Yes," you say, smiling up at him. "Thank you."

"Don't thank me," he says. "You don't gotta thank me. Just keep lookin' at me like that."

"Like what?"

"Like you love me," he murmurs.

"Oh," you reply, blushing. "Well, then, I suppose I should do my best. It wouldn't do for me to fail in that regard."

He chuckles, his hands sliding up your sides. "No, it wouldn't."

You shiver at his touch, the heat of his hands sinking into your skin. His palms are rough and calloused, and his fingers are gentle, tracing the curve of your waist. Your eyes meet, and his smile is so wide, so warm, that you can't help but return it.

"So," he says, his hands drifting lower. "Where does this leave us?"

"Us?"

"Yeah. You know, our relationship," he says. "Are we...together? Or do I still gotta keep pretendin' that you're just a friend?"

You sigh, a smile tugging at your lips. "Together, Wrecker. We're together."

"Good," he grins, his eyes bright. "'Cause I wasn't sure how much longer I could take it. Having you around, knowing how I felt, not being able to do anything about it."

"That's why I was avoiding you," you admit. "I knew if I had to spend much more time with you, I was going to break. I was already having trouble controlling my feelings. If we'd had another mission, I don't think I would have made it. I was so close to telling you how I felt."

"Really?"

"Yes."

"Kriff, cyar'ika," he groans, his grip on your waist tightening. "I wish you would've said something sooner. Woulda made things a lot easier."

"I'm sorry," you murmur.

"Don't apologize," he says, his voice husky. "You're worth the wait."

Your breath catches in your throat, and his eyes flick to yours, and his grin turns mischievous.

"What is it, mesh'la?" he asks, his fingers digging into your hips. "Tell me."

"I, um..." You clear your throat, trying to ignore the way his voice makes your insides turn to mush. "It's just that...when you call me those names, it, uh, does things to me."

"Good things?" he asks, leaning in.

"Yes."

"You want me to keep saying them, then?"

"Yes."

"Well, I can do that," he murmurs. His breath is warm on your skin, his voice low and teasing. "And I can do a lot more, too. If you want me to."

You stare up at him, trying to ignore the butterflies in your stomach, trying not to let your desire show on your face. You've never done anything like this, never even considered doing something like this. And yet, the idea of him touching you, kissing you, fills you with anticipation.

"I'd like that," you manage, your voice hoarse.

"You sure?"

"Yes."

He nods, and he leans down, his lips ghosting over yours. His eyes search your face, and he waits, and when you nod, he presses his lips to yours.

It's a slow, soft kiss, the barest brush of skin on skin. But the contact sends a thrill through your body, and you can't help but press closer, wanting more. Your hands move to the back of his neck, pushing yourself onto the tips of your toes, and he obliges, pulling you in.

His lips are warm, his tongue slick and hot as it traces the seam of your mouth. You open for him, letting him deepen the kiss, and his palm slides up your back, cradling your head. His thumb strokes your cheek, and the gentleness of the gesture sends a rush of warmth through your veins.

When the two of you finally break apart, your lungs are aching, and his breath is ragged. He leans his forehead against yours, his fingers tracing lazy circles on the back of your neck.

"Kriff, cyar'ika," he whispers, and the name sends a thrill through you. You can hear the longing, the need, in his voice, and it's enough to make your knees weak. "Do you have any idea how long I've waited for this?"

"Tell me," you say, your voice shaking.

"Too long," he murmurs. "Far too long."

You lean back, looking up at him. The adoration in his eyes takes your breath away, and you pull him down, kissing him again. This time, the kiss is deeper, more intense, and you can't hold back a moan as his tongue slips past your lips.

The noise seems to ignite something in him, because the next thing you know, his arms are around you, lifting you up with ease. You wrap your legs around his waist, pulling him in, and his hands roam over your back, sliding down to cup your ass. He breaks the kiss, his lips moving to your neck, and the heat of his mouth, the scrape of his teeth, makes you gasp.

Wrecker sets you down on the edge of your bunk, and the height difference is suddenly very apparent. You're not used to being on eye level with him, but now, with your legs spread, his body between them, it's impossible not to notice. His gaze rakes over you, taking in every detail, and the hunger in his eyes sends a jolt of excitement through your body.

"You're so beautiful," he murmurs, his fingers tracing the line of your jaw. He sounds awed, like he can't believe his luck, and the compliment makes your heart flutter. "So kriffing beautiful, cyar'ika." 

You lean into his touch, and his fingers brush against your lips, the callouses of his hands rough against your skin. You kiss his fingertips, and the heat in his gaze makes you blush.

"Not as beautiful as you," you murmur. He shakes his head with a wide grin, his eyes crinkling at the corners.

"No one's as beautiful as you," Wrecker says, his hand finding yours. His fingers lace with yours, and he raises your hand to his lips, pressing a kiss to the back of your knuckles. His touch is gentle, and the tenderness of the gesture makes your heart clench. "I could look at you forever. Never get tired of it."

The heat on your cheeks is unbearable, and you're not sure how to respond. Words can't capture the emotions coursing through you, and so you lean in, your lips meeting his in a searing kiss. He groans against your mouth, his hand finding the small of your back and pulling you flush against him.

You wrap your legs around him, the need to be closer, to feel his body pressed against yours, overwhelming. He seems to understand, his fingers tangling in your hair, his teeth nipping at your lip.

"I'm gonna take such good care of you, cyar'ika," he promises, his voice rough with emotion. "Promise."

"You already have," you whisper. "Just having you here is more than I deserve."

"Don't talk like that," he mutters. His hand slides up, cupping the back of your head, and he kisses the corner of your mouth. He tilts your face up to meet his, and the intensity of his gaze is almost overwhelming. "I've never wanted anyone the way I want you. I'm not gonna give that up. You're mine, and I'm not lettin' go."

The words are a jolt to your system, the possessiveness of his tone making you tremble. He's always been protective of you, but this is different. This is more than just a desire to keep you safe. This is something else entirely. You can't find the words to respond, and so you nod, swallowing the lump in your throat and praying the tears in your eyes don't spill over.

"Wrecker," you whisper. "I..."

"I love you," he murmurs, his nose brushing against yours. "So much."

The words are a balm on your aching heart, and the tears finally fall. Wrecker leans in and kisses them away, his lips soft and gentle against your cheeks. The tenderness, the closeness, it's too much to bear, and the emotions welling up inside you are overwhelming. You wrap your arms around him, burying your face in his chest, and he holds you tight, his hand rubbing soothing circles on your back.

"I got you," he whispers. "It's okay. You're okay."

"I'm sorry," you murmur. "I don't know why I'm crying."

"I do," he replies. He cups your chin, tilting your face up to meet his. His eyes are soft, and his lips curl into a gentle smile. "You've been through a lot, and you're tired. You're allowed to cry."

You nod, wiping the tears from your face. He's right. The past few days have been exhausting, emotionally and physically. Between the mission, the tension between the two of you, the anxiety and uncertainty, it's a miracle you're not falling apart.

"Hey," he murmurs. "Stop thinking so hard. It's okay."

"I'm not supposed to let my emotions get the best of me," you murmur.

"That's some banthashit, an'edee," he says, and his voice is teasing, but there's a hint of steel in it. "You're human. You're allowed to have emotions."

"I suppose," you reply, unable to keep the smile off your face.

"Good," he says, and his thumb strokes your cheek. "We'll make this work. We'll find a way."

"Wrecker," you sigh.

"Shh," he cuts in. "None of that. We're together, right?"

"Right."

"Then trust me. I'm not gonna let anything happen to you," he promises. "I'll keep you safe."

"I know," you whisper, closing your eyes.

"We'll figure it out," Wrecker says. "It might be hard, but we'll find a way. We always do."

He leans in and kisses you again, his lips soft and warm. You kiss him back, allowing yourself to give in, to let go of the fear and worry, to let yourself be swept away by the feeling. He's right. It will be difficult, but it's worth it.

This is where you belong, in his arms, and no matter what the future holds, no matter what the Order says, no matter the consequences, you know you'll always have him. And that's more than you could have ever hoped for.

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

@spicy-clones @kindalonleystars @cw80831 @totallyunidentified @heidnspeak

@lovelytech9902 @frozenreptile @chocolatewastelandtriumph @etod @puppetscenario

@umekohiganbana @resistantecho @dindjarins1ut @tech-aficionado @aynavaano

@burningnerdchild @ihatesaaand @lolwey @hobbititties @mere-bear

@thegreatpipster @lordofthenerds97 @tentakelspektakel @notslaybabes @mali-777

@schrodingersraven @megmegalodondon @dangraccoon @dreamie411 @sukithebean

@bimboshaggy @anything-forourmoony @9902sgirl @jedi-dreea @salaminus

@ghostymarni @gottalovehistory @burningnerdchild @yoitsjay @callsign-denmark

@julli-bee @sonicrainbooms @captn-trex @feral-ferrule @webslinger-holland

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

@floofyroro @veralii @chubbyhedgehog @meshlajetii @heaven1207

@808tsuika @aanncummings @lugiastark @maniacalbooper @sensitive_shark

@kashasenpai @kkdrawsdecently @isaidonyourknees

Oh as the owner of the worlds coldest feet (and terroriser of my husband with them) - I absolutely adore this. I can feel Alpha’s grump through the screen which is brilliant. Thank you so much for sharing this delightful piece of wintertime goodness.

PS is it bad I would let Alpha get away with doing no housework. Like he could just sit there and look pretty???

So I wasn't going to do ANY winter fics until after my Birthday (I just hate Christmas before my birthday, sorry) but I wrote this fic and 🤣 Well, truth be told...it's just me tormenting Alpha (lovingly) through Reader 🤣🤣🤣

So I thought you'd all enjoy reading this.

This is also a fic for @clone-wars-winter-challenge using prompts "I'm cold" and Fluffy Blanket I just happened to pick Alpha, I know he doesn't count towards prompts

P.s. I decided to use my winter/'xmas' (Yule) divider since it will be part of that masterlist on my blog. Plus I probably won't have too many this year 😅

Warnings: Reader is referred to a she once, has hair long enough to cover their face and wears panties+nightshirt to bed. Established relationship, lots of silliness, poor Alpha is tortured via cold feet, suggestive - spice that fades to black but nothing explicit. Reader likes to annoy Alpha and Alpha likes to pretend he hates every second of it. Alpha is soft and twitterpated, but definitely sounds harsher at first. Dialogue prompt is in blue!

Cold Feet Lead to Bedtime Heat

Alpha-17 x Reader

You slowly closed down your residence, ensuring all the doors were locked, all the curtains were drawn, that the designated "safety" light above your stove was left on, and that your elderly tooka had not only fresh water and kibble, but that you took his fluffy blanket out of the dryer and bunched it up on your lover's favourite chair for the old boy - he loved sleeping there but this time of year always left him colder. Especially now nearing the end of his life. And with a goodnight kiss pressed to the mostly black feline, you headed straight to your bedroom

"Finally done?" you lover mumbled, still awake and reading something on his datapad.

One hand holding said pad and scrolling with his thumb, while the other held a still steaming mug of either cocoa or cider, you weren't sure which but it didn't really matter. Both tasted good on his lips in your opinion.

"Well, if you helped get the house ready for bed...then I wouldn't take so long" you teased shimmying out of your clothes

"And miss this view?" came the appreciative hum as you bent to reach into your drawers "Not on your life"

You snorted at the flirt and continued to gather new pjs, trying to ignore the heat that stoked just enough to let you know it had returned

"One of these days, you're going to have to come up with something better as an excuse" you said as you pulled the nightshirt over your head

"Right" he nodded curtly, his attention darting back to the datapad

"And what will it be then? hmm?" you urged with a hunch of what he'd turn to next

"How about 'I'm too old'?" he mumbled before taking another sip

"Not too old to tackle me into the bed and enjoy hours of passion, but too old to help close down the home you share with me?" you asked turning around to face him

"Absolutely" there was a hint of a smirk on his lips as he peeked back up at you "You coming in here or what?"

A mischievious smile grew on your lips as you rushed the bed and grasped at the blankets, but before you could yank them up, his heavy hand slapped at them

"Oh no. I know that look. You are not putting your cold ass feet on me again" he growled, quickly setting his mug on the bedside table, knowing full well what happens if he has to move quickly with it and not wanting to deal with the mess that it leads to.

"Whaaaat? Nooo" you drew out acting as innocent as possible "My darling, I would never....!"

"'My darling', my shebs. I know you too kriffing well Cyare." he pointed his finger at you accusingly "Not. Tonight"

The stare down of the century too place between you both before you whined and pouted - technically giving up but not surrendering to the mini war effort, just conceeding the singular battle

Alpha stared at you for a good few more minutes, suspicious of your play - and rightfully so. Because you were still bound determined to get him.

But when you dramatically fell across the blankets about to lament about how cruel your lover was and how much be truly must no longer love you

"Get in bed," the large clone scoffed, hiding his smile well "Don't start that up again. It's late."

He flipped back a portion of the blankets - which there were a total of 5, three normal and two super fluffy, on your shared bed - to invite you in

"Hurry up, the heat I procured is leaving" he grumbled

Knowing better than to make him wait in a situation like this - nor wanting to sit in the frigid air with your only panty-covered ass out, you dove into the blankets.

Quickly your body sunk into the mattress as you sighed loudly. Then you wiggled - er perhaps thrashed controllably are the better descriptors- in the sheets to get comfy. Entirely ignoring Alpha's sounds of displeasure at being jostled with you, knowing he found it amusing more than annoying. You did so until you had successfully buried yourself in the bedding

"All done?" he called softly, peeking at the hole left behind in your wake

"Yes...!" you practically purred in delight "I'm nice and cozy now"

Your dear beloved chuckled deeply and nodded, leaning back to his side of the bed to reach for his mug

"That's go-"

With a sudden glimmer of miacheif returning to your eyes, you ripped your legs to the side and settled your freezing bare feets along his thighs, inciting a shout and the mug to drop back against the table top.

"SON OF A-" He yelled then quickly reached under the blankets to rip your feet off him "THE KRIFF IS WRONG WITH YOU?!"

You didn't respond, too busy cackling and gasping for air as you did so. Your legs trying their best to out maneuver him and touch your feet to his bare skin again - hopefully somewhere with more heat.

But just as you freed one foot from his strong grip and was a mere cm from touching the apex of his thighs-

"I don't karking think so!" he growled, rolling ontop of you and pinning your hand on either side of your head.

In the process of the movement he'd tangled the blankets around you and trapped you alone within them, his bare form now out of the covers and in full display for your greedy gaze.

His annoyance melted into a huff of pout once he noticed he'd lost all the heat and you had successfully stolen it all.

"Brat" he practically spat the word, although his eyes creased with an adoration at your annoying but adorable grin on your lips.

His eyes drifted to the mass of messy hair tangled about your face and parcially obscuring you, your glittering-with-giddiness irises that had entirely abandoned meeting his in favour to oogle.

"You're lucky I love you" he grumbled, leaning in and working his face through the tendrils of hair to get to your lips amd kiss you breifly "Now, I'm cold"

"Ah well, you see" you cooed softly, chasing after his lips "I happen to have this excess of heat here...and I would just love someone to snuggle with and share it with me"

"Oh really," he grumbled sarcastically "What a coincidence"

You giggled loudly again

"And I wouldn't mind making more heat...if it meant I got a certain pair of nice, strong arms around me"

"Of course" he chuckled "You also wouldn't happen to be looking for a chest to use later for your pillow...would you"

Alpha watched as you dramatically gasped in mock surprise

"Why yes! It's as if you read my very mind, good sir!"

Your lover snorted at your words and hung his head

"Why are you like this" he chuckled out

"Because you love me like this" you answered, but then added when you saw his head shake "And because I was specifically made just for you"

"Oh wow" came the sarcastic reply "Who could've forseen that. Someone created just for me when she was born well before me"

You both struggled a bit at the blankets to let him back inti their warmth - which you promptly wrapped your arms around his neck and gazed lovingly up at him.

"I combat all the bad, awful and sad things you went through" you whisper "I make sure the rest of your days are full of stupid shenanigans, laughter and love"

With a tender look filling his gaze and a smile unashamedly posessing his lips, Alpha pinned you to the mattress once mire. However, this time it was full of gentility and sweetness.

"I think I can stomach that" he whispered "So long as you're alright stomaching a grouchy, cold man who's seen too much"

"Funny, I was just telling my two best friends that, that is just the very specific, hard to find kind of man I need" you whispered in return as he pulled the warm blankets around you both further and further to obscure you both from the galaxy

"Funny" he answered lips just above your own

"A man like that, who hides just how tender and loving he can be" your lashes flicked down as your gaze left his in favour of staring at his lips

"I'll see if I can suffer to oblige, Cyare" he breathed out, his lips moving against your own until the words became muffled with the kiss you both shared.

The kiss that quickly grew into that heat you both wanted so desperately.

Winter Solstice Masterlist

Yule dividers by me

Reblog divider by dystopicjumpsuit 💜

What is love at first sight like?

I miss seeing my boys in action 🤎

okay guys so I was watching the livestream of Dee Bradley Baker with his live signing today, + a fan had him quote:

“Oh I’m much worse” as crosshair, and he already had an extra raspy voice because he just finished doing a bunch of recordings. So it’s like HEAVY RASPY CROSSHAIR VOICE!!

he then continues to say while he’s laughing about it, “that’s a line I improvised, I remember that, that’s a funny line. Funny old crosshair” AND I LOST IT laughing + screaming!

Dee was like “it brings me a pang of delight”.

But not the fandom losing their shit already at the line when it was said, but having him repeat it as extra raspy crosshair was not on my bingo list for the year OMG!!

Hey, Vod'ika!! I'm in an Echo mood lately.

What about a fic where the reader has been with the batch since before the Empire and the reader and Echo got together round about the time of Order 66. The reader decides to join Rex's rebellion which Echo doesn't mind in fact he loves seeing you everyday. But after taking down Tantiss, Echo notices how you talk to the batch and how you just seem to fit in well on Pabu, so Echo gets an overbearing feeling that he's holding you back from an ordinary life so you have to reassure him that your home is wherever he is. ❤

Wouldn't Change A Thing

Summary: You’re always happy to get to visit your boys, and spending a week on Pabu is always a treat, but when you return to the fight with Echo after this most recent visit, he’s quieter and more withdrawn. And you’re worried.

Pairing: TBB Echo x F!Reader

Word Count: 1117

Warnings: None

A/N: This fic is soft, though I'm setting it in a perfect TBB AU where Tech is still alive. Because I'm a writer and I'm allowed to delude myself like that. (Though, he's actually not mentioned in this story). Anyway, I hope you like it!

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You stretch your arms over your head with a groan as you step out of the fresher and into the suite you share with Echo. As much as you love visiting Pabu, and seeing your boys, sometimes you feel like you need a vacation to recover from your vacation.

Honestly, Hunter can be so exhausting sometimes. And that’s even with him mellowing out since Omega came into his life.

You’re so glad you’re not their handler anymore.

You stretch a little more and grimace when the sunburn on your shoulders pulls uncomfortably. It’s fine, you’ll have Echo put aloe on your back before bed.

Speaking of said man—

Your gaze sweeps across the room. He’s not sitting on the couch, and the bedroom door is propped open, so you can see that he’s not in there either. Then you hear the familiar sound of dishes clinking together, so you turn and poke your head into the kitchen.

Echo’s back is to you, but you’d be surprised if he didn’t know that you were there. For a moment, you watch the muscles ripple across his back, and a tiny smile lifts your lips as you lean your head against the door frame.

Maker, you love him so much.

Echo pauses, and turns his head slightly, “You’re staring.”

“Mm, yeah,” You say through an adoring sigh.

He rolls his eyes and flings a damp washcloth at you. It smacks your chest and falls into your hand, “I’m hardly worth staring at.”

“Agree to disagree, my darling~”

“Cyare.”

“My beloved.” You continue with a grin as you cross the room to stand next to him, “My only. My—” Your words become muffled when he presses his hand over your mouth.

“Hush, you.”

There’s color high on his cheeks, and you giggle in delight. Something softens on his face at the sound of your giggle and he moves his hand from your mouth just enough that he’s able to caress your jaw. 

“You’ve got a sunburn,” Echo notes as he lightly brushes his scomp across the burn on the back of your neck and upper shoulders. 

“Yeah, I’ll need you to help me with some aloe later,” You reply absently as you rub your cheek against the palm of his hand, “If you don’t mind.”

“Oh no, the love of my life wants me to massage lotion into her skin. Whatever shall I do?” He counters, deadpan.

“How is it that you become more sarcastic after spending time with the boys?” You marvel.

“It’s a defense mechanism for having to deal with little brothers.”

You laugh and reach up to cup his face, “Well, I like it when you’re sarcastic.”

“Only because it means that you can be sarcastic right back at me,” He teases with a tiny smile, though the smile fades as he scans your face.

“Echo? What’s wrong?” You ask him, with a tilt of your head.

“You looked pretty happy on Pabu.” He murmurs.

“I mean, sure. Who’s not going to be happy to be able to lie on a beach with a fruity drink?”

“You seem to fit in well there,” Echo continues, “And the others were so happy to see you. And you were happy to see them.”

“Honestly, I’m not convinced that they’re able to survive without me,” You whisper up to him like you’re sharing a secret. “I think Crosshair lost weight, can you believe that!?”

“Cyare,” The affectionate pet name is murmured through a sigh, and you drop your hands from his cheeks, so you’re able to wrap your arms around his neck.

“What’s wrong, Echo? Talk to me.”

“I love that you’re here. I love waking up and seeing you every day.” Echo says slowly, “But, cyare, if you’d be happier on Pabu. I can take you back. You don’t have to stay here.”

You blink at him, struck mute by his words.

Slowly your arms drop from around his neck and you take half a step back, you can’t think when you’re wrapped around him like that. “Echo,” You speak slowly, “Do you want me to leave?”

Echo draws you back into his arms. Unlike you, he thinks more clearly when you’re in his arms. “Never. I want you here, in my arms, all of the time.” He presses his nose into your hair, his voice soft right by your ear, “But if you’re not happy here, then I’ll let you go in a heartbeat.”

Well, that’s what it is to love someone, isn’t it? If you love them, really and truly love them, you’ll want them happy. Even if it means that they’re not with you.

A soft sigh falls from your lips and you turn your head slightly so you’re able to kiss the side of his head, “Have I ever implied that I’m not happy here?” You ask.

“No, but I know you. You’d downplay a fatal injury if you worried it was going to be an inconvenience.” Echo replies.

You wrap your arms tightly around him again, “Then allow me to be blunt,” You trail light fingers across his skin, tracing the scars that show you that your love is a survivor, “Yes, I like Pabu. And yes, I like seeing my boys.”

He tenses slightly, his arms tightening.

“But, Echo, I am happier on Pabu when you are there. And I am happier spending time with the boys when you are with me.” He pulls back slightly, so he’s able to look you in the eye, and you continue with a small smile, “My place, Echo, is wherever you are. Be it here, or Pabu, or a moisture farm on Tatooine.”

“Cyar’ika—”

“And I wouldn’t change a single thing.” You pause, “Well, maybe I’d change the whole rise of the Empire thing, but that’s the only thing I’d change!” You inch closer to him so that you’re pressed flush against his body, “I love you, Echo. And I will stay here, with you, until you get tired of me.”

“It’ll never happen.” Echo replies as he bumps his forehead against yours.

“Are you sure? I can be really annoying.”

“The most aggravating woman I’ve ever met,” Echo agrees, his hand coming up to cradle the back of your head, “But I wouldn’t change you for all of the credits in the galaxy.”

“Good.”

Any further conversation is unnecessary, as Echo’s lips catch yours in a deep kiss and he starts walking you back towards the bedroom. “I should get the aloe,” He murmurs against your lips, “Something something good boyfriend.”

“You just want to be a pervert,” You accuse.

“Those aren’t mutually exclusive.” He laughs against your jaw, as he kicks the bedroom door shut.

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a flight risk with a fear of falling

pairing: commander Wolffe / fem reader

Word count: two.4K

Tags/warnings: mostly fluff and hurt/comfort, but suggestive at times. Sketchy fair rides, fear of falling summary: you and Wolffe attend a local fair. You have a great time, all goes well, until you’re stuck at the top of the Ferris wheel and are pretty convinced that you’re about to fall and die. Notes: reader is implied to be visually impaired here. However, of course, that does not mean you won’t enjoy if you’re not. This was just based off of a real life experience I had, and I couldn’t imagine writing it and the fear I felt without blindness being incorporated into it. Title is based off of the lyrics of mine by Taylor Swift.

You aren’t afraid of heights.

And really, you think, it would be silly for you to be, considering how little vision you have to look down at the world as it whizzes beneath you as you fly by. 

You and Wolffe had eagerly scrambled to get on the roller coasters with the highest peaks with barely a second thought, been on the drop zone more than once in a row, and the whole time, you had only been screaming with delight and adrenaline fuelled anticipation, your commander only rolling his eyes fondly, unable to conceal the upward curve of his lips or the crinkle of amusement between his eyes as they gleam, bearing witness to your unbridled display of excitement with quiet satisfaction. 

“As much as I love watching you becoming a little speed demon, meshla,” he says lowly, tucking you beneath his arm as you stumble, slightly woozy and breathless after your most recent ride, “maybe we should take a break from these.” 

He indicates the line of brightly coloured roller coasters that stretch in front of you, loud Carnival Style music blaring from many of them, accompanied by the ambiance of constant shrieks as they speed above.

“Are you saying you wouldn’t love me if I threw up all over your new boots?” You ask with a pout, letting your head drop against his chest with a sigh.

“That’s not what I said,” he chides, gently tucking a stray piece of hair behind your ear. “But do you really want to share a speeder with me on the way home if I smell like that?” he gives you a slight poke, and you wrinkle your nose with a shake of your head.

“Fiine,” you say with a dramatic roll of your eyes. “Boost told me that a wolf plushy is up as a prize at one of the games. We should try and win it, to show some pride for the Wolfpack, you know?.” 

His lips pull into a slight smirk as he gazes down at you. “Aren’t you actually suggesting that I should waste our precious tokens on a game that is probably a scam to try and win it for you?” he huffs, folding his arms across his chest as he gives you a playful scowl with a raised eyebrow. “Because no offense, but I don’t think your skill set lies in aiming rings at bottles, meshla,” he remarks, brushing a slight kiss against the tip of your nose.

Your pout transforms into a full on grin. “Yes, that’s exactly what I meant,” you confirm, completely unashamedly, with an enthusiastic nod. “You win the game, and I’ll be your personal cheerleader.”

“Hm,” Wolffe tilts his head, considering. “That would be more tempting if you were wearing the outfit,” he says, voice dropping, fingers lazily trailing down your side, idly making their path to your waist.

Your breath catches and you smack his arm playfully. “I don’t have a cheerleader outfit,” you announce, with a toss of your hair, placing a hand on your hip

You raise yourself up onto your tiptoes, leaning in and letting your own voice drop suggestively with a teasing smirk. “But, if you win the game, I’ll make sure that the night ends with my outfit scattered on the floor.” 

There’s a moment of dead silence, tension crackling in the air as Wolffe’s eyes rake over your form, both hands reaching out to settle against your hips.

Then, he unexpectedly hoists you up into his arms, causing you to squeak with surprise, steadying your self by grasping at his shoulders as your eyes dance. 

“Teasing little thing,” he hums, breath inches away from your ear as he speaks, making you shiver. “I’ll do it, then. But you better be prepared for us to lose all of our tokens on this, sweetheart.”

*

When he does actually manage to win, you’re pleasantly surprised. 

Not because you had any doubt in him, of course. But because you genuinely believed that all of the fair games were scams. Wolffe is ceaseless in his determination, though, as evidenced by the very limited amount of tokens you have left. He lines up each shot with as much precision as you imagine he does on the battlefield, his natural confidence in his abilities riling up the games supervisors, as with their increasing befuddlement, they try to make it harder for him, especially, in the end, when his confidence is proven to be not unfounded in the slightest.

“Here you are, ner cyar,” he says, easy smile on his lips as he passes you the very large, gray wolf stuffed animal.

“Thank you,” you say excitedly, wrapping your arms around the plushy and jumping up to give Wolffe a chaste kiss.

Your lips pull into a smirk, holding up the stuffed animal with pride. “Looks like I’ve got a new favourite cuddle buddy, Wolffe,” you tease. “You were great, but, I think I just found your replacement,” you chuckle, and are abruptly cut off when swiftly, Wolffe reaches out, effortlessly plucking the wolf from your arms and holding him high above your head.

“Don’t even joke about that, meshla,” he warns, tauntingly dangling him just out of your reach as you desperately try to grab for him. “Uh uh,” he tsks, look of mock disapproval settling over his features as he holds the plushy above your head by his ear. “You take that back first, and I’ll give him back to you.”

You scoff, rolling your eyes. “Lucky for you, the stuffed wolf won’t be able to replace you as the big spoon. So please, can I have him back?” 

“Good,” he says, smug smile on his face. Gently, he drops the stuffed animal, taking care to make sure that he lands in your arms without incident.

“We still have a few tokens,” you report, counting over the admittedly meagre supply. “We should go on the ferris wheel.” 

“I hope you’re not trying to put off us going home so that I don’t get as much time to partake in the other part of the winnings you promised me,” he quips, tilting his head quizzically.

“Of course not,” you defend, holding up the last ride tokens. “I just don’t want these to go to waste. Besides, I’ve never been on one before.”

Wolffe gives you a grin, suddenly mischievous, pulling your arm through his and bending his elbow almost out of habit, so that he can guide you.

“I haven’t either,” he admits, beginning to walk. “Let’s fix that for both of us.”

*

You are not afraid of heights. 

This, you are now reminding yourself, quite  sternly as the ferris wheel lifts you higher and higher by degree.

And maybe, you rationalize, that is still true. Because though watching the world blurring out of focus below you with your already limited vision is, unsettling, to say the least. It’s really the Ferris wheel itself, with one support bar around your waist being the only thing that stops you from plummeting face first Back down to the Earth below.

Being blind can alter or throw off your sense of balance and centre of gravity, and although this isn’t something you’re reminded of often, this is one of the times where it hits you full on, how unsteady you are, how close to teetering and falling all the way down you feel, even if, logically, you know the odds of that happening are small. You can’t convince your brain of that, so you freeze up completely, thinking that if you don’t move, that if you don’t even breathe, it’ll make it easier.

It doesn’t.

“What’s wrong?”

Wolffe is watching you, eyes intent, observant. At first, you’re not entirely sure as to what has tipped him off to your impending sense of doom. But then, looking down, finding that your hand has locked itself around his with an iron grip, you suppose it’s quite obvious. What’s more, your other arm is tightly wrapped around the stuffed wolf he won for you at the ring toss, your face hiding against its soft fur, eyes squeezed shut.

At your lack of response, he shifts, wanting to get a better look at you. Unfortunately, though, this causes the cart you’re into jostle, and even though the movement is slight and fleeting, you still let out a noise of distress, eyes going wide.

“Are you, scared of heights?” He asks, voice slightly incredulous and tentative.

You shake your head vehemently in denial. “No, no, it’s not that. It’s, I.”

You’re cut off as the wheel begins to move again, pulling you closer to the top before stopping. Somewhere, in the back of your mind, you think that the sun must be about to set, and it must be a nice view, for those who can appreciate it. For those who don’t feel like they’re about to die right now. 

“It’s not how high we are, Wolffe,” you try to explain, hating the way that your voice comes out in more of a whimper as you stare down at the ground. “It’s just I just feel like I’m going to fall. It it would be so easy,” you point with a shaking hand at the support bar, distrustful. “And what if something goes wrong and I...” you trail off, eyes blurring with unshed tears, to your utter mortification.

“It it’s not like the roller coasters, Wolffe,” you try to explain, clutching at the stuffed animal in your lap with anxiety. “On those, I didn’t have time to think about falling.”

All sense of logic and rationality has fled your mind like birds, leaving you feeling unstable, each heartbeat that pounds within the cage of your chest convincing you further that the slightest breeze is going to push you off, send you falling down off this precarious ride and to your certain demise. 

A single tear tracks its way down your cheek and carefully, Wolffe raises a hand to gently wipe it away. “Oh, ner cyar,” he breathes, movements slow and deliberate as he reaches out towards you, keeping it cautious, predictable, so that you know exactly what he’s doing. “C’mere,” he coos at you softly, arm reaching around you to easily pull you to him.

His other hand delicately smooths over your hair, before settling to cradle the back of your head, securely tucking you against his chest.

Miraculously, the feeling of his body, protective as it curls around you, Creating a safe cocoon for you to nestle in, Immediately begins to ease the all consuming fear inside your bones. Somehow, you feel less unsteady, isolated, and on the verge of falling as soon as he’s safely tucked you in his arms.

“Do you think I’m gonna let you fall, ad’ika?” He asks, voice a low rumble as he looks down at you, the stuffed animal comfortably wedged between the both of you.

The feeling of his strong arms holding you securely against his broad chest, the way his heart is beating steadily against your ear, is much more reassuring than the seemingly flimsy support bar, and your intrusive thoughts. In spite of yourself, you find your muscles beginning to unwind, melting into him as one of his hands, large and warm, caresses over your back, pressing firm, grounding circles in between your shoulder blades.

“N no,” you say, unable to conceal the slight tremor that runs through you as the ferris wheel moves again. “B but what if.”

“Shh, meshla, focus,” he gently Chides, redirecting you’re over thinking mind back to him, giving one of your shoulders a slight squeeze of encouragement. “I want you to close your eyes, and breathe, and all you have to do is focus on me, alright? Nothing else, just you and me, right here,” he continues, voice a calm, steady stream.

You give him a small, shaky nod, before turning your face against his chest, relieved when you can no longer see the world growing smaller when you’re tucked against him like this. Slowly, hesitantly, you let your eyes close, and you’re surprised and relieved to find that the impending sense of dread is beginning to fade.

You’re rewarded with Wolffe lowering, a slight dip of his chin, peppering several kisses to the top of your head as he holds you tightly. “Good girl,” he praises, voice a quiet breath against your ear.

The ferris wheel begins to move again and before you’re given time to think about it, he speaks, derailing the panicked thoughts that begin to stir.

“Your hair is so pretty,” he remarks, slowly running his fingers through the strands. “And so soft,” he murmurs, dropping another kiss to your head. “How do you get it to be like that?” 

Somehow, your lips pull into a small smile. “With a lot of work,” you mumble with a slight laugh and shrug.

“And?” He prods, lightly poking you in the side. “I want details, meshla. Give me your full routine, with the products you use. Give me a step-by-step guide.” 

You know that he probably doesn’t actually care. You know he’s making you talk to distract you from the movements of the ferris wheel around you. In spite of that, though, you give in, beginning to speak and explain exactly how you maintain your hair. 

To his credit, he seems to be listening attentively to everything you’re saying, eyes never leaving you as you speak, always prompting you with questions when you seem to not know what else to say. 

Before you know it, the wheel has brought your cart to the ground, and an attendant is releasing the support bar from around the both of you, allowing you to get down. 

Wolffe clambers out first, getting down to offer you a hand, helping you down off the attraction. Taking one look at the expression on your face, he wordlessly holds out his elbow, beginning to guide you both towards the fairgrounds exit.

“Are you that eager to get us home so that you can claim your winnings?” You ask teasingly as he pulls you behind him with long, purposeful strides.

He stops, turns to face you and catches your chin in his hand, tilting your face up to look at him as he idly runs a calloused thumb over your bottom lip, causing goosebumps to rise on your upper arms.

“Hm,” he says, expression contemplative as his other hand grazes down your side, experimentally dipping beneath the material of your top to trace teasing circles against your hip.

“Truth be told, meshla,” he muses, the low baritone of his voice slightly husky with desire. “I think you’re the one who deserves rewarding tonight.”

Your face breaks into a smile, even as you arch against his touch, with your breath catching in your throat.

“Well,” you start to say, finding you have to swallow several times as a blush creeps into your cheeks before you can respond properly.

“I certainly won

(x)

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

Just a couple of High Republic Princes

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

Happy Spoopy Month

how do people get through their lives without thinking about fiction during their every waking hour

Absolutely understandable incredible concept 10/10 would also look disrespectfully

I’m the staring type-

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

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

And With Thunder Comes Rain

Pairing: Wrecker x GN!Reader SFW

Can be read platonically/Mutual Pining

Dividers: @stars-n-spice

Word Count: 3,443

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Make sure they stay outta trouble.” 

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

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

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

“Just try, yeah?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“But how?”

He turned to face you, “I don't know,

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

So you decided that maybe one would be enough.

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

“When have we ever followed orders?”

“No!”

“Tech!”

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

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

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

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

Because he failed.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“S’ okay uh… if I sit in here?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“You okay?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

I’m SO excited to read more of this. Completely agree Fox is a grumpy cutie who needs reassurance, naps, blankies and the good caf. And I absolutely loved Thorn basically marching him for treatment and how he knew Fox would 💯 skip out the moment he wasn’t looking 😂

Too Sweet

Pairing: Fox x fem!Reader / Fox x Doctor!Reader

Words: 6,140/20,589

Tags/Warnings: 18+ only! fluff, strangers to lovers, grumpy/sunshine, description of blood/wound care, Fox is a little anxious/paranoid, and he needs a hug, you can pry goofy Thorn out of my cold dead hands, smut in part 3? 4?

Summary: Fox has no time for romance. He doesn't even have time for sleep, let alone dates. But when a horrible day at work leads him to you, he suddenly finds himself in danger of reevaluating his priorities.

A/N: Trying something a little different with more, shorter parts for these longer fics. Also forgot to say thanks for 650 followers! hello!

Previous Work | Next Work | Masterlist

“For the last time, I don’t need a medic.”

Fox is trying to be polite about it, but the tone of his voice is bordering on a growl. Every push on his shoulder is a jab to his pride, making him hiss like an angry tooka-cat. He knows he's being ridiculous, but that's never stopped him before.

His patience is already thin, but it had been stretched to the breaking point by a series of unfortunate events over the course of the day. The first, and arguably the most annoying, had occurred at the beginning of his shift.

Fox had woken up late, and his alarm clock had gone off with a loud, obnoxious tone that had caused him to shoot straight up in his bed, slamming a fist onto the off button. He scrambled out of bed and dressed faster than he thought possible, then hurried into the mess hall for the early shift breakfast. He was late enough that the food line was empty, and his choice was between a bowl of sludgy porridge or an unidentifiable ration bar.

The ration bar had tasted like stale durasteel, and the porridge was more of a thick slop, so Fox had opted for the latter. He scarfed it down with a mug of caf after an overdrawn fight with the machine, which tried to refuse him more than one portion of caf. He had left the mess hall with his stomach growling and his mouth bitter with the aftertaste of the caf, and his mood had soured even further when he found the lift under maintenance, forcing him to take the stairs.

When he arrived at the office, there was an enormous stack of datapads on his desk. A new security system had just been installed throughout the city, and the details were apparently too sensitive to be kept on the holonet. The only copies of the schematics were the ones on the physical datapads, and Fox had the wonderful task of checking every single one.

By the time lunch came around, Fox had managed to read through half the stack despite the constant interruptions. Someone would come in and ask about some obscure policy, or a trooper would report that someone had thrown a bottle at him, and the Chancellor would call for updates, and all the while, Fox had to be careful not to crush the datapads with his gauntlets.

The Chancellor was especially persistent today, calling him in person to demand a detailed analysis of the new security measures. Fox was forced to leave the datapads behind in order to give him an impromptu briefing, which ended with the Chancellor dismissing him with a wave of his hand and a curt, "I'm sure you have more important things to attend to."

Fox was seething when he returned to his office, and in a last minute attempt to escape his prison and an effort to calm himself, he decided to walk the patrol route himself instead of sending a trooper.

Of course, this had to be the day that every citizen on Coruscant decided to commit a crime, from a jaywalking elderly woman to a pair of pickpockets that had made off with a trooper's blaster. There was an argument outside a bar, an illegal speeder chase, and a man had decided to start a fire in the middle of the street, and all this had happened in the span of less than two hours.

Thorn had thought it was funny, but Fox hadn't found it nearly as entertaining. And now, he's been injured during the scuffle with the firestarter, and Thorn is making a big fuss about it.

Fox's shoulder throbs with pain as he moves, and he tries to ignore the way the skin is tightening around the wound. It's only a scratch, but it's deep, and Fox can feel blood oozing out of the cut and dripping down his armor. His head is pounding, and his chest aches from having been slammed against the duracrete by the man's boot.

A hand presses down on his shoulder, and Fox flinches away with another hiss. He turns on Thorn with a scowl

"I'm fine," he growls, shrugging Thorn's hand off his shoulder. "Leave it alone."

"Fox," Thorn says. He's trying to sound reasonable, but Fox can hear the exasperation in his voice. "It's a karking gash on your arm. I can't leave it alone."

Fox rolls his eyes. "I'm not letting you drag me back to the medbay for something as minor as this," he says. He turns and starts walking, heading towards the Senate building. "We've got more important things to do."

"I'm not dragging you to the medbay," Thorn says, running to catch up. He grabs Fox's arm and yanks him to a stop. "You're going to GMF. It's on the way to the Senate anyway."

"What? No!" Fox sputters, but Thorn is already pulling him down the street. He digs his heels into the ground, but Thorn is stronger than he is, and the other commander pulls him forward without breaking his stride.

"You're coming with me whether you like it or not," Thorn says, his voice firm. He doesn't loosen his grip, and Fox can only follow along helplessly. "The office will survive without you for a couple of hours."

"Thorn, you're not—"

"Yes, I am."

Fox scowls. Thorn isn't budging, and neither is he, and they've reached a stalemate. He's considering the merits of just sitting down and refusing to move, but before he can even make a decision, they're already at GMF.

"Let's go," Thorn says, pulling him up the steps. "Just stop trying to act tough and get over yourself."

Fox wants to protest, but Thorn has an iron grip on his arm, and he doesn't want to risk a public spectacle, so he allows himself to be pulled inside.

"Fine," he huffs. He can already feel a headache coming on, and his stomach is still grumbling in protest at its meager breakfast. Maybe he'll be able to sneak away before anyone notices, and no one will ever know that the Commander of the Guard was seen at GMF for such a minor injury.

"That's the spirit," Thorn says, grinning. He pulls on Fox's arm again, and this time, Fox lets himself be dragged away.

They've been sitting in the waiting room for a few minutes, and Fox is already starting to regret his decision. It's a busy day at GMF, and a steady stream of injured people are filing into the building, filling the waiting room with a cacophony of moans and groans.

Fox's shoulder is starting to throb again, and the wound is leaking blood into the fabric of his blacks. Thorn is tapping his fingers on the armrest of his chair, his expression thoughtful.

"I wonder how many people are in here because of you," he says, looking around the room. There's a group of young men sitting on the opposite side of the room, nursing a variety of wounds. "They must be getting sick of seeing the Guard around here."

Fox glares at him, and Thorn chuckles.

"You'd think they'd learn their lesson and stop committing crimes," Fox mutters.

"We'd all like that," he laughs. "But we both know that won't happen."

Fox sighs, leaning back against the wall. He shifts slightly, trying to find a comfortable position. He's still annoyed about his arm, and now the smell of bacta is starting to get to him. It had always had a pungent, chemical smell to him, and the scent of the various medical supplies is making him queasy. 

He can feel his stomach starting to churn, and he closes his eyes, trying to focus on his breathing. The bright fluorescent lights are only making things worse, and the sound of the door sliding open and closed as various people walked in and out of the medical wing is grating on his nerves.

It doesn't help that Thorn is sitting right next to him, staring him down like he's a suspect in an interrogation. He'd caught on to Fox's plan to slip away almost as soon as they'd stepped into the room, and Fox had been forced to endure his company as they waited for their turn.

"How long is this going to take?"

"They said they were pretty busy today," Thorn says. "I'm not sure, but you're probably going to be waiting for a while."

"Great."

"Don't be such a baby. It'll be over before you know it."

Fox groans and leans back in his chair. He can't help but think of all the work that he should be doing right now. The stack of datapads has probably gotten taller since they left the office, and he'll have even more work to do once he returns.

He hates the feeling of wasting time, especially when there's so much to be done, and at this rate, he'll be lucky if he manages to finish the rest of his work by nightfall. And that was if the Chancellor didn't call him again.

"You should go back," Fox says, looking up at Thorn. "I can handle this."

Thorn raises an eyebrow, giving him an incredulous look.

"And let you weasel your way out of getting that arm checked out?" he scoffs. "I don't think so."

Fox shoots him a glare, but Thorn only grins.

"Nice try, but no," he says. "I'm not letting you out of my sight."

"Thorn—"

"I'm not going anywhere."

Fox sighs and slumps in his seat. He can see that Thorn isn't going to budge, and he doesn't have the energy to argue with him. His shoulder is really starting to hurt now, and the bleeding hasn't slowed down yet. He's getting dizzy, and the queasiness is growing stronger

He closes his eyes, resting his head against the wall. He feels terrible, and the longer he sits here, the worse he feels. The smell of the bacta is making his stomach turn, and the noise and chaos in the room is starting to get to him.

The medical center always brings back memories of the Kaminoans, and he was usually only ever here when one of his brothers was seriously injured. He doesn't have fond feelings towards the place.

"This is a waste of time," Fox mutters. "I could be working, or doing literally anything else right now."

"You know it's not a waste of time," Thorn says. He's looking around the room, keeping a close eye on the other people. "You're injured, and you need to get that taken care of. Stop being such a stubborn di'kut."

Fox is about to say something in response, his eyes land on a medical droid heading their way. He lets out a sigh of relief and gets to his feet. Finally, his suffering is about to end.

"Commander Fox?" the medical droid asks, stopping in front of him with a metallic whir.

"Yes, that's me."

"Please follow me. We're ready for you now."

"Finally," Fox mutters, ignoring Thorn's chuckle. 

He follows the droid down a long, white corridor, his footsteps echoing against the tile floor. He keeps his eyes forward, refusing to look back at Thorn. He doesn't want to see the smug look on his brother's face.

After a few minutes, the droid leads them into an examination room and motions for him to sit down on the cot. Fox complies, perching on the edge of the thin mattress and crossing his arms, trying not to fidget, and Thorn takes a seat in the chair in the corner of the room.

The droid is quick and efficient, running the scanner over his shoulder and chest and checking the readouts. It tells him that he'll need some stitches and bacta treatment, and Fox sigh, nodding his agreement.

"Thank you, Commander," the droid says. It stands still for a moment, processing its data, and then turns and exits the room.

"You're not getting out of this one," Thorn says as soon as the doors shut behind the droid.

"I know," Fox grumbles, slumping in his seat. He rests his elbows on his knees, his hands clasped together. "I just want to get this over with."

Thorn shakes his head, a smile playing across his lips. He doesn't say anything, but Fox knows he's just happy to have won. They're both competitive, and any victory, no matter how small, is something to celebrate.

"Stop that," Fox snaps. He doesn't want to deal with Thorn's smugness. He's already irritated, and the last thing he needs is for his brother to rub his victory in his face.

"Stop what?" Thorn asks, feigning innocence.

“That thing that you’re doing with your face.”

“It’s called smiling, Fox, you should try it sometime. I think you could use the practice,” Thorn teases, and Fox rolls his eyes.

Before he can come up with a retort, the door opens, and Fox reflexively straightens, preparing himself for the worst. The medical droids aren't exactly known for their gentle touches and bedside manner.

To his surprise, the person who enters the room isn't a medical droid. 

Fox feels his eyes widen as he takes in the decidedly human figure standing in the doorway, a datapad in hand. Wearing a crisp, clean set of medical whites, you stand tall, and his first thought is that you're beautiful.

His second thought is that you look far too cheerful for someone working in a medical facility. Your eyes are bright, and you're smiling, and the expression is so warm and genuine that it makes him wonder how you're managing to maintain it in a place like this.

It's a nice smile.

It isn't until Thorn clears his throat that Fox realizes he's been staring at you for the last few seconds, and he hastily looks away just as you glance up from the datapad.

"Hello," you say, your voice soft. "Commander Fox, is it?"

"Y-yes," he manages to reply, feeling his cheeks flush.

"And I'm Commander Thorn," Thorn chimes in, and he shoots him a smug look when Fox turns to glare at him.

"Well, hello," you say. Your voice is warm and melodic, and your eyes are sparkling. "It's a pleasure to meet you both."

"The pleasure's all mine," Thorn replies, flashing you a grin.

"Yeah," Fox mumbles. "Pleasure."

He's never felt so awkward in his life, and he's suddenly acutely aware of the blood on his armor, the way his hair is sticking up in all directions, and the fact that he hasn't slept in a couple days. You, on the other hand, look fresh and put together, and you're practically glowing.

You introduce yourself, and you give them a brief summary of your qualifications and experience. Fox doesn't pay much attention to what you're saying. He's too busy trying not to stare at you, and it isn't until he hears the word 'bacta' that he snaps back to reality.

"Wait, what?" he asks.

"Bacta," you repeat, tilting your head slightly. "It's a healing substance that stimulates the body's natural ability to regenerate tissue."

"I know what bacta is," he says, his tone coming out harsher than he intended.

You blink at him, clearly startled by his response, and Fox feels his face heating up.

"Right," you say, clearing your throat. You offer him a small, polite smile, and he looks away, embarrassed. "As I was saying, we'll need to administer a small dose of bacta to the area where the injury occurred. It shouldn't take more than a few minutes."

"Fine." Fox crosses his arms and tries not to scowl, and you turn away, tapping on your datapad again. Thorn kicks him in the shin, and Fox gives him a look. The other commander gestures with his eyes to you, and Fox frowns, shaking his head.

"Do you have any allergies or medical conditions?" you ask, looking up from the screen.

"No," Fox says, shifting uncomfortably on the bed. The mattress is far too thin, and the metal frame is digging into the back of his knees. "I already told the droid."

"Right," you say. "Just making sure."

Fox glances over at Thorn, who gives him an exasperated look, and Fox sighs. He knows that he's being difficult, but he can't seem to stop himself. His shoulder hurts, his head is throbbing, and his stomach is rumbling, and he just wants to get this over with so he can return to the office and finally finish the rest of his work.

He looks back at you and sees that you're staring at him. You're looking at him with concern, and your lips are pressed into a thin line. You're not smiling anymore, and Fox feels a twinge of guilt.

"You don't have to be nervous," you say. "This is going to be a quick procedure, and it won't hurt at all. We'll use a local anesthetic and numbing spray, and you won't feel a thing."

"I'm not nervous," Fox protests, his face flushing. "I just don't have time for this."

"I understand," you say, and your expression softens. "But this is important, and we need to make sure that you're taken care of."

Fox wants to argue, but there's a hint of steel in your tone, and the look in your eyes is firm. You're clearly not going to let him get out of this, and he sighs, resigning himself to his fate.

"Alright," he says, reluctantly.

"Great," you say, giving him a small, reassuring smile.

He feels a little better when you smile at him, and he tries not to smile back. You turn away, busying yourself with setting up the equipment, and Fox takes the opportunity to look at you again. You're standing with your back to him, and he can see the outline of your figure through your medical whites. You're not very tall, but you're not short either, and he wonders how old you are. You can't be older than twenty-five, he guesses, but it's hard to tell with natborns.

"How did you get that injury, anyway?" you ask, glancing over your shoulder.

"Work-related incident," Fox says. He doesn't want to tell you the truth. He doesn't want you to think he's a clumsy idiot, or that he can't do his job properly.

"Oh," you say, sounding a little surprised. You turn back to the equipment, and he can see the muscles in your back tense. "That sounds... dangerous."

"It's nothing," Fox says, his voice low. "I can handle it."

"Of course," you say softly. You turn around and walk over to the cot, your gaze focused on the equipment. "Okay, armor off, Commander. Let's see it."

Fox stiffens, his heart skipping a beat. "I—what?"

"The injury," you say, your brow furrowing slightly. You reach over and brush your fingers against his arm. "Is something wrong?"

"No," Fox says, a little too quickly. 

Thorn lets out a snort, and Fox glares at him. He just raises an eyebrow, a knowing smirk on his face, and Fox rolls his eyes.

"Sorry, it's been a long day," he says as he turns back to you. "Just a bit tired, is all."

"That's understandable," you say, your lips curving into a small, sympathetic smile. "If it makes you feel any better, I've been on my feet since 0600."

"I think you win," Fox says, his voice dry.

You let out a small, breathy laugh, and his heart skips a beat again. It's a nice sound, and he feels a strange surge of pride at having caused it.

He was truly terrible at making small talk, and most people found his dry sense of humor off-putting. The fact that you had laughed at his words, even if it had been a polite, professional laugh, was surprising. It was hard not to see it as a small victory in an otherwise terrible day.

You smile at him again, and he feels a sudden urge to smile back. You look like you're about to say something, but then your datapad beeps, and the moment is lost.

"I'll be right back," you say. "Just got to check something."

You step out of the room, and Fox lets out a breath, relieved that you're gone. He hadn't expected you to be so friendly, or to be so concerned about him. Most natborns just saw the troopers as an extension of their equipment, and they only spoke to him if there was a problem. You're different, though, and it's unnerving.

"You're blushing."

"What?" Fox sputters, turning to Thorn. "What are you talking about?"

"Your face is red," Thorn says with a wide grin.

"It's the lights," he says, pointing to the ceiling. "They're too bright."

"I didn't know we could blush," Thorn teases. "That's kinda cute."

"Shut up."

"Oh, come on. You can't tell me you're not at least a little bit interested."

Fox sighs and shakes his head. "Not now, Thorn. We're in a medical center, not a bar."

"Good thing, too." Thorn stands up and starts to help him unlatch his armor, a smirk on his face. "Cause if we were, you wouldn't have a chance. She's way out of your league."

"You're the worst," Fox says, and he swats Thorn's hands away and reaches up to unfasten his shoulder plates himself.

"She's pretty," Thorn continues, ignoring him. He pulls off Fox's pauldrons and sets them on the ground. "And she's not scared of you, either. That's a first."

"Yeah, well, she works in a medical facility," Fox mutters, slipping out of his cuirass. "They must have taught her how to deal with difficult patients."

"Maybe," Thorn says. He removes the rest of Fox's armor, placing it carefully on the ground, and then steps back. "But I don't think that's it. She's nice."

"She's paid to be nice."

"That's not fair, and you know it."

"I don't need you playing matchmaker," Fox grumbles.

"Fine," Thorn says, crossing his arms. "But if you don't ask for her frequency, I will."

Fox's eyes widen. "Don't you dare—"

The doors slide open again, and you step inside, your expression bright. "Sorry about that."

Your gaze is focused on the gloves you're pulling over your hands as you walk in, but as soon as you look up, your smile vanishes, and you freeze. Your eyes are fixed on his arm, and Fox quickly glances down, noticing the large dark patch of blood seeping through his undershirt.

"Oh, Commander!" you exclaim, hurrying towards him.

"It's not that bad," he says. He hadn't realized how bad it was until now, and his heart is pounding in his chest. "I'm fine."

"No, you're not." Your tone is stern, and he finds himself shrinking back a little under your intense gaze. "Now sit still."

Fox does as he's told, watching as you pull a stool over and set up a tray. Your movements are swift and practiced, and you don't seem at all bothered by the amount of blood. You're frowning, but your eyes are calm, and Fox finds himself relaxing a little.

"Let's get this over with," you mutter.

You're not smiling anymore, and it unsettles him. He'd thought that he had imagined the steel in your voice earlier, but now he can hear it clearly, and it sends a shiver down his spine.

"Yes, sir," he says, trying to lighten the mood.

"It's doctor, actually."

Fox winces.

"My mistake," he mutters, his voice apologetic. "Force of habit."

You look at him, and he thinks he sees the barest hint of a smile tugging at the corners of your lips, but before he can be sure, your face is composed and neutral again.

"Would you prefer I cut the sleeve off, or would you rather take it off yourself?"

"I'll do it."

You nod, and he lifts his arms, peeling the soaked fabric away from his skin. His stomach clenches at the sight of the deep, bloody gash, and the stench of copper is heavy in the air. He can feel the blood beginning to trickle down his arm, and the sight of his pale, slick flesh is almost enough to make him vomit.

"Are you okay?" you ask, placing a hand on his uninjured shoulder.

"Yeah," Fox manages. He's feeling a little woozy, but he tries to push it down. "I'll be fine."

You give him a sympathetic look, and he looks away, his gaze fixed on the wall.

"Okay," you say. You grab a vial and a syringe and inject it into his arm. "This should help numb the pain. Try not to move."

Fox nods, and you lean closer, gently cleaning the wound. The smell of the disinfectant is strong, and he forces himself to focus on your face instead. Your expression is calm, and you're humming softly as you work, and he finds himself relaxing a little more.

"How did this happen, anyway?"

"Like I said, it's work-related."

"So it was a knife, then?"

Fox glances at the gash, and he nods. He can't tell if the cut is deep enough to require stitches or not, and he's a little worried that the knife might have hit an artery.

"You're going to have a nice scar."

"Good. It'll match the others," he mutters, his tone flat.

You pause for a moment, looking at him. Your expression is unreadable, but there's a sadness in your eyes that he doesn't understand. You resume cleaning the wound, and he tries not to think about it.

"Do you always go out in the field?" you ask.

"Sometimes."

"And do you usually get injured like this?"

"It's not uncommon."

"Hmm." You're quiet for a few moments, and then you glance up at him, your eyes filled with concern. "You're very brave."

Fox is stunned. No one has ever said anything like that to him before, and it catches him off guard. He doesn't know how to respond, and he just sits there, staring at you. You don't seem to mind, and you return your attention to his wound.

"This is a lot deeper than I thought," you murmur. "It'll need a few stitches."

"Okay," he says, his voice soft.

"Try to relax," you say, gently touching his arm.

He nods, and you begin to sew up the wound. He tries not to think about the fact that the needle is digging into his flesh, and instead focuses on the feeling of your gloved hands on his skin. They're gentle and warm, and the scent of the disinfectant is beginning to fade, replaced by the faintest trace of flowers.

He can't remember the last time someone touched him so tenderly. His brothers are rarely so careful, and most people who touch him are doing so with the intention of causing him harm. It's a pleasant change, and he finds himself enjoying it more than he expected.

"Sorry," you say, glancing up at him. "Almost done."

"Take your time," Fox replies. "I'm in no rush."

That's patently untrue, but the lie slips from his lips easily, and he's rewarded by a smile. He can see Thorn giving him a pointed look, and he knows that his brother will never let him live it down. But right now, he doesn't care.

The smell of flowers grows stronger, and he realizes that it's coming from you. The scent is subtle, but pleasant, and he's surprised by how much he likes it. He wonders what the source is. Is it your hair? Your skin? Or maybe it's something you wear, like perfume. He can't quite tell, and the mystery is starting to bother him.

You finish suturing his wound, and you dab some bacta gel over the stitches, sealing them. The sensation is cool and soothing, and Fox lets out a soft sigh of relief.

"How does that feel?" you ask.

"Better."

"Good," you say, your expression softening. You reach out and squeeze his uninjured shoulder, and Fox's eyes widen slightly at the unexpected gesture. "You should be all set, Commander."

"Thanks," he says, and the word sounds awkward in his ears. He's never thanked anyone for treating his wounds before. Usually, it was a medic droid, or another trooper, and his thanks were never required. But somehow, the words seem necessary now.

"Of course," you say, a hint of surprise in your voice. You remove your gloves, tossing them in the bin, and turn to clean up your equipment. "Do you have any other injuries, Commander? Any other...work-related incidents?"

"No, nothing else."

"Good." You stand up and stretch, and Fox takes the opportunity to admire the shape of your body. He can't help himself, and he quickly looks away, a flush rising on his cheeks.

"Thank you," Thorn chimes in, and Fox nearly jumps out of his skin. He had almost forgotten that the other commander was there, and his brother is looking at him with a knowing smile.

"You're welcome," you say, smiling at Thorn. You turn to Fox and offer him a smile, too, and he tries to smile back. It probably looks more like a grimace, and he quickly drops it.

"Now, remember, if that gets infected, or the stitches come loose before they dissolve, I want you to come right back, okay? No excuses."

"Got it," Fox replies.

"I mean it, Commander," you say, and you give him a stern look. "Don't make me hunt you down."

Fox blinks, his heart skipping a beat. You're serious, and he finds himself nodding, agreeing without thinking.

"Yes, sir," he says, and then mentally curses himself. "Doctor."

You chuckle, and the sound makes his chest tighten. It's the nicest sound he's heard all day, and he can't help but smile. You give him a playful salute, and he returns it, and you laugh again.

"Well, I hope we don't see each other anytime soon," you say, grinning.

"Me, too," Fox mutters, before he stiffens. "I mea—"

"I know what you mean," you say, your eyes sparkling. You hold out a hand, and he hesitates for a moment before taking it. Your skin is warm, and his breath catches in his throat when you gently squeeze his hand. "Take care, Commander."

"You, too," he says, and your smile widens. 

You pick up your datapad and step around the cot, moving towards the door. As you pass him, Fox catches another hint of the flowery scent, and his eyes widen. Lavender. It's lavender.

"Have a good day, gentlemen," you say. You flash him one last smile, and then you're gone.

He lets out a long, slow breath, trying to process what just happened. He feels... strange. There's an odd warmth in his chest, and he's still not quite sure what it is. He doesn't think it's anything bad, but it's new, and he doesn't know what to do with it. Maybe it's the blood loss. Or the painkillers. Or maybe it's the bacta. Yeah, it's probably the bacta.

Thorn slaps him on the back, and he lets out a startled noise, nearly falling off the cot.

"I don't know what the hell that was," Thorn says, chuckling. "But it was the most pathetic thing I've ever seen."

"Shut up."

"Seriously," he continues. "She's definitely way out of your league. I might even say she's way out of mine."

"I'm leaving," Fox grumbles. He grabs his armor and starts putting it on, trying not to wince as the plates rub against the bandages. "Get out of my way."

"Sure, sure," Thorn says, stepping aside. He gives Fox a sidelong glance, a mischievous look in his eyes. "Just make sure you give her your frequency."

Fox stops, his helmet half-on. He stares at Thorn, his mouth agape, and then turns away, pulling his bucket on over his head. He's not about to give Thorn the satisfaction of an answer. Not when his brother is clearly enjoying his discomfort so much.

He stalks out of the room, his boots echoing against the tile floor. Thorn follows, laughing, and Fox can feel his cheeks burning. He keeps his head down, his shoulders hunched, and he's determined not to speak another word. 

As they walk through the lobby, he notices you standing at the desk, speaking to the receptionist. You're not smiling anymore, but Fox can still see the ghost of it on your lips, and he feels the strange warmth growing inside him.

Thorn elbows him, and Fox lets out a hiss, glaring at him through his visor. He's already starting to regret allowing Thorn to drag him here. This whole experience had been far more traumatic than the injury itself, and he would have been better off ignoring it. But as he looks back at you, his gaze lingering on your form, he finds that he doesn't really regret it. At least not entirely.

The receptionist hands you a datapad, and you nod, thanking her. You turn and look at him, and he quickly ducks his head, pretending to adjust his pauldron.

"Commander!" you call out. "Wait a moment."

Fox stops, and Thorn snorts. He turns and sees you approaching, a small smile on your lips.

"Forget something?" he asks, and he winces internally at how gruff his voice sounds.

"Yes, actually," you say, stopping in front of him.

"Okay," he says slowly. He doesn't really understand why you're talking to him again, but he's not complaining. "What is it?"

"Your frequency."

Fox freezes, his eyes widening. He can't believe what he's hearing, and for a moment, he's convinced that he's misheard. It doesn't seem possible. Not with how the day has gone so far.

He glances over at Thorn, who's practically vibrating with excitement, and he quickly turns back to you, his heart racing.

"Uh..."

"I'll have the receptionist check in on you every few days, just to make sure everything is healing up okay," you continue. You hold out your datapad, and he takes it automatically. "But if there's any complications, or you notice anything unusual, don't hesitate to contact me, okay?"

The breath leaves his lungs, and he's grateful for the bucket over his head. Right. Of course. You're his doctor. This is completely professional. The disappointment that floods his veins is surprising, and he mentally scolds himself. What had he been expecting, anyway?

“That won’t be necessary," he says, handing the datapad back. "But thank you."

You frown. "Commander..."

"It's fine." He turns and gestures for Thorn to follow. "Come on, we've got work to do."

He can hear Thorn muttering behind him, and he knows that his brother is probably annoyed, but he doesn't care. The warmth inside him has vanished, replaced by an uncomfortable numbness. He doesn't know what he was hoping for, and he's glad that the conversation is over. It's better this way.

You call out after him, but he ignores you, and within moments, he's out of the building and back on the street. Thorn is right behind him, and they start the long trek back to the office.

"I can't believe you just did that," Thorn mutters.

"Did what?" Fox asks. He doesn't look at him, keeping his eyes fixed forward. He can feel his face heating up, and he's suddenly feeling very tired.

"You're an idiot," Thorn says, shaking his head.

"Shut up."

They walk in silence for a few minutes, and Fox tries not to think about the conversation. It doesn't matter, and it's better to just forget it.

He's been doing this job long enough to know that it’s dangerous to get attached to people, especially when they were civilians. Things never worked out, and the risk of getting hurt was too great. He'd seen too many of his brothers get their hearts broken by the citizens they were trying to protect, and he wasn't about to let that happen to him. It wasn't worth it. And you weren't special, anyway. You were just another natborn.

He repeats these thoughts to himself over and over, and eventually, he starts to believe them. The warmth inside him disappears, and the numbness returns. He's relieved. He's finally starting to get his head on straight, and the sooner he forgets about you, the better.

And yet, when they reach the Senate building, Fox hesitates. His eyes wander towards the medical center towering over the cityscape, and he feels a twinge in his chest. He tries to ignore it, and he continues walking, heading towards the office. But the ache doesn't go away, and the image of your smile lingers in his mind, taunting him.

He doesn't know why it bothers him so much. He'd only just met you, and it was nothing but a brief conversation. There was no reason to be upset. But somehow, it feels like something was taken from him. And he can't figure out what it was.

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