A Little Fun

Ahsoka deserves to bite Palpatine

SHE DOES!!

(donation doodles! // tip jar)

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Hello! Congratulations on another follow event!! That is so awesome!!🎉🎉

I was looking at the list of AUs that you write out, and was wondering if you could write a Fairytale AU with Wrecker please? And the ball could be a masquerade which would add onto the not knowing who the slipper belongs to mystery! This would also be with a gender neutral reader please!

Masquerade

Summary: You’ve been pushing off your marriage for as long as you can. But your uncle has finally gotten fed up with your procrastination. He holds a massive ball, in the hopes that you might find a partner. You don’t have any control over the party…but you can demand that it’s a masquerade.

Pairing: Pre Wrecker x F!Reader

Word Count: 2648

Prompt: Cinderella AU

Warnings: None

Tagging: @trixie2023 @n0vqni @imabeautifulbutterfly

A/N: Alright! I wasn't sure, for a long time, as to how to write this, but I think I just needed to write something that wasn't an AU to get something out that I liked. I hope you like it!

The room is filled with people clad in stunning gowns, intricate suits, and glittering masks in every shade of color known to man. Flowers have been picked from the gardens, woven together, and wrapped around the pillars around the dance floor filling the room with a soft floral scent that you would normally enjoy.

But, from where you’re standing near the refreshment table, nursing a fruity drink that’s so sweet that a single sip made you nauseous, you can’t help but think that the people here look like glittering bugs.

And all of them, every single one, are here on the off chance that they will impress you enough for you to marry them.

Disgusting.

You set your glass back on the table, smooth the skirt of your leaf green dress, and absently ensure that your mask (designed to look like different flowers and vines) is still attached to your face, and then you turn to the crowd.

No one will recognize you, that was the whole point of the masquerade, maybe you’ll find someone interesting enough to talk to. You’re not going to hold your breath though, in your experience, nobility is incredibly vapid and shallow.

Honestly, you’d have a more interesting conversation with the orchids in the garden.

Still, if you don’t even try, you’re uncle will throw the mother of all fits, and then choose a partner for you, and you’d sooner throw yourself into a river than allow that to happen.

So you plaster a fake smile on your face and start weaving through the crowd.

A few people stop your wandering so they can talk to you, though when the conversation turns to you, well not you, but to the crowned princess (who is you, but they don’t know that), you excuse yourself. Especially when they start insulting you.

You really don’t need to hear how people think that you’re lazy or entitled or how ‘when I’m chosen I’ll put her in her place’. 

Yeah, not going to happen. Ever.

Eventually, you find yourself sitting on the balcony overlooking the gardens. It’s a nice evening, not so hot that it’s sticky and miserable outside, but not so cold that you need a shawl to stay warm. You can still hear the music from outside, but no one else is outside with you.

Of course not. They expect the Princess to be inside.

You tilt your head back so you’re able to watch the stars. You trace constellations with your eyes, your gaze darting from one to the next, the myriad of stories racing through your mind as you find each constellation.

You’re pulled from your thoughts at the sound of footsteps on the balcony, and you lower your head to see who’s joined you outside.

A man.

Clad in a white suit and wearing a mask that almost looks like it was crafted out of crystal.

He looks surprised to see you, “Apologies,” He says with a sketched bow, “I thought that I’d be alone out here.”

You tilt your head, “The balcony is large enough that we can be alone together.”

He chuckles, a low noise that makes you feel pleasantly warm, and then he sinks onto one of the other benches. You watch him, out of the corner of your eye, as he removes one of his shoes and massages his feet.

“Do your shoes not fit?” You ask, unable to stop yourself.

“They’re new,” He explains, “My brothers and I got our invitations the day before yesterday.”

You blink at him, startled. That implies that he’s a commoner and that his family won the raffle. “Well, congratulations then. I understand that the raffle was very popular.”

He pauses and glances at you, and then a smile crosses his face, “Thanks. It was actually my older brother who put in the ticket, on behalf of our younger sister. She couldn’t come, she’s too young. But she liked seeing us all dressed up.”

“I bet she did. In my experience, all little girls like dress-up parties.”

He grins at you, “My brother would ask you to cite your sources.”

Your head tilts back as you laugh, genuinely amused, “Oh, very well. My sources are that I was a little girl once.” You grin at him, “I used to sit on my parents' bed when I was little and watch them get ready for parties, it was like magic to me.” You pause, “Of course, then I grew up and I realized how much I hated dressing up myself.”

“Well, you might hate it, but I happen to think that you look amazing.”

“Yeah?”

“Yeah. Like a forest spirit or something.”

You’re glad that you’re wearing a mask, suddenly, so he’s not able to see the flustered flush on your face. “Well, thank you.” You reply as you lightly touch the flower tucked behind your ear, “That was the inspiration.”

“I can tell.” He pauses, “You know, I saw a forest spirit once. I was just a kid, and my siblings swear that I imagined the whole thing, but I know what I saw.”

“You’re lucky they didn’t kidnap you,” You reply.

“Don’t I know it,” He replies with a laugh, “But after that day I always felt more at home in the forests than anywhere else. I like to think that I got a forest spirit’s blessing that day.”

“Maybe you did. They do as they like, after all.” You fall silent for a moment, though you keep glancing at him, “I’m sorry,” You finally burst, “I have to ask, is your mask made of crystal?”

He looks surprised for a moment, but then he grins, “Sure is. The mask was sold with the suit. Even the shoes are meant to look like crystal.”

You lean over slightly to look at his shoes, “Well, no wonder they’re so uncomfortable,” You marvel, “How did they manage that, I wonder?”

“No idea, but the salesman was thrilled to shove both of them on me for cheap. They’re pretty comfortable, I keep forgetting that I’m wearing a mask at all.”

“Well, that’s a good thing, isn’t it? The whole point of today is the masquerade.”

“I thought the whole point was for the Princess to find a partner,” The man jokes.

You tilt your head, “Is that why you’re here? To marry the Princess?”

“I’m sure the princess wouldn’t be interested in someone like me.”

“Why would you think that?”

“Well, I’m kind of big. And a little rough around the edges. I don’t know the princess, only ever seen her on the holo, but she’s always seemed so dignified and put together. And, like, serene I guess.”

“Sounds like you admire her,” You murmur.

“I do admire her. After the King died and the Queen retreated from the public eye, people expected her to quail under the attention suddenly focused on her, but she didn’t. She stood firm and took all of the scrutiny. She was just a kid, it was…impressive.”

A small smile pulls on your lips, “You’re one of the few people here who have something nice to say about the princess.”

“Yeah, well…” He rubs the back of his neck, “I might have crushed on her, bad, when I was a kid.”

Your smile widens, “That’s cute.”

His face flushes, at least, the part you can see under the mask, “She looked like she could use a friend and a protector, and I figured I could be both. But I grew out of it.”

He glances at you, and his flush deepens at the look of amusement on your face, “A-anyway, isn’t that why you’re here? To marry the Princess?”

“Hm? Oh.” You lean back on the bench, “No, I’m here because my Uncle insisted. If I had my way, I wouldn’t be here at all, alas—”

“Do you not like the princess?”

“Hm…more like I don’t like the idea of marrying someone I don’t know.” You reply.

“I suppose that makes sense.” He folds his arms, “Do you think the Princess is happy for all of this?” He tilts his head back towards the ballroom.

You hum thoughtfully, “I wouldn’t be, in her shoes.” You absently smooth your skirt again, and then you stand, “Would you like to dance?”

“What? Here?”

You shrug, “Why not? The music is loud enough, and we don’t have to worry about people bumping into us.”

He stares at you a moment longer, and then he smiles and stands, “Alright. I’d love to dance.” He stands and offers you his hand, and you eagerly place your hand into his, “I should warn you, I’ve never danced before.”

“That’s alright, I’m sure I’ve had enough lessons to make up for it.” You joke as he, hesitantly, places his hand on your waist. You beam up at him, “I’m sure you’ll do great.”

The pair of you dance for hours, or so it seems. With you teaching him how to move and where to place his hands, and having genial conversation when you take breaks.

You quickly realize that you like him.

Genuinely like him.

You still don’t like the idea of marrying someone you don’t know, but if it’s him then maybe it won’t be so bad.

And then the party ends, and he’s gone and you never got his name. And all that’s left of his presence is the lingering warmth in your hand from where his hand had been wrapped around yours, and the crystalline mask that you found near a side exit half an hour after he left.

Thoughtfully, you bring the mask to your bedroom and set it on your dresser as you change out of your costume, your mind racing.

There aren’t many tailors who make masks, so tracking who made his mask will be easy enough. And, hopefully, the tailor will remember who bought the mask.

You hope so.

You finish donning your sleepwear and lightly trail a finger across the crystal of the mask. A smile crosses your face. Yes. He’s your choice. And if your uncle doesn’t like it…well, you’re over 18 and no longer need a regent. If he doesn’t like it, then he can pound sand.

It’s been three weeks since the masquerade, and Wrecker is still kicking himself for losing his mask. He knows that he must have dropped it at the palace, but it’s not like he can just show up and ask if he can look for it.

It’s a shame since Omega wanted to collect the masks.

Oh well, that’s life he supposes.

He runs his hand over his head as he heads downstairs, he lightly ruffles Omega’s hair, pulling a disgruntled noise from her, and then wanders into the kitchen where Echo and Fives are cooking breakfast.

Or, well, Fives is cooking breakfast and Echo is making coffee.

“Smells good,” Wrecker mumbles.

“It's better than good, the eggs are fresh and Crosshair made the bread this morning.” Fives replies.

“Crosshair did?”

“He’s working through some anger issues,” Echo pipes up, “We have lots of dough.”

“Oh. Well…good.”

“Morning,” Tech says as he walks into the room, clearly having been awake for hours now, “Have you heard the news?”

“No,”

“Nope.”

“I just woke up.”

Echo, Fives, and Wrecker speak in unison, causing Tech to blink at them. “Ah. Well, the Crowned Regent has been forcibly removed from the Throne. And the Crowned Princess was Coronated late last night. So she is Queen now.”

“Shouldn’t there have been a celebration?” Echo asks.

“I am sure that there are reasons—” Tech starts, only to pause as the doorbell rings.

“I got it!” Omega shouts, and then she scrapes her chair against the floor and they listen to her run to the front door, “Yes? Can we help yo—” Omega stops midsentence, and then she runs to the kitchen door, “Um.”

“What’s wrong, Meg?” Fives asks.

“The Queen is at the door. With her entourage.”

No one moves for a moment, and then they all start moving at the same time, scrambling into the living room with a frantic energy. The new Queen is standing in the foyer, thoughtfully looking at a picture of the group of brothers.

“Your Majesty,” Tech blurts, bowing deeply, “You honor us with your presence.”

She pauses and turns to look at them, a small smile on her face, and Wrecker is suddenly struck with the realization that he knows that smile. He spent hours with the woman who had the same smile.

“Please,” The Queen faces them properly, “There’s no need for that. I apologize for arriving so early.”

Wrecker stares at the Queen, his jaw slightly dropped. If the smile wasn’t proof enough, the voice was. She’s the person he spent the evening dancing with.

He confessed about his crush on the princess to the princess. Wrecker groans and presses his hand over his face, “You couldn’t have told me who you were?”

She laughs, “Well, that would have ruined the masquerade aspect, wouldn’t it?”

“Yeah, but I was talking about you. To your face.”

“At least it was all kind things, most everyone else was mean.” She says reassuringly.

Wrecker drops his hand away from his face, “Can I ask why you’re here?”

She releases a little hum and pulls something out of her bag, and Wrecker realizes that it’s his mask, “You left this behind. I’m glad you did, honestly, it would have been hard to find you without it.” She offers him the mask, and Wrecker takes it.

“Thank you, I was worried I’d never see it again.”

She beams at him, “Your name is Wrecker, yes? The Tailor told me.”

“Yeah, that’s me.”

Her smile widens, “I am not looking for a spouse, Wrecker. The idea of marriage makes me want to run screaming for the hills, however, my uncle filled the palace with people who support him, and I find myself in need of skilled bodyguards.”

“...are you offering us a job?” Fives asks.

“If you’re agreeable to the idea.” She replies, “In the last week there have been no less than three assassination attempts.”

“We have a lot of brothers,” Hunter says from the back door, “I’m sure we can make things safe for you.”

“You have my gratitude.” She turns to the man standing behind her, “Lesian, if you would?”

“Of course, your Majesty.” The man bows, and then pulls some paper from a bag he’s carrying, “I have some paperwork that you all should look over.”

Wrecker watches as his brothers follow the older man out of the living room, and then flickers his gaze back to the Queen. Her attention is focused back on the pictures on the walls, and he can’t help but think that she looks very lonely.

“Those were taken at the beach three years ago, I think.” Wrecker explains, “Hunter had just gotten custody of Omega, she was so small at the time.”

“I’ve never been.”

“To the beach?”

“Yeah. Father always promised to bring me one day, but after he died it just never happened.”

“I’ll bring you.”

She laughs, “Will you now?”

“Absolutely.” Wrecker folds his arms, “I know you said you’re not looking for a husband, but how about a friend?”

She turns to look at him, surprise clear on her face, and then she smiles at him, soft and warm, “I’ve never had a friend before.”

“That’s alright, I can teach you how it’s done.” Wrecker grins, “And if friendship turns into something more, well…that’s okay too, right?”

At that, she laughs. “So, that little crush on me-?”

“Didn’t fade as much as I thought.” He shrugs, “Luckily, I’m a patient man. Now, I have paperwork I need to fill out. Would you like to have breakfast with us?”

A blinding smile crosses her face, and Wrecker realizes that he’s in love with her, “It would be my honor, Wrecker.”

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hi big fan but too scared to publicly request 😭

could u do the Bad Batch boys reacting to female reader having a boyfriend they didn't know about? like maybe they're on break at the barracks and she starts dressing more revealing and cute and then leaving and they spot her with a man 😭

but ofc, because we love our clones more then other men, something needs to go horribly wrong so she splits up with them and comes back crying or something. you can add whatever twist you want, but (projecting here) perhaps the man was just trying to rush physical things with her and treating her like an object from the beginning and she just wanted to impress him until he started making her uncomfortable. hmm, very specific 🤔

anyway, love your writing so much. thank you 🙏

Your wish is my command

Word Count: 3.3k Pairings: Mostly platonic Bad Batch x fem!reader Warnings: objectifying d-bag bf, lil violence, a beer or two, jealous men Summary: The Bad Batch are back on Coruscant and looking for a night out with you. They find you and your new, unsavory boyfriend.

Frustrated and edged with exhaustion, Crosshair stomped onto the Marauder. He’d spent the last hour scouring the upper level of Coruscant for you to no avail. You’d missed your usual visit with the men of Clone Force 99 when they were on-world.

Visiting you became routine after their first visit to the Capitol. They’d come for special training before they were even assigned their signature armor. Ready for a taste of the real world, they’d snuck out into the city on their first night and right into the arms of swindlers. 

Somehow they’d fallen into the sights of a charming group of people you were all too familiar with. You watched the whole scene unfold from the balcony of your apartment. They promised to show the men a ‘good time’ and you knew that came with some unsavory consequences.

With nothing better planned for your night, you intervened and saved the men from, at the very least, being scammed. It turned out to be an unforgettable night with four new friends to boot and, when leave allowed, they’d find you for some fun.

So, with a few days between mission briefings and not knowing when they’d have leave again, the Batch tried to track you down. The problem was that this time they couldn’t find you anywhere - anywhere being your home or at the store you worked. 

Tech stayed with the ship while the rest looked for you. Hunter, Wrecker, and Echo were the first to turn in, leaving Crosshair to finish the hunt.

Hunter and Echo hung around the cockpit while Wrecker kicked back in a chair near the nav screens when Crosshair returned. As he sunk into the open nav chair next to Wrecker, Tech, wiping his hands on a rag, came aboard. 

Wrecker swiveled to face Crosshair with his head cradled in his hands. “Still can’t find her?”

Leaning onto his elbows, Crosshair growled into his hands. “What gave it away?”

“Did you check her coordinates?” Tech asked, seemingly exasperated by their wasted efforts.

“And how would we check her coordinates?” Echo scoffed from the cockpit. He and Hunter meandered their way towards the other three.

Tech looked between his brothers, disturbed by their blatant ignorance. “With the tracking device I gave her.”

Crosshair’s head shot up, masking his interest with a show of distaste, “You put a tracking device on her?”

Clearly offended by the idea, Tech snapped back, “No.” She wanted to make sure we could find her easily.” The silence that fell between them suggested they didn’t believe him. 

“You were all there.” He insisted, waiting for them to remember only to be met with silence. Sighing, Tech’s shoulders fell and he raised his forearm as he muttered, “Must’ve been when we were alone.”

Wrecker shot forward in his seat, jabbing an accusatory finger at Tech. “When were you alone with her?” The corner of Tech’s lips ticked up as he tapped through his controls, but he didn’t grant Wrecker a response.

They all seemed to forget that Tech kept plenty of information close to the chest. He also tended to be the more sober one of their nights out. They called him a lightweight, but having found it leant him private time with you he called it a fair trade.

After a few seconds, Tech pinpointed your location. Something caught in his throat when he saw how close you were. Tech proudly announced, “Found her. She’s at a lounge one sector over.”

His earlier annoyance faded as Crosshair pushed a toothpick into his smirk, “Sounds like she might need some company.”

“Well boys,” Hunter spoke up with a grin. Tossing a thumb in the direction of the exit he asked the group, “What do you think? Should we crash her night?”

Wrecker bounced up, filling the Marauder with a loud laugh. “You kiddin’? I can’t wait to see the look on her face.”

The men wasted no time in heading your way. Wrecker and Hunter led the group through the crowded streets, followed by Crosshair and Echo with Tech trailing behind with his face in a datapad, making sure they didn’t lose track of you.

Crosshair, noticing Echo’s half-worried look, tapped Echo with his elbow, “Lighten up, Echo. You might have fun for once.”

Used to Crosshair’s prodding, Echo rolled his eyes but couldn’t hide the amusement in his voice, “Yeah, well some people don’t like surprises. This is either going to be fine or be a complete disaster.”

“Most likely a disaster.” Tech chimed in from the back.

You were only a few minutes away in a dark, basement floor lounge. Amongst a smattering of half-empty booths and dim lighting, you stood near the bar with a small group of men. 

In the time between Clone Force 99’s last visit and now, you’d fallen in with a man you’d met through work. He was nice enough, persistent in pursuing you and his attention wasn’t unwelcome.

You found yourself answering his calls, meeting his friends, and spending time with him on your days off. Slowly the casual company became intimate and so you stood amongst his friends, in a dark lounge with his hand on the small of your back. The dress you wore, chosen by your new boyfriend, was a little tight for your taste and exposed nearly all of your back.

He claimed it would boost your confidence. The twirling he had you do for his friends suggested it was for his own ego.

Your partner promised you’d be gone by midnight - a promise he’d broken more than once so far. Impatience and boredom dragged the night out, soothed only by cocktails and the bracelet you fidgeted with.

It was a handcrafted gift from Tech and their way to find you. You’d asked for the device in hopes that it would make you miss them less.

It didn’t. You decided that next time you were getting their comm channel out of them even if by force. If there was a next time.

Distracting yourself from the idle conversation around you, your eyes drifted around the mostly empty room. The music was as low as the lighting, only meant to allow conversations to remain private.

The group was having a fun time, some of the jokes even broadened your smile, but generally you were counting the minutes until you could leave. 

Commotion echoed down the front stairwell, breaking the calm of the establishment. Loud, booming laughter quieted your group, piqued your interest, and dialed your attention onto a familiar sound. Your heart stopped when you recognized the sound of shifting armor. For the first time all night, a genuine, albeit hopeful, smile brightened your face.

You stopped breathing all together when the Bad Batch stepped into the room. As impressive as the first time you saw them, your five friends fanned out with each of them scanning the room. Crosshair, ever the eagle eye, spotted you and shoved the brother beside him, Tech, with his elbow.

They were looking for you, you realized. The thought propelled you towards them, your feet barely touching the ground.

You’d not seen the Batch in months. A part of you had worried for the worst - that you’d never see them again. That nagging part of you grew larger than you’d realized, big enough that the relief of seeing them nearly reduced you to tears.

“C’mere, Mesh’la!” Wrecker bellowed, catching you in his arms as you hurled yourself at him. His hands scorched your back, a sensation you’d not felt in the months of their absence.

The harder you held onto Wrecker the more his armor dug into you, making it even harder to breathe through your excitement. When he finally set you down, you immediately latched onto the next closest man, Echo.

The smell of you overwhelmed him for a moment and he had to bite back a groan when he caught a sight of your exposed back. Echo couldn’t even return the gesture before you pulled away and whacked his chest plate. 

Stiffening your lip, you made a poor attempt at a scowl.

Hunter stepped in on you, not hesitating in wiping away your budding tears. “That look says you didn’t miss us too much.” Being so close to you after so long gave him half a thought to kiss you.

“The tears had me fooled,” taunted Crosshair from somewhere beside Wrecker.

Despite the half-assed scowl, a smile broke through and relief warbled your voice. “Do you even know how long it’s been?” You demanded, casting a look between them all.

Tech came to your side, plucking up your wrist for inspection. “Ninety-eight standard rotations.” He said casually, removing your bracelet without looking up.

The anxiety that spiked as he let you go forced your hand to keep him close. Your touch snapped his head up and you tilted towards him, playfully purring, “Aw, you missed me enough to count?”

He opened his mouth, some witty remark surely on his tongue, but a different voice piped up.

“Should I assume these men are your friends?” Your boyfriend said from behind you. You’d all but forgotten where you were and who you were with. 

Immediately releasing Tech, you turned away from the clones, pivoting to stand between them and your partner. Flashing a weak smile you waved in the direction of the Batch, meaning to introduce them.

Crosshair cut you short by stepping forward, putting himself halfway between you and your partner. Sporting a challenging smile, Crosshair looked the stranger up and down. Clearly unimpressed he scoffed, “What’s it to you?”

A pit formed in your stomach when your boyfriend planted his hand on your back. The possessive touch didn’t carry the same flame Wrecker’s did, something you’d not realized up to that point.

“I try to make a habit of knowing my girlfriend’s friends.” Your partner said, accentuating the sentiment with a kiss to your temple.

Slightly horrified Tech recoiled, incredulously parroting in unison with Hunter, “Girlfriend?”

It would’ve been impossible to inform them while they were away, and you certainly owed them no explanation, nonetheless shame crept through you. Avoiding the eyes of your friends, you grinned at your boyfriend, “Let me introduce you to the finest soldiers the Grand Army of the Republic has to offer.” Proudly inhaling your smile grew and you added, “And my friends.”

Looking between your boyfriend and the group, an odd thought occurred to you. You’d never realized the man beside you was on the short side. Shorter even Hunter at least.

Wrecker placed a hand over his chest, mockingly cooing to Crosshair, “Aww, she likes us.” 

Crosshair snorted, when it wasn’t directed at him Crosshair went along with his Wrecker’s goading. Crossing his arms and leaning towards his larger brother, the sniper mused “She’s even blushing.”

Your boyfriend snapped his head towards you, annoyed to see that you were indeed blushing. He’d not seen you get this easily worked up. Although he knew from the moment you ran into Wrecker’s arms that he wanted you nowhere near the men. 

Slowly scanning your form, a condescending smile perked Crosshair’s lips. “Didn’t know that was your style,” He nodded at you, obviously referring to your outfit.

Crosshair never failed to pull a reaction out of you, this time you were  interrupted by your boyfriend slipping his hand up your back and down your arm. The action knotted frustration in your throat as it was what he had done with his friends. 

The longer Crosshair watched this man with his hands all over you, the harder Crosshair bit down on his toothpick. Since you’d first coerced him to dance, Crosshair’s own hands still ached to find their way back to your waist.

And just as he had with his friends, your boyfriend lifted your arm by your hand. He gave you a light jostle, encouraging you to spin around. “It suits her, doesn’t it? I picked it out myself.” 

Where the eyes of his friends felt oily and unwelcome, you only felt heated embarrassment in front of Clone Force 99.

The dress flattered you and you could admit that, at times, you’d imagined how it’d feel for the clones to see you in something like it. You wondered what it would be like for even one of them to see you as more than a friend. To find you attractive. Maybe even want you. But not like this.

Unbeknownst to you, the men did find you attractive. Exceedingly so even. You were a breath of fresh air for them and the only glimpse of normalcy they had. 

As opposed to spinning, you tried to tug your hand free as you mumbled under a smile, “I don’t want to do that.”

Hunter and Echo exchanged a confused look. Just as your boyfriend hadn’t seen this excited side of you, the Batchers hadn’t seen you like this. You looked uncomfortable.

Meanwhile, your boyfriend firmly held your hand. Groaning, he tilted his head back in feigned exhaustion. “Babe,” he dragged the word out before speaking to you like he was correcting a child. “We talked about this, lighten up and give us a spin.” 

Hunter caught you off guard when he pulled your hand free. While he kept his touch soft in light of whatever new boundaries your boyfriend posed, he wasn’t going to watch you be pushed around. Unwilling to risk your discomfort, he made sure to step out of your space quickly.

You almost stepped with him.

“She said ‘no.’” Hunter said with the authority of his rank. 

Your boyfriend scoffed and drew back in disbelief. “I’m sorry, where did you all even come from?” Either out of misplaced bravado or from the liquid courage, he advanced on Hunter. “Don’t speak for her.”

Blinking away the irony, you tried pulling him back. “He wasn’t,” you whispered in attempts to soothe him.

He yanked out of your touch, earning a growl from Wrecker. Raising his voice in challenge, your boyfriend insisted, “No, I think he was.”

Ever the voice of reason, Echo stepped in beside Hunter. “Why don’t we just take a breath?” Echo’s hazel eyes fell to you, brows pulling together in a silent question.

“I’m fine, Echo.”

“You’re fine?” Your boyfriend whipped his irritation around on you. A beat of fury pulsed between you and all you could do was smile awkwardly. How had this escalated so quickly?

“I’m sorry,” You chuckled in astonishment. “What’s going on with you?”

Neither of you backed down, in fact he only pushed harder by angling his face into your space. “What’s going on with me?” The smell of liquor on his breath finally connected the dots for you. “What other friends do you have that I don’t know about?” 

Suddenly, something caught his eye. Turning his attention to Tech, your boyfriend pointed at your bracelet in Tech’s hand. “What are you doing with that?” He asked suspiciously.

Tech, who had been silently picking the stranger apart, gave a scornful roll of his eyes. Tucking the accessory away in one of his many pockets, Tech said in a dry tone, “I don’t believe what I do with my gift is of any importance to you.” He may or may not have purposely mentioned ‘my gift.’

Wearing a confident smirk, Tech looked directly at the man beside you as he said, “It suits her, doesn’t it?”

As if on cue, your boyfriend gave you a seething, sideways glance, playing right into Tech’s hand.

Heaving a sigh, and trying to lend him the benefit of the doubt, you made another attempt at directing him away from your friends. “Why don’t you-”

This time he smacked your hand hard enough that it stung. This was a side of him you’d not expected and it was not one you liked. 

A snarl rippled through Crosshair as he lunged between you, put his hand over your boyfriend’s face, and thrashed him backwards. Wrecker cackled, only encouraging a wicked smile from Crosshair as he shifted over your splayed out boyfriend.

You winced at the spot of blood coming from his nose. Notably, though, you didn’t intervene this time.

Wrecker came around to you, resisting the urge to step the man on the ground by completely passing over him. Gently, he lowered himself to your eye level and lifted your hand. His touch felt so different from that of the man you were seeing, it made you completely forget the feeling in your hand.

They all made you feel so different. You’d missed them much more than you’d realized.

“You alright, Mesh’la?” Wrecker swiped his palm over your cheek and down your neck to rest on your shoulder.

The soft smile you offered him swelled something in Wrecker’s chest. Your presence created a soft spot in his life, making it harder to leave you with each trip.

You laid a hand over the massive one on your shoulder, “I’m fine, really.” Although it probably wasn’t ‘fine’ that you had to reassure them all over the behavior of someone meant to be your partner.

From the ground, the man in question snickered, “I see it now.” Pushing up onto his elbows, he spat, “You’re just a barracks bunny.”

The insinuation was lost on you but not Echo.

Echo lurched through the group, shoved Crosshair aside and ripped the drunken man by his collar. “You little scumslug!”

For what seemed like the first time ever, Echo had to be the one restrained. Hunter broke in and yanked Echo up before he could drill his scomp into the downed man. You and the rest of his squad all wore similarly surprised expressions. 

Seeing Echo lose his temper was the breaking point for you. The man you’d allowed into your life was still panting on the ground when came to stand over him. He didn’t say anything, knowing full well what the look on your face meant.

“Don’t call me again,” You muttered dismissively and said nothing else as you turned to leave, waving for the others to follow. “Let’s go guys.”

They all followed suit, except for Crosshair. He crouched onto the balls of his feet and leveled a sneer to your newly dubbed ex. Low enough for just the two of them to hear, Crosshair said, “We’ll know if you bother her again.” The sniper drew just an inch closer to hiss, “Come near her again and you’ll never see daylight again.”

Crosshair sat still for a moment, ensuring the promise properly sunk in. Having watched the color drain from the man, Crosshair flicked his toothpick into the sad sack’s face.

When you all finally made it back to your place, it was decided that a quiet night in was well deserved for you all. It didn’t exempt the night from at least a few drinks.

Returning from your kitchen with a round of beers, you settled onto your couch between Echo and Tech. Wrecker lounged on the floor while Crosshair and Hunter occupied the remaining arms chairs.

They regaled you with stories from the front lines in exchange for the quiet comfort of your company. Eventually, you reclined against Tech, eyes shut, as he scrolled through his datapad.

“Echo.” You said, seemingly out of nowhere. Peaking an eye open you lilted a suspicious smile his way. 

Mid-sip, Echo could only hum in acknowledgment. When you asked, “What’s a barracks bunny?” He nearly choked on his drink.

“Yeah,” Wrecker blurted out, the confusion coming back to him. “I was wondering that too?”

All eyes were on Echo as a flush came over him. It hadn’t dawned on him that the men of his new squad had little experience with typical trooper slang or the rumors regarding some regs.

“It’s...” He stuttered to get the definition out, ultimately shaking his head and setting his beer aside. Passing the buck to Tech, he chuckled, “You know what, Tech why don’t you put the holonet to good use and look that one up yourself.”

taglist: @baddest-batchers @bruh-myguy-what @jetii @zahmaddog

a/n: Thank you to everyone who offered me their words of support over the last month. It's been a really dark time and I'm always amazed by how lovely this fandom is. I'm forever grateful to all you barracks bunnies out there.

---

Playing Pretend

Pairing: Wrecker x Twi'Lek fem!Reader

Words: 16,373

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

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

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

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This mission is going to be a disaster.

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

It’s his own ability that gives him pause.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

That last part is the hardest.

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

Easy peasy.

At least, that's what Tech said.

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

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

“You alright, big guy?” 

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

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

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

No, he’s not alright.

You look absolutely stunning.

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

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

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

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

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

But this is so, so much.

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

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

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

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

He swallows. Hard.

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

Wrecker forces out the first words on his mind.

“Wow! You look—wow..."

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

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

Holy shit.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Thanks," he mumbles.

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

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

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

Except, this isn't real.

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

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

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

"I—thank you, Wrecker."

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

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

"Yeah?"

You nod. "Yeah."

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

"So do you."

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

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

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

The words are mumbled, barely audible, and he doesn't think you intended for him to hear. Wrecker blinks, and his gaze travels down the length of your body, and his mouth goes dry. His mind can't help but wander. It would be so easy for him to reach out, hook his fingers in the thin straps holding your dress up, and just...

"Yeah, me too," Wrecker admits quietly, the words falling from his mouth without thought.

A second passes. Two.

Wrecker's brain catches up to his mouth. He sees the shift of your jaw and the bob of your throat, and he wishes the ground would swallow him up.

"Uh, yeah, I mean," Wrecker starts, trying to backtrack and failing, "because I hate this thing, and it's not very comfortable."

It's not the worst lie he's told, but it's pretty far up there. Still, the look of relief that crosses your face tells him you believe it. Your arms are crossed over your chest, holding yourself in a way that suggests you feel vulnerable, and the realization makes his gut twist.

Wrecker doesn't want to make you feel uncomfortable, and he feels terrible that he has. He didn't even realize that the dress, and the mission, could bother you. You always seemed so put together, and confident, and not bothered by much, that he just assumed you would be okay. But, you're not, and now he feels bad, and stupid.

"We don't have to do this," Wrecker offers, rubbing the back of his neck.

You shake your head, and he can see you forcing yourself to relax. "I can handle a few hours."

Wrecker isn't sure what to say. He knows you're capable, and he doesn't think you would offer if you didn't think you could do it, but the way you're standing makes him wonder.

"But you know if you don't wanna, that's fine too," he adds, because it is.

Hunter would probably give him an earful later, but you were the priority, and Wrecker would deal with whatever punishment was necessary to make sure you were safe and comfortable. He doubted Hunter would be mad, anyway. They're family, and family looked out for each other, and you were part of the team, too.

You look at him, and then down at the floor, and then back up at him.

"It's fine."

Wrecker bites his tongue, but only barely.

You're not fine, and he can tell, and it doesn't take a genius to figure out why. There's a reason you've always been the one chosen for missions like this, even back when you were still an intelligence officer and he was barely more than a shiny. It's not just because of your training and experience, but also because of the way you look.

The thought makes him angry. It isn't right, and he hates that you've been forced into this position. Until tonight, he'd held out some misguided hope that you wouldn't ever have to be put in a situation like this again.

He knows you can handle a lot more than most, but you shouldn't have to.

"Really, Wrecker, I'm fine," you say again, and it's only then that he realizes he's been staring at you.

"Are you sure? ‘Cause if—"

You step forward, putting a hand on his chest and looking up at him. His eyes catch on the shine of your lips, and the warmth of your hand against his chest makes his heart race.

"If you keep asking me, I'm gonna start to think you don't want to be my husband," you tease.

"I'd love to be your husband," Wrecker replies without missing a beat, and he means it.

The words are true, even if the context isn't. It's the closest thing he'll get to a wedding with you, and that thought makes him want to scream. Instead, he settles on smiling, even as his heart races and his palms sweat.

"I'm sorry, I just don't wanna make you feel—"

"I'm kidding, ma sareen," you say, shaking your head, "I know. But really, it's okay."

He gives a slow nod, not sure how to respond. You've called him that before, and while he doesn't speak Ryl, he does know it's a term of endearment. One that he's overhead Suu say to Cut a few times, and one that you've used with him, and only him.

Every time, it makes him smile. But it's one thing for you to say it casually, and another entirely to say it in front of strangers, pretending to be married to him. He doesn't know why the thought makes his heart pound in his chest, or his ears grow warm.

"And hey, at least I have someone who can protect me, right?"

He grins proudly, and nods. That, he can do.

"You got that right."

"Then what's there to worry about?" you ask, a smile on your face.

That I might embarrass you, is what Wrecker wants to say, but doesn't. Instead, he follows you towards the door. You pause just before stepping through, looking up at him expectantly. He doesn't quite understand until you reach out and hold your hand palm up.

"Well?"

"What?"

"Give me your hand, Wrecker," you laugh.

"Oh, right," Wrecker stutters, slipping his hand into yours.

His hands are rough and calloused from years of fighting, but your hand is soft and gentle, and he tries his best not to squeeze too hard. You lead him out of the room and to the lift. You lean against him, your head resting on his shoulder, and his breath catches in his throat.

"Relax, big guy, you've got this," you whisper, giving his hand a reassuring squeeze.

Wrecker hopes you're right.

He's not sure how long the two of you have been here. An hour? Maybe two?

Whatever it is, it's long enough that his face hurts from fake smiling. His shoulders are tense, and he keeps a steady hand on your lower back, not willing to let go.

As soon as the two of you had walked through the door, the guards had taken your weapons, and it had been the first time Wrecker had felt truly unsettled since leaving the ship. Not only was he unarmed, but now, you were as well, and he was responsible for keeping you safe. They'd even taken the knife you'd tucked into the holster on your thigh.

They'd also frisked you, and while it wasn't the first time, or even the first time for him, it was the first time he'd seen it done like that. The guard had run his hands up the inside of your thigh, his thumb dangerously close to places he never should've been touching, and Wrecker had seen red.

The man was lucky all Wrecker did was grab his wrist and pull it away, his grip tight enough to bruise. The guard had stumbled, his face red as he tried and failed to apologize. It didn't matter to him. The bastard wouldn't be able to use that hand for a while, and Wrecker hadn't felt bad at all.

After, he'd wrapped his arm around your waist and held you close. He knows he probably shouldn't have, but he needed the reminder that you were safe. He could pretend it was just for show, but really, it was to comfort himself.

It doesn't help that every eye in the room has been on the two of you since you arrived, and while the stares are likely directed at you, Wrecker still doesn't like it. It makes his blood boil, and his skin crawl, and all he wants to do is get out of here. He hates how uncomfortable and vulnerable it makes him feel, and the fact that it's affecting him at all is embarrassing.

You seem to be doing just fine, chatting with various people, laughing and smiling and, unfortunately, flirting.

Not with him, no. With all the men and women around you.

It's the nature of the job, he knows that, but it still sucks.

You're doing your best to blend in, and it's working. He just tries his best to keep up with you. He doesn't trust any of these people, not even for a second, and the tension in his shoulders doesn't ease, no matter how hard he tries.

This is the first time he's been in a party like this, and he doesn't think he likes it.

When Tech had said the target was having a party, he'd expected loud music, maybe some dancing. What he got was an old-fashioned cocktail party, the type he's only ever seen in holovids, and the kind where the rich and powerful mingle and talk about politics and money.

It's boring, and the people are rude, and the lights of the chandelier make his eye twitch. But worst of all, no one can take their eyes off you, and he can't blame them. Even after the initial shock of seeing you dressed like that has passed, his eyes can't help but trail down the length of your body. And while you're definitely the most beautiful person in the room, he thinks there's a part of him that doesn't want anyone else to see you.

At least there's good food. And drink. And while he would never dare touch you without permission, it's nice to know he can do so now.

So he's taken every opportunity to do just that, to let everyone around know that you're his. He's kept his hand on the small of your back, the curve of your hip, the bend of your waist, and he's made sure to be close to you at all times. You don't seem to mind, which is the best part, and it makes his chest swell with pride.

Your arm is tucked around his, your fingers laced with his own, and he loves the way you lean into him, like you need him, like he's a safe place for you. He doesn't know if you do, but it doesn't stop him from wishing.

Wrecker looks at the ring on his finger. It's a simple gold band, nothing fancy, and it reminds him that this isn't real. It's just for the job, and he has to keep reminding himself of that. Because if he doesn't, it'll be easy for him to lose sight of that. And if he loses sight, he might do something stupid, like kiss you, and he's not sure if he'd be able to stop.

"So, where did you two meet?"

Wrecker tears his gaze away from you and to the Twi'lek across from him, her blue lekku adorned with jewels. He has no idea who she is, but the two of you are getting along so well he doesn't want to interrupt. You're the only Twi'leks in the room, and he thinks that might be the only reason the two of you are talking at all.

"Oh, it's a little embarrassing, actually," you answer, a shy smile on your face.

You squeeze his hand and glance up at him, and his stomach flutters.

"Not really," he mumbles, cheeks warm.

"You don't think so, but I might," you giggle, and Wrecker can't help the way his mouth quirks up in a smile. He wants to kiss your forehead, or your cheek, or your lips, but he doesn't.

The Twi'lek woman laughs and sips her drink, leaning in close to listen.

"C'mon, tell me, I'm dying to know."

Wrecker's not sure what story you've told everyone else, so he's not sure if this is part of it, but the way you look up at him makes his heart skip a beat. You squeeze his hand again, and he wonders if it's supposed to be a sign. It's a little distracting.

"Well, um, we met when he saved my life."

Wrecker nearly chokes on his drink.

The Twi'lek raises a brow, glancing between the two of you. "Really?"

"Mhm."

"That's not embarrassing."

"Yes, it is. Because he saved my life, and instead of being grateful, I called him an idiot," you tell her, a blush rising to your cheeks.

It's the truth. When you were still an officer, your unit was under fire. You'd been separated from your squad, pinned down, and Wrecker had found you. He'd pulled you from your hiding spot and out of the way, and the two of you had barely escaped unscathed. But the first words you'd said to him were, 'You idiot, you almost shot me.'

In his defense, he was a little distracted at the time.

"What did you say to that?"

Wrecker shrugs, taking a sip of his drink. "Not much."

You look up at him, your eyes shining. "I mean, he did save my life, so I apologized, obviously."

"Obviously," the woman nods.

"And, um, well," you stumble, and Wrecker wonders what's making you so nervous. It's not like you to be caught off guard, but you seem almost embarrassed. "He's the kindest man I've ever met, and I was immediately charmed by him."

Wrecker can't hide the surprise that crosses his face, but he does his best.

"It was hard not to fall for him," you admit, a softness in your voice that wasn't there before, "and, well, here we are."

Your gaze meets his, and the tenderness in your eyes takes his breath away.

"So romantic," the woman sighs, and you nod in agreement.

"Yeah, it's...it's somethin'," Wrecker says quietly, his chest tight.

He doesn't think anyone's ever talked about him like that, let alone in front of a bunch of strangers.

You lean into him, a soft smile on your face. Wrecker's hand slides from your waist to rest on the small of your back, and his eyes linger on the curve of your lip, the slight shimmer on your cheek. His tongue darts out to wet his lips, and your eyes drop down to watch the motion, and his heart thuds against his ribcage.

He can't help but wonder if maybe there's some truth to what you're saying. It's not like you've been lying the entire time, and Wrecker isn't naïve. He knows this is all part of the act, but the way you're looking at him makes him feel like you might mean it.

Wrecker can't help the way his mind wanders, or the way his stomach flutters when your lips brush his ear as you whisper, "You alright, darling?"

His breath hitches in his throat, and it's hard not to shudder as you trail a finger up his arm.

"Yeah, m'fine," he manages, the words shaky.

Your lips brush the shell of his ear, and he has to fight the urge to groan.

"We've got company," you whisper.

Wrecker tenses, scanning the room. It takes a moment for him to realize you mean the target. He's making his way through the crowd, and it's only a matter of moments before he's approaching.

"Mr. and Mrs. Kasta," he greets, an air of confidence in his voice, "welcome."

Wrecker nods at him, keeping his mouth shut. He doesn't trust himself not to say something stupid. He's already fucked up a few times tonight, and he doesn't want to embarrass himself. Besides, you're already taking the lead, smiling brightly at the man.

"Thank you for having us, Mr. Dralig," you tell him, giving a slight bow.

"Please, call me Bohme," he insists, returning the gesture. "Always a pleasure to meet such an esteemed couple as yourselves. You look ravishing, Mrs. Kasta."

You blush, and Wrecker fights the urge to roll his eyes. You are the most stunning woman in the room, and he can't imagine how this asshole could think otherwise, but the compliment still makes him bristle. He can't understand why you don't seem more annoyed.

"Well, thank you," you say, a hint of laughter in your voice.

"I do hope you're enjoying yourselves," Bohme continues, "the food, the music, the view."

The man's eyes linger on you for a moment too long, and Wrecker doesn't have to be a genius to figure out what he means.

"Oh, yes, very much so," you reply easily, ignoring the implication, "thank you."

Bohme nods, and then turns his attention to Wrecker, giving him a quick once-over. Wrecker tenses. The man is short and thin, his features pinched and pale, but his eyes are sharp, and his mouth is curved up in a smile that's almost predatory.

"I must say, I was a little surprised when I learned the Kastas would be joining us tonight. I was told they were unable to make it."

Wrecker narrows his eyes, watching the man carefully.

"Yes, well, our schedules opened up, and my husband was able to move some things around. It's rare we get a night off, so I jumped at the chance," you tell him, reaching out to grab Wrecker's arm and squeeze it.

He's glad you're playing the part so well. It's definitely not something he's capable of, and he can't help but feel a little useless. But he can at least make sure you're not alone, and that this guy keeps his hands off you.

"Well, I'm glad you could make it."

"We're glad we could too. The party's been wonderful."

"Glad to hear it."

Wrecker shifts slightly, feeling the weight of the man's gaze. There's something unsettling about him, and Wrecker's never been able to hide his disdain for the people they're forced to work for. But Bohme's the mark, and so he tries his best not to stare, but he's never been good at playing nice.

"If I'm being honest, I thought the rumors were exaggerated."

Wrecker frowns, and you look a little surprised.

"Oh?"

"I see the scars aren't," Bohme adds, gesturing to Wrecker's face.

Wrecker doesn't reply, only glares. The scars have never bothered him, not really. Sure, sometimes people stare, or ask him about them, and sometimes that's more than a little awkward. But he doesn't hate them. He mostly just forgets they're there until he gets one of the phantom pains, or someone points them out.

This man, though, he's staring, and not with curiosity, but with judgement, and it makes Wrecker’s skin crawl. He clenches his jaw, looking for the words to tell him off that won’t make the entire operation fail, but thankfully, you're quicker than him.

"No, but I quite like them," you say, reaching up and brushing a hand over his scarred cheek.

Wrecker swallows, his head tilting down to meet your gaze. Your touch is gentle, your thumb brushing under his eye, and he watches as your eyes shift from cold fury to something warmer, kinder.

"They remind me of just how brave and selfless my husband is," you tell him, the words soft, almost as if they're just for him.

Wrecker blinks, his lips parting. He wants to respond, but his throat is dry, and he's not sure what he would say even if he could.

"And I would be lost without him," you add, your fingers sliding across his jaw.

He knows this isn't real, that it's just for show, and he's just a means to an end, but he can't help the way his heart races in his chest. Because the way you're looking at him isn't fake, and neither are your words. He doesn't know how he's so sure, but he is.

He can't find his voice, and he doesn't trust himself to speak, so instead, he takes your hand and presses his lips to the inside of your wrist. You gasp, and your mouth parts, and he's so focused on the warmth of your skin and the way you blush that he barely registers the sound of Bohme's laughter.

"Oh, to be young and in love."

Wrecker doesn't pay attention to the rest of the conversation. He doesn't care. All he can focus on is you. The way you look up at him, and the softness in your eyes. The way you're pressed against him, and the way his arm is wrapped around you, and the way it feels like you belong there.

You've always felt right in his arms, like you fit perfectly, and every time you touch him, he wonders if it's the last. That's how it is now. Like it could end at any moment. So, he's memorizing everything, every detail, the feel of your skin, the sound of your voice, the scent of your perfume.

Because when this is all over, he'll never be close to you like this again, and he'll never forget it.

"Ma sareen." 

He snaps out of his trance at the sound of your voice. "Hmm?"

"Could you be a dear and get me a drink?"

"Sure thing, sweetheart."

Wrecker leans in, pressing his lips to your temple, and he relishes the way your cheeks turn red and the sound of your breath hitching in your throat. He doesn't know what he's doing. All he knows is that it's worth it to see the look on your face, and the way Bohme looks like he's swallowed a lemon.

He gives your waist a gentle squeeze and turns, making his way through the crowd to the bar. It's the furthest place from the door, and the longest walk of his life, because his head is swimming, and his heart is pounding, and it’s giving him too much time to think.

And when he does, all he can think about is you. He's not blind. He can see the way you've been looking at him tonight, and the way you're touching him. It's driving him crazy, and the more time he spends here with you, the harder it is to convince himself that you don't feel the same.

Maybe you do feel the same, and he's just been missing the signs, too afraid to see them. Maybe he should do something about it.

The thought is scary. What if he does, and he's wrong?

But then he remembers the way your fingers slid across his cheek, the way you leaned into his side,  and the way you blush whenever he calls you sweetheart. It's enough to give him hope.

"What can I get for you?" the bartender asks.

Wrecker blinks, glancing down at him. He'd forgotten why he was here, and his cheeks warm as he fumbles for an answer. Champagne seems like the right call for you. You'd both had a few glasses earlier, and it was fine, but he needed something much stronger if he was going to have a chance at getting through the rest of the night.

"Whiskey, neat.”

He doesn't pay attention as the bartender pours his drink. He turns around toward where couples are dancing, scanning the room for you. When he finally finds you, his stomach twists, and he has to force himself to breathe.

Bohme has his hands on your hips, and your hand is on his chest, and the way his head dips toward yours sends a flash of anger through him. The two of you are dancing, swaying back and forth, and while Wrecker knows it's a mission, and that you're just playing a part, it still makes his stomach churn.

Because even from here, he can see the look in the man's eyes, and it's not one of someone who's just playing a part.

"Is that all?" the bartender asks.

"What—no, no. Give me another," Wrecker mutters, grabbing the first glass and downing it in a single gulp.

It burns his throat, but it's the distraction he needs, because the two of you are getting closer. He's not sure if Bohme is going in for a kiss, but he knows he's not going to be able to watch it happen.

The second glass goes down just as quickly, and Wrecker winces, slamming the glass back on the bar and turning around. He doesn't know what's come over him. He's not a jealous person. Never has been, not even a little. He's been on plenty of missions with you, and seen you get close with other men, and while he didn't like it, he's never felt this.

Wrecker pushes past the dancing couples and walks toward the two of you. As soon as Bohme's hand slides lower on your back, Wrecker knows it's too much. You've gone along with the plan, but Wrecker's not going to stand here and watch you be taken advantage of, not by him, or anyone.

He storms up to the two of you, ignoring the startled looks on your faces and those around you. Before he can even think about what he's doing, Wrecker wraps his arm around your waist and pulls you close. His hand settles on your lower back, your skin warm and soft against his palm.

"Can I cut in?" he growls, his voice low and gruff.

"Uh—"

"I was talking to my wife," Wrecker snaps, his eyes narrowed.

The man's face pales, and his mouth drops open. He glances down at you, and then back up at Wrecker, and then steps back, holding his hands up in surrender.

You press your hand to his chest, and the motion is so familiar and comforting that his shoulders relax. He looks down at you, and his breath catches in his throat. There's a hint of a smile on your face, and you look happy, and his stomach flutters.

"Of course, darling," you murmur, your fingers curling into his shirt, "we were just having a nice chat, weren't we, Bohme?"

Wrecker glares at the man.

"Yeah, sure, we were," the man replies, taking a step back.

Wrecker knows he should leave it alone, and let you take care of it, but the whiskey has loosened his tongue, and the man's wandering hands have left him feeling more than a little possessive.

"Don't get any ideas, pal. She's married," Wrecker tells him, his voice a deep growl.

He's being harsh, but he doesn't care. You've had to deal with this asshole enough for one night, and Wrecker's tired of watching him touch you, and talk to you, and look at you.

"Of course, I would never," Bohme says, shaking his head.

Wrecker's not convinced, but he's not going to start a fight over it. As much as he'd like to knock the guy's teeth in, he doesn't. For your sake. And for the mission's, though he's caring less and less about that as the night goes on.

"You alright, sweetheart?" Wrecker asks, his tone gentler, more concerned, as he leads you away.

"I'm fine, darling," you answer, giving his arm a squeeze.

He's not sure if he's imagining it, but he swears you sound a little breathy. Wrecker's not surprised. If his heart is racing from the adrenaline of pulling you away from Bohme, then yours probably is, too.

"Sorry I forgot your drink," he mutters as he picks up his pace, "that guy just rubs me the wrong way."

"It's okay," you say, looking up at him with a small smile. As the two of you get further and further away, you add, "I was kind of hoping you would."

He stops walking, his brow furrowing. "What?"

"Nothing, ma sareen."

"Wait, were you—" Wrecker glances over his shoulder, and the realization hits him. You'd known the whole time, and were counting on him to notice, and he had. He's not sure if he should be mad, or embarrassed, or something else entirely. "Oh."

You tilt your head, looking up at him with an amused expression. "Yeah, oh."

"That's why you wanted a drink, wasn't it?"

You bite your lip, a blush rising to your cheeks. "Well, I was thirsty."

"I—"

"I knew you wouldn't leave me alone with him."

"I wouldn't," he says, shaking his head, "not in a million years."

You look down, and his grip on you tightens. He doesn't mean to, but he's still shaken up, and your nearness is a comfort, even if it shouldn't be.

You lean into him, and he takes a step forward, pulling you close. His other hand comes up, his fingers brushing your cheek, and his eyes drop to your lips. He doesn't mean to touch you like this, but now that he has, he doesn't want to stop.

"I know," you say softly, your breath warm against his palm.

"Good," he murmurs.

Your hand slips down his chest, and Wrecker shudders. You're standing so close, and your face is only inches from his, and your eyes are shining. The words leave him before he stop them, his voice a low rumble.

"And I don't want anyone else touching you, either.”

The sound that leaves your mouth sends a rush of heat through his veins, and he has to fight the urge to kiss you.

"Good," you whisper, the word nearly lost to the music.

"Really?"

You nod, looking up at him through your lashes, and his heart skips a beat. "Mhm."

Wrecker lets out a shaky breath, his hand sliding down to cup your cheek. His lips are only inches from yours, and he's not sure if it's the alcohol or the dress, but he feels bold. Too bold.

"Then, is it okay if I—"

You press a finger to his lips, silencing him.

"Yes," you tell him, leaning closer, "but not here."

Wrecker freezes. Did he hear that right? Or is he imagining things?

"Why not?"

"Because," you start slowly, pressing a kiss to his cheek, "if you kiss me, I'm not going to want you to stop. And we're in the middle of a party, and the mission's not over."

Wrecker doesn't even realize his mouth has fallen open until you reach up and close it for him. Your touch is gentle, and his cheeks are warm, and the softness in your eyes makes him melt. 

Your hand drags down to adjust his lapel before you slip something into his pocket.

"Got his keycard," you whisper, patting his chest.

Wrecker doesn't care. You could've told him you'd stolen the man's starship, and it still wouldn't have mattered. Not with the way you're looking at him.

"You're really somethin', y'know that?" he asks, and if he sounds a little breathless, he doesn't care about that either.

"So are you, ma sareen," you answer, smiling softly, "so are you."

"Almost done," you say, your voice soft, but urgent.

Wrecker is leaning against the wall, his arms crossed over his chest, his gaze locked on you. He's careful not to touch anything in Bohme's office as you make your way around. His eyes are on the sway of your hips, and the soft curves of your body, and it's all he can do not to reach out and pull you against him.

You'd managed to slip away, and while Wrecker is a little disappointed the two of you had to leave, he knows the sooner you're finished, the sooner you can be alone.

"Anythin' you need help with, sweetheart?"

"No," you answer, "I got it."

You're bent over, looking for something, and the view gives him a perfect view of the curve of your ass. It's a bit distracting, and his mind is wandering. He's thinking about how nice it would be to hold you in his arms, and kiss you, and the things he would like to do if he had the opportunity.

The list is getting longer by the minute.

"Just need a few more seconds."

"I'm not in a rush," he answers with a shrug. His eyes are locked on your ass, and the way it moves as you work. You'd asked him to keep watch, and that's what he's doing, just keeping watch.

"Yes, you are," you say, a teasing lilt in your voice.

"Maybe," he admits, not bothering to deny it.

He doesn't care if it's a little pathetic, or desperate. He doesn't want to hide his feelings anymore. Not from you, and not from himself. He wants you to know, and to understand.

You glance over your shoulder, your eyes meeting his. You're wearing a smile that makes his stomach flutter.

"What are you thinking about?" you ask, a sultry note to your voice that makes his head spin. You walk over to the lamp on the wall and unscrew the glass. One of the bugs Tech had given you slips into the empty socket before you replace the bulb.

Wrecker blinks, his mind foggy.

"You."

You look surprised, and for a moment, he wonders if he's gone too far. But then, you smile, and he knows he's made the right choice. "Yeah? What about me?"

"Just how lucky I am," he tells you, the words sincere.

"Lucky?" you ask, raising a brow.

"Mhm."

You shake your head, letting out a soft laugh. "I think I'm the lucky one."

"I dunno. Pretty sure I'm the one who gets to take you home," Wrecker points out, a grin on his face.

Your eyes widen, and your lips part, and for a moment, you just stare at him, stunned. You let out a shaky breath, your face falling, and it's then that Wrecker realizes his mistake. You’re worth more to him than a quick roll in the sheets, and while he wants you, and the thought of it makes him hot and bothered, he's not interested in a one-night stand.

"I, uh, I didn't mean it like that," he stutters, his cheeks growing warm. “I—“

"Don't worry, darling, I know what you meant," you say, a hint of disappointment in your voice.

"It's not like—"

"We should go, Wrecker. The others are waiting."

"Right," Wrecker says quietly.

He doesn't like the tension in your shoulders, or the way you won't look at him. He's not sure what to say to fix this. All he knows is that the moment is over, and his heart is pounding.

When the two of you step out of the office, the door slides shut behind you, and he grabs your wrist. You don't stop, and you don't turn around. But you don't pull away, either.

"Hey, c'mon, just wait a sec, please."

You stop, letting out a quiet sigh. "It's okay, Wrecker, you don't have to—"

"But I want to."

You look up at him, your jaw set, and there's something in your eyes that tells him you don't believe him. It breaks his heart a little. Because it's true. He's been wanting you for a long time, and even if you don't feel the same, he's not going to let you leave without knowing it.

Wrecker takes a step toward you, and another, and another, until he's pressed against you. He lets go of your wrist, and his hand settles on your waist.

"Wrecker, what are you doing?"

"Trying not to be an idiot."

"You're not an—"

"Yeah, I am," he interrupts, a soft smile on his face. "I'm not good with words, and I don't always know the right thing to say. But I'm gonna try."

"Wrecker," you whisper, your eyes wide, "you don't have to."

"But I want to. I wanna tell you the truth."

"The truth?"

He nods.

"And what's that?"

"That I think you're the most beautiful person I've ever met," he tells you, his voice soft. "I think you're the bravest, and the kindest, and the smartest. I think you're the best, and I wish I was half the person you are."

"Wrecker, you're—"

He squeezes your waist gently. "Not done yet."

You smile up at him, a fondness in your eyes that makes his heart race, and you nod.

"And I know I don't deserve you, and I know you're probably just being nice, and that maybe, I'm reading into this too much, but I don't think so."

You look like you want to interrupt him again, but you don't. He's grateful.

"I think there's something here. Between us,” he says. “And I've never been good at keeping my feelings to myself. I think about you all the time, and I can't help it.”

"Wrecker, are you saying what I think you're saying?"

"I dunno.” He shrugs. “Maybe. Probably."

You shake your head, laughing. "Wrecker, if I didn't know any better, I'd say you're trying to tell me you have feelings for me."

"Well, that's because I do."

"What?" you ask, sounding almost as surprised as he felt earlier.

"Have feelings for you. I have a lot of 'em," he tells you, a smile on his face. It feels good to finally admit it. "I've had them for a while."

"How long?"

"Pretty much since I met you."

"Really?"

He nods. "Really."

"That's...a long time," you murmur.

"Mhm. So, that's the truth," Wrecker says. "And if you don't feel the same, or if I'm wrong, or if I'm misreading things, then just tell me, and I'll never bring it up again."

"I don't think I could," you answer, "not now, after all that."

"So, then, maybe—"

"Wrecker," you whisper, his tie and pulling him closer. Your lips brush his, and he has to fight the urge to groan. "I have a lot of feelings, too. I just didn't know you did."

"Yeah?" he asks, his voice hoarse.

"Yeah," you breathe, pressing a kiss to the corner of his mouth.

He doesn't bother fighting the groan this time. He can't. Not when you're this close. Not when he can feel your breath against his skin. Not when your lips are ghosting over his, and the scent of your perfume is filling his nose, and the warmth of your body is pressed against him.

"Then, does this mean—"

"You can kiss me," you murmur.

Wrecker doesn't hesitate.

His mouth crashes against yours, his hands slipping down to your hips and pulling you against him. You let out a whimper, and it's all he can do not to moan.

He doesn't want to push too far, or scare you away, so he holds back. He kisses you with restraint, with tenderness, with love. Your lips are soft, and pliant, and your fingers tighten in his shirt as he deepens the kiss. It's even better than he imagined, and he's spent hours imagining it.

He doesn't care that anyone could see you. He doesn't care about the mission, or the bugs, or the fact that the others are waiting for you. He only cares about you, and the way you feel in his arms.

"Wrecker," you mumble, breaking the kiss.

"Hm?"

"We should go," you remind him, your voice soft.

"Right," he says, "just one more."

"One more," you agree.

Your lips are on his again, and it's just as good as the first time. Wrecker doesn't want to stop, and he doesn't, not until his comm buzzes, and his brother's voice rings out in his ear.

"Wrecker, status report. We need an update."

Wrecker groans, pulling away from you. "Tech, not a good time."

"Now is precisely the time," his brother replies, sounding exasperated. "What is the status of the mission?"

Wrecker glances at you, and you look back up at him with a soft smile on your swollen lips. You reach up, cupping his cheek, and the feeling is so comforting and sweet that his chest aches.

"It's good," Wrecker answers, smiling. "The mission is going really good."

"Good?" he hears Hunter repeat. He's not sure if it's confusion or disbelief in his voice. Maybe a little bit of both.

"Great," he corrects, leaning down to kiss you again. "Really, really great."

"Oh," Tech mutters, and Wrecker can hear the gears turning in his head. "I…did not expect that."

Wrecker smiles down at you. "Yeah, well, neither did I."

“I see.” There's a pause, and the sound of shuffling, some muffled voices, and then Tech adds, "In that case, we will let you get back to your, ah, mission."

"Thanks, Tech."

"Mhm," his brother hums, sounding a little awkward. "You’re welcome. We'll see you both when you return.”

The comm clicks off, and Wrecker sighs. "Guess we should get back to the ship."

"Yeah, we probably should," you agree, though neither of you move. "Or..."

He perks up. "Or?"

"Or, we could go back to the hotel," you suggest, a playful note in your voice. "We did pay for the night, after all. It would be a shame to waste it."

"A real shame," he nods, his voice grave.

"Besides," you add, your hand sliding down his chest, "we could use the extra time to...discuss the details of the mission. Make sure we're on the same page, and everything."

Wrecker bites back a moan. The feeling of your hand on his chest, and the sound of your voice, and the suggestion in your words, and the glint in your eyes. It's enough to make his knees weak.

"What do you think, ma sareen?"

"I think," he murmurs, kissing your neck, "that's the best idea I've ever heard."

The two of you barely make it through the door.

As soon as it slides shut behind you, Wrecker’s lips are on yours. His hands haven’t left your hips since you entered the elevator. He guides you backwards, his hands roaming across your back and sides. His teeth scrape against your bottom lip, and the sound you make sends a rush of heat straight to his cock.

Your back hits the wall next to the door, and Wrecker lifts you up, wedging a thigh between your legs. The dress is riding up, and his hand slips under it, and he's never been more grateful for Tech's insistence on getting a hotel room.

His tongue slides across the roof of your mouth, and he swallows the gasp that leaves your lips. Your nails dig into his shoulders, and you roll your hips, grinding against his thigh. The sound that leaves his mouth is embarrassingly needy as his hand moves higher, squeezing the soft flesh. Your knife has been safely returned to its holster, and his fingers run along the strap.

He wants to take his time with you, to make sure you know how he feels, but he can't stop touching you. You’re so soft, and he's been wanting to do this for so long, and the dress makes it so easy to find new places to explore.

"Wrecker," you whimper, arching against him.

He nips at your neck, and the soft whine that escapes your throat makes his knees weak. His hand squeezes the back of your leg, and his mouth travels lower, his teeth dragging across your collarbone.

"You look so fuckin' good in this," he tells you, his lips brushing the swell of your breasts. "Drivin' me crazy."

"Yeah?" you ask, reaching up to loosen his tie.

"Yeah," he grunts. He leans down, pressing his mouth to the tops of your breasts. You make a soft noise, and he smiles, his hand slipping up your thigh and pushing the hem of the dress higher. "Been thinkin' about taking it off all night.”

"Well, why don't you, then?"

Wrecker pulls away, and you look up at him, your eyes half-lidded and dark. Your cheeks are flushed, and your chest is rising and falling, and you look so fucking gorgeous, he can't stand it.

He doesn't respond. His lips find yours again, and he pushes your skirt up higher, his hands bunching the smooth fabric. He tries his best to be gentle, but it's hard. The thought of ripping the dress from your body, tearing it off and tossing it to the side is appealing, but he won't. It's not his to ruin, and he doesn't want to make you mad.

"This okay?" he asks, breaking the kiss.

"Yeah," you answer, nodding. Your hands join his, and together you pull the dress over your head, and toss it aside.

He nearly drops you.

He doesn't, but it's a close thing.

"You—oh, fuck," he groans, his head falling to the crook of your neck, "you weren't wearin' anythin' underneath?"

You let out a breathless laugh, and the feeling of it makes his head spin.

"Surprised?"

"Uh, yeah."

He's not sure what to say, or what to do.

The only thing he can think about is the way your bare pussy is pressed against his thigh. Your nails drag across his scalp, and he shudders. He’s pretty sure his brain is short-circuiting, because all he can do is stare at you.

Your makeup is messy, your headpiece a little crooked, and your chest is rising and falling in short, shallow breaths, and you're looking up at him with a smirk that makes him want to drop to his knees and worship you.

"What's wrong?" you ask, tilting his chin up. "You can't talk now?"

Wrecker grunts. You're teasing him, and he can't even pretend he doesn't like it. He likes it too much.

"You're not playin' fair," he complains, his voice gruff.

"No?"

"Nope."

"Well, neither are you," you say, rolling your hips. The motion drags your pussy across his thigh, and the dampness on his skin has him groaning. You lean forward, your mouth next to his ear. "So, what are you gonna do about it?"

He growls, and you gasp as his hands slide down, grabbing your ass. He hoists you up, putting your chest level with his face.

"Gonna show you," he rasps, "just how much you drive me crazy."

He's never seen anything hotter than the way you're looking at him right now, and he's not sure he ever will. He doesn’t want to close his eyes, doesn’t want to blink, but he can’t help it when his tongue darts out and his lips close around one of your nipples.

The soft sound that escapes your mouth makes his cock throb, and he presses your back against the wall, holding you up with ease with one hand as the other comes up to fondle your other breast. His tongue is hot and insistent against your skin, and your breath catches in your throat when he drags his teeth across the sensitive flesh.

"Fuck," you hiss, arching into him.

"Told ya you look good," he mumbles. He nips at the swell of your breast, and a moan escapes your lips. "Good enough to eat."

"Yeah?"

"Mhm," he hums. "Can I?"

"Please."

You let out a squeak as he hikes you up further, his lips ghosting over your ribs, and then your sternum, and then the soft swell of your stomach. Your thighs are draped over his shoulders, and his hands are on the backs of your legs, holding them up and apart, and the sight of you above him is almost too much.

"You smell so fuckin' good," he growls, burying his face between your thighs.

You're already wet, and his nose bumps against your clit as he presses his mouth to your pussy. You're so warm, and soft, and when his tongue slides against you, you moan, the sound desperate and needy.

"Shit, Wrecker," you gasp, your hands coming down to grab his head.

"Just relax," he tells you, his tone a little patronizing. "I gotcha, sweetheart."

He dives in, his mouth eager and unrelenting. He licks and sucks and nips at the sensitive skin, and when his tongue pushes inside, you arch your back, rolling your hips. Your thighs squeeze around his head, and the noises that are leaving your lips are sending sparks down his spine.

He does it again, and again, and again, trying to coax more of those sounds from your mouth. He wants to see what he can get you to do, wants to know what makes you cry out, and moan, and scream.

You're trembling above him, and your pussy is so wet, he can feel it running down his chin.  

"Oh, fuck," you curse, and he can't help but grin.

Your hips buck against his face, and he grabs your ass, squeezing the soft flesh. His fingers sink into the plush skin, and he spreads you apart, his tongue circling your clit. You shudder, and your thighs tighten around his head. He can tell you're getting close, and he can't wait to feel you fall apart, to see your face twist in pleasure, and hear his name on your lips.

He's never been good at this. He's always felt a little out of his depth, a little awkward, a little clumsy. But he's learning. He's watching your reactions, listening to the sounds you make, feeling the way your body responds. And he's paying attention, because he wants to be the only person who can make you feel like this.

He knows it's possessive. He knows it's a lot, especially since the two of you haven't talked about what this means. But he doesn't care. Not right now. He just wants you, and he's willing to do whatever it takes to make sure that's what happens.

You're writhing above him, and he can feel the muscles in your thighs tensing as his lips close around your clit. He makes sure he's got a good grip on you with one hand before sliding the other in between your thighs, and he pushes one finger inside you, and then another.

"Wrecker!"

He's pretty sure that's the hottest thing he's ever heard.

He doubles his efforts, his fingers pushing deeper and deeper. He's not even sure if he's hitting the right spot, but from the way you're writhing, and moaning, and cursing, it seems like he's doing something right. Your walls are squeezing his fingers, and he curls them, trying to find the spot that will make you scream.

You do.

Your whole body tenses, your thighs clamping hard around his head, and you throw your head back, crying out. He watches in awe, his eyes wide, and his mouth slack as you come apart above him. He can feel it, can feel your walls tightening, and the rush of heat as you climax, and he can’t resist the urge to press a kiss to the soft, swollen flesh.

"Wrecker," you choke out, your voice cracking, and he knows he's never going to get enough of this. 

He keeps his fingers buried inside of you as he pulls away from the wall. You cling to him, and he carries you over to the bed, lowering you onto the mattress. His fingers slip out of you, and he watches in fascination as you clench around nothing, your body still trembling.

"Fuck," he groans, dropping to his knees and burying his head between your legs again.

You let out a noise of surprise, and his hands push your thighs open, keeping them spread wide.

"You did so good, sweetheart," he murmurs, pressing a soft kiss to your swollen lips. He licks you clean, his tongue swiping through your folds. You squirm, and his grip on you tightens. "Gonna make you come again."

"Oh," you whimper, letting out a shaky breath.

"Just breathe, cyar'ika," he tells you, his lips trailing up your inner thigh. He can't get enough of the taste of you, or the way your body is reacting. You're still shaking, and the knowledge that it's because of him is making him delirious. He's pretty sure this is the best night of his life.

"I'm gonna make you feel good," he says, his voice soft and low. "I promise."

"You always make me feel good, Wrecker," you whisper.

"Yeah?"

"Mhm," you hum, nodding. "Always."

Wrecker grins and leans back, shoving his suit jacket off his shoulders. He's not sure where you want him, or how far you want to take things, but he's happy to follow your lead. He’s happy to do this all night, every night, for the rest of his life, if you asked.

He unbuttons the cuffs of his shirt and rolls up the sleeves, his eyes never leaving you. You're looking up at him, your cheeks flushed, your chest rising and falling. He can't believe he gets to see you like this, so vulnerable and trusting.

"What is it?" you ask with a tilt of your head. The motion moves your lekku, and Wrecker's gaze follows. He's fascinated by the way they shift, and sway, and twitch. He wonders what they feel like, if you’ll let him touch them, if they're as sensitive as he's heard.

"Nothin'," he answers, shrugging.

"Liar."

"No, really," he says. Then, a grin spreads across his face, and he can't help himself, "I just like lookin' at ya."

"Yeah?"

"Mhm."

"What about me do you like looking at, ma sareen?"

"Everything," he tells you, and the sincerity in his voice seems to catch you off guard. "Everythin' about you. You're gorgeous, and I'm lucky as hell."

"Wrecker, you're not just saying that, are you?"

"Never," he promises, "not when it comes to you."

You bite your lip, and the way your teeth sink into the plump flesh sends a rush of heat through him.

"You're too good to me," you mumble, a fondness in your eyes that makes his heart swell.

"Could never be too good to you," he replies quickly, shaking his head. He pushes his sleeves up to his elbows and leans back down, kissing the curve of your stomach.

"Wrecker," you sigh, your hands settling on his shoulders, "you're such a gentleman."

"A gentleman?" He laughs, his forehead resting against your hip.

"Mhm," you hum.

He glances up at you, his brows raised. "Sweetheart, I've had my face between your legs for the past fifteen minutes, and you're tellin' me I'm a gentleman?"

"Maybe I like a man who knows how to treat me," you suggest.

"Yeah?"

"Mhm."

Wrecker chuckles, and then he kisses the top of your mound, and then the crease of your thigh, and then your knee. You make a soft noise, and his eyes flick back to your face.

"So, do you still want me to keep treatin' you?" he asks, and if the words come out a little nervous, he can't help it.

"Of course," you say, a hint of surprise in your voice, as if you can't believe he would think otherwise. You smile sweetly, and the weight in his chest lifts. "I want everything with you, Wrecker. Always."

"Good," he sighs, the tension leaving his body. "Because I want everythin', too."

Your head falls back against the pillows, your hands slipping from his shoulders to his head. You pull him closer, and he's more than happy to follow your lead.

"Then, come on, darling," you murmur, lifting your hips and spreading your legs wider, "give me everything."

Wrecker swallows thickly.

"Yes, ma'am."

His mouth is on you again, and you don't hesitate to let him know how good he's doing. You're not shy, and you're not quiet, and you're not afraid to take what you want.

And, gods, does Wrecker like that.

He's still a little in awe, a little dumbstruck by the fact that this is happening, and that it's not just some fantasy he's making up in his head. This is real, and you're here, and you're enjoying yourself, and the sound of your voice, the way you move, the softness of your body is so fucking overwhelming, it's making him delirious.

He wants to do this every night, for the rest of his life.

Your scent fills his nose, and your taste coats his tongue, and the slick, wet noises his mouth makes as he eats you out are driving him crazy. You're shaking beneath him, and your legs are draped over his shoulders, and your nails are scraping against his scalp. Your heels dig into his back, and his hands move down, holding you steady. He's not stopping until you tell him to, and from the way you're moaning, he doesn't think that's going to be anytime soon.

"You're so fucking hot," he groans, his teeth scraping against your folds. "Gonna make you come again. Gonna get you nice and ready for me."

You whimper, and he knows he's made the right choice.

"Sound good?" he asks, voice muffled by your cunt.

"Mhm," you nod.

"Yeah?"

"Yes," you moan, "yes, please, please, I want you to fuck me."

"Oh, I'm gonna," he growls, his lips brushing against your clit, "but first, I'm gonna make you scream."

He's not sure where he found the confidence, but he doesn't care. He doesn't even notice. He's too busy trying to get you to come for him again. He's licking, and sucking, and kissing, and nibbling, and it's only when you're begging him to fuck you that he finally pulls away for air.

"Not yet," he says, pressing a kiss to the crease of your thigh.

"Please," you whimper, "please, Wrecker, I need it. Need you."

He chuckles, his stubble scratching against the inside of your thigh. "I know, sweetheart, I know. Not yet, though. Just a little more."

He slips two fingers inside you, curling them, and your whole body jolts.

"Wrecker, please, I'm so fucking wet, just—"

"I know," he grins, pumping his fingers in and out of you. Your pussy is soaked, and the sound of him fingering you is obscene. It makes him want to shove his cock into you, to feel how tight and warm you are. "Gettin' you nice and wet for me."

"Don't—don't tease me," you huff, and Wrecker laughs, kissing your clit.

"I'm not," he insists. "Just tryin' to make sure you're ready."

"Ready?"

"Mhm." He pushes his fingers deeper, and he can feel the way your walls are already fluttering, the way your muscles are twitching. You're close, and he can't wait to see what you look like when you fall apart. "Wanna make sure you can take me."

"I can," you assure him, "please, I can."

"I'm gonna make you come again," he says, his voice soft. "And then, when you're all nice and relaxed, and you're beggin' for my cock, that's when I'm gonna fuck you."

"I'm begging now," you whine.

"I know, baby," he murmurs, his tongue pressing flat against your clit. "Be patient. It'll be worth it, I promise."

"Okay," you say, and the sound comes out strangled, like it's hard for you to talk. The way your voice breaks, and your chest rises and falls has him grinning, and he leans down again, his mouth eager and insistent.

"Fuck," you gasp, "oh, fuck, Wrecker, I'm—I'm gonna—"

"Go ahead," he encourages, his voice husky, "lemme see.”

Your head falls back, your whole body trembling as you come for the second time that night. It's even more beautiful than the first, and the way you pull his fingers deeper has him moaning against you. He doesn't stop until you're pushing him away, and even then, he doesn't go far.

Wrecker pulls back, slowly, his eyes on yours. You're breathing heavily, and your cheeks are flushed. Somewhere along the way the headpiece you were wearing had come loose, and it's resting on the pillow next to you. Your eyes are hooded, a dazed look on your face, and you look absolutely gorgeous.

"That was so fucking hot," he tells you, leaning down to press a kiss to your inner thigh.

"Wrecker, that was..." you trail off, letting out a quiet sigh. "I've never come twice that fast before."

"Really?"

You shake your head, laughing breathlessly. "Nope."

"So, I guess I did a good job?"

"Good?" you repeat, looking almost offended. "Darling, it was incredible."

He grins wide and presses a kiss to your stomach. You cup his cheek, and your thumb brushes his lip. It's damp with your arousal, and the realization sends a wave of heat through him.

"I'm just glad I made you feel good," he says.

"Trust me, you did," you assure him, and the earnestness in your voice has his cheeks flushing.

"Glad to hear it," he murmurs. He nips at the underside of your breast, and you whimper.

"Wrecker," you mumble.

"Mhm?"

"Come here."

"Why?"

"Because," you answer, sitting up and grabbing his tie, "I want to kiss you."

He lets out a laugh. "Is that all?"

"No," you say, and the honesty in your tone makes him shiver. You tug on the tie, pulling him towards you until your lips meet in a messy kiss. He's careful not to put his weight on you, keeping most of it on his forearms as he presses closer. Your tongue is hot and insistent against his, and when your teeth scrape his bottom lip, a groan escapes his throat.

"Please," you mumble against his lips. "Please, Wrecker, fuck me."

“Was hoping you’d say that,” he grunts, a smirk on his face.

He kisses you again, and it's rough and needy and a little clumsy. Your hands are roaming across his back, and when they tug on his shirt, he reaches around, pulling the hem out of his pants and working the buttons open.

He doesn't have the patience to undo them all, so he tears the shirt and tie off and tosses them aside. He breathes a sigh of relief at finally being free from the restrictive fabric, only to suck in a sharp breath as your nails scrape his sides. The sensation sends a shiver through him, and he buries his head in the crook of your neck, panting.

You don't let up, your hands exploring the planes and divots of his bare chest. His skin is on fire, and his muscles are flexing beneath your touch. Your mouth finds his neck as your fingers move to undo his belt, and his whole body jolts.

You hum, pleased, and Wrecker knows he's in trouble.

Your teeth sink into his shoulder, and your tongue swipes over the marks, and when you press a kiss to his pulse point, he has to remind himself not to get carried away. He's not even inside you yet, and he's already on the verge of losing control.

"Wrecker, I'm tired of waiting," you whine, your hand sliding under his pants and squeezing his ass. "I need you."

"Shit," he curses, his cock twitching in his boxers. "I need you, too."

"Then, what are you waiting for?"

"Nothin'," he says, sitting up. "Absolutely nothin'."

He gets to his feet, pulling off his shoes and socks faster than he's ever undressed in his life. He shoves his pants and boxers down, and his cock springs free. You let out a quiet noise, and he feels a surge of pride as your eyes move down his body, and widen.

"Oh, Wrecker," you breathe, and the awe in your voice is so fucking satisfying. "You're..."

"Yeah?"

"It's so big," you murmur.

He feels the tips of his ears burn. He knows he's big. He's bigger than most, and he's always been worried about scaring people off.

"Do you think you can handle it?"

"Yeah," you say quickly, nodding.

"Are you sure?"

"Yeah, I'm sure."

He's not convinced. "It's okay if you can't, y'know."

"I know, Wrecker," you answer, sounding amused. "I can handle it."

"I just don't want to hurt you."

"I know. And it's sweet. But if you don't come here and fuck me right now, I'm going to go crazy."

"Well, we can't have that," he mutters, a smile playing on his lips.

He climbs back onto the bed, and you move to meet him halfway, your arms wrapping around his shoulders as you kneel together. Your chest presses against his, and you're so warm and soft, and he feels like he's going to melt.

He kisses the tip of your lek, and you let out a squeak, and the sound is so cute, he has to kiss the other one, too. He wants to kiss every part of you, and he plans to, someday. Right now, though, he's got something more important to take care of.

His mouth finds yours, and he cups the back of your neck, holding you still. You're pressed together, skin to skin, and he can feel the heat radiating from your body. Your hands are moving over his shoulders, down his chest, across his stomach, and when your fingers wrap around his cock, his hips buck.

"Fuck," he groans.

You give him a slow, languid stroke, and his eyes nearly roll back.

"You're beautiful," you whisper, your hand moving up and down, spreading precum along his length. You press a kiss to his shoulder, and then his collarbone, and his jaw, and his chin, and his mouth.

"I—ah," he grunts, his forehead falling to rest on yours, "You're kiddin', right?"

"Why would I be kidding?"

"You've got a lot more goin' for ya than me," he replies, his cheeks flushing. "A hell of a lot more."

"Nonsense," you say, shaking your head. Your grip tightens, and his breath catches in his throat. "You're the most beautiful man I've ever seen, and the things I want to do to you are..."

"Are what?"

"I'd rather show you," you admit, and there's something in your voice that makes his heart skip a beat.

"Well, go ahead, then," he encourages, giving you a toothy grin. "Show me."

Wrecker lets out a surprised yelp when you grab his shoulders and push him back, his back hitting the mattress. He laughs, and then you're on top of him, and his laughter dies, his breath coming out in short, shallow gasps.

You're straddling his waist, and the sight of your naked body above him is the most incredible thing he's ever seen. His hands move on their own, running across your thighs, your hips, and your ribs.

"This is a good look for you," you say, smirking.

"Oh, yeah?"

"Mhm."

You lean down and kiss him, and he can't help the way his hands wander, one moving up to squeeze your ass, and the other finding your breast. He can't get enough of you, and he doesn't know if he ever will. He squeezes, and rolls, and fondles, and when his thumb brushes your nipple, you break the kiss with a soft moan. You pull away, and he chases after you, his lips pressing against yours.

"Wrecker, stop," you giggle, swatting his hand away.

"I can't help it," he tells you, leaning up and pressing a kiss to your neck. "You're too kriffin' sexy."

"I need you inside me," you say, pushing his shoulders back. "And I'm not going to be able to get there if you keep distracting me."

"Alright," he sighs, falling back against the mattress. "Go ahead, I'll be patient."

"Good boy."

His eyes go wide, and his cock throbs at the words. He knows he likes being praised, and he's not ashamed to admit that, but the way it makes him react is almost embarrassing.

"Oh," you grin, and the mischief in your eyes has his heart racing. "You like that?"

"Yeah," he nods, his cheeks flushing.

"What else do you like?" you ask, leaning forward and grinding against him.

He swallows thickly. "Um."

"Wrecker," you say softly, and his eyes dart up to yours.

"I—" he stammers, his gaze flicking back down to your cunt. "I, uh—you know, I've never really had anyone ask me that before."

"Well, consider this the first time," you tell him, leaning down and pressing a kiss to the corner of his mouth. "Tell me."

"Uh."

"Come on," you urge, kissing the other side, "tell me what you like."

"I like makin' you feel good," he blurts out. "I like it rough, I like bein' told what to do. I like knowin' I'm doin' a good job. And I like you, so—so just...tell me how you feel, or somethin', and I'll be happy."

"I can work with that."

You sit up, and the motion brings your pussy closer to his cock. He watches with wide eyes as you raise yourself up and guide his cock between your folds, the tip brushing against your entrance. His hips twitch, and his hands come up to grip your waist, his thumbs rubbing soothing circles into your skin.

"Kriff, you're gorgeous," he breathes, his eyes on the place where his cock is just barely penetrating you. "You're amazing."

"So are you," you reply.

He's not sure he agrees, but he doesn't have time to argue, because you're sinking down onto him, and his brain stops working.

You let out a quiet sigh, and Wrecker tries his best to keep his composure, but the wet, hot, tightness is too much. His hands tighten, his fingers digging into your sides before he realizes what he's doing. He relaxes his grip, his palms sliding across your skin, his eyes still on where your bodies are joined.

"Shit, sweetheart, I'm sorry, I just—"

"Don't apologize," you interrupt, your hips shifting, and his cock pushes a little deeper.

"I can't help it," he huffs, "I don't wanna hurt you."

"You're not hurting me," you promise, one hand settling on his chest. The other takes his hand, and you lift it up to your mouth, pressing a kiss to his knuckles. "I'll tell you if you are, alright? So, don't worry. Just relax."

"Okay," he nods, taking a deep breath. "I can do that."

"Good boy," you praise, and Wrecker feels a wave of heat crash through him.

Your hips shift, and you sink down another inch. He lets out a shaky breath, his fingers curling into a fist. Your mouth is hot and insistent against his knuckles, your tongue swiping over the sensitive skin. You kiss his fingertips, and then his palm, and then the back of his hand. You nip at the fleshy part beneath his thumb, and he hisses, the sensation sending sparks up his arm.

"Fuck," he groans, and his hips buck, and his cock slides a little further inside.

"You're so big," you murmur, your hand sliding up his arm and over his chest. Your nails scrape his skin, and he trembles. "So fucking big, Wrecker."

"Yeah?"

You nod, your mouth open, and your cheeks flushed. Your eyes are a little glassy, and your breathing is shallow, and he can't believe how lucky he is to be here, with you, in this moment.

"I'm gonna—gonna make you feel good," he promises, and you laugh, your walls fluttering around him.

"Oh, darling," you sigh, lifting your hips and sinking back down, taking him a little deeper, "you already are."

His eyes squeeze shut, and his grip on you tightens. He tries to remember to breathe, and not to buck his hips, and not to pull you down and bury himself to the hilt. You're still kissing his hand, and the softness of your lips has him melting, his shoulders falling back against the bed.

"Look at me, ma sareen," you murmur.

Wrecker does.

The sight that greets him nearly sends him over the edge. You're hovering above him, his cock buried inside you, your lekku dangling in the space between your bodies. The lights in the room are dim, but the glow is bright enough to highlight the curve of your breasts, the swell of your hips, and the way your skin seems to shimmer.

You're breathtaking.

"You're amazin'," he says again, because he doesn't have anything better to say.

"You're so sweet," you chuckle, leaning down and pressing a kiss to his forehead. "I love that about you."

"Yeah?"

"Yes."

You kiss him again, and his mouth opens under yours. He groans when you bite his bottom lip, his hands moving to your hips, guiding your movements. You roll your hips, and his cock slips out of you, before sliding back in. You do it again, and again, and again, until the tip of his cock nudges against the end of your channel.

"Oh, shit," you gasp, sitting up, and bracing your hands against his stomach. "Oh, gods, Wrecker, you're—you're so fucking deep."

"Does it feel good?"

"So fucking good," you whimper.

He sits up and wraps his arms around you, holding you close. He can feel the tips of your lekku resting on his chest, and they're even softer than he imagined. He presses a kiss to the base of one, and then the other, and then he's kissing your neck, his stubble scratching against your skin.

"Ah," you sigh, your hips rocking. "Wrecker, fuck, it feels so good."

"Yeah?"

"Mhm."

"Good," he growls, and then he grabs your ass and pulls you down onto his cock.

You let out a surprised cry, and then you're moving faster, grinding down on his length. He thrusts up, his hips meeting yours. Your hands are everywhere, roaming across his back, his shoulders, and his chest. You're not shy about it, and you don't hold back. You squeeze, and stroke, and touch every part of him, and it's making him dizzy.

"Fuck, you feel so good," you moan, and Wrecker grunts, his teeth scraping the base of your lekku. "So fucking good, Wrecker."

"Yeah?"

"Mhm," you hum, and then you're pulling away, and his chest aches at the loss. You push him back against the pillows, and he stares up at you, his lips parted as you ride him, bouncing up and down. Your hands are planted on his chest, and your nails are digging into his skin.

He watches in awe as you take him, his cock disappearing between your legs. No one's ever taken him like this, no one's ever been able to handle him the way you are. You're not afraid, and you're not shy, and you're not afraid to get what you want.

"You're kriffin' perfect," he says, and then he's reaching for you, his hands cupping your face.

Wrecker kisses you, and the sound that leaves your throat is so needy, and desperate, that he can't help but thrust up into you, harder and faster. His tongue slides into your mouth, and you suck on it, drawing a groan from his chest. He's trying to hold on, to last as long as he can, but it's not easy. Not when you're riding him like this, and making him feel like this.

You pull away with a gasp and bury your face in his neck, and the warmth of your breath makes him shiver. He can't see your face, but he can feel the way you're shaking, can hear the quiet noises you're making.

"You like that?" he asks, his voice rough.

"So much," you whine.

"Gonna come for me?"

"Yes, please, yes," you whimper.

"Gonna scream for me?"

"Oh, Wrecker," you moan, your teeth sinking into his shoulder, and the pain goes straight to his cock. "Wrecker, you're making me—I'm so close, please, harder."

He doesn't hesitate to follow your orders.

He lifts his legs, spreading them wider, and you slide a little further down his length. His hips snap up, and your whole body jolts. The first slap of skin against skin has him groaning, and the second has him cursing, and by the time his balls are slapping against your ass, you're begging him not to stop.

He's not sure he could, even if he wanted to. He thrusts again, and again, his pace building. Your cunt is dripping, the wetness seeping from your entrance, and the lewd squelching sound fills the room.

His hand cups the back of your head, holding you close. You nuzzle against his shoulder, your lips pressed to his collarbone, and the sensation is so fucking intimate, so sweet, he's not sure how much longer he's going to be able to hold out.

"Sweetheart," he grunts, and he doesn't have the words to continue, doesn't know how to tell you he's going to come, doesn't want this to end.

"You're so good," you whisper, and he can feel his balls tightening, "so fucking good, Wrecker."

"Can I—I'm gonna come," he warns.

"Oh, fuck, me, too."

"Where—where do you want me?"

"Inside," you whine, and Wrecker has to grit his teeth to keep from coming on the spot. "Wrecker, inside, please, fill me up, I want it, want you."

"Shit," he groans, "fuck, fuck, sweetheart, you're—oh, shit, I'm—"

Your body goes stiff, your walls fluttering around his cock, and his mouth falls open. He's not prepared for the feeling of your pussy gripping his length, or the sound of your breathy moans. He's not prepared for the way your thighs tremble, or the way your back arches, or the way his name spills from your lips.

He's not prepared for the orgasm that crashes over him, the heat and the pleasure that rushes through his veins, and the way his whole body shudders as he comes inside you.

He can't remember the last time he came this hard, the last time he lost control like this. The feeling of your cunt around him is too much, and his head falls back, his eyes squeezing shut. The only thing that keeps him tethered to reality is the sound of your voice in his ear, a string of words in a language he doesn’t understand falling from your lips.

Wrecker holds you, his arms wrapping around you, and his hips buck, his cock twitching. He can't get enough, can't stop coming, can't stop fucking up into you. Your moans are soft, and gentle, and it's not until his own climax has subsided that he realizes you’re slumped against him, your breathing heavy, your face pressed to his neck.

"Shit, sorry, cyar'ika," he mutters as he realizes his grip has tightened. He moves to pull his hands away, but you reach out, taking his wrists and placing his hands back on your waist.

"No," you whimper, "please."

"Sweetheart, I'm hurtin' you."

"Just a little longer," you tell him, leaning down and pressing a kiss to the base of his throat.

He's not sure why, but the request brings tears to his eyes. You want him. You want him to hold you, and touch you, and the realization makes his heart swell.

"Alright," he agrees, and you sigh and nestle closer.

He lays there, his softening cock still buried inside you, his arms around you, and his fingers find their way to your lekku. He strokes them gently, and you shiver, your body trembling.

"Is this okay?" he asks.

"Yes," you answer, your voice barely above a whisper. "It feels nice."

"Good," he says, smiling. "I like touchin' you."

"I can tell," you laugh and press a kiss to his chest.

He continues, his fingertips tracing a path down the side of one, and then the other. He doesn't know how much time passes. He's lost in the feeling of you, in the warmth of your body, in the softness of your skin. He doesn't even realize his eyes are closed until he hears you laughing.

"What?" Wrecker asks, opening his eyes and looking down at you.

"Are you asleep?"

"No," he answers, shaking his head, though the blush on his face gives him away. "I was just restin' my eyes."

"You sure?" you ask, and there's a teasing tone in your voice.

"I'm sure," he says, and then you're pulling away. His arms drop, and his cock slips out of your cunt, and his mouth falls open. Your combined release is leaking out of you, dripping down his cock and onto his stomach.

"Wow," he breathes.

"Is it a bad 'wow' or a good 'wow'?" you ask, your teeth sinking into your lower lip.

"The good kind," he answers, his eyes roaming over your body before returning to your face. His brows furrow. "Can I kiss you?"

"Wrecker, you don't have to ask," you tell him.

"Well, um," he starts, his cheeks turning pink. "It's just, I'm not really good at this part."

"What part?"

"The after part," he tells you. "I mean, it's always been, you know, in the dark, or quick, and I don't know how you feel about kissing and cuddlin' after, and I just...I dunno, I just like you, and I want to do it right."

"Oh, Wrecker," you laugh, leaning forward and pressing a kiss to the corner of his mouth. "I like kissing and cuddling."

"You do?"

"I do," you nod, a smile on your face. "There's nothing more I'd rather do than kiss you, and cuddle with you, and hold you, and fall asleep with you. That is, if you'll have me."

"Oh.” He blinks. "Yeah, um, I'd like that a lot."

"Then, by all means, darling," you tell him, "kiss me."

"Yeah?"

"Mhm," you nod, grinning. "Please."

Wrecker leans forward, his hand cupping your cheek, and he presses his lips to yours. He licks into your mouth, his tongue sliding against yours, and the soft moan that leaves your lips makes his heart soar.

"You're incredible," he breathes, and the smile on your face is the most beautiful thing he's ever seen.

"You are too," you murmur, pressing a kiss to his jaw. "I hope that was everything you were hoping for."

"It was even better," he says, his hand moving down and resting on your hip. "Can we do it again?"

"Right now?" you ask, and he can't help but laugh.

"I was thinkin' tomorrow, maybe," he tells you, his thumb stroking your skin. "I'm gonna be honest, sweetheart, I don't think I'm gonna be able to go again for a while."

"Me either," you reply, laughing.

"But," he starts, his grip on your waist tightening, "when I am, you want to?”

"Of course," you tell him, leaning in and pressing a kiss to his neck. "I have some other ideas I'd like to run by you, if you're interested."

"I'm very interested." He grins. "Lets get cleaned up, and then you can tell me all about ‘em.”

"Mm," you whine, burying your face in the crook of his neck. “But I don’t want to move.”

“Not a problem,” he replies, and before you can say anything, he wraps an arm around your waist and pulls you against him. You squeal, your legs wrapping around his waist, and he slides off the bed, holding you against him.

"Wrecker, put me down," you giggle.

"You're the one who didn't want to move," he reminds you.

"Put me down," you say, but your voice is full of laughter, and you’re smiling.

"No," he teases, shaking his head.

"Wrecker," you sigh, rolling your eyes.

"Sweetheart," he replies, mimicking your tone. “I’m a gentleman, remember? And a gentleman always carries his girl to the shower."

"In that case," you murmur, wrapping your arms around his neck and burying your face against his throat, "thank you, sir."

He walks toward the refresher, his arm wrapped tightly around your waist, and his chest is bursting with pride. You're smiling, and laughing, and holding onto him, and it feels like a dream.

Wrecker sits you on the edge of the counter, and you wince, a soft hiss leaving your lips.

"You okay?"

"Just a little sore," you admit.

"Shit," he curses. "I didn't hurt you, did I?"

"No, no," you shake your head, your hand finding his wrist and squeezing. "It's a good sore, I promise. You were wonderful."

"Oh, yeah?"

"Mhm," you nod, biting your lip. "Best I've ever had."

He laughs. "That can't be true."

"Well, it is," you tell him, and he can see the sincerity in your eyes. "I mean, I've never felt anything like it."

He smiles, leaning down and pressing his forehead against yours. You reach up, your fingertips brushing against his cheek, and he turns, kissing the palm of your hand.

"You're not just sayin' that, are ya?" he asks.

"Why would I?"

"I dunno," he admits.

"Wrecker," you sigh, your thumb brushing across his lower lip, "it's been a long time since I've felt anything for anyone. The truth is, I've had a crush on you for months. You're sweet, and kind, and funny, and the things you did tonight...the way you made me feel, the way you treated me...I've never felt so safe. Or special.”

"It was nothin'," he says, his cheeks flushing.

"It wasn't nothing," you insist, and he knows the look in your eyes means you're not going to let it go. "You made me feel beautiful, and wanted, and cared for, and I'll never be able to thank you enough for that. And it's going to take a lot more than a rough fuck to get rid of me."

"Yeah?" he breathes.

"Yes," you say, pressing a kiss to his chin.

"Okay," he nods. "So, we're gonna try this, huh?"

"Do you want to?"

"Are you kidding me? Of course I do," he laughs, his hands coming to rest on your thighs. "I just didn't want to push."

"Well, consider this your official invitation," you tell him, your hands sliding down and squeezing his biceps. "I'm all yours."

"All mine, huh?"

"Yep."

"Good," he nods, and then he's scooping you back up and carrying you toward the shower. "Because I'm all yours, too."

"Even better," you laugh, and the sound is like music to his ears.

Wrecker kisses you again, his hands gripping your thighs, and your legs wrap around his waist, pulling him closer. You smile against his lips, and he can't help the grin that spreads across his face. He's not sure how this happened. He's not sure why you picked him. But he doesn't care.

All he cares about is the feeling of your lips against his, and the sound of your laughter filling the room. All he cares about is the taste of your mouth, and the warmth of your skin, and the way his chest swells every time you look at him.

He doesn't know where this is going, or how far it will go, but he knows one thing.

He wants it. All of it. With you.

Translation: ma sareen = Ryl for "my sweet"

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

---

Saying Something Stupid Like I Love You 🌊

🫧 pairing: Wrecker X Gender Neutral Reader

word count: 1.4k

prompts:

*flustered rambling* ...And I love you!" / "Huh?" / "I said achoo."

“I really like you. Or, love you. Yeah. I really love you."

Summary: Your feelings for Wrecker were out of control. So, with enough courage, you tell him how you truly feel. Kind of.

warnings: none, complete fluff, idiots in love, mutual pining, first kiss, gender neutral reader.

Authors note: Hope you both don’t mind me joining requests? It just makes sense to kill 2 birds with one stone 😊 enjoy! 🫧 🩵 @dr-carew-jekyll

You found it impossible to tear your gaze away from him, captivated by every detail of his presence. The flutter of your heart matched the rhythm of the sunlight dancing across his features, leaving you utterly breathless. How could one man do this to you?

Your adoration for Wrecker had been a slow burn, a continuous journey that had been marked by bittersweet longing, knowing deep down he may never reciprocate your feelings. So, you nurtured your affection quietly but in doing so allowed it to bloom despite the ache it brought you daily.

“Why don’t you join me?” His invitation shattered your trance, drawing you back to reality with a jolt of embarrassment. Hastily, you averted your eyes, pretending to focus on your data pad to mask your blatant staring from just now.

Tentatively, you met his gaze, mustering a smile to act as though you didn’t realise he was there. "Me?" Your response came out in a nervous whisper, but his easy laughter washed away your self-consciousness.

“I don’t see anybody else, so yeah. You.” He laughs and With a pat on the space beside him, he beckons you to his side, nestled beneath the weeping maya tree, both of you now bathing in the golden embrace of sunlight.

As you settle beside him, a rush of nerves tingle down your spine. "This spot is my favourite here," he mused, his voice tinged with a quiet awe.

You observed him, drinking in every detail of his rugged charm, from the strength etched into his features to the warmth of his gaze. His eyes closed, basking in the sun's embrace, and you found yourself once again lost in admiration for him. “I need to tell you something.”

The words escaped your lips like a runaway speeder, before your brain could even hit the brakes, and Wrecker, with his signature grin, raised an eyebrow, his eyes twinkling with mischief.

"More fruit smuggling, huh?" he quipped, his tone dripping with playfulness, but as your nerves practically formed a dance line on your face, his expression softened into concern. "You look like you just saw a ghost bantha. Everythin’ okay?"

With a gentle touch, his rugged hand found its place on your shoulder, a stark contrast to its usual strength, now exuding a surprising softness.

Your breath caught at his touch, his presence engulfing you in a whirlwind of emotions. Swallowing hard, you met his gaze, the words tumbling out in a rushed gasp, "I-I'm fine. Just fine."

But Wrecker wasn't easily swayed. His eyes held a silent inquiry, piercing through your facade. "What's on your mind then? Has someone hurt you?" He asks quickly, eyes wide as he looks around for a possible suspect.

“What? No, no nothing like that Wrecker.” You say with a soft laugh, trying to ignore the flutter in your stomach with how protective he was. “It’s.. it’s complicated.”

Relief washes over him and offers a smile, a twinkle of amusement dancing in his eyes. "If it's about fixing up the Marauder, I'm afraid you're looking at the wrong guy."

You chuckled softly, but a nervous energy bubbles beneath the surface. "Somehow, that seems less complicated."

His gaze lingered on you, his eyes so tender and captivating that you felt yourself getting lost in their depths. The urge to lean in and plant a kiss right then and there surged within you, tempting you to dive headfirst into your fantasies that had kept you up at night. But you resisted, swallowing back your nerves and summoning all the courage you could muster.

With a deep breath, you square your shoulders and lift your chin, meeting his gaze head-on. Here goes nothing. Or everything…

“So, I don’t really know how to say this and I am sorry if you feel any different towards me or if this ruins our friendship but I just…” Your words stumbled out in a jumbled mess, a chaotic spiral of thoughts and feelings colliding in your mind like asteroids in a meteor shower. Why were you mentioning Batcher? The ocean? What you ate last week with Phee and Omega? It was like your brain had taken a detour.

Wrecker's brow furrowed in bewilderment, his gaze searching yours for an answer amidst the storm of your flustered rambling. Your hands grew clammy, your knees threatening to buckle beneath you even as you remained seated. You rambled on, words tumbling out like a malfunctioning hyperdrive until, finally, you blurted it out.

"And I love you!"

"Huh?"

"I said achoo."

Your heart sank as Wrecker's expression morphed into one of confusion, tinged with an emotion you also couldn't quite decipher…

"You love me?" he repeated, his voice barely above a whisper for a man so loud, the words hanging heavy in the air between you.

"Did... did I say that?" You choked out, your voice barely audible over the thudding of your own heartbeat. Avoiding his gaze, you felt a lump form in your throat, your cheeks burning with embarrassment.

He nodded slowly, his mouth agape, as if struggling to process the revelation. "It's not somethin' I ever thought you'd say to me."

"Yes, well," you began, clearing your throat in an attempt to mask your nervousness and pent up emotions, already mentally planning your escape to the safety of the Marauder or perhaps even a boat to sail far, far away, "I thought you ought to know."

As you rose, Wrecker's gaze followed you, but before you could make your getaway, he was quick to intervene, standing and catching your arm with a gentle touch that rooted you in place. "Wait, don't just run away," he urged, turning you to face him with a tenderness that belied his usual gruff demeanor. "Do you mean it?"

Your heart pounded in your chest, words caught in your throat like a tangled net. "I did... I do. I do really mean it," you mumbled, unable to meet his gaze as he released your arm.

He smiles, soft and delicate unlike his rugged and scarred features. Aside from those eyes… eyes you’ve grown to adore due to the warmth that emanated from them. Trying not to get entranced again and make an even bigger di’kut of yourself, you took a step back but noticed him start to shift.

Watching him, even holding your breath as he took one, his next words hung in the air. "I like you."

Ouch.

Was this the dreaded ‘friend zone’? Would the ground open up and swallow you whole? You could only hope.

"Or, love you," he added quickly, seeing how your demeanor changed as your eyes began to gloss over. "Yeah, I really love you."

Stunned, you struggled to find your voice, bewildered with the weight of his confession. "Are you just saying that to be nice?"

In response, he closed the distance between you in two purposeful strides, his hand lifting to delicately trace the curve of your cheek before cradling it in his palm. A tremor of nerves passed through him, matching the fluttering in your own chest. Before you could utter his name, he silenced you with a tender press of his lips against yours.

Explosions ignited in your gut, your eyes widening in shock. Was this real, or just a figment of your wildest dreams? But, you were determined to seize the moment even if it wasn’t real. You melted into the kiss, arms winding around the back of his neck as you kissed him back with fervour. His smile against your lips sent shivers down your spine as his embrace tightened, drawing you closer against his broad chest.

When you finally pulled back, your eyes met his with a mix of warmth and hope. "I've wanted to do that for a while," you admitted, breathlessly. The question of how long however can remain a secret.

His laughter rumbled against you as he held you close. "You should've told me sooner! I was going mad."

"I could say the same thing," you retorted with a smirk, catching him off guard.

"Okay, okay. I should've," he agreed sheepishly. "But I never knew you'd feel the same way back. I didn't want to ruin what we already had."

"Well, luckily for us," you leaned up to steal another quick kiss, savouring the sensation of his lips against yours, "we don't have to worry about that, do we?"

A grin spread across his face. "I don't think so." With a playful sweep, he lifted you off your feet, and suddenly, the weeping maya tree wasn't just his favourite spot—it was yours too.

As it turned out, your worries had been for nothing.

Masterlist

Wrecker

Tags: @littlefeatherr @kaitou2417 @eyecandyeoz @jesseeka @theroguesully @ladykatakuri @arctrooper69 @padawancat97 @staycalmandhugaclone @ko-neko-san @echos-girlfriend @fiveshelmet @dangraccoon @plushymiku-blog @pb-jellybeans @nunanuggets @sleepycreativewriter @erellenora @zippingstars87 @ezras-left-thumb @the-rain-on-kamino @lamiliani

@tech-aficionado @grizabellasolo @therealnekomari @tech-depression-inventory @brynhildrmimi

@greaser-wolf @tinyreadersmur @kaminocasey @marvel-starwars-nerd @ladytano420

@ladyzirkonia @thesith @raevulsix @cw80831 @knightprincess @crosshairlovebot @imalovernotahater @sithstrings @the-bad-batch-baroness @lulalovez @green-alm0nd

---

Guilty Pleasure

Word Count: 2.8k Pairing: post finale Crosshair x fem jedi!reader, past references to techxreader (tech girlies beware this one might hurt) Warnings: well its post finale, so some sad tech talk. angst and a lil fluff and bad proof reading Summary: Even with everything over and everyone back on Pabu, you and Crosshair still hadn't discussed a few things. Him hunting you, his feelings for you, or Tech. It was time. Some literal guilty pleasure.

You’d been separated from Clone Force 99 for months before your paths crossed again and Crosshair was long gone.

Initially, you attributed Crosshair’s continued attempts on your life to the influence of the inhibitor chip. But when Crosshair admitted that his chip was removed, your anger was uncontrollable—echoing the fury you felt on Kaller, the day he turned against you.

Your rage faded when you accidentally stumbled upon an old trunk filled with his gear. Buried under his armor was a small bundle of fabric. His privacy meant little at that point so you plucked it out and undid the bundle.

Inside, you found a tiny tube made from woven straw—a playful gift you had once hidden in his pack as a lighthearted jest about his constant need for toothpicks. The memory of him discovering it on a mission, his irritation palpable as he scolded you for invading his space, flashed through your mind. 

Seeing this keepsake tucked away amongst his most personal items confused you.

Turning the fabric over in your hand you recognized it as material from your old Jedi robe. When you chose armor over cloth you chose to discard the last physical remains of your Jedi life. 

Before you threw the robe away, however, you had playfully snipped off a hand-sized piece and tossed it into Crosshair’s lap, teasing him that it would be the closest he'd ever get to truly 'touching' a Jedi.

The only two things you’d ever given him and he’d kept them even after Kaller. You thought back to Crosshair before Kaller and some things looked different now.

His cutting remarks, always sharp and ready, his teasing, the intense way he often watched you—what you had once perceived as dismissive and aggravating, designed to unsettle you, now seemed to have been his attempt at playful banter. It was his own manner of expressing familiarity, albeit aggressively.

Hidden in the memories of butting heads, you dug up moments of subtle gentleness from the sniper. There were times he offered you a hand while navigating unsteady ground and carrying your pack - albeit biting about slowing the squad down.

There had been a time or two when you caught what could only be described as the ghost of a smile on Crosshair's lips—a hint that perhaps he found you attractive. Yet, his careful distance had always reassured you there was nothing more to it.

Now, looking at the items before you, doubts crept in. He had kept these tokens; he must have felt something for you, however slight. How had you failed to notice any signs?

When you heard footsteps on approach you made quick work of putting the trunk back together and in its place. It wasn’t until you saw Tech, checking your progress locating the tools, that a thought dawned on you.

Tech—the brother to whom Crosshair had been closest, the one he had always been perfectly in sync with. The one who looked at you like you were something to covet.

It all became very obvious. Of course, Crosshair would have been aware of Tech’s affection for you. Not much got past him, not with his sniper’s instinct for reading the subtleties of his surroundings.

To Crosshair, Tech’s natural ease around you would have been painfully clear. His loyalty towards his brother meant he would never do anything to undermine Tech’s happiness.

Yet, through it all he’d kept a piece of you for himself.

It made a funny feeling float through your chest. A mix of regret and gratitude.

Crosshair was an objective and loyal man. He put things above himself. His feelings, his wants, they didn’t  matter to him compared to his duties.

Eventually, you found it impossible to hold any resentment towards him for his actions. It was simply who he was. Even his actions that felt so deeply personal were dictated by his role as a soldier of the Empire. His entire sense of purpose was defined by his commitment to his duties.

Yet he still tucked away, in a corner only he’d see, a part of you to himself.

Looking up at Tech, the man you so thoroughly adored, gratitude swelled in you. The least you could do was forgive and accept Crosshair for who he was. You decided to extend him the patience and love he didn’t allow himself.

In his absence, you’d honor that by keeping his brothers safe for him. As you followed Tech out of the Marauder, you silently vowed to never let anything happen to them again.

A vow you failed to keep.

With each trek across the galaxy in search of Omega, alongside Wrecker and Hunter, the weight of your unkept promise grew heavier. The first sign of relief came unexpectedly—a transmission from Omega, her voice crackling through the Marauder’s comms.

You were only a hair’s breadth behind Wrecker when you ran to Omega. You stood back as Wrecker twirled her around, watched her run to Hunter, and allowed them the space of a family.

A familiar sensation hummed over your shoulder. A feeling you hadn’t felt since…

You swung around and standing in the light of the ship was Crosshair.

Weeks went by and reconnecting with Crosshair was more difficult than you anticipated. You’d both changed and the space left by Tech constantly hung between you.

Crosshair needed the same time and space he’d once afforded you. You wouldn’t push him, but that didn’t stop you from poking him. He was more compliant than when you first met and time on Pabu with Omega only made him more so.

When Omega told you about meditating with Crosshair, you knew you had to make the most of the opportunity.

On the back side of the island, there was a natural pool that became a frequent haunt of yours for meditation.

Floating in the waters, eyes shut and head relaxing on a rock, you’d been waiting and ready with your senses extended. Of all the brothers, Crosshair was the one who kept no pretenses about going unnoticed. He knew well that if he could spot someone watching him from a klick away, a former Jedi like you would easily sense him without even sight.

“Omega said you wanted me.” Crosshair’s voice cut through the quiet.

You twisted in the water, pushing yourself to sit up. “Took you long enough.”

“You’re lucky I came.” He retorted, arms crossed and shifting his weight onto one hip. He surveyed you with a raised eyebrow. “What are you doing?”

As you sat up, the waterline dipped just enough to reveal that the cloth wrapping your chest was now transparent. You noted his sharp intake of breath before he clicked his tongue and looked away, a subtle blush on his cheeks.

You smiled and gestured to the empty pool beside you, “Join me.”

His lip curled into his nose, “Why?” You didn’t deign him with a response, instead remaining with your hand outstretched.

Crosshair sighed and moved to sit on the rocks bordering the water. You splashed a bit of water at him. “Ah-ah! I meant join me in the water, Crosshair.”

His eyes narrowed on you, but after a moment of grumbling, he began to strip off his clothes. The moment the skin of his abdomen came into view, you averted your eyes, suddenly realizing you weren’t as prepared for this you thought.

Crosshair finally stepped into the water, his movements slow. He stood there for a moment, seemingly contemplating his next move, as the water lapped quietly around him.

You reached out and tugged on one of his fingers, coaxing him deeper into the water. “Sit back,” He let you guide, but he was stiff as stone, sitting rigidly against the rocks.

You sat adjacent to him, giving him ample space to relax if he so chose.

Despite the serene environment, Crosshair remained tense, his gaze fixed on the water in front of him, his thoughts miles away. Leaning through the water, you gripped his calf and pulled it over your lap. The sudden motion caused him to slip slightly; his hands scrambled through the water, seeking stability.

Now forcibly reclined, he pursed his lips but withheld whatever comment he had simmering. You met his resistance with a raised eyebrow and a light pinch, “Stay with me. Now, lay back.”

He blinked a few times, but again he complied. His head was resting against a stone behind him, his body from the chest down beneath the water line. You began to massage his calves. As you worked he spoke., “Why did you call me here?” His eyes were on the sky, deliberately avoiding yours.

“They say water’s supposed to be good for healing.” You mused, watching him carefully. For once, your roles were reversed. You took in everything about him while he sat back, trying to shut you out. 

“And who, exactly, is ‘they’?”

“Old, dead Jedi,” you replied with a light scoff, but the humor faded quickly. Your gaze dropped to your hands, momentarily still on Crosshair’s leg. You had referenced the Jedi Purge so casually, yet between you and Crosshair, it was anything but lighthearted.

“Crosshair-”

“I’m sorry.” He interrupted, his eyes finally meeting yours. For hunting you.

Your stomach twisted at the sight of him. His head tilted to the side, eyebrows pulled together, lips pressed tightly. He looked defeated, ashamed, devastated. “I—”

You lurched forward, placing a hand over his mouth. Crosshair’s eyes darted between your touch and your face. You couldn’t think too much about touching because thinking of how close you were was distracting in and of itself.

“Don’t,” you said, your voice wavering. Your hand then slipped to cradle his chin, your head shaking gently. “You don’t need to say that. I know who you are, Crosshair.” His eyes widened in surprise, and when you started to pull your hand away, he quickly grasped your wrist, holding onto the contact.

Despite the emotion swelling in your chest, your voice was steady. “Whatever happened, whatever you’ve done - it’s not changed how much I care about you.” You held his eyes, hoping to reach the dark parts of him he clung to. Leaning closer you swept a thumb over his cheek. “So let me be here for you.”

The next breath he took wasn’t shaky, but smooth and sure. He closed his eyes and, on exhale, opened them looking a little lighter. Crosshair gave a small nod, softer than you ever thought possible.

Giving his face a gentle squeeze, you smiled, removed your hand, and sat back. Sitting back, your chest lifted above the water again. Crosshair’s eyes dipped for a moment before looking skyward again and drifting shut once more.

Your hands drifted back to his calves still laying across your lap. The flutter of his eyes and the little hitch in his breath didn’t escape your attention. It made your fingers dig in harder. 

“Seeing you in your old armor has been nice.” 

He only grunted in response.

You fidgeted for a moment, but casually probed, “Was everything in your trunk the way you’d left it?”

“I’m wearing it all, aren't I?”

You lowered your voice, saying “I wasn’t talking about your armor.” The sniper tensed under your touch. “Cross.” You watched him, eyes averted, swallow. 

A muscle feathered in his jaw, “You looked through my trunk.”

You made no attempt to hide it. “I did. You kept a few things of mine.”

“I did.” He matched your limited honesty.

“Why?”

Crosshair’s lips tightened into a wry smile and his head fell to the side to face you. “Why don’t you take a guess?”

You blinked absently, a thoughtful frown tugging at you. You weren’t sure if this was a line he wanted you to cross. Or if you wanted to for that matter. Leaving it up to him you said, “You tell me.”

Crosshair stared at you for a few beats, looking between your eyes, but pushed up in the water as opposed to divulging anything. Drawing his legs off of yours, he stood in the water and silently climbed his way out of the pool.

He was shutting down and shutting you out.

Panicking, you stood to go after him, pleading. “Crosshair, stop.” Stretching out from the pool you managed to clip a finger. “Please. I’m sorry, I-”

Crosshair yanked his hand from yours, his fingers curling into fists. Keeping his back to you, Crosshair tilted his head like he was considering looking back. He was struggling and the panic of having broached the subject at all sunk into you.

Finally, his feet shifted and turned to face you again. His knuckles went white and he broke the silence, “You were… the first time Tech cared about someone other than our squad. I saw how he looked at you.”

Tech’s name stole the air from you. You’d not said it out loud in so long and this wasn’t the way you wanted to. 

Crosshair didn’t give you a choice, he crouched to your level and continued, “But he wasn’t the only one who saw you.” He let out a low breath, like he was free of a weight he’d held for so long.

An odd flutter rattled through you. Perched there in front of you, Crosshair was every bit the sharpshooter you’d first met. Seeing right through you and something in his eyes. Something you were never able to place before now.

It was want. He wanted you.

The thought stilled you. He still wanted you.

Crosshair dropped his head, whispering in a pained voice, “And I couldn’t - I won’t-”

You couldn’t listen to another word, so you broke your own heart, you said, “Tech wouldn’t want you living like that.” 

Crosshair’s head snapped up and he was just as shocked as you were. Shocked at you admitting a very hard truth. 

You opened your mouth to say something, but couldn’t find a single syllable to say. Didn’t know if you even could if you did. Before you lost your nerve, you pushed yourself from the waters and looped your arms around Crosshair’s neck.

Crosshair remained firm against the weight of you, his arms hesitantly reciprocating your embrace. The two of you sat like that for some time, soaking wet and holding each other with only your breathing to the silence. 

Clearing his throat, Crosshair gently untangled you. He pushed you back just enough to see your face. 

His eyes fell to your lips and when he met your eyes again there was something heavy in him. There had always been something unspoken between you and it now sat like a hot coal between you.

Your lips parted and caught his attention again. He swallowed and slowly brought his lips to yours, pausing one last time before pressing into you. Your response was immediate, deepening the kiss the moment your lips met. His hands were quick to settle on your waist, holding you against him and matching your fervor.

You didn’t want to feel everything at once. You just wanted to be lost in the feel of Crosshair and forget the rest. 

His hunger for you, buried for so long. flared to the surface. You felt and tasted better than he’d imagined. And he had imagined you often.

The burst of repressed fantasies caught Crosshair off guard enough that he broke the kiss. You were left panting and slightly dazed. Crosshair searched your flushed face for any sign of regret, but instead he found you doing the same to him.

This time you were the one to close the gap, gently pressing your lips together again. The kiss was softer and more intimate, allowing you to savor the feel of his lips. It had been a long time since you’d touched someone like this.

He tasted bittersweet.

Eventually you broke apart and both lowered to the ground. Crosshair hung his head back, sighed and a small smile lifted the corner of his lips. Leaning back on his good hand, Crosshair lifted a brow. “Was this your plan all along?”

You watched him for a moment, was he really joking right now?

Scoffing, you ran your fingers through your hair. “No.” Scooting over to Crosshair, you put a hand on his knee. With a genuine tone, you added “But thank you for coming out. And for-.”

Crosshair snorted,  interrupting you. “That’s enough of that for now.” Rolling onto his back and looking to the sky once more. Closing his eyes, he murmured sarcastically, “Healing waters, huh?”

“Something like that.”

taglist: @baddest-batchers @bruh-myguy-what @jetii

---

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 💜

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This is INCREDIBLE.

what genre would their album be tho? This pic, among with some other stuff is up on my Patreon in high res if you're interested ✨

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Few Fates Worse Than Death

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

Words: 13,780

Tags/Warnings: angst, hurt/comfort, canon-typical violence, platonic Rex x Reader, kissing, found family stuff so that makes it better right?

Summary: You refused to believe that Wrecker would ever hurt you, but on Bracca, his nightmare finally comes true.

A/N: I've written angst to some degree for every member of the squad except for Wrecker, so I decided to change that. This is the first and probably only time I pull quotes/scenes directly from the show for a one-shot.

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The moment Rex told you about the inhibitor chips, everything fell into place. A cold, icy dread filled you, even as the others insisted that the chips held no power over them. Everything that had happened since Kaller, since Crosshair and Master Billaba's men tried to kill you... you saw it all through a new lens, and the galaxy spun dizzyingly before you.

Like the others, you’d barely paid attention to Omega’s explanation of the chip. The idea that the Kaminoans put some sort of mind-altering device inside every clone was beyond the pale, so absurd that, even if it was true, you never thought to give it much attention. And Tech was so confident that his own research proved the chips had no such abilities. It was easier to trust Tech, who had always been honest and open with you, than to question your own instincts.

But Rex was different.

The others protested, but Rex had seen something, experienced it himself, and he wasn't willing to risk any of his brothers falling prey to it again. You can hear his fear in his voice, feel it radiating from him. His insistence that the chips be removed, one way or another, was unshakeable.

Rex looks over at you, as if expecting you to back him, but you can only look away.

You feel like you can't breathe, can't think. You take a step back and settle down on one of the barstools, your hand gripping the edge so tightly your knuckles are white. Your stomach churns with dread. What do you do? What can you do?

You’d felt it, the moment Jedi across the galaxy were cut down, like a thousand tiny shards of glass stabbing into your mind. The pain had been nearly blinding, and it had taken every bit of concentration you had to keep from screaming. But you hadn’t seen the images. Hadn’t witnessed the slaughter. That had been a mercy. You hadn't been there, hadn't seen them fall, but you still feel the echoes of their deaths in the Force, a dull, aching pain that never goes away.

The thought of what Rex had seen, what the other clones had experienced, sickens you. Being forced to witness the death of someone you care about is awful enough, but to see your own hand, your own blaster, murder the very people you are sworn to protect? You shudder, the horror of it too overwhelming to contemplate.

The others are talking now, and the argument is escalating. You watch them in a daze, barely able to focus. Your thoughts are running away with you, and you have to fight back against the urge to panic.

The clones were made to be obedient, but not this obedient. There was no way the Kaminoans, or the Jedi, or anyone would have created them with the ability to commit mass genocide at the push of a button. It couldn’t be real. It couldn't.

Could it?

"The chips make you a threat to everyone around you," Rex says, and it's like being doused in cold water. You stare up at him, wide-eyed, unable to speak.

Rex's jaw tightens. "You're all ticking time bombs." 

And you realize then that he's right. Even if the inhibitor chips really do hold no influence over the clones, you can't ignore the potential threat they pose. Not after what happened on Kaller, the horror of it still fresh in your mind. You hadn’t been there after, but you’d heard what happened. If Crosshair had really wanted to kill those refugees, if his chip had made him turn on his brothers... how could the others be so sure their own wouldn’t do the same?

They're all still arguing with Rex, telling him he's wrong, but they don't understand. None of them understand.

Rex turns to you, and when he sees your face, he falters. He knows. He has to know what's running through your head, because he takes a step forward, and you hold up your hand.

"Don't—"

"She's not safe with you," Rex says, gesturing to you. His face is stony, his expression hard. "Any of you. How can you protect her from yourselves?"

Wrecker's eyes dart between you and Rex, and when his gaze settles on you, his brows knit together in a worried frown. He looks distraught, and you wish there was something you could say, something you could do to ease his fears, but you can't get your tongue to work. 

"What are you talking about?" he demands. "We'd never hurt her."

"No, you don't understand. It's not—" Rex pauses, and his expression goes from pained to resigned. He takes a deep breath and shakes his head, his shoulders drooping. "What's in your head is more dangerous than you can imagine. I've seen what happens when the chip activates, and I don't want to bury any more of our brothers."

Rex meets each of the Batch's gazes in turn, then his eyes settle on you, and you know that you won't like whatever he has to say next.

"You can't keep her. She's not safe with any of you," he says quietly.

He's not saying anything you haven't thought before, but the way he phrases it sends a sharp stab of hurt through you, and the ache is only exacerbated when he continues.

"I can protect her."

"We can protect her!" Wrecker snaps, taking a step toward Rex. He glares down at the captain, looming over him, and for a moment, you're reminded of just how much larger Wrecker is than him. But Rex doesn't back down, doesn't flinch. Wrecker glances back toward you and Tech, a desperate look in his eye, and his voice goes soft. "Right?"

You open your mouth, but no sound comes out. Tech doesn't speak either. He just stares at Rex, a deep furrow in his brow.

"She'll be safer with us," Hunter argues. His voice is firm, but you can tell from the way he avoids meeting Rex's gaze that he's not nearly as certain as he seems.

"It's not the same," Rex says, and he's clearly struggling to hold onto his patience. "Trust me. It is not something you can control. I couldn't. It's a risk you do not want to take."

You've heard enough. Your throat is tight and your stomach is roiling, but you can't let them continue like this. You swallow back the bile and rise unsteadily to your feet.

"Enough," you say, your voice thin.

The others turn to you, and when Wrecker looks down at you, his expression is heartbreaking. You take a deep, steadying breath, then glance up at him.

"It's okay," you whisper, and force a small, reassuring smile. "Everything will be okay."

Your words don't have the desired effect. Wrecker's brow furrows and he takes a half-step toward you, reaching out his hand. He hesitates, and you close the distance between you, reaching up to take his hand in yours. His hand engulfs yours, and his fingers close around your hand gently, like he's afraid he might hurt you. His grip is warm and reassuring, and for a moment, everything is okay.

But it doesn't last.

“General, please." Rex's voice is soft, imploring, and when you meet his gaze, there's a pleading look in his eyes. "You know I'm right.”

“I’m not a general anymore, Rex," you say, shaking your head. "And I’m not a Jedi."

He opens his mouth to protest, but you cut him off.

"You can't ask this of me," you say, and a shiver runs through you. You wrap your free arm around yourself, wishing desperately for the security and comfort of the cloak you left behind. "Please. Don't."

Rex closes his eyes, and for a moment, the two of you are silent.

"Alright."

The others look relieved. Wrecker's face scrunches up and you think he's going to cry, but he's also smiling, and he wraps his arms around you and picks you up off the floor. He buries his face against your shoulder, and you wrap your arms around his neck, squeezing as tightly as you can.

"We'll figure this out," you say, and pray the others don't notice the way your voice wavers. "It'll be okay."

Wrecker nods, but his voice is thick when he replies. "I don't want you to go."

"I'm not going anywhere," you promise. "I'm not leaving."

But Rex's words are stuck in your head, echoing relentlessly. It's a risk you do not want to take.

Wrecker sets you down, and when he steps back, there's a wet sheen in his eyes. He rubs at his face and laughs nervously. You reach out and take his hand, squeezing it lightly, and offer him a smile. It feels forced and unnatural, and Wrecker must notice, because his expression falls, and he looks almost guilty. He drops his gaze and takes a deep, shuddering breath.

You look past him to the others. Tech is standing by the door, his arms folded tightly across his chest. You can see his hands are clenched, the muscles in his arms tense. His eyes are fixed on the floor, and when he senses your attention, he lifts his gaze and meets your eyes. His brow is furrowed, and you know he wants to say something. You can see the words forming in his mind, but whatever he's thinking, he keeps it to himself. He holds your gaze for a moment longer, then looks away.

Hunter and Echo are standing together, watching you. When you meet Hunter's eye, he gives you a curt nod.

"It'll be alright," he says, and his tone is oddly final. He turns back to Rex. "How do you suggest we get them out?"

"Good question," Rex replies, and his gaze falls on you again. He frowns and tilts his head. "You're sure you don't want to leave?"

"Yes," you reply, but your voice sounds thin, even to you. You clear your throat and repeat the word more firmly, and the others all look at you. "Yes. I'm sure."

Rex hesitates. For a long moment, he just looks at you, as if searching for some sign that you've changed your mind. Then he sighs and nods, his expression grim.

"Alright. I'll be in touch."

He leaves without another word. The moment he disappears up the stairwell, Wrecker tugs you against him, wrapping his arms around you and crushing you against his chest. You squeeze him back, closing your eyes and resting your forehead against his chest. Your heart is pounding so hard that you can feel it in your temples, and your head is throbbing.

"It'll be okay," you repeat, trying to sound reassuring, but there's an uncertainty in your heart that you can't ignore. You're not sure who you're trying to convince, yourself or Wrecker, but you both need to hear the words.

You're not sure what comes next. You've only just got back to the Batch, and now this...

It feels like you're standing on a precipice.

You're not sure which way the wind will blow.

Wrecker's headaches are getting worse, and they come more frequently.

He can barely sleep, and his temper is short. More than once, he's lashed out at the others, and you can tell that it's eating him up inside. He's ashamed and frustrated, and all the more upset because there's nothing he can do. When he does manage to rest, it's fitful. You're not sure how long it's been since he slept properly, and it worries you.

Your own rest is fitful as well.

Ever since Rex's revelation, there's been a tension between you all that was never there before. It's like you're all just waiting for something bad to happen, and every day that passes is just more time spent in anticipation of a nightmare you can't stop.

It's hard to shake, and sometimes, it's all you can do not to cry. You miss the Jedi, the people you thought of as family, and the knowledge that the clones were responsible for their deaths is like a knife through your heart. It was easier when you didn't know the truth, when the deaths felt more distant. Now, every time you think about the Jedi, you can't help wondering how they felt in those final moments. If they knew.

The pain in the Force is still there, but it's different. A constant ache, a reminder of all the lives lost. Sometimes, it's too much, and the grief overwhelms you.

The worst part is knowing that the others are keeping their distance.

It's subtle. Just little things, but you can tell.

You and Omega are still spending most of your downtime together, but when you go to spend time with the others, it doesn't last as long. You've barely seen Echo and Tech, and Hunter is avoiding you like the plague.

And Wrecker.

Wrecker is pulling away, and he's doing it so slowly that you didn't notice at first. At least, not until you woke up one morning to find the bed empty. He hasn't slept beside you since that night with Rex, and he's not spending much time with you outside of missions. And the longer this goes on, the harder it is to break the ice.

When you do manage to talk to him, you try to offer support. You want to reassure him, to comfort him, but the pain in his head makes him recalcitrant. It's like he doesn't want you to know the truth of what's bothering him, and the more you press, the more agitated he gets.

One night, you try to help him with his headache. He's sitting on his bunk, leaning over and clutching his head, and you can't stand by and watch him suffer any longer.

You sit beside him and rest a hand on his back. His skin is slick with sweat, and his muscles are tense, his entire body shaking with pain.

"Can I help?" you ask, keeping your voice soft. "Will it help if I massage your temples?"

Wrecker's answer is a muffled groan, and it's impossible to tell whether it's a yes or a no, so you tentatively begin to rub your fingers in slow circles. You start at his temples and work outward, hoping that some of the tension will release.

You keep rubbing for a while, and it seems to help, a little. When his head finally slumps forward, you pause.

"How's that?" you ask softly.

"S'good," Wrecker grumbles, but the tone of his voice makes it clear that he's anything but pleased. "Thanks."

He doesn't move, doesn't relax. You're not sure what else to do, but you don't want to leave him like this. It feels wrong.

"Is there anything else I can do?" you ask, and you try to keep your voice gentle.

Wrecker shakes his head. "I'm fine."

“You’re not.” Your words are quiet, but they feel like a shout. Wrecker freezes, and for a long moment, neither of you speaks. You sigh and move so that you're kneeling in front of him, and you place your hands on his knees. "Please, talk to me."

He doesn't answer. He doesn't move, his head bowed.

"Why are you shutting me out?" you whisper.

"I'm not," Wrecker mumbles. His hands come up to cover his head, and you have the feeling that the action has less to do with his headache and more to do with his reluctance to meet your gaze. "I'm just..."

His words trail off, and a tense silence falls between you.

"What's wrong?" you ask, and now your voice is wavering. The tears you've been fighting for days are threatening to spill over, but you hold them back. You take a deep, shuddering breath and lean in closer. "Wrecker. Please."

"It's nothing," Wrecker mutters, and his shoulders hunch. He doesn't look at you, and his hands clench into fists.

"It's not nothing."

You hesitate, then gently rest your hand on his cheek. He flinches, and for a moment, your stomach tightens with fear. But then his eyes flick up to yours, and when he sees your face, a pained look crosses his features. His eyes soften, and a single tear rolls down his cheek.

"You're not sleeping. I can tell."

"Neither are you," he grunts, and he tries to pull away.

"I'm worried about you," you whisper. You reach out and touch his hand. "Talk to me."

Wrecker looks away. He wipes the tear from his cheek and clears his throat. "Don't be."

"I can't help it." You reach out and touch his hand, and when he flinches, it's like being stabbed through the heart. You draw back and look away. "I'm sorry. I'm not trying to pressure you."

"I know."

"Just... if you need anything. I'm here."

"I know," he whispers. He looks down at his hands, and the tears are back. He wipes them away, but not before they start rolling down his cheeks. He shakes his head. "I'm a fuckin' mess."

"It's okay."

“It’s not okay,” he snaps. He glares up at you, his brow furrowing, and the pain in his expression is so raw that it takes your breath away. His voice is thick with tears. "I don't wanna hurt you."

"You won't," you insist, but your stomach twists and knots at his words. "I trust you."

"You shouldn't."

"Wrecker—"

"What if Rex was right?" Wrecker asks, and his words cut straight through your heart. "What if he's right? What if—what if something happens, and I..."

His voice trails off, and when he looks at you, his eyes are wet. He blinks and swallows, and when he continues, his voice is strained.

"What if the chip took control, and I hurt you? Or Omega? I couldn't..." He chokes and shakes his head, looking away. "I couldn't live with myself."

"Nothing is going to happen," you insist, and when Wrecker doesn't answer, your heart sinks. You climb up onto the bed and wrap your arms around him, pulling him against you. He rests his forehead against yours, and the tears are streaming freely down his cheeks. You kiss his cheek and reach up to brush away the tears, but there are too many. You wipe away a few, but the others just keep coming, and Wrecker lets out a soft, miserable noise. "Oh, Wrecker."

He doesn't answer. He turns his face into the crook of your neck and wraps his arms around you, pulling you close, and buries his face against you.

"I can't lose you," he whispers, his voice thick. "Not again."

"You won't," you murmur. "I promise. You won't lose me."

You can't be sure that's true, but you don't know what else to say. Wrecker holds you tightly, and you wrap your arms around him and kiss the side of his neck, and then his cheek, his shoulder, his chest, his lips. You want him to know how much you care, how much you need him. How much you love him.

"I'm not going anywhere," you say as your own tears spill over. You squeeze him tight and bury your face against his neck. "You won't lose me."

"If anything happened to you..." Wrecker shudders, and his grip on you tightens. "I couldn't handle it. If something happened, I couldn't—"

He stops and takes a deep, shuddering breath. He presses his face into your hair and squeezes you tightly. His voice is small, almost lost in the darkness.

"I love you."

You freeze. For a moment, your heart stutters, and you feel like your lungs have stopped working. He's never said it before. Not in words, anyway. You’ve known it for a long time, but to hear him say it, even in a moment like this, is something else entirely. It makes you ache.

"I love you," Wrecker repeats, and then his face scrunches up and his words spill out in a rush. "I've loved you for so long. I love everything about you. You're the best thing that's ever happened to me, and the thought of hurting you, or losing you, is too much. I can't. I won't."

"Wrecker." You pull back and take his face in your hands. "Look at me."

"I should have told you earlier," Wrecker mumbles. His words are so slurred together that they're almost unintelligible. "I'm sorry. I'm so sorry."

Your eyes are filled with tears, and it's hard to see, but you know you need to get close to him, to offer him the same reassurance he's given you countless times. So you slide onto his lap, wrapping your arms around him, and rest your forehead against his.

"I'm not. There was never a good time, not really. But now, right now, I'm glad I heard it." You cup his cheek and brush the tears away. "And I'm glad I can tell you now. Because I love you too. So much. And I need you to know that. I'm not going anywhere. Not ever."

You press your lips to his, and he responds instantly, returning the kiss with a hunger that catches you off guard. It's intense and overwhelming, and he pulls you tighter against him, like he's trying to merge the two of you together. His hand slips beneath your shirt, his fingers splayed across your lower back, and he groans into the kiss. It's the most intense and passionate kiss the two of you have ever shared, and it leaves you gasping for breath.

"I love you," you repeat, and when he looks at you, his eyes are bright. He leans in and kisses your forehead, then rests his forehead against yours and closes his eyes.

"I won't let anything happen to you," he whispers. "No matter what. I promise."

"I know." You press a soft kiss to his jaw, then rest your head on his shoulder. "And I won't let anything happen to you. We're in this together. I'm here, no matter what."

Wrecker doesn't reply. He just nods and wraps his arms around you, leaning back until the two of you are lying down. He pulls you on top of him, and when you shift, the movement is enough to send a shiver through him.

He presses his face into your hair and holds you close, and for a long time, the two of you stay like that, holding each other. It's a little awkward, with your legs tangled together and the bunk too small for the two of you, but it feels right. It feels good. Safe.

 "I love you,” you whisper again, and Wrecker's arms tighten around you. He kisses the side of your neck, and his breath tickles the hairs on the back of your neck. You snuggle deeper into his embrace and close your eyes.

"Love you," Wrecker mumbles. 

The way he says it is so soft, so full of adoration, that your heart breaks a little. You love him. You love him so much. You never thought you'd get to say the words, never thought it would be possible, but now that it's out there, the words come so easily, like they've always been waiting to come out. And the relief of hearing him say them back is almost dizzying.

You stay there, wrapped up in each other's arms, and you listen to the sound of Wrecker's breathing. He falls asleep eventually, and his grip loosens, but he doesn't let go. When you're sure he's sleeping, you shift, resting your head against his chest and listening to the steady beat of his heart.

You close your eyes, and for the first time in a while, you feel safe.

For the first time in a while, sleep comes easily.

As soon as you arrived on Bracca, things took a turn for the worse. You'd all managed to dodge the Scrapper's Guild, but traversing the wreckage of the fallen Venator was a trial in and of itself. There was debris everywhere, and you could hardly breathe in the thick, oppressive air. Every step felt like it could be your last, and you and Hunter couldn't stop sensing something in the murky water below. Something lurking, waiting. And when Wrecker fell in...

He'd nearly drowned. He'd nearly been devoured by that dianoga. You'd thought you'd lost him.

You can't think about it.

He's safe now, and that's all that matters. He's safe, and you can finally breathe again. But the tension is still there, coiled tight in your stomach, and it's not just because of Wrecker. There's something else, something more. 

It's been there since Kaller, a feeling that something terrible is looming. You've felt it before, and it's never been wrong. The Force is trying to warn you, but the warnings are growing more frequent, more intense. Something big is coming, and there's no telling when it will happen, but you're sure it's not good.

You're standing in the back of the medbay, trying to keep out of the way as Tech works on Wrecker. He's running scans and taking readings, and the whole time, he's muttering under his breath. You cast a glance at Rex, who's standing next to you, but his attention is focused on the scene in front of him, his brow furrowed and his hands clasped behind his back.

"You've been quiet," he murmurs, his gaze shifting towards you.

"Yeah."

"Wanna talk about it?"

You hesitate. There's no point in keeping it to yourself, and maybe it'll help to get it off your chest.

"The Force is warning me," you say quietly, and Rex nods. "I don't know what it is, but... I can't shake the feeling that something bad is coming."

Rex frowns. "Do the others know?"

You nod, and he turns his gaze back toward the medbay. "Have they said anything?"

"Hunter knows," you say, and the words catch in your throat. "But... he's been keeping his distance."

Rex glances at you. His expression is unreadable.

"They all are," you whisper, and the admission is almost painful. You look away, unable to meet his gaze, and you have to fight the urge to cry. "I don't know what to do."

"You're worried," Rex says. It's not a question.

"Yeah," you reply, and a chill runs through you. You wrap your arms around yourself, hugging tightly, and take a shaky breath. “But it’s not just that. The Force is warning me. They... they could be in danger. All of them."

You swallow, and when you speak again, your voice is quiet.

"All of us."

He studies you for a moment, then looks back at Tech. He's still working, but now he's talking, and whatever he's saying is enough to pull a groan out of Wrecker. Rex watches them for a moment, his expression thoughtful, then looks back at you. His expression is grim.

 "How bad is it?"

You don't answer at first. The truth is, you're not sure. But Rex waits patiently, his gaze never leaving your face. Finally, you take a deep breath and force the words out.

"Bad," you say at last. You can't hide the fear in your voice. "Whatever it is, I think it's really bad."

Rex doesn't reply, but you can see the worry on his face. He knows what you're capable of, and he's seen firsthand the things you can do when the Force moves through you. If you're afraid, he's got every reason to be scared, too.

The two of you are silent, and when you can't bear it any longer, you break the silence.

"Do you believe in fate?" you ask.

Rex raises an eyebrow, surprised. He looks back at Tech, then shakes his head.

"Not really. I mean, maybe. Sometimes," he admits, and there's a hint of a smile on his lips. "But I try not to think about it too much."

You nod. "I can't help it."

"Why's that?"

"Because... sometimes, I think it's meant to be. Like, everything that happens is part of some bigger plan, and I can't change it,” you mutter. Your eyes drop to the floor. "All is as the Force wills it, and all that. But I don't know. It's... scary. It makes me feel helpless."

Rex doesn't reply at first. His brow furrows, and for a moment, he seems troubled. He looks over at the others, then back at you, and his expression softens.

"I know what you mean," he says, his voice is gentle. "But whatever it is, we'll handle it."

His hand comes up to rest on your shoulder, and you look at him. His face is serious, and the look in his eyes is reassuring. But he can't give you the answers you want, and the feeling of uncertainty lingers. You turn, pulling away from him, and your gaze falls on the others.

"Yeah," you say, but the word comes out sounding weak. Your eyes meet Wrecker's, and the concern in his expression is enough to make your heart clench. You don't want to worry him. You can't. Not after everything he's been through. You force a smile and say the words you don’t mean, knowing he can hear you. "We'll be fine."

It sounds hollow even to your own ears, but Wrecker relaxes, and the look of worry fades from his eyes. You look away, unable to bear the guilt gnawing at your stomach, and the smile fades from your face.

You know that if something happens, if something goes wrong, he'll blame himself. You don't want that. You don't want him to feel guilty, but the truth is, you're scared. For the first time, you're genuinely terrified. And not just for the Batch.

You're terrified for yourself. For the first time, you have something to lose. Your life, your happiness. You've never had that before.

And you don't want to lose it.

But the truth is, there's nothing you can do. You have to face the future, whatever it may bring, and pray that things turn out okay.

Rex's gaze flicks between you and Wrecker. He can see the concern in Wrecker's face, the worry in yours. His eyes are filled with sadness. Regret.

"I'm sorry," he says. "About before. I didn't..."

His voice trails off, and his brow furrows.

"I should have been more tactful," he says finally, and the corners of his mouth twitch up. He looks away, and when he speaks again, his voice is soft. "It's not an easy thing to talk about."

"No," you agree. "It's not."

He doesn't say anything, and neither do you. You both know there's nothing to say. There's no point in arguing or talking about what might happen. No point in making promises or predictions. There's only the present, the future unknown. So instead, Rex just squeezes your shoulder once more before letting his hand fall away. 

He moves to stand near Hunter, and the two of them start talking quietly. You watch them for a moment, but they're too far away for you to hear, so you turn your attention back to Wrecker and Tech.

Wrecker is groaning and wincing, his face contorted with pain as he hunches over. He looks miserable, and you want to comfort him, but Tech is moving him from one piece of equipment to another, and there's no room for you. 

Omega is hovering nearby, a look of concern on her face. She's wringing her hands, and her gaze darts between the two of you. She wants to help, and she's doing her best, but there's only so much any of you can do. You walk over to place your hand on her shoulder and try to give her a reassuring smile, but it feels forced.

You hate seeing him like this. You hate feeling helpless.

"Relax," Tech says as he prepares the surgical laser. "This won't hurt a bit."

Wrecker glares at him, and the look on his face would be amusing if not for the circumstances. Tech gives him an apologetic smile, then looks back at you.

"Could I trouble you to assist?"

"Of course," you say, and step closer.

"Hold his shoulders, please."

You do as he asks, moving to stand behind the bed, and hold Wrecker's shoulders firmly. He looks up at you, and the misery on his face is clear. It's hard to see him like this, but he needs you. So you do your best. You smile down at him, and when he smiles back, the tightness in your chest loosens, and the fear recedes, a little. You lean forward and press a kiss to his forehead.

"It'll be alright," you whisper. "You're going to be okay."

Wrecker takes a shuddering breath and nods, and you feel his body tense as Tech steps closer. You let out a slow, steady breath, and close your eyes, trying to impart as much calm through the Force as possible. Wrecker's shoulders relax, and his breathing slows.

Tech is talking again, and the sound of the laser whines, then there's a flash of light. You feel the hairs on the back of your neck stand up, and the air around you fills with static.

"You're in direct violation of Order 66," Wrecker growls, and your eyes snap open.

He lurches forward, his face contorting, and the force of him breaking from your hold sends you stumbling backwards. Wrecker grabs Tech by the throat, the laser slipping from his fingers and clattering to the floor. Tech tries to grab Wrecker's hand, but Wrecker is stronger, and he shoves him backwards, slamming him into the wall hard enough that it dents.

He's staring at his brother with cold, empty eyes, and you're frozen, unable to move or speak. There's no sign of the man you love, no trace of the gentle, caring, passionate man who's loved and cherished you since the moment you met. His face is devoid of emotion, his eyes blank and dead. There's no recognition, no hint of compassion or mercy. 

Nothing but a cold, empty void.

Your blood runs cold, and your stomach lurches. This isn't him. This can't be him.

"No! Stop!" you shout. Your voice cracks, and when Wrecker's gaze snaps towards you, a cold sweat breaks out across your skin. His eyes are dark, and there's something else in his expression. Something that scares the hell out of you.

Wrecker's lips curl into a snarl, and the anger is so fierce and sudden that it catches you off guard. You take a step forward, but Rex catches your arm, stopping you. You don't look at him. You can't look away from Wrecker, from his eyes. 

His grip on Tech's throat tightens. Tech's hands scrabble at his hand, and his feet kick uselessly against the wall.

"Please! Wrecker, stop! You're killing him!"

For a moment, you think you've gotten through to him. For a moment, you see something in his eyes, a flash of recognition, a spark of life. But it's gone as soon as it appears, and he throws Tech across the room with a snarl. 

You jerk your arm free from Rex's grip and rush forward, but Echo catches you around the waist and pulls you back behind cover. You struggle against him, desperate to help, but he's too strong.

"Wrecker!" Hunter cries. "Stop! Fight it!"

Wrecker is beyond hearing. He grabs his blaster and fires wildly, narrowly missing Rex as he dives behind the crates next to you, Hunter and Omega close behind. Your heart is pounding, and you're shaking so hard your teeth are chattering. Omega is trembling too, and she's staring blankly ahead with wide, frightened eyes. She looks like she's on the verge of tears.

"He'll destroy the equipment if we don't get him out of here," Echo says, his voice strained.

"You're all traitors!" Wrecker bellows.

He keeps firing, and it's a miracle no one's been hit yet. Rex pops his head up, ducking back down just in time to avoid being shot.

"You need to run," he says to you. "He's not going to stop until he kills you, and I don't think any of us are going to survive if that happens."

You shake your head. "I can't leave him."

"There's no other way. We'll distract him, but you need to go. Now!"

"No!" You shove Echo away and lunge towards Wrecker. Hunter is in front of you in an instant, grabbing your shoulders and shoving you back.

"Stop," he says. "Listen to Rex. Please. He'll kill you. Do you understand? You have to go."

"He needs me." You can feel the tears coming, and when Hunter sees them, his face softens.

"He does," he agrees. "But right now, he's a danger to you. He's a danger to everyone. You have to go. I'll keep him safe. I promise. But right now, he's going to kill you."

He holds your gaze, and the pain in his eyes is so raw and intense that you feel like your heart is breaking.

"What if you can't stop him?" you demand, your voice cracking. "What if you die? I can't let him do this."

Hunter doesn't answer. He's not even looking at you anymore. His attention is focused on his rampaging brother, and he's getting ready to strike. You can see it in his body language, the tension in his shoulders, the set of his jaw.

"Omega, stay with Tech," he says, ignoring you. "Make sure he's alright. We'll handle Wrecker."

Omega nods, and the two of you exchange a long, sorrowful look.

"It'll be okay," she whispers. "He'll be okay."

"I... I hope so."

You're not sure how much of that you believe.

"Go," Hunter urges. "We'll find you. I promise."

"Hunter—"

"Go."

You swallow hard and nod, and then you're running, narrowly dodging the blaster bolts thudding into the doorframe as you dash out the doors. You hear Wrecker's howl of rage, and then the sound of blaster fire as the others charge him, and the sound makes you sob.

"No," you whisper, and then you're running.

You're not sure where to go, and the ship is a blur around you as you dart down the halls, tears streaming down your cheeks. You run until you can't run anymore, and then you stumble, your chest heaving and your lungs burning. Your legs are weak, and the muscles in your thighs are aching, but you push on, determined not to give up. 

You have to get away. You have to stay alive. If you're alive, you can help him.

But the further you get from Wrecker, the more you feel like your heart is being ripped out. You want to be with him, to save him, but Hunter was right. You have no chance of defeating him without killing him, and the thought of you dying, of leaving him alone, terrifies you.

So you run.

You don't stop until the sound of his blaster fire has faded, and even then, you don't dare stop moving. You're sobbing uncontrollably now, and it's hard to see. Your vision is blurred, and the tears are pouring down your cheeks. You have no idea where you are, and every corridor and door looks the same. It's impossible to tell which way leads out, or even if there is an exit. All you know is that you're lost, and for the first time in a long time, you’re alone.

You finally come to a stop and lean against the wall, gasping for breath. You feel sick, and the walls are spinning. You squeeze your eyes shut and rest your head against the wall, willing the world to stop.

But it doesn't. And it's not just the room that's spinning. It's everything. Your whole world is spinning out of control, and you’re helpless to stop it. You've lost everything. You've lost your home, your friends, and now you've lost the man you love. He's been taken from you, and there's nothing you can do.

You're powerless.

Hot tears spill down your cheeks. Your chest is tight, and it feels like your heart is shattering. You can't breathe. You can't think. You just stand there, crying and shaking and feeling completely, utterly useless.

After what feels like hours, the tears begin to slow. You take a deep, shuddering breath, and the knot in your stomach loosens, just a little.

There's still a chance, you tell yourself. They'll stop him. They'll get him out of there. Wrecker will be okay. Everything will be okay. It has to be.

And then you sense him.

Wrecker's warm presence in the Force is gone, replaced by something cold and empty. He’s always felt warm, bright and strong, but now there's nothing there. Nothing but a cold, hollow void. A darkness so intense that it makes your skin crawl.

Your head snaps up, and you can feel him, a shadow looming in the corridor behind you. His presence is like a black hole, sucking the life and warmth out of the room, and you can't move. You can't breathe. Your heart is hammering in your chest, and the hair on the back of your neck stands up.

Your instincts are screaming at you to run, but you can't. You won't.

You don't know if it's stupid or brave, but you turn to face him.

You move slowly, terrified of what you'll see, and when your eyes meet his, a shiver runs down your spine.

He's standing there, his breathing labored and his body tensed, and he's staring at you with an intensity that makes your skin crawl. In the dim light of the wrecked ship, his face is barely visible, but his eyes are shining with a cold, cruel light. There's no recognition in them, no hint of the man you love, and for a moment, you can't believe what you're seeing.

But the hatred radiating off him is real, a tangible thing, and it's enough to make you sick. It's worse than any injury or torture. Worse than anything you've ever experienced. It's a raw, visceral hatred, and it's directed right at you.

You stand your ground, your hands shaking, and you clench them into fists.

"Wrecker," you say, and the words sound small and weak. "I'm sorry."

His brow furrows, and his jaw tenses.

"I should have done more," you continue, and the words catch in your throat. You're choking on the lump that's formed there, and you swallow, fighting back the urge to sob. "I should have protected you."

Wrecker doesn't answer. His gaze flickers over your face, taking in your tear-stained cheeks and the fear in your eyes. You can feel his hatred, the cold rage coiled tight in his muscles. He's barely holding himself back, and the tension in his body is palpable.

"Please," you whisper. "You have to fight this. This isn't you."

He doesn't reply. He takes a step towards you, and you tense, ready to defend yourself. You don't want to hurt him. You don't want to hurt him. You can't.

"Wrecker, please. Don't do this." Your voice cracks, and when he doesn't react, the tears start flowing again. "I love you. I need you. Please, don't do this."

Wrecker pauses, and his eyes widen. The hatred in his eyes wavers, and for a moment, you let yourself believe that you've reached him. But then his lip curls, and the hatred comes surging back. It's stronger this time, fueled by a rage so intense that it takes your breath away.

"Traitor," he growls, and then he lunges at you.

He moves so fast that you barely have time to react. You dodge out of the way, barely avoiding his grasp, and his hand closes around empty air. He snarls and whirls, his eyes burning with hatred. You take a step back, and the tears are streaming down your face.

"Stop this!" you cry. "Wrecker, please! I don't want to hurt you!"

He doesn't listen. He moves with a speed and grace that belies his size, and he's on you in an instant. You manage to avoid him again, but only just. He slams into the wall next to you, and the impact makes the metal buckle. The sound is deafening, and it sends a shockwave through the room. The walls creak and groan, and dust and debris rain down from the ceiling.

Wrecker's head snaps towards you, his eyes burning with a cold, cruel fire, and your stomach lurches. His lips curl into a snarl, and then he's coming for you again. 

You turn and run, darting down the corridor, and he's right behind you. You can hear the pounding of his boots on the floor, and the sound of his ragged breathing. He's gaining on you, and you don't know if you can keep ahead of him without hurting him. 

Your eyes are wide and desperate, and your heart is racing. You're terrified, but you force yourself to push that fear aside, to try and remember your training. You can't let it control you. You can't let it consume you. 

If you do, you'll never save him. You'll never get him back. You have to stay focused. You have to stay calm.

But it's so hard.

Wrecker roars, and you feel the air rush past you as he grabs at your arm. You jerk free, and his fingers close around empty air. You twist and slam your shoulder into his side, and he stumbles, hissing with rage. You reach out with the Force and shove him back, giving yourself just enough room to move, and then you're running again.

"Please," you sob. "Please, stop."

He doesn't.

You dodge around a corner, and the floor suddenly disappears beneath your feet. Your eyes go wide, and you cry out as the world drops out from under you. You tumble down the sudden drop, landing hard on your shoulder, and the breath is knocked from your lungs. You gasp, pain lancing through your shoulder, and for a moment, you're too stunned to move.

The sound of boots pounding on the floor above snaps you out of your daze, and you roll onto your back, pushing yourself to your feet. Your head whips around, taking in your surroundings, and it only takes you a moment to realize where you are. You're in the cargo bay, and the doors leading out to the planet are mere meters away.

Your heart leaps. You can get out. You can get help.

But you hesitate, and the feeling of his presence in the Force is enough to make your blood run cold. You dart behind a stack of crates just as Wrecker lands on the floor in front of you. He hits the ground hard, and the impact is enough to make the floor underneath you shake.

Your hand clasps over your mouth to hide your surprised gasp. Your chest is heaving, and your heart is racing. The tears are still falling, and you're trembling so hard that your knees are shaking.

The sudden silence is almost deafening, and the only sound is the distant hum of the ship's engines. You don't dare to breathe. You can't make a sound.

"I know you're here," Wrecker says. His voice is low and menacing. "You can't hide forever."

He steps forward, his boots crunching on broken glass. His footsteps are slow, methodical, like he's stalking his prey. He's close. So close. Too close.

"Come out, traitor," he snarls.

You shrink back against the crates. Your heart is pounding so hard that you're sure he can hear it. Your palms are sweating, and the crate next to you is slick with condensation. You have nowhere to go, and no way out. If you try to run, he'll catch you. And if you try to fight, you'll have to kill him.

"I'll find you," Wrecker growls. His voice is low and menacing, and it sends a chill down your spine. "You can't hide from me."

He moves closer, and the sound of his footsteps seems to grow louder with each passing second. You hold your breath, and your hand drifts toward your lightsaber on your hip on instinct before you clench your fist and drop your arm. You can't. You can't use it. You won't.

You won't hurt him.

You'll die first.

Wrecker moves around the crates, and his shadow falls across the wall. You can see his outline, and the hatred emanating off him is like a physical thing. It's palpable, suffocating, and it's enough to make your heart skip a beat.

You hear a thud, and a crate falls to the floor with a loud crash. You flinch, and your hand goes to your lightsaber again, but you stop yourself. You can't use it. You can't. Not against him. Not like this.

Another crate topples. And another. And another. Wrecker's getting closer. You can hear him breathing, and your heart is pounding so hard that your head is spinning. You can't see him, but you know he's there, lurking just out of sight.

He's so close.

So close.

He stops, and the room is deathly silent. You can't hear his breathing, and he's motionless, as if he's waiting for you to make a sound. The seconds tick by, and the tension in the air is so thick that it's almost impossible to breathe.

You can't take it.

"Please," you whimper, and the word comes out as a sob.

He freezes, and for a moment, everything is still.

And then the air shifts. You sense a sudden movement, and a fraction of a second later, the crate above you explodes. You yelp and dive to the side, rolling out of the way, and the crate is reduced to splinters.

 Your scramble to your feet, your back slamming against the wall, and you look up. Wrecker is standing over you, and his eyes are cold, dark pools. His hulking form trembles with rage, and he rushes towards you, his hand curled into a fist. You duck under the blow, and your hand flashes out, connecting with his chin. He stumbles, but he doesn't stop. 

He lunges at you, and you dodge, his hand catching your tunic and ripping the fabric. The sound of it tearing is deafening, and you feel the heat of his breath on your skin as he growls.

"Stop!" you plead.

He doesn't.

"Traitor," he hisses. He's on you again, and this time, you can't avoid him. 

Wrecker hits you in the stomach, and the breath leaves your lungs in a rush. Pain blooms through your torso, and your knees buckle. He swings again, and you throw up your arms, blocking the blow. The force of it knocks you to the ground, and your head smacks against the hard floor.

His fingers wrap around your throat, and he lifts you off the ground with one hand. Wrecker pulls you up close to his face, and the look in his eyes is terrifying. It's pure, unbridled hatred, and it's directed at you.

"Wrecker," you manage to croak. Your eyes search his desperate to find any sign of the man you love, and he growls, his grip tightening.

"Wrecker, please." Tears stream down your face, and you claw at his hands, struggling to breathe. Your lungs are burning, and the pain in your head is almost unbearable. He's going to kill you. He's going to kill you, and there's nothing you can do to stop him.

You know that your next breath will be your last, and you feel a strange sense of peace wash over you. There are worse fates than dying by his hands. Worse things than losing your life. You're not afraid. You're not angry. All you feel is sorrow, and a deep, aching love for the man in front of you. The man who's been your whole world, your heart, and the only home you've ever known.

If this is how it ends, so be it. At least you got to know him.

"Wrecker," you choke out, your voice barely audible. "I... I love..."

His fingers tighten, and everything goes black.

Your eyes flutter open, and the world swims back into focus. There's a dull ache in your skull, and the air feels strangely thin. Your chest is heaving, and it takes you a moment to realize that you're not breathing.

No, you're hyperventilating.

Wrecker.

His name is on your lips, and you gasp before a terrible, aching pain lances through your skull. You try to move, but your body is heavy.

You're lying on your side. The ground beneath you is hard, and the air is thick and heavy. There's a bitter taste in your mouth, and your throat is burning. You try to take a deep breath, but it's like someone's squeezing the life out of you.

"Hey. Easy."

The voice is familiar. Soothing. But it doesn't register.

Someone rolls you onto your back, and the movement sends a jolt of pain through your body. You gasp, and the air burns. You can't see anything, but you feel something cool and wet being pressed against your face. It hurts, and you try to pull away, but a gentle hand holds you still.

"Shhh. Relax."

The voice is familiar, but your mind is too fuzzy to place it. Your head is throbbing, and your throat feels like it's on fire. You can't focus. You can't think. All you can do is lay there and try to breathe.

"Stay still. I'm trying to clean you up."

You try to open your eyes, but everything is blurry. A pair of dark brown eyes stares down at you, but it's not the mismatched ones you're looking for.

Rex.

He's holding something cold and wet against your face, and the sensation is painful, but soothing. You take a few shallow breaths, the air finally starting to reach your lungs. You cough, and it's like sandpaper being scraped against the back of your throat.

"Don't try to talk," Rex says. "You need rest."

Rest. The word echoes through your head. Your thoughts are jumbled, and you can't seem to focus.

"What... What happened?" you manage to croak. Your voice is hoarse, and your words come out sounding more like a growl than anything else.

"I think it's better if I don't tell you," Rex says. He's frowning, and the look on his face makes your heart clench. "Just focus on breathing."

You take another breath, and this one is a little easier. The pressure in your head is fading, and your vision is starting to clear.

"Wrecker," you rasp. "Is he...?"

"Yeah," Rex says softly. "He's... He's okay."

"Where is he?"

"We got his chip out, and the others," Rex tells you. "Tech is treating his injuries now."

There's a catch in his voice, and you can tell that something is wrong. Something terrible. You feel a sharp stab of panic, and you try to sit up, but the room spins. Rex grabs your shoulders and eases you back down.

"Just stay still," he says. "You need to rest."

"I'm fine," you argue, but your voice is weak, and the effort of talking makes your head spin. Rex shakes his head.

"No, you're not." Rex sighs and presses a damp cloth to your forehead. It's cool and soothing, and the pain begins to ease a little. "Just give it a minute."

"Rex..."

"He's okay. I promise." He smiles at you, but it’s forced, and there's a sadness in his eyes that makes your heart twist. "But he's not doing well. We're all gonna need some time."

Your heart sinks. You know what that means. Rex is telling you that Wrecker needs space. That he's not himself. That he's ashamed and guilty and doesn't want to face you. It hurts. More than the physical pain, more than the headache, the exhaustion, and the fear, it's a deeper, sharper kind of pain. The kind that cuts to the bone, and you can feel tears stinging the corners of your eyes.

"I understand," you say, and you hate the way your voice cracks.

Rex's smile falters, and the sadness in his eyes intensifies.

"Hey, now," he murmurs. "It'll be okay."

"No. It won't." Your voice is thick, and the tears are flowing freely now. You can't stop them. You don't even try. Rex pulls you into his arms, and you bury your face in his shoulder, sobbing.

"He tried to kill me," you choke out. "He... He was going to..."

Rex holds you, and he doesn't say a word. He doesn't have to. The pain is written all over his face, and he knows exactly what you're going through. He was there. He watched Wrecker lose control, and he had to watch him almost kill the woman he loves. He had to watch him almost kill his friend.

"I'm so sorry," Rex whispers. He holds you close, and his hand moves gently up and down your back, soothing you. "I'm so sorry."

You cry until your throat is raw and your lungs are burning, and when the tears finally stop, you're exhausted. Your body is limp, and your head is pounding. You lean against Rex, and his arms tighten around you.

"Come on," he murmurs. "Let's get you up."

He helps you to your feet, and you wince. Every muscle in your body is aching, your throat is sore, and the wound on the back of your head is throbbing. You feel weak, and the ground seems to sway under your feet. Rex holds you steady while the feeling slowly fades.

"I've got you," he says. Then, slowly, he leads you towards the medbay. You lean against him, and with each step, you can feel the guilt and shame and anger radiating off him in waves. It's overwhelming, and it makes your heart ache.

"Rex," you murmur. "Are you alright?"

"No," he admits. "But I will be."

"I'm so sorry," you whisper.

"It's not your fault," he says, but you can hear the bitterness in his voice, and the resentment. He blames himself for what happened. He's taking the weight of the entire situation on his shoulders.

You want to tell him that it's not his fault, either, but you're too tired. So you lean against him, and let him guide you to the medbay.

The door is open, and Tech is inside, tending to a  cut on Hunter’s face. Echo is helping, and Omega is sitting in the corner, her knees drawn up to her chest. She looks exhausted, tears staining her cheeks, but her face brightens when she sees you. 

She scrambles to her feet and rushes towards you, throwing her arms around your waist. The impact sends a shock of pain through your ribs, but you bite your lip and hide your wince. She's clinging to you like a lifeline, and you can feel the tremor in her body as she tries not to cry. You hold her close, stroking her hair, and the ache in your heart deepens.

"Hey," you murmur. "You alright?"

Omega nods against you, her fingers digging into the back of your tunic.

"Are you?" she whispers.

"Yeah," you lie. "I'm okay."

"You're not," she says, and the hurt in her voice is enough to make your throat tighten. "But it's okay. We're here."

She hugs you tighter, and you lean into the embrace, your heart aching. You wish it was as simple as that, but nothing is. Nothing will be. Not for a long time. Maybe not ever. You hold her close, closing your eyes, and her presence in the Force is warm and bright, just like always. 

You let yourself get lost in it, and the pain begins to ebb, if only a little, before you open your eyes again.

"Where's Wrecker?" you ask. Your voice is soft, but everyone in the room hears it and the tension is palpable. They exchange glances, their expressions grim.

"He's resting," Tech says carefully. "His injuries are relatively minor, and the surgery was successful, but his mental state is... concerning."

You swallow hard. You knew it was bad, but hearing Tech say it out loud is different. It makes it real, and the weight of that reality is suffocating. You take a shaky breath and nod, but the tears are threatening again, and your voice is unsteady.

"Can I see him?"

"He doesn't want to see anyone," Echo says. His voice is low, his words measured. He's... He's not himself. Not yet."

"I know." Your voice cracks. "I just... I want him to know that I'm here. That I care. That I..."

"Give him time," Hunter murmurs, his expression pained. "He's not in a good place."

"But I—"

"No." Rex's tone is gentle, but firm. "It's not a good idea. Trust me. He needs space. He needs to figure out how to live with what he did."

"It wasn't him," you protest, but even as you say it, you know that it's not entirely true. It was him. Just not the him you know.

"I know," he says. "But it was his hands that almost killed you. And that's hard to come to terms with."

You swallow hard and nod. You know he's right, but it doesn't make it any easier. It doesn't ease the pain in your chest or the ache in your head. You want to see him, to talk to him, but you know it's not what he needs. It's not what you need.

You let out a shuddering breath, your shoulders sagging. You're exhausted, and the world is spinning, and all you want to do is collapse into a ball and cry.

Tech approaches, and he hesitates for a moment before his hand settles gently on your shoulder. His eyes are sympathetic, but the frown on his face is deep, his expression troubled.

"How are you feeling?" he asks.

"I'm okay," you answer. The lie comes easily, almost automatically. It's a reflex. One that has been well-honed over the years, but one that's not very convincing. Not anymore.

He nods and studies you for a moment. Then, he glances at Rex.

"Help her onto the cot," he says. "I'll do a quick examination and treat her injuries."

"No," you protest. "I'm fine. I just need to sleep."

"You're not fine," Rex counters. He's not unkind, but his tone leaves no room for argument. "You were attacked, and you have a head injury. We need to make sure that you're okay."

"I am. Really."

"We need to make sure," Tech insists.

"I'm not—"

"You're getting checked out," Rex says firmly. "And that's final."

You open your mouth to argue, but the words die on your lips. You know he's right. Your entire body aches, and every breath is painful. You're not fine. You know it. But the idea of hearing it from someone else is too much. It's too real.

Rex gently guides you towards the cot, his arm around your waist, and you let him. There's no point in fighting, not when the others are worried about you. So you let him help you onto the bed, and Omega sits next to you, her small hand finding yours.

Tech begins his examination, and Rex hovers nearby, watching closely. You feel small and fragile and weak, and it's a strange feeling. You're used to being strong, to fighting your own battles. But now, you can barely stand on your own. It's a reminder of how fragile you really are, and it makes your chest tighten. No matter how good of a Jedi you can claim to be, it's impossible to ignore that the only reason you're alive is because Rex stepped in and saved your life.

"You have a mild concussion," Tech reports, and his words pull you out of your thoughts. "Several bruised ribs, and multiple contusions." He pauses, and his gaze shifts to your throat. "And those bruises will need time to heal."

Your hand reaches up, and you touch the spot where Wrecker had been holding you. The skin is tender, and the contact makes you wince.

"Yeah," Rex says, anger clear in his voice. "That's going to be a tough one to cover up."

You look away.

"It could have been worse," Tech points out.

"It was bad enough,” he snaps. When you flinch, Rex's eyes widen, regret flickering across his features. "Sorry. I didn't mean..."

"It’s okay." Your voice is quiet, almost a whisper. You swallow, but the lump in your throat remains. "I know."

Tech moves to examine the bruise on your stomach, his touch gentle.

"We can apply bacta to the worst of the bruises," Tech offers. "That will help with the healing process."

You nod, but you can’t bring yourself to say anything. You close your eyes and try not to think about it. About the way Wrecker had been staring at you. The coldness in his eyes. The rage. The hatred. The way his hands had tightened around your throat. The way he had been intent on killing you.

"Can I help you?"

Tech's voice is soft, and he sounds unsure of himself. It's such a stark contrast to his usual confidence, and it makes your chest tighten. This is hard for him, too. Hard for all of them.

"I'm okay," you murmur. "Really."

"You don’t have to be," Tech says. His tone is gentle, but there's an edge to it. “We understand, and we'll do our best to make sure that you're taken care of."

You open your eyes and look at him, and the sympathy in his gaze makes you want to cry. You don't want to be the one everyone's worrying about. You don't want to be the helpless victim, the one who needs to be coddled and comforted. You're a Jedi. You're supposed to be the one taking care of others, not the other way around.

But there's nothing you can do. Nothing you can say. So you nod, letting the tears spill down your cheeks, and Tech places a hand on your shoulder.

"Thank you," you whisper, and the words come out sounding more like a sob.

"Of course," Tech replies, and there's an unfamiliar warmth in his voice. "You're one of us, and we take care of our own."

He turns back to his instruments, and you lay down, resting your head on the pillow. The medbay is quiet, save for the soft beeps and whirrs of the machines, and the familiar sounds are oddly comforting. Tech continues to examine and treat you, his movements careful and precise. He works silently, and the others are gathered nearby, their attention focused on you. It's strange, but it feels nice, being the center of their concern. It makes you feel safe, and it eases some of the pain and fear and uncertainty.

You're surrounded by your family. By the people who love you and care about you. And as the exhaustion overwhelms you, and the pain fades into a dull ache, you realize that's all that really matters. You may not be fine, but you're alive, and you have people that care about you. And that's more than some can say.

It's been three days since the chip incident, and things are... strained. You've barely seen Wrecker, and when you have, he hasn't said a word. He won't look at you. He won't even be in the same room as you. It hurts, but you're trying to be patient. Trying to give him the space he needs. But it's hard, and every day, the ache in your chest grows a little bit stronger.

You'd hesitated to say goodbye to Rex, and he'd again offered to take you with him. To keep you safe, to give you a place to heal. And again, you'd refused, promising him that things would be okay. And they would. You're certain. They had to be. 

But the entire time you'd spoken to him in hushed whispers, you could feel Wrecker's eyes on you. When you'd finally pulled away from Rex to board the Marauder, Wrecker had turned on his heel, disappearing into the ship without a word. He hadn't so much as glanced at you, let alone said anything.

The pain of that had cut deeper than the bruises on your throat, but you'd hidden it, plastering a smile on your face for the others, even though they all knew better.

The daring escape you'd made from Bracca had only served to complicate matters, and the entire team was on edge after encountering Crosshair again. The tension in the air is thick, and it seems like everyone is walking on eggshells, afraid of setting someone off. 

It's a far cry from the usual banter, teasing, and camaraderie that's typical aboard the ship, and the only sounds are the hum of the engine and the occasional beep from the instrument panel.

No one has spoken in hours, and the silence is oppressive. You haven't left your bunk since that morning, the high vantage point allowing you to see everything without having to interact with anyone.

It's lonely, but it's also safe.

No one bothers you, and you're free to let your mind wander. You watch the others, and the sight of them fills you with a strange mixture of emotions. You're proud of them, and the love you feel for them is almost overwhelming. But there's also a sense of loss.

What happened was a reminder that everything could change in an instant, and you're not ready for that. You're not ready to lose any of them. Not when they're the only family you have left.

You close your eyes, drawing in a deep breath, and let the feeling wash over you. It's a bittersweet sort of sorrow, and it makes your heart ache. You know that they're not going anywhere, that the five of them are a force to be reckoned with, but you can't help the anxiety that lingers, the fear that something might go wrong. You've already lost so much. You can't lose them, too.

The sound of footsteps approaching the bunk pulls you from your thoughts, and you open your eyes, expecting to see Echo. But the figure in the doorway isn't him.

"I'm sorry."

Wrecker's voice is barely a whisper, but it's loud enough to startle you, and you sit up, wincing as your ribs protest. He’s standing below, looking up at you with his mismatched eyes. His eyes are wide and pleading, and he's fidgeting, shifting his weight from one foot to the other. You can tell he's nervous, but there's a hint of something else, too. Sadness. Guilt. Shame.

"It's okay," you say automatically, but the words feel hollow.

"No. It's not." His voice is low, and there's an edge of desperation to it, and his hands squeeze into fists. You can feel the anger radiating off him, and it makes your blood run cold. He looks like he wants to punch a hole in the wall, and you have no doubt that he could if he wanted to. He could tear the whole ship apart. He could tear you apart.

You swallow, but your throat is dry, and the fear is starting to build.

"I could have killed you," Wrecker continues, his voice shaking. “I... I wanted to kill you. I was gonna..."

He trails off, unable to finish the sentence, and his shoulders slump. The anger fades, and the shame is so intense that you feel it like a physical blow. Wrecker closes his eyes and runs a hand over his face, his shoulders trembling.

"I tried to kill my own brothers," he says, and his voice cracks. "And I... I almost..."

He takes a shaky breath, tears stinging the corners of his eyes, and he shakes his head. You're at a loss for words, and all you can do is watch him struggle with the weight of his emotions. You want to say something, to offer some kind of comfort, but you can't. You're just as broken as he is.

"I'm sorry," he whispers, and his voice is thick with emotion. "I'm so, so sorry."

"Wrecker..."

He looks up at you, and the raw anguish in his eyes makes your heart twist.

"Wrecker, please, it's okay. I know it wasn't—"

"No. It's not." He shakes his head, his expression pained. "It wasn't me. But it was."

You open your mouth to argue, but he holds up a hand, cutting you off.

"I remember everything. I remember wanting to hurt you. I remember how good it felt. How right." His eyes darken, his lips curling into a snarl. "I'm a monster."

"No, Wrecker," you insist. "No. You're not."

"Yes, I am."

"You're not," you repeat, more firmly this time. You haven’t used the Force in days, but it flows through you now, warm and reassuring, and you can feel the conviction in your own words. "You're a good man. You're not a monster. I saw you try to fight it. I saw the struggle. I know what's in your heart. And it's not evil."

"I should have fought harder." His fists clench, and he hangs his head. "I'm supposed to protect you, but I... I'm the one who tried to..."

"Wrecker."

Your voice is sharp, but he doesn't respond. He's lost in his own guilt, his own self-loathing, and the weight of it is crushing him.

"Please, Wrecker, stop." You slide off the bunk, landing lightly on your feet, and you approach him, reaching for his hands. He pulls away, and it feels like a knife in your heart. "You don't have to apologize. I'm not mad at you. I'm worried about you."

"You should be." His voice is flat, his words coming out in a growl. "I tried to kill you."

"But you didn't."

"I would have." He turns away from you, his jaw clenched, his shoulders tense. "If Rex hadn't stepped in, I would have."

You reach out, laying a hand on his arm, but he flinches, jerking away from your touch. It's a rejection, plain and simple, but it's not unexpected. He's pulling away, both physically and emotionally, and it's tearing you apart.

"Don't," he says. "Just don't."

"Please," you whisper, your voice thick with emotion. "Please, talk to me."

"What's there to talk about?" He sounds bitter, defeated, but he doesn't pull away this time. "I'm a monster."

"No, you're not," you insist. "You're my hero."

"Don't say that," he mutters.

"It's true. You are.” He starts to speak again, but you’re faster, and your words cut him off. "You saved my life. Over and over again. You've never given up on me, even when the odds were stacked against us. You've always been there for me, no matter what."

He doesn't say anything, but you can tell that your words are affecting him. His shoulders are hunched, his body tense, but there's a tremor in his muscles, a slight shudder. You step closer, pressing yourself against his back, and you wrap your arms around his waist. You hold him tight, your fingers digging into the fabric of his shirt, and you rest your forehead between his shoulder blades.

"I trust you, Wrecker. I know you'd never hurt me willingly. And the truth is, I could've fought back. I could've stopped you. But I didn't. Because I trust you. I trust you with my life. And I always will."

He stiffens, his breath hitching.

"You're not a monster," you continue. "You're not a liability. You're my boyfriend, and you're my best friend. And I'm not afraid of you."

You press a kiss between his shoulder blades, lingering there for a moment. Your throat is tight, your heart racing, and you're filled with an overwhelming sense of affection and devotion. The feelings are strong, almost overwhelming, and you don't try to push them down. You don't try to hide them. You just let them flow through you, let them fill the space between the two of you. 

You've held them back for so long, afraid to show your feelings, afraid to let yourself be vulnerable, but now, the dam has broken, and you're drowning in the intensity of your emotions. There's a warmth spreading through your chest, a kind of peace that you've never felt before, and it's almost euphoric. It's like the first breath after surfacing from a deep dive, and the air is sweet, filling your lungs.

"I love you, Wrecker," you murmur.

"Don't," he growls, but the tension is gone from his body, his muscles relaxing under your touch. He leans back against you, his head dropping forward, his eyes closed.

"I do," you say softly. "I love you. And I'm not afraid."

You hold him, the two of you locked together, neither of you willing to move, afraid that the moment will end. He's trembling, his breathing shallow, his fingers curling around your arms, but he doesn't pull away. He doesn't reject you.

"I trust you," you whisper. "I love you. And nothing will ever change that."

There's a long, heavy silence, and then, finally, he speaks.

"I love you, too."

It's barely a whisper, but the words are clear, and the weight of them makes your heart soar. You tighten your arms around his waist, burying your face in his back, and you feel the tears stinging the corners of your eyes. You’re so happy that it almost hurts, the emotions swelling in your chest, making it difficult to breathe. It feels like you're floating, the weight of everything finally lifted.

“I love you so much,” he mutters. “More than anything. But you should be with someone else. Someone safer. Someone who won't..."

"Wrecker, stop." Your voice is firm, and you squeeze him, making him gasp. "I don't want anyone else. I want you."

He takes a shaky breath, his hands moving down your arms until his fingers are laced with yours. He squeezes, his grip gentle, and you squeeze back.

"I don't deserve you," he says.

"Yes, you do."

Wrecker lets go of your hands, turning to face you, his gaze meeting yours. His eyes are wet, tears streaking his cheeks, but there's a softness in his expression that you haven't seen in a while. He reaches out, cupping your face, his thumb stroking your cheek.

"I'm sorry," he murmurs. "I'm so sorry."

"Stop apologizing," you chide gently, a smile tugging at the corners of your lips. "I told you, it's okay."

"But—"

You shake your head, placing a finger over his lips.

"Enough." Your voice is soft, but stern. "No more talking."

His brow furrows, confusion flickering across his features. Then, he gets it, a hint of a smile tugging at the corner of his mouth. He nods, leaning down, his lips brushing against yours.

The kiss is soft, almost tentative, but there's an underlying hunger, a need that makes your skin tingle. You press closer, your arms winding around his neck, the kiss deepening, his tongue sweeping across your bottom lip.

He tastes like salt, the tears still drying on his cheeks, and the familiarity is comforting, soothing the ache in your heart. He's home. He's safe. And he loves you. Nothing else matters.

The kiss ends, the two of you gasping for breath, but you don't pull away. You stay close, your foreheads touching, his fingers tangling in your hair.

"I missed you," he murmurs.

"Me, too." You nuzzle his nose, your hands stroking his cheeks. "So much."

"M’sorry."

"I know.” You press a kiss to the tip of his nose, your fingers caressing the back of his neck. "But you're not responsible for this. None of us are. The only person to blame is the one who put the chips in your heads. You can't be held responsible for what they did."

"I know, but..."

"But nothing," you say, your tone firm. "You're a victim, Wrecker. Just like the rest of us."

He sighs, his shoulders slumping, the tension draining from his body. He's still upset, the guilt is still there, but you can feel it ebbing, the darkness fading.

"I don't blame you. None of us do,” you continue. "We're all just happy that we have you back. We're a family. We take care of each other."

Wrecker gives a small nod, the sadness in his eyes fading a little, replaced by something else. Something warmer, more hopeful.

"You're my family," he says, his voice rough with emotion. "My brothers. Omega. And you."

He pulls you into a hug, his arms wrapping around you, holding you close. "And I will never stop taking care of you. No matter what."

You bury your face in his shoulder, squeezing him tight. You can feel the tears building again, but they're different this time. They're not a product of pain or loss or fear. They're tears of happiness, of relief, of love. You close your eyes, letting the feeling wash over you, letting yourself get lost in it. You've come so far, endured so much, but here, in his arms, you're finally home.

Wrecker's fingers curl into the back of your shirt, his breathing shallow, his face buried in your hair.

"Thank you," he whispers, his voice thick.

"For what?"

"For not giving up on me."

You pull away, looking up at him, a smile on your lips.

"Never."

He smiles back, the expression brightening his entire face. You can't remember the last time you've seen him look this happy, and the sight fills you with a warm glow. This is where you belong, where you've always belonged. With him. With your family.

You kiss him, long and slow and tender, and when the kiss breaks, the two of you are both gasping for breath, the flush high on your cheeks.

"I love you," he whispers, his voice rough.

"I love you, too." You reach up, tracing his jawline with your fingertips, your eyes meeting his.

"More than anything," he continues. "And I promise, I'll never let anyone hurt you. Never again."

His voice is thick with emotion, and there's a fierceness in his gaze, a protectiveness that makes your heart skip a beat. He means it. He'll keep you safe, no matter the cost. And knowing that, believing that, fills you with an overwhelming sense of comfort. It eases the pain, the fear, the anxiety, and for the first time in weeks, you feel... whole.

You're safe. You're loved. You're home. And no matter what happens, no matter how hard things get, that will never change.

"I know." You lean up, brushing your lips against his, and his arms tighten around you. "And I'm not going anywhere. Not ever."

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

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@ghostymarni @gottalovehistory @burningnerdchild @yoitsjay @callsign-denmark

@julli-bee @sonicrainbooms @captn-trex @feral-ferrule @webslinger-holland

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

@silly-starfish @floofyroro

---

consequences be damned

Wolffe x F!Reader

word count: 3.3k

description: commander wolffe likes to berate you when you go against his orders, but this time, you can't supress the visceral reaction it brings.

warnings: not necessarily enemies to lovers but... a decent amount of arguing, mentions of negative clone treatment, i think that's it? idk man I'm tired

a/n: this is for all the girlies that cry when someone raises their voice at them! (me) anyway... i get nervous when discussing the treatment of clones and other kinda touchy stuff bc i just have this nagging feeling that i'm always interpreting stuff wrong, so I hope the stuff wolffe says at the end makes sense lmao

You heard your name called after you before you managed to make your escape to your quarters, desperately trying to avoid confrontation. Ignoring the Commander’s calls, you hurried down the hall, your strides much wider than your usual gait. You managed to get the door open, but a large hand wrapped around your wrist before you could evade the uncomfortable conversation.

“Where do you think you’re going?” The Commander snarled, tugging you back into the corridor and slamming his fist into the control panel to shut the door.

You lifted your eyes to his for a moment, your head still angled to the floor as if it would shield you from his foul temper. You had never seen him so angry.

“I asked you a question, soldier” He said, his voice dangerously low as his face drew near to yours, “Did you really think I’d let you off after what you just pulled?”

“Sir, I didn’t mean to—”

Wolffe interrupted you with a sarcastic laugh, “Didn’t mean to? You’ll have to do better than that”

You couldn’t look at him. You knew he’d react like this when he found out, but you still hated when he was angry with you. He was more hard on you than his brothers, he always had been. So much so that you felt there was something unsaid between the two of you, that there was some itch that he wouldn’t stop scratching even though he wouldn’t acknowledge what it was.

“I’m sorry sir” You peeped out. It was the only thing you could say.

You had no explanation for your actions. You had gone directly against his orders, knowingly, deliberately. You knew he would find out, you knew he’d berate you for it, and you did it anyway. You’d do it again if you got the chance.

“Sorry doesn’t cut it” He began, and you let him scold you without interruption, “I have told you, countless times, you do not get involved in the conflict. No matter what. Do you know how it makes me look?”

He paused, but you knew the question was rhetorical. In that silence it was hard not to think about the feel of his hand wrapped around your wrist, still keeping you in your place.

“I makes me look like I can’t control those under my command. If a medic can go against my orders then what’s to stop the rest of the men? Or the other nat-borns? I mean, do you even think? Clearly you don’t. You don’t have combat training, you could’ve been hurt, or you could have died”

He continued on, but you tuned him out. You had heard this barrage of demeaning comments more than once, and it was starting to feel like maybe it had become one time too many. If you had any more backbone you would’ve told him how much you despised when he did this. Although, Wolffe — along with almost everybody aboard the ship — was above you in rank. You couldn’t possibly give back to him this belittling commentary, so once again you stayed silent.

The worst part was that most of the time, Wolffe wasn’t even unbearable to be around, far from it. At any other time he was kind, in his own way. It wasn’t a way in which you’d seen anyone else express kindness, but you’d come to understand the way he operated a little by now. For example, something you had retroactively realised was a display of compassion, was that when you first joined the 104th, he had checked up on you everyday, albeit not in a particularly cheerful way. He had made sure you were comfortable in your new quarters, the ones you were now stood outside of being reprimanded.

There was something gnawing at the back of your mind, the feeling that you shouldn’t have to put up with this. You could hear your father in the back of your head, telling you that you had to learn to stand up for yourself. You hadn’t looked up at Wolffe once through his ranting, and you didn’t plan on it either, especially now as you felt your eyes becoming heavy with tears.

It was a natural response. You never liked being told off, and right now you felt as if you were a child again, your parents giving you a lecture about your shortcomings. Hot tears rolled down your cheeks in a similar manner, silent and unacknowledged.

You didn’t know when Wolffe had finished laying into you, but when you stopped reflecting on the past and came back to the present moment, you realised that he wasn’t speaking anymore. You hazarded a look at him, once again keeping your chin pointed down. He was just staring down at you, his scowl replaced in favour of a more uneasy frown, finally removing his hand from your wrist.

“Are you okay?” He asked quietly, clearly unsure of how to even approach the situation.

“I’m fine” You replied, and your voice was surprisingly even.

He was still just peering down at you through his creased brow, frozen in his place and out of his depth.

“Why are you crying?” He addressed the situation head on.

“I’m not crying”

“You are”

“I’m n—”

“You are”

You looked to your feet, feeling absolutely infinitesimal under the full scrutiny of his commanding presence.

“Alright fine, maybe I am” You admitted in a whisper.

“Why?” He asked firmly.

“No reason”

“No reason?”

“Yep, no reas—”

“Stop it” He interrupted again, “What’s wrong?”

You let out a long breath, your chest heaving before it escaped your pursed lips. You could taste the saltiness of your tears, and you lifted a hand to wipe one of your cheeks.

“I just don’t like being told off okay? I can’t help it”

“I wasn't telling you off, I was—”

When he didn’t finish his sentence your eyes flicked back up to his. His frown had softened, and he was now chewing on his lip as if he was looking for something to say. You huffed quietly, your cheeks scorching with embarrassment at the whole situation.

“If it's alright with you sir, I'd like to retire to my quarters now” You spoke quietly, trying to escape this situation that was nothing if not awkward.

Wolffe stepped back from you, clearing his throat, “Yeah, go ahead”

You turned back to your door and opened it up. You had only taken one step inside when Wolffe spoke up again.

“Wait”

You turned around, your eyes finding his, flitting between the cybernetic and the natural. His usual scowl was nowhere to be seen, and he just looked at you with a plain expression, something unreadable.

“I don't want to have to tell you off” He said, his voice uncharacteristically gentle.

You mustered up a little courage after his change in demeanour, “Then why do you?”

His throat bobbed as he gulped, “I just want you to be safe”

The way that he was staring at you was entirely too much for you to cope with, so you lowered your gaze once again before you replied.

“Thank you sir, I appreciate that”

Wolffe reached up slowly, gently taking your chin and guiding your eyes to his. He gazed upon you with the utmost sincerity and apology as his thumb swept across your still-wet cheek.

“I'm sorry, I didn't mean to upset you”

“That's oka—”

“It's not” He spoke resolutely, with no room for argument, then softened his voice a little, “You understand that I don't like to be angry with you, right?”

Something about your expression must have conveyed a sense of doubt, because Wolffe frowned when you didn’t reply.

“Do you really think-?”

“I don't think, remember?” You replied, in a oddly humorous way, despite the previous tone of the conversation. Wolffe gave you a disapproving look, and you backtracked, “Sorry Commander”

Wolffe was still holding you face, and the way his eyes were searching yours was making your stomach erupt into butterflies. His gaze was captivating, cementing you in place and rendering you speechless in a completely different way to when he had been scolding you earlier. You didn’t want to be the first one to break away, and thankfully Wolffe came to his senses soon enough.

“I should go”

He dropped his hand from your chin and stepped back. You nodded subtly in reply to his words, still unable to form your own, and he turned to leave with haste.

You watched him walk away as you leaned on your doorway, stalking down the hall with a pace to rival your hurried steps from earlier. His head turned back to you briefly, and you both instantly looked away, you stepping back into your room and closing the door as you felt your cheeks burn hot from being caught watching him.

It felt like something had shifted in your relationship, like something significant had happened. Perhaps it was your inadvertent show of vulnerability, perhaps it was the way his touch set your skin alight. Whatever it was, it was something that you couldn’t take back. Whatever was unsaid between you was coming to light, and you cursed your racing heart for getting ahead of itself.

You were crouched behind cover, your eyes locked on a trooper that had been knocked to the ground. He wasn’t moving, but going over to see if he was still alive was too risky, even if the focus of the enemy’s fire wasn’t in his direction any longer. You lingered, waiting to see even the slightest twitch of his fingers. He continued to lay motionless, his body sprawled in an uncomfortable position from the heavy blow he had received. You hoped, prayed, and they were answered in an instant, the man’s body curling in on itself as he groaned in pain.

You gulped, and slowly turned to look over your shoulder, only to see Wolffe watching you like a hawk.

“Don't you dare” He shook his head slowly, his voice low, almost a growl.

You hung your head a little, squeezing your eyes closed for a brief moment.

“I'm sorry Commander”

You rushed out from behind the cover, hearing your name being screamed after you in a desperate plea for you to do anything else. You didn’t pay attention, you were solely focused on making it to the trooper.

You pulled the man to his feet, throwing his arm around your shoulders and making your way back to cover, but you were not so lucky as to evade danger. Blasterfire ripped through the air surrounding you, causing you to duck out of its path, and take the injured man down with you.

“Get out of here!” The Commander shouted at you, stepping in front of you and shooting at the droids that had focused their fire in your direction.

You dragged to man the short distance back to cover, and as you were giving him a once over, assessing the issue, Wolffe ordered another medic to take over and tugged you further back from the front lines, around the corner of a crumbling building.

“What the kriff is the matter with you?”

He was angry. More angry than he had ever been, more angry than the previous rotation. And yet, there was a far clearer emotion swimming in his non-cybernetic eye, dripping from his pinched brows, washing over you with every heavy breath he exhaled. Worry, concern, utter distress.

“I thought I made it pretty clear that I don't want you anywhere near the action” He growled, evidently struggling to keep his emotions in check.

Despite his afflicted demeanour, you didn’t feel like having a repeat of the previous rotation, and the adrenaline coursing through your veins only sought to heighten you irritation.

“And I thought I made it pretty clear that I don't appreciate being told off” You grumbled back to him, not feeling brave enough to say it with your chest.

“Then stop doing stupid things!” He rebutted, his voice conveying every inch of exasperation he felt.

You shook your head as you dragged your gaze from him, starting to walk away. You weren’t going to be talked to like this again. For the second time in the last rotation, Wolffe’s hand shot out and wrapped around your wrist, tugging you back.

“I'm talking to you”

“Well I'm not talking to you” You snapped, snatching back your arm and finally letting your irritation take over.

At first, Wolffe appeared to be taken aback. You had never so much as argued back at him before, but something about the fire burning in his eye told you that it was welcomed. He wanted you to fight back. He liked that you were fighting back.

“I refuse to be reprimanded for doing the right thing” You continued, letting him hear your true feelings on the matter.

“You refuse?” Wolffe seemed almost amused.

“Yes” You replied, but your confidence was slipping, “I refuse”

Wolffe laughed, taking a step towards you, “And I suppose you think you have the authority to refuse my orders? Seeing as it's the only thing you can seem to do right”

You stepped away from him, but with every step you took, he followed after you. It wasn’t long until he had backed you into the wall, and was towering over you with a challenging look on his face.

“I have free will, is what I have” You puffed out your chest in defiance, causing it to come into contact with his chestplate, “And I will use it to do the right thing, consequences be damned”

“It must be nice to be you, huh?”

You just frowned, not entirely sure what made him say that.

Wolffe’s face became stern, “You just get to flit about, playing the hero when you could so easily become the martyr acting the way you do, claiming it's all about ‘free will’ and ‘doing the right thing’. Well guess what? I don't have those luxuries. If I disobey orders, I get court martialled. I don't have free will, and I don't get to do the right thing, I get to do as I'm told”

You swallowed thickly as your body recoiled from his in shame. From his perspective, your actions certainly seemed silly and plainly misguided. Perhaps they were.

“I'm sorry Commander, I didn’t think—”

“No, you don't think, do you?” He retorted quickly.

You frowned deeply, drawing an enervated sigh from Wolffe.

“I would love to be able to consider what is right and wrong, but I am simply not allowed. Having the ability to think, to form thoughts unique to myself, but not get to enact any sort of ‘free will’, it's—” He breathed deeply, his forearm coming to rest on the wall beside your head, “Oh, the things I would do if I had free will”

His eyes bored into you through heavy eyelids, his self control hanging by a thread. He was so close to you, his body pressing yours into the wall, and it was taking all of your strength to not melt against him.

“What would you do?” You spoke softly, guiding him in the right direction.

He didn’t waste any time in replying.

“I would tell you that the reason I don't want you around the action, the reason I can't stand your stupid moral compass which makes you do stupid things, is because the idea of you getting hurt is my own personal hell. I would grab you and hold you close and keep you safe, I would never let you go. I would—” He puffed out a quick breath, mingling it with your own as he drew impossibly closer, “I would kiss you, and do every other thing I've been dreaming of since the first moment I met you. I would throw all of this away, if I got that chance”

There was not a single one of his words that were processing in your brain. For a moment you just stared at him, shocked, before the surprise melted from your face and you offered every measure of tenderness within you in a single look.

“Wolffe” You whispered, reaching up and placing a hand on his cheek.

His eyes closed at your touch, and his troubled expression eased slightly. He let out a shaky breath as he took in the warmth of your skin on his, but as soon as he had revelled in it for a moment too long, he put up his walls again.

“But it doesn’t matter, because I don't have free will” He stepped back from you but you were determined now, following after him.

“Well I do”

You practically leapt at him, your hands finding the back of his neck and pulling him against you, bringing him into a searing kiss. His hands instantly flung around your waist, tightening around you and drawing you into his body as if he was never going to let go, just as he promised. It was as if he only needed you to be the one that initiated it, and now, he had forgotten everything that was stopping him in the first place.

You let your fingers tangle in the curls at the base of his neck, and he pushed you backwards into the wall again, a soft groan sounding in the back of his throat. One hand came up to cup your cheek, and you were surprised at how softly he held you, a direct contrast to the way that he was devouring your lips, consuming your very soul with only his mouth and tongue.

You had to pull away, gasping for breath, and he did the same. He held you close as you both caught your breath, staring into each other’s eyes with a newfound fondness. It was intoxicating, to see him like this; his chest heaving from having kissed you with such an intensity. You felt like your psyche was being ripped from you with each heavy exhale, and you were watching from outside of your body.

“I'm never letting you go now” He continued to hold onto you like his life depended on it, burying his face in the exposed skin of your neck.

“I thought-”

“Don’t” He rumbled, “I don't care what I said before, there's no going back now”

You sighed blissfully and mirrored him, and coiling your arms around his neck and holding him tightly. The feel of his breath against your neck was heady, deeply exhilarating, but in the quiet of the moment, you couldn’t help but remember you were in the middle of a battle.

“Maybe we should-”

He lifted his head and cut you off with a deep kiss. You were powerless to stop him, but you didn’t care to anyway.

“Just a little longer” He pleaded, his eyes soft and slightly widened, “Please”

You let a small smile lift the edges of your lips, enamoured by the soft side that this kind of treatment brought out of him. It was almost amusing, how different he was acting as compared to his usual authoritative demeanour. He was putty in your hands, and you didn’t quite know how to handle it.

You brushed your lips lightly against his and spoke with a teasing edge, “Yes sir”

taglist: @darthnihila @cdblake1565

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