Warnings: Oral sex, explicit content, Hunter is a feral dilf
Summary: Looking after Omega was an enjoyable task, one youâre happy to do. You just wish her father-figure wouldnât disappear every time you enter the room.
AO3
âYouâre good with her.â
You glanced over your shoulder, eyeing the man leaning against the wall between your living room and the front door. He never seemed comfortable in your home, perhaps he wasnât used to domestic settings, but he was at ease at the moment.
When he realized you were staring, Hunter gave one of his soft smiles that turned up one corner of his mouth. You quickly looked away, back to the subject of your conversation. Omega was currently using your desk to finish the painting sheâd been working on since dawn. She was determined when she put her mind to it, just like the clone who watched over her like a father.
âSheâs easy to look after,â you responded, keeping your voice low so as not to disturb her. âSmart, observant, quiet.â
A little too observant from the looks she sent between you and Hunter far too often.
âYeah,â Hunter said in his usual taciturn manner, but his voice was gentle. âThanks for doing this.â
âOf course. Iâve always wanted to have a little sister.â
Iâve always wanted to have a daughter is what you didnât say. It would put you on the same co-parenting level as the man across from you, and that might reveal some truths you wished to remain buried deep.
Oh good lord, this was delicious! I loved everything about it!
Iâm going to apologize right now, because this reblogâŚthese comments..are UNHINGED!!! I am unhinged at this moment. And maybe I should be embarrassed, but Iâm not. Iâm gonna lay it all out there, how much I loved this fic, how fucking hot I found it!!!
Whew, man! I need to collect myself.
Iâll start off slow and sweetâŚ
The clones hadnât only rescued you, theyâd given you a new life. Now you had your own place, a stable job, and a group of odd but wonderful people you could count on.
It was a shame one of them consumed your thoughts day and night, and he, in turn, always seemed to be looking for the nearest exit if he spent more than thirty seconds in your general vicinity.
Oh HunterâŚ
And the adorableness of Omega noticing something happening between Hunter and the reader.
âSheâs easy to look after,â you responded, keeping your voice low so as not to disturb her. âSmart, observant, quiet.â
A little too observant from the looks she sent between you and Hunter far too often.
And a little later:
Omega was looking between the two of you with a funny expression. You were positive she could see right through you, and you wondered why, with all of his enhanced abilities, Hunter failed to do the same.
A/N: I am absolutely in love with @idksmtms's fics of Maekar having a young wife whom Dunk confuses with his daughter, and I just kept thinking about how Baelor would react if it happened to him đ so I wrote this. Special thanks to @vhagars-dementia for constantly blessing this fandom with her ideas!!! I dedicate this to you <3 And to all my Baelor enthusiasts.
â summary: ser duncan the tall thinks you're just a beautiful girl close to his own age, but his innocence is his undoing when he mistakes you for just another targaryen cousin. the only problem? you are actually the lady of dragonstone and baelorâs wife.
â pairing: baelor targaryen x wife!reader
â word count: 2k
â content: controversial young wife!reader, age gap, humor, mentions of reader's hair length, jealous!baelor, implicit sexual references, pda.
The hedge knight spends more time than ever with the family, forever trailing after Aegon like a loyal hound, laughing, jesting, and, above all, eating.
It was only to be expected that the prince would invite his dear friend to the feast held at Dragonstone for the celebration of your name day. Your husband, Baelor, had prepared a banquet worthy of you, with an enormous cake and hundreds of servants rushing frantically through the castle, adorning the halls with flowers and colors chosen to your liking. He knew you exceptionally well, so it had been easy for him to decorate precisely how you'd like.
You had told him, of course, that such splendor was unnecessary, that a small supper with the family would have more than sufficed. Yet Baelor delighted in spoiling you, for you were the finest blessing he had been granted in a lot of time.
Whenever Ser Duncan the Tall found himself in your presence, he devoted most of his time to watch you from afarâseeing you laugh beside Baelor, play with Egg, or even speak comfortably with Prince Aerion. Your presence was nothing short of glorious, a magnet for eyes and devotion wherever you went. Your nature was exquisiteâkind, gentle, and so unbearably sweet that at times Dunk thought you could scarce be of the same blood as the rest of them.Â
And your beauty⌠that was another matter entirely. You were the loveliest sight the humble eyes of a hedge knight had ever beheld. Your form was wondrous, your face celestial, your long hair falling over your shoulders like a silken cascade, and your smile... it stole the very breath from his chest every time. Each time you entered his sight, a sigh would just escape out of him, soft and helpless, like a boy hopelessly in love.
âDo not even think it, Dunk,â Egg warns him, as he had more than once before, quick to notice the besotted look upon his big friendâs face as they sat together at the table. âThat's out of your power to reach, Ser.â
But Dunk does not answer. He is far too intent upon you as you appear in the great hallâs doorway.Â
Today you wear a gown of red, dazzling, adorned with pearls and white embroidery that spreads across your bodice, climbs your shoulders, and trails down the length of your spine, where darker crimson stitching forms the likeness of dragon scales. Your hair lies loose down your back, softly waved, gleaming in the candlelight.
All rise at your entrance.
Dunk is the last. He nearly stumbles over his chair in his haste, its legs scraping loudly against the stone floor as he shoves it back. That aloneâand youâturn him red as a summer apple.
Valarr, seated at his other side, watches his brutish motion with poorly hidden amusement.
âMy love,â Baelor calls first, his face gentle as drifting clouds, fondness curving his lips as he comes to greet you properly. âHappy name day.â
You accept his embrace, smiling as he presses a tender kiss to your hair.
After him, the others come in turn, forming a line to offer their wishes, their thanks, their giftsâsmall tokens and letters placed into your hands.
Egg flings himself into your arms, making you laugh and sway back a step beneath the force of him. Baelor, standing close at your side, smiles at the sight. Ever tender are you with the younglings, and for that, he loves you all the more. You shower his children with a devotion so maternal and steadfast that one would never guess they did not spring from your own womb.
âThank you, my sweet Aegon,â you tell him, stroking the fine, pale silver-gold hair already sprouting upon his head. The boy had even brought you a flowerâone of those you cherished most, a silent token of his affection.
Duncan feels painfully out of place when his turn comes. Standing empty-handed while his stomach twists into a tight, miserable knot.
He is already flushed when you lift your gaze to him, your eyes sparkling with amusement at the familiar effect you have upon himâhis trembling hands, his stammer, his shy smiles. He's so cute!
âSer Duncan. I hope you would be here,â you greet him warmly, you know well the bond he shares with Aegon; to have him present is a comfort to your heart. âAegon speaks wonders of you. It does not surprise me to see you have become each other's shadow.â
âMy lady,â Dunk answers you, his voice no louder than a mouseâs squeak. His gaze, much against his better judgment, betrays him, making a swift, helpless journey over the length of your body.
And Baelor notices, of course; his smile fades, slow and certain, as he watches the knightâs every movement like a hawk perched upon your shoulder. A single brow lifts slightly, and a deep, thoughtful furrow begins to cloud his brow.
Duncan clears his throat and casts your husband an apologetic glance before daring to look at you again. âIâ I beg your pardon. I would not wish to be an intrusion upon your name day. Your father was kind enough to grant me to attend.â
The hall falls into sepulchral silence. The small conversations that bloom among the Targaryens die at once when Dunkâs words echo through the great chamber, their meaning plain, their offense unmistakable and unashamed. Even the youngest cease their play, and the servants stand frozen right where they are.
All turn to stare at Duncan now, and they look upon him with mortified eyes, as though none dare breathe.
Somewhere, someone fails to smother a laughâmost likely Aerion.
Eggâs mouth falls open in mortification. He looks up at his friend, his expression stricken, willing him to understandâto seeâthat what he has just said is wrong. Very wrong.
Duncan looks down at him when his small squire gives his shin a furtive kick, meant to draw his notice without the others seeing. He frowns, bewildered, not understanding what offense he has given now to deserve such a blow.
And when he looks back to the grown folk, he finds you watching him with an expression poised in perfect balance between horror and amusement. There is even the faintest hint of a smile at the corner of your lips, one you must press away when you turn your head toward your prince.
Baelor does not look pleased as you do.
His face is uncommonly stern, his brow drawn tight, his lips pressed into a hard, unforgiving line, he is trying to gather every shred of his restraint to keep from striking the foolish knight upon your name day.
âShe is my wife, Ser Duncan,â he clarifies, his patience stretched thin, drawn so taut it borders upon offense. His hand comes to curl around your waist as you lean into him, lifting one hand to his chest in quiet reassurance.
You are still trying to hide that treacherous, amused smile.
âOhâSevenââ Dunk breathes, realization striking him at last. He drops at once to his knees, bowing his head in reverence and shame. âI beg your forgiveness, Your Grace. IâI did not know. My manners are poorâyou must understand, I never mâmeant offense.â
âOf course not, Ser,â you reply kindly, looking down at him, still leaning against your husbandâs chest. He lets out a soft sigh beneath your touch, your hand rising and falling with the steady motion of his breath.
Baelor makes a sharp, dismissive gesture for him to rise. âSee that it does not happen again.â
âOf course!â Dunk scrambles to his feet at once, his face burning red with shame. âI only meant that she is so young and beautiful, and youââ
His frantic blue eyes fall upon Valarr, standing just behind his father. The prince shakes his head swiftly, his mismatched eyes widening in urgent warning, bidding him to hold his tongue.
Dunk obeys at once and his jaw snaps shut so hard it almost snaps apart.
âYou witless boy,â Maekar rebukes him, his face twisted with disgust and disdain when the hedge knight dares glance his way, standing at your side like some old, ill-tempered hound. âThat should cost you your fucking tongue.â
Your soft laughter breaks through the tension of the moment, and all turn to look at you, the heavy air easing when they all realize this offends you not half so deeply as it does them.
âI am certain Ser Duncan meant no malice, Maekar,â you say, seeking to soothe themâmost of all your husband. âAnd I should not like to see any tongues torn out upon my name day, please.â
Baelorâs gaze remains fixed upon the mortified knight, his hand coming to rest upon the pommel of his swordâa blade he carries in quiet defiance of your pleas to remain unarmed this day. He thinks, perhaps, that he shall have a use for it against Ser Duncan.
â... shall we eat at last, then?â Comes Daeronâs unmistakable voice from somewhere within the hall. âI am hungry. And thirsty.â
âOf that, none have any doubt,â Maekar mutters, rolling his eyes as he returns to the table.
The others follow in his wake, granting you and your husband a moment alone.
Ser Duncan gives you another quick, apologetic bow before hastening out from beneath your husbandâs gaze.
You cannot hold it any longer.
A breath of laughter escapes you, soft and bright, and you turn in Baelorâs arms to face him fully.Â
He is still watching the place where Duncan stood, his jaw tight, his shoulders rigid beneath your touch, as if the insult lingers in the air like a foul smell.
Your fingers curl more firmly into the front of his doublet to call for his attention.
âMy prince,â you whisper with a smile when his two-toned eyes finally meet yours. âMy heart...â
You rise onto your toes and press a gentle kiss to his cheek, his beard tickling against your skin. His body noticeably softens beneath your warm affection.
Another kiss follows, softer still, at the corner of his mouth.
And one more, sweet and lingering, upon his lips.
âPeace,â you plead humorously against his mouth, your fingers toying idly with the Hand of the Kingâs badge on his chest. âYou look as though you mean to challenge the poor knight to single combat over a slip of the tongue, my love.â
âI am not amused,â he manifests, his tone remarkably sullen, yet you press another loving kiss to his lips to chase away his pettish little pout.
âNo?â You lean closer, your voice drops into something more playful and teasing, âis it because he thinks you're old, husband?â
His lips tremble at your words, holding back an ironic smile, and his hands tighten at your waist, pulling you closer against him.
Baelor clicks his tongue, and your gaze falls to his lips as he does. âI am not old.â
âWell, considering my own age... truthfully, you are a bit older,â you continue to tease him, biting back a small laugh at his startled reaction. âShould I begin calling you father now, hm?â
His beautiful eyes narrow.
You grinâand steal another quick kiss before he can protest.
âDo not push your luck, wife,â he warns all the same, a playful little smile curving his lips. His hand slides down to the small of your back before he delivers a sharp, scolding swat to your backside, making you jolt lightly against him.
His brow arches slightly. âYou are the only one left breathless and trembling like some frail, ancient little thing. Or must I remind you how you clung to me the other night and begged me toâ?â
Your hand flies to his mouth, covering it before he can utter another word.
âMy prince,â you hiss under your breath, though laughter trembles in your voice, your eyes wide with scandalized amusement. âYou grow bold. We are in a hall full of eyes, and your sons sit but a stone's throw away.â
His lips move against your palm, pressing a lingering, heated kiss there that sends a shiver down your spine. Baelor gently pulls your hand away, though he does not let go of your fingers, his thumb stroking your knuckles with a slow, possessive rhythm, grazing your betrothal ring.
âLet them look,â he dismisses, leaning into you to kiss your lips properly, claiming them. And claiming you.
The heated kiss, at last, forces Duncanâs eyes away from you, and Baelor smiles against your mouth as he watches him behind you, finally closing his own eyes to savor the honeyed sweetness of your kiss.
Plot Summary: After witnessing Prince Aerionâs cruel tilt, you slip away from the stands to help the injured knight in the healersâ tent only to be joined by Prince Baelor Targaryen. Far from prying eyes, quiet conversation, shared wine, the future king lets himself be seen as only a man for the night.
Warnings: NSFW. 18+ only. explicit sexual content, consensual outdoor sex, penetrative sex (multiple positions: cowgirl + missionary), slow & intimate, praise, soft dom vibes from Baelor, thigh-holding / pinning open, external ejaculation, light power imbalance (prince x lady) , references to tourney violence & injury, wine drinking, aftercare, sorta strangers to lovers, not proofread.
Authors note: me and my girl love our husband @itsjml. Itâs been along time since I have written anything from the Westeros universe. What better way to come back than for the heir to the iron throne.
Please reblog to support fellow writers â¤ď¸
Another fine day as the sun hung high over Ashford Meadow, as you, a Lady of House Willum, sat among the lesser nobility in the stands. You're close enough to feel the thunder of hooves but far from the royal pavilions where the true power watched.
The joust between Prince Aerion Targaryen and Ser Humfrey Hardyng drew every eye. Ser Humfrey was a crowd favourite, a knight who'd already unhorsed a dozen men that day.
The charge came. Lances leveled.
Then the unthinkable: Aerion's lance dipped low and definitely deliberately as he pierced the neck of Ser Humfrey's mount instead of the shield.
Disgust rose in your throat like bile. The stands erupted, some in cheers for the prince's "victory," others in murmurs of outrage. But you could not sit idle and watch Ser Humfrey cry out in pain any longer as heâs dragged away. Slipping from your seat, you gathered your skirts and hurried toward the healers' tents at the edge of the field.
Inside the pavilion, the air smelled of blood, sweat, and milk of the poppy. Ser Humfrey had been laid on a low pallet, his face pale and slick with sweat from being in pain.
You inwardly cringe as you spotted that his leg was grotesquely swollen beneath his torn breeches. A maester knelt, probing the break with careful fingers while another prepared splints.
You approached without hesitation, you'd tended the sick in Willowbrook's villages since girlhood and now was no different.
"May I assist?" you asked the nearest maester, rolling up your sleeves. He glanced at your fine gown, then at your steady hands, and nodded.
You worked quickly: fetching clean linens, holding the leg steady as the maester set the bone with a sickening grind that drew a choked cry from the Ser.
You murmured soothing words, pressing a damp cloth to his brow and offering what comfort you could. "The Seven will see you through this, Ser. Breathe slow." Your voice was calm, though your heart pounded with anger at the prince who'd caused this cruelty.
Suddenly, a shadow fell across the tent flap. You looked up and froze.
Prince Baelor Targaryen stood there, his olive skin gleamed in the lantern light, dark eyes shadowed with concern. He'd watched the tilt from the royal stand; everyone had seen his jaw tighten at Aerion's dishonour. Now he stepped inside, broad shoulders filling the space,
"How fares Ser Humfrey?" he asked the maester,
his presence commanding yet gentle.
"Badly broken, my prince. He'll live, but the leg... it may never bear him fully again."
Baelor's gaze shifted to you then, lingering. Recognition flickered. Perhaps it was from the feast nights before, when your laughter had caught his ear across the hall. "My lady of Willum," he starts, "You lend your hands where others turn away."
Heat rose to your cheeks. "It is no more than duty, my prince. House Willum has always aided where we may. And this..." You glanced at the suffering knight. "This should not have happened."
He nodded, a muscle ticking in his jaw. "Aerion's lance found the wrong target. I saw it plainly." He knelt beside the pallet, placing a hand on Ser Humfrey's shoulder. "You fought honorably, ser. Rest now. The crown will see to your care."
Ser Humfrey only managed a weak nod.
Baelor rose, offering you his hand to help you stand from where youâd knelt in the dirt. His palm was warm and steady. âWalk with me a moment, my lady? The air outsid is fresher.â
You accepted, letting him guide you from the tent into the cooling evening. Stars began to prick the sky as you walked in silence for a few paces, the grass whispering against your skirts.
âI wanted to thank you properly,â he said, voice low. âFor what you did in there. Ser Humfrey was in agony, and most would have averted their eyes or offered empty platitudes from a safe distance. That kind of mercy⌠it is not common,â he looks at you, fondness in his eyes, âeven among the highborn.â
âIt was nothing more than what anyone with a heart would do,â you murmured. âHe suffered needlessly. Cruelty like thatââ
You broke off, the words turning bitter on your tongue before you could stop them.
âLike Aerionâs,â you finished, the name slipping out sharp. âHe struck the horse on purpose. I saw it. Everyone saw it. He laughed while a good man screamed beneath a dying beast. How can anyone call that knighthood? How canââ
You caught yourself, cheeks burning now with embarrassment as much as anger. You looked away, toward the darkening horizon as you quickly realise who yoh were standing with.
âForgive me, my prince,â you say quickly, âI spoke out of turn. Aerion is your nephew. Your brotherâs son. I should not have said anything.â
Baelor stopped walking.
He turned to face you fully and he did not look offended. If anything, his expression was one of weary understanding. âNo apology is needed,â he hums quietly. âYou spoke the truth. I saw the same thing you did and I felt the same disgust rise in me.â He picks a wildflower close by, twirling it between his fingers.
âHe is my nephew, yes. But blood does not absolve dishonour, and it does not blind me to it.â He exhaled slowly, as though the admission cost him a great deal of coin. âI have spent years trying to guide him, to show him what our house should stand for rather than what it could destroy. Some days I wonder if the fire in him will ever bend to reason.â
The silence that followed was heavy, but not uncomfortable. âHereâŚâ he speaks soft, taking your hand and pressing the flower into your palm. His thumb brushed once, almost absently, across the back of your hand.
âMy lady, would you accompany me for a drink? Alone. Somewhere quiet, away from the noise and the eyes.â
Your heart gave an unsteady thud but you met his eyes. âYes. I would like that very much, my prince.â
A small, genuine smile curved Baelorâs lips.. He offered his arm again, and you took it gracefully. You suppress a surprise gasp as you feel that his forearm was solid beneath the linen sleeve.
Together you left the clamour of the tourney grounds behind, slipping past the last row of pavilions and into the open meadow that bordered Ashfordâs lists. The grass was already damp with evening dew and beautifully silvered by the rising moon. For a while neither of you spoke, content simply to walk side by side.
Eventually Baelor broke it. âAerion has always preferred spectacle to honour. I fear he will never understand the difference.â
You walked on a few paces before answering. âMy father used to say that true strength is measured not by how hard a man can strike, but by how gently he can hold back when he could destroy.â
Baelor looked at you then, really looked. âYour father sounds like a wise man.â
âHe was,â you begin softly. âHe died three winters past. Fever took him quickly. After that, it fell to me to look after Willowbrookâs people as best I could. The river floods some years, the harvests fail others.â
You look up to the moon, smiling to yourself. âYou learn quickly that a lord or lady cannot sit above suffering and still call themselves worthy.â
He nodded slowly. âI envy you that clarity. The throne room is far removed from such truths. One forgets, sometimes, what the realm truly needs.â Thereâs a small frown on his face so you offer him a smile and an ever so light nudge.
âAnd yet here you are, walking in a meadow instead of feasting with the highborn.â
âFeasts grow tiresome when the conversation is all flattery and veiled threats.â He gave a quiet laugh. âBesides, the company is better out here.â
Heat crept into your cheeks again âYou flatter me, my prince.â
âNo,â he said simply. âI speak plainly. You are kind in a way that costs you nothing and everything at once. That is rare.â
The meadow sloped gently downward toward a small copse of willows and alders.
A low fire already burned in a shallow pit. It was clear that it was someoneâs forgotten camp. A wineskin and two battered tin cups had been left beside the flames, along with a folded cloak. Baelor paused, glancing at you.
âShall we?â
You nodded, and he led you to the fireside. He spread the cloak on the grass for you to sit, then settled beside you.
Your eyes open wide as he sits close enough that your shoulders nearly brushed. He doesnât seem to mind however as he he uncorked the wineskin, poured dark red into both cups, and handed one to you.
You clinked your cup lightly against his. âTo kinder days,â you smile.
âTo kinder days,â he echoed.
The first sips were quiet, warming. The fire crackled softly, sending sparks spiraling upward into the night. Gradually the conversation drifted. You both spoke about the tilts from today and about which knight had ridden the finest that day. He would comment about how the Reachâs golden fields would look amazing from dragonback (he wished desperately that the dragons didnât die out before his time).
Then he asked about Willowbrook. It surprised you that he wanted to know about your humble life but he listened as though every detail mattered, asking gentle questions that showed he truly wanted to know.
At length the fire had burned lower, the wine warmer in your veins. You shifted closer without quite meaning to, drawn by his warmth against the night chill. Fortunately, he did not move away.
You looked into the flames for a moment, gathering courage, then turned to him.
âI have never met a Targaryen like you,â you told him truthfully. âThe stories speak of fire and blood, of ambition that burns kingdoms down. But youâŚâ You searched his face, the sharp lines softened by firelight. âYou are kind.â
Baelor regarded you for a long moment, expression unreadable. Then he set his cup aside and reached out, brushing the backs of his fingers lightly along your cheek. The touch was feather-soft, almost hesitant.
âKindness is not the legacy my house is known for,â he murmured. Your eyes softly close as his thumb traced the curve of your lower lip. âMost days I feel the weight of what we are supposed to be more than what I wish to be.â
His gaze dropped to your mouth, âIt has been⌠a long while since I allowed myself anything like this,â he admitted quietly, the confession sounding almost surprised, as though he had not meant to speak it aloud. âSince I let anyone close enough. Since I let myself want.â
The admission hung in the air, raw and unguarded. You felt your own breath catch.
âThen let yourself want now,â you whispered.
He leaned in slowly, giving you every chance to pull away.
You met him halfway.
The first press of his lips was careful, tasting of Arbor red and woodsmoke. You sighed into it, parting for him, and he deepened the kiss with a quiet groan that vibrated against your mouth. His hand slid to cradle the back of your neck, fingers threading into your hair; the other found your waist, drawing you closer across the folded cloak until you were half in his lap.
He kissed like a man who had forgotten how good it could feel; like every brush of tongue, every soft nip at your lower lip, was something he had denied himself for years. Your hands slide up his chest, feeling the steady thunder of his heart beneath. When you tugged lightly at the laces of his tunic, he helped you without breaking the kiss, shrugging the garment off.
You broke apart only long enough to breathe, foreheads resting together.
âYou tremble,â he murmured against your lips, one hand smoothing down your back in a soothing stroke.
âSo do you,â you answered, smiling a little.
He huffed a soft laugh, the sound almost disbelieving. âI suppose I do.â
His mouth found your neck then with open kisses and gentle scrapes of teeth that made you arch against him. You felt him harden beneath you, the evidence of his want pressing insistently against your thigh through his breeches. Your own body answered with a rush of heat, a slick ache building low in your belly.
âBaelorâŚâ His name came out half plea, half wonder.
He pulled back just enough to look at you, eyes searching. âTell me to stop if it is too much,â he said, voice thick. âOr tell me what you want.â
You cupped his face, thumbs brushing the faint stubble along his jaw. âI want you,â you reply simply. âAll of you. Here... Now.â
Something fierce and tender flashed across his features. He kissed you again with hunger and began to work the ties of your gown. Layer by layer the fabric fell away until you knelt bare before him in the firelight, skin prickling with both chill and anticipation.
He looked at you like you were something holy.
âGods,â he breathed. âYou areâŚâ
He did not finish the sentence. Instead he pulled you down with him onto the cloak, rolling so you straddled his hips. His hands roamed over your breasts, your waist, your thighs⌠he was learning you with slow, worshipful touches.
When you reached between you to free him from his breeches, he groaned low in his throat at the first stroke of your hand along his length.
You pump his cock slowly before you guide him to your entrance, slick and ready, and sink down slowly and stretch around him.
You both stilled for a moment when he was fully sheathed, breathing hard, foreheads pressed together again.
He whimpered, utterly undone and the sound sent a fresh wave of heat through you.
You began to move with a slow roll of your hips, grinding down in languid circles that made him gasp against your mouth. His hands gripped your thighs as though you were the only thing anchoring him to the world. Every downward motion drew another quiet, helpless sound from him; his head tipped back, throat working, dark eyes half-lidded and gleaming with pleasure.
âYou feelâŚâ he managed, voice wrecked. âSo perfect⌠so goodâŚâ
You leaned down to kiss him again, swallowing the next soft whimper as you circled your hips just right. His hands slid up to cup your breasts, thumbs brushing your nipples in time with your rhythm, sending sparks straight to where you were joined.
The pace stayed slow, torturously intimate. He wanted you to feel every inch of him, and wanted him to feel every flutter and clench around him.
Sweat gleamed on his skin in the firelight. He looked up at you with something like awe, lips parted on ragged breaths, utterly lost in the sensation of you moving above him.
After a while, the need shifted.
âLie back,â he whispered. âLet me feel you like this.â
With a low groan he rolled you both until you lay beneath him on the cloak, legs parting to cradle his hips. He settled between your thighs, bracing on his forearms so his weight rested mostly on his elbows, keeping you sheltered from the cool air. His eyes never left yours as he guided himself back inside you in one slow, smooth glide.
You both moaned at the new deeper angle, every inch of his cock pressing against places that made stars burst behind your eyelids.
He began to move in long thrusts, pulling almost all the way out before sliding back in with a planned slowness. Each stroke dragged against your walls, building heat in lazy, rolling waves. His forehead pressed to yours; his breath fanned hot across your lips.
âSo beautiful,â he whispered between thrusts. âSo warm and tight around me⌠my ladyâŚâ
You wrapped your legs around his waist, heels digging into the small of his back to bury him deeper. Your hands roamed his shoulders, his back, feeling the flex of muscle with every slow roll of his hips. Soft whimpers escaped you each time he bottomed out.
As the pace built ever so slightly, he slides one hand down to grip your thigh, fingers splaying wide and firm to hold you open, pinning your leg back against the cloak. The angle opened you further, letting him sink even deeper, his cock dragging perfectly against that sensitive spot inside you with every thrust. The new position made the sounds louder. Wet, filthy slaps echoing in the quiet night as he fucked into your pussy with, each one hitting harder and better, drawing keening cries from your throat.
âLike that,â he rasped, eyes locked on yours, watching every flutter of pleasure across your face. âTake me⌠gods, the way you sound⌠moaning for meâŚâ
His mouth found yours again in messy, open-mouthed kisses; then across your breasts until your back arched and you cried out softly.
When the pleasure coiled unbearably tight, you clutched at him, nails pressing marks into his shoulders.
âBaelorâŚpleaseâŚâ
âIâve got you,â he rasped, thrusts growing just a fraction deeper and a fraction harder. âCome for me⌠let me feel youâŚâ
The words tipped you over. You shattered around him with a broken cry, walls fluttering and clenching tight. He groaned your name, hips stuttering as your release pulled him along.
At the last moment he pulled out, hand wrapping around his slick length. Hot pulses spilled across your belly in thick, warm streaks, painting your skin as he shuddered through it, head bowed, breath harsh and uneven.
For a long moment he simply rested above you, weight carefully braced, chest heaving. Then he shifted to the side, lying beside you and drawing you into his arms. One hand reached for the edge of the cloak, using a clean corner to wipe you clean with tender strokes.
He kissed your temple, your cheek and then the corner of your mouth. âYouâre shivering,â he murmured, pulling the cloak fully over both of you and tucking you against his chest.
âOnly a little,â you whispered, curling into his warmth. He held you tighter, fingers tracing lazy circles along your spine. âRest now,â he said softly, pressing another kiss to your hair. âIâve got you. All night if youâll let me.â
You smiled against his skin, already drifting in the cocoon of his arms and the quiet crackle of the dying fire.
Hey there! First of all I wanted to say that you're an amazing writer, as a beginner writer I'm so impressed by your works, I hope I improve to be as good as you some day!
If it's alright, I would like to request the Bad Batch with a medic!reader, like fluffly short one-shot/headcanons of each Batcher with their medic s/o taking care of him.
If you write this, thank you so much for taking the time to do so, take as long as you need and if you don't want to do it feel free to delete my request.
Have a good day/night đ
Vitals Holding
Clone Force 99 X GN!Reader
warnings: suitable for general audiences, teen and up. Established relationships, gender neutral reader, no physical descriptions of reader, medic!reader, fluff, âvitals holdingâ used as a comfort phrase, light angst, mentions of injury, minor blood mention, stitches, stubborn clones, emotional vulnerability, kisses and flirting.
authors note: thank you so much anon for the kind words! Hope to read something of yours one day. Please enjoy, sorry for the wait.
Echo
word count: 399
Echo lay on a makeshift med-bunk, a frown on his face as he held his arm aloft, looking at his scomp-link that reminded him of the endless modifications that kept him âoperationalâ.
The mission on Felucia had been a slog. The muddy terrain, relentless droids, and a stray blaster bolt that grazed his prosthetic leg and shorting out a servo. It was nothing life threatening, but enough to sideline him.
You knelt beside him with your kit spread out. "Hold still," you murmured, your voice a soothing barrier to the ship's low rumble. Echo's eyes met yours, a mix of frustration and fondness flickering there.
"It's just a glitch," he protested, though he didn't pull away as you gently detached the lower panel on his leg. Your fingers brushed against the cool metal, tracing wires that intertwined with what remained of his organic flesh. You'd learned his systems inside out over the months, not just as a medic but as his partner.
"A glitch that could turn into a full shutdown if we ignore it," you replied, scanning the damage with your device. The readouts blinked green mostly, but a red warning pulsed for the servo. You reached for a tool, your other hand resting on his thigh for stability. Echo's breath hitched slightly; not from pain, but from the warmth of your touch cutting through.
He watched you work, smiling lightly at the way your brow furrowed in concentration. "You know, before you joined, Tech sometimes just would slap some tape on it and keep going." His voice was light, but there was a hint of vulnerability.
You paused, setting the tool down to cup his face. Your thumb tracing along his jaw. "Well im now here to looking after you, Echo. Youâre not alone in this." Leaning in, you pressed a soft kiss to his forehead.
He closed his eyes, leaning into it, the tension easing from his shoulders.
Resuming the repair, you rerouted the wiring. As the servo whirred back to life, Echo flexed his leg experimentally. "Feels good," he admitted, sitting up only to then pull you into his lap.
You smiled, checking his vitals one last time: heart rate steady, systems nominal. "Vitals holding," you whispered, echoing the phrase that had become your shared mantra after tough days. Echo's lips found yours in a grateful kiss, a silent thank you for seeing him whole.
Hunter
word count: 536
The Marauderâs engines idled low as the ship settled into a quiet landing on a forested moon, far from any Imperial patrols.
The mission had been simple reconnaissance but the dense undergrowth and sudden rain had turned it into hard work. Harder than it had to be.
Hunter had pushed through without complaint, as always. The usefulness of his enhanced senses guided the squad but the constant barrage of scents, sounds, and electromagnetic pulses had left him quietly frayed.
Now, he sat on the edge of a bunk, elbows on knees and head bowed. The infamous bandana was off with dark hair falling loose over his face.
With a look of concern, you stepped up to him quietly whilst carrying a damp cloth and a small vial of soothing balm of your own recipe.
âRough one out there?â you asked softly, kneeling between his legs so you were eye-level with him.
Hunter exhaled through his nose, a sound that was half sigh, half reluctant admission. âEverything was loud. Too loud. The rain on leaves, every insect wingbeat for klicks aroundâŚâ He rubbed at his temple. âFelt like my skull was vibrating.â
You reached up, fingers brushing his cheek before sliding into his hair. He leaned into the touch instinctively, eyes fluttering closed. Your thumb traced slow circles at his scalp, right where the tension always gathered. âYou carried us through it anyway. Like always.â
A faint, crooked smile tugged at his lips. âHad to. Couldnât let you get lost in the mud again.â
You chuckled quietly, dipping the cloth in cool water and pressing it gently to the back of his neck. He shivered once from relief. You worked in silence for a moment, letting the damp fabric ease the ache.
âLie back,â you murmured.
He hesitated, the leader in him reluctant to fully let go, but your hand on his chest was steady and grounding. He reclined slowly, stretching out on the bunk. You sat beside him, one hand resting over his heart.
With careful fingers, you massaged the balm into his temples, then down along his jaw, working out the tightness. Hunterâs breathing depened, slowing as the sensory storm inside him began to quiet. Every so often, heâd hum softly, a low sound of contentment that you know heâd never admit to making.
âYou donât have to be on all the time,â you whispered, leaning down to press a kiss to his lips. âNot with me.â
His hand found yours, lacing fingers together. âI know,â he said, voice rough but soft. âJust⌠takes time to turn it off.â
âThen let me help.â You shifted closer, tucking yourself against his side. He wrapped an arm around you without hesitation, pulling you in until your head rested on his chest. The steady thump-thump beneath your ear.
Hunterâs free hand came up to stroke your hair, mirroring the way youâd soothed him. The shipâs hum faded into background noise; the galaxy outside could wait.
After a long while, he murmured against your temple, âVitals holding.â
You smiled into his chest. âVitals holding.â
He pressed a lingering kiss to the top of your head, the last of the tension melting away in the quiet safety of your arms.
Wrecker
word count: 614
The Marauderâs cargo hold was quieter than usual, the usual clatter of Wreckerâs laughter replaced by a low, frustrated grunt. He sat on an overturned crate, one hand pressed to his lower back.
The mission had wrapped up hours ago but Wrecker had insisted on hauling the last heavy munitions crate aboard himself. âI got it!â heâd boomed, grinning wide. That was until a sharp twinge hit, deep in his back muscles. Now here he was: the strongest clone in the Batch, felled by his own enthusiasm.
You found him like that, shoulders hunched, staring at the floor as if it had personally betrayed him. The embarrassment was written all over his face. Jaw tight and eyes avoiding yours.
âHey, big guy,â you said gently, stepping into the hold with your medkit slung over one shoulder. âHeard you took on a crate and lost.â
Wrecker huffed, a sound that tried to be a laugh but landed somewhere closer to a groan. âDidnât lose. Just⌠reminded it whoâs boss. A little too hard.â He shifted, winced, and immediately tried to play it off with a forced grin. âIâm fine. Really. Jusâ need a minute.â
You set the kit down and moved to stand in front of him, close enough that he had to look up at you. âYouâre not fine. And itâs okay to not be fine.â Your voice was calm, no judgment, just the steady certainty he always leaned on. âLet me see.â
He hesitated, pride warring with the ache, but eventually he let his hand drop and turned slightly so you could reach his back. You knelt behind him on the crate, fingers gentle as you pressed along his lumbar muscles. The knot was tight, hot and angry from the sudden strain. Wrecker sucked in a breath through his teeth.
âEasy,â you murmured, already reaching for the warming salve. âYou pulled something good here. Nothing torn, but youâre gonna feel this tomorrow if we donât loosen it up now.â
He let out a long, defeated sigh. âHurt by liftinâ a kriffinâ box.â His voice cracked just a little on the last word, the embarrassment giving way. âWhat kinda soldier does that?â
You paused, hands still on his back, then leaned forward until your forehead rested lightly against the back of his shoulder. âThe kind who cares more about getting the job done for his squad than looking invincible.â You kissed the spot between his shoulder blades, right over the scar from an old explosive. âAnd the kind whoâs allowed to hurt sometimes. Even the biggest ones.â
Wrecker went still, then slowly relaxed under your touch. You worked the salve in with slow, firm circles, thumbs digging just enough to ease the spasm without pushing too hard. Every time he tensed, you eased off, waiting for him to breathe through it. Gradually, the knots began to give.
âBetter?â you asked after a while.
âYeah⌠a lot. Still stings, but not like before.â He turned his head, catching your eye over his shoulder. The grin was smaller this time, but real. âThanks, meshâla. Didnât mean to be a baby about it.â
âYou werenât.â You slid around to sit beside him, tucking yourself under his arm. He wrapped it around you immediately, pulling you against his side like you were the most precious cargo heâd ever carried.
You rested your hand over his heart, feeling the steady, powerful beat. âSo, are your vitals holding?â
Wrecker chuckled, the sound rumbling through his chest into your palm. âVitals holdinâ. Thanks to you.â
He pressed a kiss to the top of your head, lingering there, and for once didnât try to hide how much he needed the quiet comfort.
Tech
word count: 661
The back room of Cid's Parlor smelled like stale smoke and cheap liquor.
As the main cantina buzzed faintly beyond the beaded curtain, Tech sat at Cidâs desk that she had grudgingly given and one leg propped up on a crate from the fracture he had endured form the cargo container collapse.
You pushed through the curtain with your medkit, the beads clacking softly behind you. Cid had cleared out at that point, muttering something about "not running a free clinic", leaving just the two of you.
Yet he was no longer sitting down, instead he was standing awkwardly and looking through the grumpy Trandoshan's collection of random stuff she had collected.
"I told you to stay off it," you said, setting the tray down on the desk with a deliberate clunk.
Tech didn't turn around. "I am off it. Most of my weight is on the good leg. Statistically, this qualifies as minimal load-bearing.â
"You're also standing. On a fractured leg. In a bacta cast that's still setting."
He glanced over his shoulder, goggles catching the low light. "The cast has reached its polymerisation point. I was just⌠looking at possible useful junk. For later."
"Uh-huh." You stepped closer, "Sit. Before I make you."
He let out a quiet breath, half annoyed and half amused, but he didn't fight it. He eased himself back onto the chair, leg stretched out.
You knelt in front of him, "You're doing that thing again," you say softly, voice warm and teasing. "Talking tech to hide that you're hurting."
"I'm not hiding anything. Pain is just⌠information. I was onlyâ"
You placed your palm lightly over his chest, right where his heart was beating faster than usual under his armour. "Your heart's telling a different story."
Tech went still. His eyes dropped to your hand, then flicked back to your face. "That is⌠an elevated heart rate attributable toâ"
You tilted your head, fingers trailing up to brush along his jaw, nudging his goggles up just enough to see the heat on his cheeks. "Or maybe because you like when I take care of you?"
He blinked rapidly behind the lenses, processing. "I⌠find your presence efficacious for recovery. Statistically speaking, positive emotional stimuli can accelerateâ"
You leaned in, lips brushing his. Tech froze for a second, then leaned into it, one hand coming up to rest carefully at the back of your neck.
The kiss deepened just enough to make him forget the ache for a moment. You pulled back barely an inch, forehead resting against his. "Better?"
He let out a shaky breath, "Much better. Though I'd like⌠more proof it's working."
âBehave, Tech.â You playfully roll your eyes, smirking quietly at his disappointment of not getting another kiss just yet.
With steady hands, you adjusted the bacta cast and started the compression wrap carefully. He usually makes a comment on how uneven it is but this time Tech stayed quiet, just watching, breathing steady, his fingers occasionally brushing your arm like he needed the contact.
When you finished, you started to stand, but Tech's hand caught yours gently. "Come here." He tugged lightly, but insistent.
You raised an eyebrow, but let him guide you. With a careful shift of his good leg to make space, he pulled you down onto his lap, settling you sideways across his thighs so your weight didn't press on the injured one. His arm wrapped around your waist immediately, holding you close against his chest. Moments like this with him are rare so you wasted no time in tucking your head under his chin.
With one hand, you rest it over his heart again, feeling it slow to a calm, even rhythm now.
The parlor's distant noise felt miles away. Just the two of you in the cluttered back room, tangled together in the chair. You smiled into his neck. "Vitals holding?"
Tech pressed a soft kiss to your temple, voice low and content. "Vitals holding."
Crosshair
word count: 544
You found him in the refresher to your shared apartment, door half-open, the mirror fogged from a recent shower. He stood shirtless, one hand braced against the sink, the other fumbling with a bloodied cloth pressed to his left side. A shallow but stubborn gash that caught on jagged durasteel ran along his ribs.
It was not life-threatening, but it wept fresh blood every time he tried to clean or close it one handed. The angle was impossible now; his missing hand left him reaching awkwardly.
Crosshair never asked for help. Not ever. So when you stepped in quietly, he didnât look up, just kept trying, jaw clenched so tight the muscle jumped.
âOut,â he muttered.
You didnât move. Instead you stepped fully inside. âYouâre making it worse. Sit.â
âI saidââ
âCrosshair.â Your tone was quiet and firm. You reached past him for a clean towel from the rack, then guided him to perch on the edge of the low tub. He resisted for half a second but let himself be moved.
You knelt in front of him and you peeled the soaked cloth away. The wound was angry but clean enough to stitch. You exhaled slowly through your nose, fighting the urge to scold him for being reckless with his own body.
âWhy do you do this?â you asked, voice softer now as you reached for the bactaspray. âYou know Iâm right here.â
He stared at a point over your shoulder, refusing to meet your eyes. âHabit. Fix it myself. Always have.â
âNot anymore.â You dabbed the wound clean, careful around the inflamed edges. He hissed once, barely audible, but didnât pull away.
When the first stitch went in, his remaining hand twitched toward yours like he might stop you. Instead, his fingers curled loosely around your wrist. Just⌠holding.
You paused, needle hovering. âTalk to me.â
Crosshairâs gaze finally dropped. âCanât reach it anymore,â he muttered, so quiet you almost missed it. âFeels⌠wrong. Needing you for something this basic.â
You resumed stitching, slow and precise. âItâs not wrong. Itâs just different.â You explained. âAnd Iâm glad Iâm here for the different parts.â
He didnât argue. Just watched your face as you worked, the tension in his shoulders easing stitch by stitch. When you tied off the last knot and smoothed a fresh bandage over it, he exhaled like heâd been holding his breath for hours.
You stayed kneeling there, hands resting lightly on his thighs. âBetter?â
He finally looked at you, really looked. The usual guarded sharpness had cracked, leaving something raw underneath. âYouâre impossible.â
âAnd youâre stubborn.â You rose enough to lean in, brushing your lips against his in a kiss that was gentle and unhurried. He froze for a heartbeat, then tilted his head to meet you properly.
When you pulled back, you rested your forehead against his. âVitals holding?â
Crosshairâs lips curved, just the barest hint of a smirk. âVitals holding.â His thumb brushed your cheek. âThanks to you.â
You helped him stand, steadying him as the adrenaline crash made his legs unsteady. He didnât protest when you wrapped an arm around his waist, guiding him out of the refresher and toward the bed. For once, the sniper let himself be taken care of quietly, stubbornly, but completely.
Hello ma'am, I was wondering if you'd be interested in writing a romantic fluff fic for a Togruta reader x wrecker, i'm also okay if you add spicy to a degree your comfortable with of course the setting is completely up to you i'm excited to see what you come up with my only request is that it's not sad or whump or angst i need to keel over from how sweet it is lol i hope it's not to much thank you for your time and have a wonderful day đĽ°
Where the Tide Slows
Parings: Wrecker X Female Togruta Reader
Word count: 5.9k
Plot: As an unspoken crush lingers between you and Wrecker, what starts as a shared meal slowly turns into something much warmer.
warnings: NSFW, 18+ only. Explicit sexual content and language, friends to lovers, mutual pining, soft sex, Togruta female reader (mauve skin tone, lavender, pale pink, and cool blue opalescent eye colour as requested), slight size difference, creampie, aftercare, porn with feelings, cuddling, cunnilingus, breast sex/titfucking, brief come play, vaginal fingering, alcohol intake, consensual.
Authors note: this is my first tiem writing a togruta reader so hopefully i've written it to justice. enjoy! thanks for the request. @rinkusu-no-joo â¤ď¸
The sun hung high over Pabu, scattering shards of light across the water. Wrecker stood with his boots planted wide in the sand on the beach, one hand held out at armâs length with a ripe fruit wobbling in his palm.
Crosshair didnât even glance up from the rifle scope. âYou blink, you lose a finger.â
Wrecker snorted. âRelax. I trust ya.â
The blaster cracked. Fruit exploded in a bright wet spray with juice splattering Wreckerâs knuckles and dripping down his forearm. He yelped anyway, shaking his hand like it stung.
Crosshair lowered the rifle with a sigh, already reaching for the basket for another fruit. âYouâre distracted.â
âI am not,â Wrecker said, too fast. His eyes had already slid past the docks, past the bobbing boats and the workers hauling nets and straight to you.
Crosshair didnât bother following the gaze. He knew exactly where it landed. âIf you stare any harder, she might notice. Or spontaneously combust. One or the other.â
Wreckerâs cheeks went ruddy. âHey! Iâm just⌠lookinâ.â
Crosshair said nothing, sliding another piece of fruit into Wreckerâs palm. Wrecker frowned. âYouâre supposed to agree.â
âNot getting involved,â Crosshair muttered, already lining up the next shot.
The blaster cracked again and the fruit vanished in a puff of pulp. He stared at his empty hand, then sighed. âIâm no good at this stuff.â
âAt what?â Crosshair asked dryly.
âSayinâ things. Feelings.â Wrecker swallowed hard, rubbing the back of his neck. âThis time itâs⌠different.â
Crosshair finally looked at him with a long, assessing expression. âI know.â
Wrecker blinked. âYou do?â
âIâm not stupid.â
Across the dock, you moved between the stalls, a woven basket tucked against your hip.Â
Barefoot as always, the warmth grounded you to the island the way shoes never could. You looked peacefu, mauve tone catching the sunlight in soft, shifting gleams. White markings curved across your cheeks and brow like elegant strokes; your montrals rose tall and striped, lekku swaying gently with each step, one draping over the curve of your teal crop top, the patterned hip sash brushing your thigh.Â
You were done shopping for the day, ready to head back home when your foot caught a slick patch of spilled water.
Before you could lose your balance, a huge hand steadied you instantly. âYou need any help?â
Your heart gave a quick thump at the familiar voice. âWreckerâ!â The basket tipped, weight shifting.
âIâll take that as a maybe,â he teased, already lifting it from your hands with that big, easy grin.
Heat bloomed under your skin. âThanks, muscles.â If heâd been any less strong, the basket mightâve slipped. Instead, he swallowed hard and smiled like youâd just handed him a medal.
Curious, he peeked inside the basket. âYou cookinâ a feast?â
âTrying to,â you said. âUsed to do it a lot back home. Figured Iâd pick it back up.â
âSmells good already.â His gaze dropped to your bare feet, then flicked back up. âHey, donât your feet hurt? Walkinâ around like that all day?â
You smiled softly. âThe ground and I are friends. Shoes just get in the way.â
Wrecker stared for a second, then nodded like that made perfect sense in his world.
An impulse bubbled up before you could second-guess it. âActually⌠maybe youâd like to have dinner with me tonight?â
He froze. âLikeâŚme and the guys?â
You stepped a little closer, hands folding behind your back as the sun warmed your skin. âI was thinking just us. If thatâs okay?â
Wreckerâs knees nearly gave out. âYeah,â he quickly.. âYeah, absolutely.â
You paced your small kitchen, flustered heat prickling your skin as you stirred the pot. âOkay, think, Grandmother always said a pinch of that spice first, then the herbs⌠or was it the other way around?â You muttered to yourself, tasting a spoonful and grimacing, âNo, thatâs not right.â Â
Your stomach twitched with nerves, as you rummaged for ingredients.Â
âGet it together. Itâs just dinner. With him.â A soft trill escaped your throat as you wiped your brow, hoping it would all turn out okay.
Once the food was simmering safely, you slipped away to change. The outfit decision had been circling in your mind all afternoon as each option felt too much or not enough.
Eventually, you settled on something that felt like home and something that honored Shili without being overly formal. You stared at yourself in the mirror, fingers smoothing out your robe, wondering if Wrecker would like something more or something less.Â
The knock came sooner than expected, jolting you from your thoughts.
Wrecker filled the doorway, clutching a small bundle of wildflowers. Heâd cleaned up nicely; a smart button-up shirt tucked into his trousers, top button undone for a relaxed look (his expression said otherwise), sleeves rolled to his elbows showing his muscular forearms.
âFor you,â he spoke, suddenly shy.
Your smile bloomed immediately. âTheyâre beautiful. Thank you.â
He couldnât look away. The lantern light of your apartment caught your eyes. Soft, opalescent, swirling lavender into pale pink and cool blue. It stopped him cold. âYou look⌠really pretty,â he breathed quietly.
You ducked your head, pleased. âThank you. Uh, come in, watch the step, itâs a bit uneven.â
He ducked under the frame carefully, then stood there like he was afraid to move shoulders hunched a little, hands clasped in front. His size made the cozy space feel even smaller, but he was trying so hard not to loom.
You noticed right away. âHey, relax. Youâre not going to break anything. Make yourself at home. Sit, or help me stir if you want.â
Wrecker rubbed his neck, chuckling nervously. âYeah? I donât wanna mess up your place. Iâm kinda⌠big.â
You laughed softly. âSo? I like that about you. Besides, my homeâs meant for company. No point in a pack mentality if everythingâs too fragile, right?â
He eased a bit at that, shoulders dropping as he followed you in.
Once seated for food, dinner passed in easy warmth with conversation flowing like the ocean outside. You raised your cup first. âTo good company?â
âAnd good cookinâ,â Wrecker added, clinking his cup to yours.
He asked about Pabu first, but soon circled back to you. âSo, Shili, right? Tell me more. What was it like growinâ up there? All those stories about packs and feasts sound kinda nice.â
You leaned in, eyes lighting up that he seemed interested. âIt was everything. Warm all the time, like Pabu. Endless fields, hunts at dawn. My family was close; we cooked together for the whole pack. These recipes?â You gestured to the plates. âFrom my grandmother. Sheâd gather us kids around the fire, teaching us to season by feel. I fumbled through it earlier, talking to myself like a fool, trying to remember stuff.â
Wrecker grinned, taking another bite. âWell, you nailed it. Bet you miss that, the family thing. Being alone here must feel⌠off.â
You nodded. âIt does, sometimes. Togruta arenât made for isolation; we thrive on closeness, sharing space. Pabuâs welcoming and everything, but itâs not the same.â you shrugged, taking another forkful of food. âIâve adapted, though. What about you? Clones, squads⌠that sounds like a pack too.â
He chuckled, setting his fork down. âYeah, kinda. Me and the boys have been through everything. Missions, explosions, you name it. But itâs different now, settlinâ down. I like it, but⌠I dunno, sometimes I feel like the big guy who sticks out.â
âYou donât stick out,â you say gently. âYou fit. Right here, at least.â
When you served dessert, there was a shift. Knees brushed beneath the table, fingers lingered when passing plates. He fed you a bite of fruit, watching your reaction like it was the most important thing in the galaxy.
âYouâve got really pretty eyes,â he blurted out softly. âHard not to get lost in âem.â You hid your smile behind your hand, bashful and giddy.
âWould you like a drink on the balcony?â you asked, voice a little lighter than you felt. âThe sunset view is to die for.â
âYeah. Yeah, Iâd like that.â
He stood to help clear the plates whilst you poured two glasses of rum and carried them out together. The balcony chairs were low and wide, cushioned with woven mats that smelled faintly of salt and sun. You settled side by side, close enough that your bare arm brushed his sleeve.
You were right, the view was beautiful. The sky had gone molten gold at the edges, bleeding into deep rose and violet over the water. Waves rolled in slow, steady breaths below, and the air carried the warm scent of blooming night flowers.Â
For a while neither of you spoke and Wrecker kept glancing over at you.
The first time you pretended not to notice, sipping your drink and letting the rum warm your throat.
The second time you felt the shift of his gaze like a brush of heat along your cheek, but you kept your eyes on the horizon, lips curving just a fraction.
The third time you turned your head slowly, catching him mid-stare. You raised one brow, playful. âLike what you see?â
Without missing a beat, he answered, voice low and sure. âAbsolutely.â
Your cheeks heated instantly, skin deepening to a richer shade under the sunset glow. You ducked your head with a soft giggle, lifting your hand to cover your mouth again out of habit.
Wrecker moved before you could hide completely. His large hand caught your wrist gently, âDonât,â he murmured. âYou shouldnât hide your smile. Itâs pretty.â
The words landed soft but heavy, stealing your breath for a second. You lowered your hand, letting him see the full curve of your lips, the way your delciate sharp canines peeked just a little when you smiled for real.
âThank you,â you said quietly. Then, because it felt only fair, âYours too. Your smile, I mean. It lights up everything.â
He looked almost surprised, like no one had ever said it back to him. His thumb kept tracing lazy circles on your wrist.
Next thing you knew, his fingers slid down, threading through yours. His hand dwarfed yours completely - calloused, scarred, strongâbut the way he held you was careful, like he was afraid of holding too tight. You squeezed back, and for a long stretch of minutes you just sat like that: hands linked, watching the sky bleed into dusk.
Eventually Wrecker spoke, âWhyâd you ask just me tonight?â
You shifted slightly, fingers curling over one of your lekku and holding it closer to your shoulder as if for comfort. You took a slow breath before answering, âI⌠thought it was obvious,â you admitted, staring at where your fingers laced with his. âThat I like you. A lot.âÂ
You risked a glance up at him; his eyes were fixed on you, soft and wide. âI thought maybe I read the situation right. That you⌠liked me too.â
The words hung there, vulnerable in the quiet.
Wrecker didnât look away. His thumb resumed its slow stroke along the back of your hand.
âYeah,â he said after a second, rough around the edges but honest. âYou read it right. Been tryinâ to figure out how to say it for weeks. Didnât wanna mess it up.â
It was like music to your ears.
âYouâre different. Special. Not just prettyâthough kriff, you areâbut the way you are with people, with the island, with everything. Makes me feel like I could justâŚbe me.â
Your heart gave a hard thump and you leaned a fraction closer.
âI feel the same,â you whispered. âWith you, I⌠I just want to be near you. I donât want to be alone tonight, Wrecker. Maybe not ever, if thatâs okay.â
He exhaled like heâd been holding his breath for months. âMore than okay.â
The sunset had faded to deep indigo now, stars beginning to prick through. You tilted your head, meeting his gaze fully, your eyes swirling with soft colour in the dim light. âSo,â you begin, voice barely audible, âwhat happens next?â
Wreckerâs free hand lifted slowly, hesitating before he cupped your cheek. His thumb brushed the white marking along your jaw with reverence.
âWhatever you want,â he murmured. âIâm right here.â
Wreckerâs thumb traced one last slow circle over the back of your hand before he let go lift his other palm to your cheek again, cradling it like something priceless. âCan Ikiss you?â
You didnât trust your voice right then. You only nodded, eyes locked on his as you leaned across the small space between the chairs.
The first press of his lips was tentative. Just a soft peck, warm and brief, like he was testing if this was real. You felt the faint tremor in his breath against your mouth.
Then another. Longer this time, lingering.
And another.
Until the pecks melted together into something deeper. Your lips moved in gentle rhythm, tasting the faint sweetness of rum and fruit still on his mouth. His left hand slid from your cheek to cup your jaw fully.
Your own hand found his knee, steadying yourself as much as him.
His free hand drifted higher, fingertips grazing the striped length of your lekku where it draped over your shoulder.
You shuddered with a sharp, involuntary breath. Wrecker pulled back instantly, eyes wide with worry. âYou okay? Did Iâ?â
You shook your head quickly, cheeks hot. âIâm okay,â you whispered, voice a little breathless. âTheyâre⌠sensitive. In a good way.â
He searched your face for a long second, then exhaled, the tension easing from his shoulders. His fingers stroked the base of your lekku now in deliberate yet feather-light touches. âLike that?â he murmured.
You nodded, biting your lip around a small, pleased sound.
For another minute you stayed like that. Kissing slow and unhurried, hands exploring in gentle arcs. His fingers learned the texture of your lekku, stroking from base to tip in long, soothing passes that sent warm sparks down your spine. Your palm slid a little higher on his thigh, feeling the muscle tense under your touch.
Eventually you drew back just enough to speak, lips brushing his as you did.
âWreckerâŚDo you want to take this inside?â
His breath hitched. He tried to play it cool, but the ache was already there, straining against his pants and impossible to hide completely.
âYeah,â he rasped, nodding once, then again like he needed to convince himself. âYeah. Please.â
You rose first, fingers still tangled with his, and guided him back through the open doorway into the warmth of your home. The lighting had dimmed to a soft amber glow, casting long shadows across the room. You paused near the sturdy dining table and leaned back against its edge.
Your fingers drifted to the ties of your flowing robes, brushing the fabric in a slow, deliberate slide. Not pulling exactly, just tracing the neckline, letting it slip a fraction lower to reveal more lavender skin and the delicate curve where your collarbone met shoulder. A silent invitation. Just for him.
Wrecker crossed the room in two strides, towering over you. His chest rose and fell faster than before; you could feel the heat radiating off him, smell the clean salt-and-sun scent that clung to his skin. He stopped close enough that his breath fanned across your face.
His hand came up slowly, knuckles grazing the soft fabric at your shoulder you just touched. He hooked two fingers under the edge and tugged ever so gently, easing it down one arm, then the other. The robe loosened, pooling at your elbows, baring the smooth expanse of your torso to the lamplight. Your skin glowing warm, white markings curving elegantly over your ribs and hips.
You looked up at him through your lashes, voice a husky murmur. âIâve been feeling so hot all eveningâŚâ
Wreckerâs eyes darkened, pupils blown wide. A low rumble vibrated in his chestâhalf laugh, half groan. âThen I should help you out of these,â he answers, voice thick. âCanât have you uncomfortable, meshâla.â
His lips found your neck as his hands worked.Â
He kissed the sensitive spot just below your jaw first, open-mouthed and warm, then trailed lower along the column of your throat. Each press of his mouth sent little jolts through you and your head tipped back on instinct.Â
He sucked lightly, just enough to make you gasp, and his fingers slipped beneath the remaining ties of your robe, loosening them until the fabric whispered to the floor in a soft heap.
Cool air kissed your bare skin, but his body heat chased it away instantly. His palms slid up your sides. His huge, tough hands spanning almost your entire waist. His thumbs brush the undersides of your breasts in a slow, almost worshipful sweep. He groaned against your neck when he felt how hard your nipples had already peaked.
âKriff⌠youâre beautiful,â he breathed, âSo soft. So perfect.â
One hand stayed at your waist while the other cupped the back of your head, fingers placed gently into the base of your montrals. The touchdrew a needy whimper from you. Your hips rocked forward without thought, pressing against the hard ridge of him through his pants.
He hissed softly, hips jerking once before he reined himself in. âEasy,â he murmured, though his own voice shook. âWanna take my time with you.â
But his mouth was already moving again; kissing down the slope of your shoulder, then lower, lips brushing the swell of your breast. He paused there, breath hot against your skin, waiting for permission.
âYes,â you whispered. âPlease.â
Soft pen-mouthed presses along the curve, tasting the warmth of your lavender skin like he was memorising every inch. Then, his mouth closed over one nipple, slow and careful, tongue circling once, twice, before he sucked softly. So softly you felt the pull all the way down your spine. A sound escaped you, high and trembling, something between a gasp and a sob. It was tender, almost too tender.Â
Worshipped rather than claimed.
Your head arched back, montrals brushing the wood as your neck stretched long. One of your legs lifted on instinct, hooking around his lower back, heel pressing in to draw him impossibly closer. The movement made your sex grind lightly against the hard line of him through his pants, and he groaned low into your skin, the vibration traveling straight through you.
Wrecker eased you down fully onto the table, the wood was cool beneath your back. He straightened just long enough to look at you as you spread out beneath him, lekku fanned across the surface, lavender skin flushed deeper at your cheeks and chest, opalescent eyes half-lidded and glowing softly. Hunger flickered in his gazeÂ
But as promised, he didnât rush.
His fingers went to the buttons of his shirt. One by one they came undone, revealing the broad, scarred expanse of his chest. The fabric slid off his shoulders and then he was back over you, caging you gently with his arms braced on either side of your head.
His mouth returned to your breasts like he couldnât stay away. This time he wasnât quite so careful. His tongue hungrily flicked over one peaked nipple and then sucked harder, drawing it deep into the wet heat of his mouth.Â
He rolled the other between his thumb and forefinger, a gentle pinch that made your hips jerk. You whimpered, hand flying to his shoulder to anchor yourself. Your nails dug lightly into the muscle thereânot to hurt, just to hold on as pleasure coiled tighter in your belly.
You moaned his name and he answered with a rough exhale against your skin.
âMeshâlaâŚâ His voice cracked on the word. He kissed a slow path back up your chest, your throat, until his forehead rested against yours. âYou feel so good. Too good. Tell me if itâs too much.â
Your leg tightened around him, pulling him closer until there was no space left between your bodies.
âNot too much,â you whispered, voice trembling with want. âMore. Please.â
His hips rolled against you deliberately, grinding hard enough that you both gasped. One of his hands slid down your side, palm flattening over your hip. The other stayed at your breast, kneading softly while his mouth found yours again. The kiss was deeper now, tongues sliding together in lazy, heated strokes.
Wrecker broke the kiss just long enough to murmur against your lips, âGonna take care of you. Promise. Just⌠let me feel you like this a little longer.â
Wreckerâs mouth crashed back to yours with a new edge but still gentle in its care. You met him eagerly, tongues tangling in wet, languid strokes, tasting each other like youâd both been starving for it. His hand cradled the back of your head again, fingers splayed wide through the base of your montrals. You couldnât help but moan into his mouth, the sound swallowed by the kiss.
He broke away just long enough to breathe, forehead pressed to yours, voice wrecked. âNeed you closer.â
Before you could answer, his arms hooked under your thighs and back, lifting you like you were made of air.
He cradled you against his broad chest as he carried you through the open doorway to your bedroom. Your legs wrapped loosely around his waist, lekku draping over his shoulders like warm silk. You buried your face in the crook of his neck for a moment, inhaling the scent of him, heart hammering.
He eased you down to sit on the edge of the low bed, mattress dipping under your weight meanwhile Wrecker stood between your knees.
Your hands moved on instinct, flying to the waistband of his pants, fingers fumbling with the clasp. You looked up at him through your lashes, opalescent eyes swirling with heat. The look you gave him was pure want and adoration.
He watched you, throat working on a swallow. You tugged the fabric down, freeing him in one careful pull. His cock sprang free. Heavy, thick, already flushed dark and throbbing hard in your palm. The size of him made your breath catch; no surprise, really, but seeing it and feeling the velvet heat sent a fresh pang of arousal straight to your core.
You gasped softly, thumb brushing over the slick tip. âWrecker⌠youâre huge.â
He let out a shaky laugh, hand coming up to cup your cheek. âYeah⌠sorry ifâ"
âDonât apologise,â you whispered, stroking him slowly from base to head, feeling every ridge, every vein. â Youâre wondeful. And I want it. I want all of you.â
His hips jerked once into your grip. âKriff⌠youâre gonna kill me sayinâ things like that.â
You smiled sharp canines glinting and then gave his cock a playful little slap against your breast. The smack made you both groan. You did it again, lighter this time, watching his eyes darken as the head left a faint glistening trail across your lavender skin.
âLike that?â you teased, voice husky.
ââLike everything you do,â he rasped. âBut if you keep that up, Iâm not gonna last long enough to make you feel good.â
You tilted your head, pressing your breasts together around his length. âThen use them. Fuck my tits, Wrecker. I want to feel you.â
He exhaled roughly, hands coming to cup the sides of your breasts gently at first, then firmer as he guided himself between them. The heat of him as well as the drag of his cock sliding through the soft valley made you whimper. He rocked forward with slow controlled thrusts, watching himself disappear between your breasts, the head bumping your chin on every upstroke.
âMaker, look at you,â he murmured, voice thick. âSo soft around me.â
You leaned forward just enough to flick your tongue over the tip when it crested, tasting salt and heat. He shuddered, hips stuttering.
âCareful,â he warned, half-laughing and half-pleading. âYouâre too good at this.â
After a few more slow slides he pulled back, breathing hard. His hands slid to your hips, urging you to lie back. You did, scooting up the bed until your head rested on the pillows, legs parting instinctively.
Wrecker crawled over you, clearly being careful not to crush you with his weight which made you smile lovingly at him. He chuckles softly, relaxing before bracing on his forearms so he hovered just above. His cock dragged a hot, wet line up your body as he moved: over your stomach, leaving a slick trail.Â
he settled between your thighs, thick length resting heavy against your folds, not pushing in yetâjust grinding slow and deliberate, coating himself in your wetness.
His lips began to move lower, mapping the white markings along your ribs, the dip of your waist, the sensitive curve of your hip. When he reached the apex of your thighs he paused, looking up at you with dark, reverent eyes.
âCan I taste you?â he asked, voice rough. âI just wanna make you feel so good.â
Your breath hitched. You nodded quick and eager as your legs fell open wider. âPlease.â
Wrecker settled between your thighs like he belonged there. His big hands slid under your hips, lifting you gently so he could drape your legs over his broad shoulders. The first brush of his tongue was slow, flat and warm, lapping slowly along your slit from bottom to top. You gasped, hips twitching up toward his mouth.
He groaned at the taste, low and hungry. âSo sweet⌠been thinkinâ about this for so long.â
âWreckerâŚâ
Then he dove in properly. His tongue circled your clit in slow, firm strokes, sucking lightly, then harder when your fingers tightened in the sheets beneath you. He alternated from long licks to quick flicks, then sealing his lips around the sensitive bud and sucking with gentle pulses that made your back arch off the bed.
Soft trills and whimpers spilled from your throat as pleasure coiled tighter and tighter. âWrecker! Oh stars, right there-.â
He hummed against you, the vibration sending sparks through your core. One thick finger pressed at your entrance before sliding in to the first knuckle, then deeper when you rocked down to meet it. He curled it just right, stroking that spot inside while his tongue worked relentless circles on your clit.
Your thighs trembled around his head. âDonât stop, please donât stop.â
He didnât. He added a second finger, stretching you gently, pumping in time with his mouth until your whole body tensed, breath coming in short, desperate pants.
You came with a broken cry. Back bowing, core pulsing hard around his fingers as waves of pleasure crashed through you. Wrecker worked you through it, slowing his tongue but not stopping, lapping softly until you were trembling, oversensitive and practically boneless beneath him.
When he finally lifted his head, lips shiny and chin wet, his eyes were dark with awe.
âYouâre so beautiful when you come,â he whispered, crawling back up to kiss you, letting you taste yourself on his tongue but his fingers still very much in your pussy.
You wrapped your arms around his neck, pulling him down until his weight settled over you, comforting and solid.
âNeed you inside me,â you breathed against his mouth. âNow.â
Wrecker kissed you through the aftershocks, swallowing the last soft whimpers that spilled from your lips. His fingers stayed buried inside you for a moment longer, curling gently until your thighs stopped trembling around his wrist. Only then did he ease them free, bringing them to his mouth to taste you one last time with a low, appreciative groan.
He shifted, rolling to lie beside you on the bed. The mattress dipped deeply under his weight as he pulled you against him with your back to his chest. One thick arm bands around your waist to hold you close and you could feel his heart against your spine, the hard length of his cock resting heavy along the curve of your arse.
He nuzzled into the crook of your neck,âYouâre so beautiful and make so many pretty noises,â he murmured, voice rough with want as you purr in pleasure.
You arched back into him instinctively, âI need you inside,â you whispered again, reaching back to guide his hand down between your thighs. âPlease, Wrecker⌠want to feel you stretch me.â
He exhaled shakily against you, the sound almost pained with how badly he wanted it. His free hand wrapped around the base of his cock and he lined himself up carefully at your entrance as you raised your leg. The broad head nudged your folds, parting them slowly, teasing the sensitive rim without pushing in yet.
âTell me if itâs too much,â he said, serious even through the haze of lust. âIâll go slow.â
You nodded, breath hitching. âI trust you.â
He pressed forward. Inch by careful inch.
The stretch was immediate and intense. Your walls fluttered around him, trying to accommodate his girth as he sank deeper. A soft, broken moan tore from your throat; your head fell back against his shoulder, montrals brushing his cheek. Wrecker froze the second he felt you tense, one hand sliding up to cup your breast, thumb circling your nipple in soothing strokes.
âEasy, meshâla,â he breathed, âYouâre takinâ me so good. Look at you⌠so tight around me. Feels like everything.â
He rocked gently once he was halfway in, letting you adjust and letting your body soften around him. Each shallow thrust pushed him a little deeper until finally, he was seated to the hilt, hips flush against your arse and cock throbbing deep inside you.
You both groaned in unison.
He started moving then. Long, languid strokes that dragged every thick inch along your walls, pulling out almost to the tip before sliding back in with a wet, filthy sound. The slap of skin on skin filled the quiet room. His pelvis met your arse with each measured thrust, the lewd squelch of your arousal coating him unmistakable.
âStars, listen to that,â he rasped against your ear, voice needy. âHear how wet you are for me? So perfect. So wet and hot and mine.â
His hand stayed at your breast, kneading softly, rolling your nipple between his fingers in time with his thrusts. The other arm kept you locked against his chest. Possessive but gentle; holding you like he never wanted to let go.Â
You moaned louder, hips rocking back to meet him, chasing the deep grind of his cock against that spot inside you that made stars burst behind your eyes.
Your hand slipped down between your legs, fingers finding where you were joined. You felt him sliding in and out, stretching you wide on every inward stroke. The sensation was obscene and intoxicating. You traced the base of him as he pulled out, feeling how soaked he was, how your lips clung to him like they didnât want to let go.
Then your fingertips found your swollen clit, and you started rubbing slow circles, matching the rhythm of his thrusts.Â
Wrecker felt it immediately. The way your walls clenched harder around him when you touched yourself. âKriffâyeah, touch yourself, sweetheart,â he groaned, hips stuttering for a second before he found the pace again. âLove feelinâ you squeeze me like that. Show me how good it feels.â
Each deep thrust punched a soft cry from your throat. His hand left your breast to join yours between your legs. He didnât take over, just resting there and feeling you work your clit while he filled you over and over.
âCould love you like this all night,â he moans after a few minutes. He had shifted just slightly, angling himself enough to lean over and kiss your lips. âMy perfect girl. So good for me. Gonna make ya come again⌠wanna feel ya pulse around my cock.â
Your fingers sped up, slick and frantic now, chasing the edge while he rocked into you steadily, kissing and moaning against his lips.Â
âWrecker⌠Iâm closeâŚâ
âIâve got ya,â he murmured, against your mouth. âLet go for me, meshâla. Come on my cock. Let me feel it.â
With one more deep thrust, harder this time and grinding against that spot, you shattered.
Your orgasm hit like a wave walls clamping down hard around him in pulsing waves. You cried out his name, fingers still circling your clit through the aftershocks, milking every last tremor.
Wrecker groaned low and broken, hips stuttering as your release dragged him right to the edge with you.
âGonnaâŚfuck. Where do you want me?â
âInside,â you cried, voice breaking with need. âCome inside me, please, WreckerâI want to feel you fill me.â
He groaned deep in his chest, the sound raw and desperate. âMeshâlaâŚâ He eased out of you slowly. You whimpered at the sudden emptiness, but he was already moving, strong arms guiding you with tender strength.
âCâmere,â he murmured, sitting up against the headboard and pulling you into his lap. âWanna see your face.â
You straddled him face-to-face now, knees bracketing his hips on the crumpled sheets. His hands settled at your waist as you sank down onto him, the stretch even more intimate this way. Feeling every ridge as he filled yu completely. Your arms wrapped around his neck; his came around your back, holding you flush to his chest.
âLike this,â he whispered, forehead resting against yours. âJust like this. Youâre so perfect⌠takinâ me so sweet.â
You rocked together slowly, the gentle rolls of your hips meeting his careful upward thrusts. The rhythm was unhurried, loving, each slide drawing soft gasps from you both. Your breasts pressed to his scarred chest, nipples brushing his skin with every movement.
âWreckerâŚâ You moaned his name like a plea, nails grazing his back lightly.
He kissed you then. Slow tongues sliding in lazy tandem with your bodies. âIâve got ya,â he breathed into your mouth. âGonna fill you⌠gonna give you everything.â
The words sent fresh heat pooling in your core. You clenched around him, hips circling tighter, chasing the building pressure. His hands guided you, lifting you just enough to sink back down over and over but never rough. Just always reverent.Â
Your whole body melted into him, the intimacy overwhelming from the skin on skin, your hearts pounding in sync and his massive frame enveloping you like safety.
âIâm closeââ he gasped, sweaty forehead pressing to yours.
âCum for me baby,â you beg quietly.
Your soft command was all he needed as he came with a shuddering groan. Hot spurts filled you, thick and warm, spilling deep until you felt every twitch. He held you through it, arms locked around you, whispering praises into your ear: âSo good⌠my perfect girl⌠love feelinâ you like thisâŚâ
You stayed wrapped together as the aftershocks fadedâhis cock softening slowly inside you, cum dripping lazily where you were joined. Eventually he slipped free, but he didnât let go. He eased you down beside him, pulling you half onto his chest, one leg tangled with yours.
âThat wasâŚâ
âIâve got you,â he murmured, voice soft and soothing now. âYou did so good for me.â
He pressed gentle kisses to your shoulder, your neck, the base of your lekku. âYou okay?â he whispered, nuzzling into your body. âNeed anything?â
You shook your head weakly, turning just enough to tuck your face into the crook of his neck. âJust⌠stay. Hold me.â
âAlways,â he promised, arms tightening around you. âNever lettinâ go.â
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