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sinfulsalutations · 5 months ago

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𝕣𝕚𝕕𝕚𝕟𝕘 𝕥𝕙𝕖 𝕤𝕠𝕦𝕟𝕕𝕨𝕒𝕧𝕖 ⋆*･ﾟ 𝕤𝕖𝕣𝕘𝕖𝕒𝕟𝕥 𝕙𝕦𝕟𝕥𝕖𝕣

➼ ᴘᴀɪʀɪɴɢ ☆ ꜱᴇʀɢᴇᴀɴᴛ ʜᴜɴᴛᴇʀ x ꜰ!ʀᴇᴀᴅᴇʀ

➼ ꜱᴜᴍᴍᴀʀʏ ☆ ᴡʜᴇʀᴇ ʜᴜɴᴛᴇʀ ʀᴇᴀʟɪᴢᴇꜱ ʜᴏᴡ ᴍᴜᴄʜ ʜɪꜱ ᴠᴏɪᴄᴇ ᴀꜰꜰᴇᴄᴛꜱ ʏᴏᴜ.

➼ ᴄᴏɴᴛᴇɴᴛ ☆ ꜱᴍᴜᴛ, ᴠᴇʀʏ ᴍᴜᴄʜ ᴘᴏʀɴ ᴡɪᴛʜᴏᴜᴛ ᴘʟᴏᴛ, ꜰᴇʀᴀʟ+ʜᴏʀɴʏ ʙᴇʜᴀᴠɪᴏʀ, ʀᴇᴀᴅᴇʀ ɪꜱ ᴘʀᴀᴄᴛɪᴄᴀʟʟʏ ɪɴ ʜᴇᴀᴛ, ᴠᴏɪᴄᴇ ᴋɪɴᴋ, ꜱᴇxᴜᴀʟ ᴛᴇɴꜱɪᴏɴ ᴀɴᴅ ꜰᴀɴᴛᴀꜱɪᴇꜱ, ᴍᴜᴛᴜᴀʟ ᴘɪɴɪɴɢ, ʀᴇꜱᴏʟᴠᴇᴅ ꜱᴇxᴜᴀʟ ᴛᴇɴꜱɪᴏɴ, ʜᴜɴᴛᴇʀ ɪꜱ ᴛᴏᴏ ꜱᴇxʏ ꜰᴏʀ ʜɪꜱ ᴏᴡɴ ɢᴏᴏᴅ, ᴍᴜᴛᴜᴀʟ ᴍᴀꜱᴛᴜʀʙᴀᴛɪᴏɴ, ɢʀɪɴᴅɪɴɢ, ᴍɪʟᴅ ɢᴏʀᴇ ᴀɴᴅ ᴅᴇꜱᴄʀɪᴘᴛɪᴏɴ ᴏꜰ ᴡᴏᴜɴᴅꜱ, ɪ ʀᴇᴀʟʟʏ ʀᴇɢʀᴇᴛ ɴᴏᴛʜɪɴɢ ʟᴍᴀᴏ

➼ ᴡᴏʀᴅ ᴄᴏᴜɴᴛ ☆ 9.1ᴋ

➼ ᴘᴏᴠ ☆ ꜱᴇᴄᴏɴᴅ ᴘᴇʀꜱᴏɴ

➼ ꜱᴏᴜɴᴅᴛʀᴀᴄᴋ ☆ ᴄʀᴜꜱʜ - ᴇᴛʜᴇʟ ᴄᴀɪɴ, ᴍᴏᴏɴꜱᴛʀᴜᴄᴋ - ᴇɴʜʏᴘᴇɴ

⋆ ★ … ᴛʜɪꜱ ᴛᴏᴏᴋ, ᴀɴᴅ ɪ ᴀᴍ ɴᴏᴛ ᴇxᴀɢɢᴇʀᴀᴛɪɴɢ, ᴀ ꜰᴜʟʟ ʏᴇᴀʀ ᴛᴏ ꜰɪɴɪꜱʜ. ɪ ʙᴇɢᴀɴ ɪᴛ ᴛʜᴇ ʙᴇɢɪɴɴɪɴɢ ᴏꜰ ᴊᴜʟʏ ᴏꜰ 2023 ᴀɴᴅ ᴊᴜꜱᴛ ᴋᴇᴘᴛ ᴘᴜᴛᴛɪɴɢ ɪᴛ ᴏꜰꜰ ꜰᴏʀ ᴏᴛʜᴇʀ ᴘʀᴏᴊᴇᴄᴛꜱ, ᴀɴᴅ ᴀꜱ ɪ ᴋᴇᴘᴛ ᴡᴏʀᴋɪɴɢ ᴏɴ ɪᴛ ɪᴛ ᴋᴇᴘᴛ ɢᴇᴛᴛɪɴɢ ʟᴏɴɢᴇʀ ᴀɴᴅ ʟᴏɴɢᴇʀ ᴀɴᴅ ᴜʜʜʜ ᴏᴏᴘꜱ ɪᴛꜱ ᴀʟᴍᴏꜱᴛ 10ᴋ ᴡᴏʀᴅꜱ. ᴀʟꜱᴏ, ʏᴇᴀʜ, ɪ'ᴍ ɴᴏᴛ ᴅᴇᴀᴅ. ʏᴀʏ? ᴇɴᴊᴏʏ.

➼ ᴛʜɪꜱ ꜰɪᴄ ᴄᴏɴᴛᴀɪɴꜱ ɴꜱꜰᴡ ᴄᴏɴᴛᴇɴᴛ. ɪꜰ ʏᴏᴜ ᴀʀᴇ ɴᴏᴛ 18+ ᴅɴɪ

⋆ ★ ʀᴇᴀᴅ ᴏɴ ᴀᴏ3 ⋆*･ﾟ ᴛᴀɢʟɪꜱᴛ ꜰᴏʀᴍ

Despite the gradual (yet quite quick, in retrospect) increment of your feelings toward the skilled soldier, you do, in fact, notice the blunt sexual appeal of Hunter when you first meet Clone Force 99.

It’s difficult not to; with his long hair you can’t quite place how the Kaminoans allow him to have, the striking skull tattoo, his toned body, and discernable shape even through the heavy armor, you can’t help but flutter your eyelashes and rock your feet back and forth like you’re a schoolgirl all over again. Hunter is the Bad Batch’s essential leader, the closest in appearance to the rivaled ‘regs,’ leading them as their Sergeant and CT-9901, and he stands out more than any other clone you’ve interacted with.

His warm, welcoming, yet slightly wary smile is just as firm as the handshake he gives you when you first meet him, leaning down a little to your height (you’d think clone defects would be the same height, or maybe even shorter than a veritable trooper, but instead you feel enveloped by his vertical. Not that you don’t enjoy the feeling, of course) and nodding firmly.

Then you hear his voice.

It’s only a short sentence; a brief introduction and warm gratitude for joining them as their medic before you acquaint yourself with the rest of the squad. But your ears wrap around the waves of his rough, musky baritone like a magnet. Everything feels as though it’s finally clicked into place and created the perfect picture of your desired man.

Your mind immediately begins to create dreamy rhetoric, wondering silly things to yourself.

Had your mind been aimlessly wandering the galaxy for this long, circling like materials until you finally found an opposite —An opposite so charmingly rugged?

The feeling that rushes through you feels so destined.

Lucky for you, Hunter seems to express his commands frequently with his voice; sometimes hushed through a link, the vibrations of your comm humming pleasantly between the soft undersides of your fingers as he talks.

It always during the times when you’re deep past enemy lines, taking down clankers more efficiently than a Starfleet. Initially too, as you were still trying to memorize their master list of designated plans and being weighed down by the extra weight of regulation armor.

“Don’t go through there yet. Squad of clankers waiting for us.”

“You sure, Hunter? I don’t hear any steps.”

“Take it from the person with enhanced hearing, little medic. Just wait for me.”

Other times when he speaks to you, it’s thunderous commands; ones that he yells out across a field or war front. It frightens you at first, your shoulders jolting and hands instinctively clamping over your ears to deafen the noise, but you quickly realize he’s ordering you to act. Once you get used to the intensity, you come to equally enjoy and indulge how his voice takes on a new edge in fleeting moments of urgency and demand; a once blissful burning of wood turning into threatening crackles, and from there a bleeding forest fire.

“Wrecker, move in! Now, now! Crosshair, how’s the bird's view looking?”

It’s incredibly embarrassing how something as simple as his voice can leave you this breathless. Even from the snide comments he can’t seem to help himself from saying when Wrecker retells stories to you, either from their days as shinies and cadets to missions where you stayed back on the Marauder. Between Tech’s rambling and Wrecker’s enthusiastic narration, the sound of Hunter’s voice becomes even more of a calming sedative to you.

Though it equally arouses you in other moments.

How his morning voice is somehow even lower and raspier than his regular tone is a study that must be researched and conducted by only the galaxy’s best scientists. It seems just so impossible, unbelievable; none of it is inauthentic either—the grogginess is always equally spread through his body, from his tired slouch and ruffled hair, lolling eyes, the unkempt composition of the clothes hung over his broad shoulders and slim waist. It’s unspoken the things you might do if you felt there was even the slimmest chance of starting your every day with that sound so deep and lovely right in your ear.

When he addresses you directly before you both allow yourself the time to sleep, asking you to check on old injuries or patch up new ones he got on the last mission. He always manages to get hurt in the most menial yet bothersome ways, and you’re once again forced into close proximity; you’re beginning to consider paying a few scientists and investigators to study the sexy phenomenon that is Hunter. But either way, you sit legs crossed at the ankles in the cockpit, forcing yourself to zone out on anything he might be saying every few minutes so you don’t have to squirm and change your position in your seat every so often and prevent showing how damn flustered and hot he makes you; in more places than just your cheeks and ears.

In flitting moments you get time to relish in his conjured wavelength, take in the scene you can create with just the sound of his voice; he transports you to a world of the dark morning fog, the red of his bandana the most vibrant sight in your nearest vision as he takes you on the forest floor just like that, no civil thoughts daring to come to each of your minds as he finally gives you the relief you crave for in real life.

Your depraved fantasy of Hunter is all you can dream of when you sit yourself on your fingers, holding back as many of the impoverished whines you wish to let out due to your true desperation for such an attractive man.

And the sweet indulgences you luxuriate in make you selfish. You want more, need to know how he’d sound grunting, moaning your name while his cock lay on your tongue. Or how the oscillations of his words feel on your inner thighs, against your clit when he pushes his fingers past your tight barrier. There’s much more you could learn, could explore if you could attempt an advance. Or simply given something more than slight moments of suggestion that he might have the same deviant desires as you to allow the green light.

You’ve yet to receive such signals. And flimsy fantasies, the work of your fingers to chase unattainable pleasure, and insistent memorization of his voice can only keep you quenched for so long.

“Hunter,” The inadvertent, pathetic whine crawls up your throat the moment you feel his breath on your neck, lingering over your skin even as he pulls back after hearing the noise you make.

“Just a little more,” He reassures you. The hand not firmly gripping your wrist pats your shoulder, and your cheeks flush at the passing fondness. “Let’s try to get one more shot on target and we’ll call it quits, how does that sound?”

With the warmth of your flushed face spreading to the rest of your body, you mutter,

“Sounds good,”

and try to softly shake off your arousal, eyes zeroing in on the middle of the tree, the finger hovering over the trigger surprisingly still. You’re about to take the shot before he starts instructing you again.

“Fix your foot stance,” Hunter gently guides your legs apart with one of his own, fixing the positioning of your feet planted onto the dirt and you take in a deeper breath than you intend to. The fire kindle of his voice and the fire kindle of your core are equal matches now; the husk of his chunked honey tone will certainly turn you to mush if he continues any further, it feels.

Really, how does this oblivious, heart-seizing bastard expect you to keep your focus on this pointless shooting practice when he’s got you this compromised?

“Try again now,” he says after he’s got you in the position he wants. You huff again, letting the fiery stimulation fall to your diaphragm, and breathe down your arousal. Just one hit on the target and you’ll be free of this torture.

But as you lift your arm again, eyes narrowing closer and closer to your prize, the imminent feeling of his leg between yours rears its head. You become so incredibly, annoyingly aware of it, and grimace, biting your lip softly and knitting your eyebrows together to fully get him out of your mind and body. You tug on your bottom lip and pull the trigger.

The bullet lands left side.

A deep groan of frustration leaves you; it sounds much quieter with Hunter’s rumble and grunt in your ear. You gently pull away from his grasp, handing him the blaster, and turn to face him directly. And when you catch that damned expression you promptly decide that you don’t like to see him disappointed; at least, it looks as though he’s disappointed. Eyebrows pinched together with the smallest frown, his chin curled into himself as he looks down at you (Maybe you should look into research for lawyers in the case of when you sue Hunter for the neck pain he’s caused).

“It’s alright,” He assures you, but it doesn’t feel right. And from the way he looks at you, it’s not alright.

“No, it isn’t,” You tell him exactly that, your fingers curling and interlocking together by your stomach. His eyes dart down for a brief moment of scanning, and they don’t linger too long; Maker, you wish you had the power for your eyes not to glue to him and his absolute stature instantly when you enter a space. “I should be better at this by now.”

Hunter clicks his tongue and turns away, as if deep in swirling thought. His gaze comes back to you before you know it.

“You should be,” He agrees, but nothing is degrading or critical in his voice. In his eyes, the wave of gentleness that cascades and shifts his expression, there’s unconditional empathy that you do not deserve and he wouldn’t grace you with if he were to know what you beg him to do to you in your dreams.

“We can try again,” You then insist, but Hunter quickly shakes his head.

“We’ve been working on this for an hour,” He tells you, slickly spinning the blaster back into his holster. He sounds tired as well, a new jaggedness in the smoke tendrils of his voice. “That’s more than enough practice.”

“But I just want to–”

“I know.”

Somehow, those words are more devastating than anything else he’s said. You look back and catch the mysterious glint in his eye, almost as elusive as his words might connotate on a foggy day.

“Trust me,” He continues. You don’t even realize his hand has wandered and softly taken your chin between two fingers until you feel the soft pads brush against your skin; your jaw slacks. He pinches your chin a little tighter to ensure your eyes are fixed on him. “You just want to prove yourself.”

Well, of course, you think to yourself vindictively. It’s enough that you feel ever-so-slightly out of place in a squad of clone troopers, let alone defective ones; not being able to properly handle a blaster in the mere presence of your crush is even more embarrassing. How juvenile.

“We can try again another time. But you’re tired. I can feel it,” He continues. There’s the slightest hint of gentleness you only pick up on because of how you hone all your focus on dissecting and admiring every single crevice of his articulations. Suddenly, he drops your chin, and your head lolls back into place, rather sloppily, and you look up through your eyelashes. “Time for us to sleep, I think.”

With that, Hunter whips around and heads toward the ramp to the Marauder. You’re left there with a smarting jaw, discreetly trying to rub your legs together and take the heat out of the area.

“Alright,” You sigh, glancing around before trotting after him, the white noise keeping your thoughts off of the man in front of you.

Yet, you still picture what his knee had felt like parting your thighs open only half an hour later. Attempting to recreate it with your arm and then your pillow, you give yourself a foggy release and whimper a jumbled version of his name into your pillow before drifting off, body still buzzing with frustration.

The next week, as if the weeks and months before weren’t as excruciating, is pure sexual torture. Not to say it’s entirely filled with frustration and dull aching, however. When you and Hunter have a moment of silence, alone by the cots or the engine or the cockpit together, you both relax into the same, comfortable silence that fills the time.

It’s better to have him not running his mouth off, for sure. You still have to deal with it on deployments and missions, but it’s manageable when you’re knocking down clankers or trying to listen to Tech’s very confusing instructions on how to fly the plane to a certain location to pick them up. But he’s allowing the silence to fester between you two. All the better to preserve the actual sweet, steady relationship you have aside from your fiery attraction, you think.

Hey, it could be worse.

But then the dumbass decides to get himself injured. Get pushed into and dragged against hard durasteel, leaving a gash across his stomach that could challenge Wrecker’s spiderweb scars in its damage. Your jaw practically drops when they return and you see the wound out in the open; you can’t stop yourself before you lurch forward with worried eyes and grasp his wrist around your fingers, pushing him down onto a bench.

As Tech pilots the ship off the planet, the rest all recline and lick their minuscule wounds beside him, while you and Hunter remain cramped in the back, avoiding his gaze and praying to the Maker that he keeps his voice to quiet rough grunts of pain as you try to unclip each different plate of his armor and lay them neatly beside him, tutting when more of his wound is revealed to you.

”Oh my goodness, oh my goodness ohmygoodness,” You stammer to yourself, more and more strained with each breath you take, peeling off the tarnished fabric of his blacks.

“It’s not too bad,” He argues with a soft grin, which slowly fades away when you glare.

“Don’t,” You retort, firm and simple, flashing a genuine look of empathy, and even a drip of fear. If you didn’t know any better, you might think Hunter practically melts under your look with how he slumps and his expression droops. But he’s still an oblivious, sexy fool, you remind yourself.

You don’t even have the energy to fawn over how incredibly attractive he sounds with the rough baritone and anguished sigh-like tone he wears; you instead scramble to open the first aid kit. You can feel his gaze set selectively on you and it doesn’t help. In the corner of your eye, he tilts his head.

“Is everything alright?”

You nod automatically.

“Everything is fine.”

The Marauder jostles in rough air; the ship tilts, your stomach dropping with the altitude change, and you’re unwantedly yanked onto Hunter’s lap with a yelp.

You still for a moment, waiting for the ship to steady again before you become acutely aware of how your chest is almost completely pressed up onto his face. And how your knees are caged over his thighs, your pelvis way too close to his wound for each of your comfort. And pressure against your waist, not too firm but still weighting you to his body–wait, is Hunter holding you to him?

Your eyes widen and you stumble off, stammering nonsensically and afraid to gaze upon his face. You don’t for a long moment, before grabbing the disinfectant and pouring it onto a cloth.

Silence festers between the two of you. When Hunter does speak, it’s not to you.

“Tech! Get her steady, would you?” He yells across the ship, vexed and evidently not in an ideal mood. Tech immediately retorts in his typical, inappropriately casual, intellectual tone,

“That is not a light request, Hunter. I am already trying.”

Hunter scoffs and you finally get the gall to look at him. He exchanges a mutual look of annoyance and manages to grin wider for you. The sight soothes your frayed ends ever so slightly, and you stare down at his stomach again at the wound, biting your lip as you inspect the damage.

Your hands come to the hem of his blacks and you give him a silent ask with your eyes.

“Is it alright if I take this off?”

He hums, which you take as a yes, and you slowly peel it off of his skin, trying very, very hard to ensure your stare doesn’t linger. He looks at you with a mysterious gaze that's too hard to place for your liking. But you just try and shake it off as you slowly dab his wound with the bacta-dipped cloth, pressing it firm against the injury.

When he hisses, you perk up with wide eyes.

“Did that hurt?”

Hunter clenches his teeth and nods slowly, and you pull away with shaky hands. His arms reach out, encircling his fingers around your wrist, and guides them back tenderly.

“It’s alright,” He says, his tone dropping down an octave as your hands tremble again in his grasp. You gain the courage to look up at him, biting your lip softly. The grin he wears manages to soothe your nerves, just a little. “I’ve got you, girl. Just let me guide you so you don’t hurt me.”

You let out a shaky exhale of relief, and he sighs, dipping his chin down, but keeping the intense eye contact.

“How does that sound?”

“Good,” You squeak, the rise and fall of your chest the only constant managing to soothe your fried senses. After a couple of breaths, you finish your thought. “Better.” You press onto a side of his wound, softly spreading the bacta onto it; your eyes don’t separate from his once. “How’s that?”

He huffs, not of frustration or annoyance, but more a comforting relief.

"Fine. Keep going."

The rasp stirs between the space between the two of you, and you take a deep breath before you can do anything else.

With the firm grasp on your wrists and the low tendrils of his voice softly directing you, you continue to tend to his wound, your hands moving deftly over his skin. The thick, intoxicating tension in the air is palpable; the lingering silence between you weighs heavy despite your best attempts to snap yourself out of it and take care of him like you're supposed to.

It's not your fault he just sounds so damn sexy all the time.

"Careful, careful," He tuts when you're stitching up a particularly bad spot, pressing your fingers around the skin and holding it there as you thread the stitch through. "Just a little gentler, please."

Then, "Avoid that spot, please. I can't even-- shit -- breathe without it hurting. Just stitch around it. Yeah, just like that. Good job, little medic," As you're finishing up.

Once you finish wrapping the bandage firmly over the wound and around his waist, taping it firmly to him, he dislodges his fingers from where it's wrapped around your wrist, bringing it to your chin and manhandling you slightly to get a better look into your eyes.

"See, ‘wasn't so bad, was it?" He flashes you a grin, obviously masking the pain etching into his limbs, all to calm your nerves. The fact that he's making such a constant effort to make you feel better despite his state makes you positively soft. "You did great."

You grin back, nodding and averting your eyes.

"Thank you."

There's a pause before he bludgeons you with his next sentence.

"You enjoy getting instructions."

Your eyes widen; you almost drop the first aid kit; everything stills, your chest tight as you process his words. Shit, what the fuck?

What the fuck?

"Wh--What?" You stammer, taking a small step backward and tilting your head to appear more confused and insulted by the accusation. Maybe if you appear offended, he’ll take it back. "Who said that?"

"You don’t need to say it. I can feel it," He continues, gaze thoughtfully fixated on you. He doesn't even falter when you seem to panic. "I can see it." You try to gawk at him to make him feel stupid, make him retract what he's saying, but either he's so certain or you don't seem very convincing.

No matter; you're still fucked.

"You like getting told what to do."

Your heart pounds, and Hunter just sits there, legs spread leisurely, his eyebrow slightly raised in expectation. Seriously, what does he expect you to answer with? Does he want you to fess up and admit how depraved and desperate you are for his touch, then run off mortified to never speak to him again? Surely he doesn’t expect you to take.

Defeated, you sigh and softly run your hands over your work again, avoiding his burning gaze.

"Only from you," you mutter, then immediately pray devotedly to the Maker he doesn't hear. Hunter hums, a tone of question in his voice, then you proceed to figuratively jump off a cliff as you remember this fucker has enhanced senses.

"Why’s that, mesh’la?" He asks. Instinctively, your eyebrows knit together when the new nickname graces your ears.

"What does mesh’la mean?"

Hunter doesn't seem very phased. Can't you just throw him off his rhythm once?

"Don’t worry about that," He quickly excuses your question as a distraction from the question at hand. "But tell me why you only enjoy getting instructions from me."

There's something smug to the way he talks, hidden behind insistent concern and curiosity.

"Why’s that, tell me."

Your hand comes up to hide your face, but he takes it and keeps it away from disfiguring his view of your expression. You want to babble; you can feel your face heating up. Instead, you frown.

"I, uh," You try to discreetly rub your thighs together languidly, easing the tension and buildup of heat in between them. A huff leaves his lips that sounds oddly close to a chuckle.

"Come on," You lift your head, perplexed for a split moment, but then he pats the top of his thigh. You blink once, then twice, then another time for good measure, just to make sure you're seeing correctly. Is he... what's he even implying?

"Sit down. On my lap."

Oh. That’s what.

Your mouth opens, a strange sound bordering on a choke leaving your throat as you try to retort or deny him. He only raises his eyebrows and dips his chin down, gesturing toward his lap again.

You huff, eyebrows knitted, and take a small step toward him, slowly, and you envelop his figure, trapping his legs between your knees and careening slightly, hands still meeting at your stomach, unsure of where to move. He nods encouragingly.

“Good job, just like that,” He praises you, hands slowly rising to rest on the handles of your hips, fingers tracing your waist. You take a sharp intake of breath, eyes drifting down to where your bodies meet, and look back up at him again. Hunter’s wearing this oh-so-innocent, deer-in-headlights expression you know is bantha-shit. “What’s got you so hot and bothered?”

You sough vindictively, averting your eyes.

“Stop teasing me.”

He laughs— though it’s more of a snarky, yet affectionate chuckle. You feel so naked in his presence, given such focused, vehement attention.

“I’m not teasing. Just concerned,” He tells you. The problem is, Hunter does well making you think he’s actually this clueless when he does know and just wants to hear it from your lips.

“Mhm,” You hum sarcastically with a pout.

He manages to grin at you, the corners of his eyes scrunching up as he looks at you. You let your eyes come back to him.

“I can do both, can’t I?” He offers.

“Sure,” You retort.

Squinting his eyes, he casually rubs his hands up and down the sides of your body.

“I’ll figure it out, one way or another,” He affirms, ending the sentence with a wink; you take a deep breath, letting your jaw slack. Hunter keeps talking like there’s nothing thick in the air between you.

“Put your hands on my shoulders.”

You furrow your eyebrows; he pouts like an upset child. Chastising, you huff and do as he says. When your hands shake slightly, he continues giving you instructions. They are so simple, yet they seem so alluring and nuanced in this context. In his voice.

”Steady yourself. Yeah, like that. Good.”

You wiggle your hips slightly, and something boils in his stomach slightly, something bordering on a groan. Your legs are warming up but you have no way to close them and satiate yourself. So all you can do is squirm.

Hunter perks up in concern.

“Are you comfortable?”

You take a moment to respond but then nod.

“Good.” Hunter grins softly, patting your left hip. For a moment, he decides to rake his eyes over you appreciatively, almost in the same way you do when you assume he isn’t looking. “I’m glad.”

Offering a civil smile of mutual understanding, you wiggle your hips, trying to find a better position if you’re going to be compromised on his lap.

”Trail your hands down for me.”

It's hard to deny or disobey him with a voice like that, especially when you know it’s directed toward you. So you slowly let your hands slip from his shoulders and descend his chest and torso.

“Yeah, down,” He encourages you when you reach the top of his wrapped wound. “Maybe try to avoid the gash.”

You lift your hands and let only the pads of your fingers place feather-light touches over the wrapping. When your hands begin to tremble again the further you descend, reaching his pelvis, he tuts to stop you. “That’s a good place to stop.”

You look up again with wide eyes, trying to stop your erratic (embarrassing) trembles and tilt your head. There’s more he’s going to say. At least it seems so.

“Whenever you’re ready, put your hand over my crotch.” He gives you a soft look of reassurance, making sure you’re completely comfortable in this position, before finishing. “I want you to feel me.”

Gasping softly, you pull your hand away, fingers curling into your palm and gripping tightly. A shiver runs through you, and you can’t seem to figure out if it’s from shock or pleasure.

“What?” You begin, eyes flitting from his face and back. “H-Hunter, I shouldn’t.”

“I’m asking you to.” Polite insistence is the game he plays. If this truly is a trap, you might happily fall if it means you get to touch him. He runs his hands over your curves again. “I want you to.”

You tense further, something bordering on fear in your eyes. Hunter notices and frowns while he clarifies:

“Unless you don’t want it. ‘Cause then… we can stop. No hard feelings…”

You can see how he’s getting lost in his thoughts. For a split moment, that perfect composure he holds in your presence fractures; he seems insecure and nervous; anticipating inevitable rejection because he’s pushed you too far.

That isn’t the case.

As you finally press your palm to his bulge, you contain your gasp. He’s big. And so hard.

“Fuck,” He groans, head tilting back. “Feel that?”

Oh kriff, that rumble. It’s warm and smooth yet rough all the same, creeping its way over your skin until you’re forced to keep the faintest whimper from leaving your throat. You string your lips tight and nod.

“Mhm,” Is the only thing that manages to leave your mouth, whiny and soft. You palm him further, as if the fabric would simply tear away and you could finally feel his skin on yours. He hums again, and you’re left looking doe-eyed in his direction. “Shit, Hunter.”

He throws a heavy statement onto you.

“It’s my voice, isn’t it?”

You tilt your head up, containing the urge to gasp.

“What?”

“What’s making you so hot and bothered,” He continues. You want to look away, hide your face in your hands with humiliating embarrassment, but you’re trembling so much on top of him that you can’t even flit your eyes away. “You like my voice. And you like it when I tell you what to do.”

You gasp lightly when you feel his warm hand on your thigh. Your cunt twitches and it really shouldn’t. He’s barely doing anything.

“Well,” he continues, raising an eyebrow. “Are you going to deny it?”

The answer is delivered non-verbally. You relax into his lap, palm pressing further to his bulge, and then you squeeze oh so gently. That heavenly groan graces your ears and you devoutly catalog it into your mind for later recollection.

His chin dips down to catch a glimpse of your hand before he meets your eyes.

“Mesh’la,” he says; even without knowing what it means, just hearing how he speaks with such beguile and worship tells all that you need to know. “Mesh’la… can you do something for me?”

“Yeah. Of course. Anything,” You stammer out with a slack jaw, far too enthusiastic. Hunter doesn’t seem to regard it as anything distorting the absolute utmost respect that he must feel while he has you in his lap with your hand on his dick.

“Slip your pants off.”

It’s practically instinctual how efficiently you gingerly push yourself off of his lap and follow his order. With your hands chastely placed above your waistband, you let your thumbs push past, then await Hunter to grant you to pull them off. His eyes dilate with the view, and he nods.

The pants find their way to the ground clumsily, and you cringe internally at your lack of grace, but when you finally catch sight of Hunter’s expression, perhaps it’s nothing to worry about.

He looks… starved. Hypnotized by the splendor in front of him, for his eyes and his hands and his body only to touch, feel, hold, take.

“You’re… fuck,” he sighs, sounding out of breath, as though you’d just swept his leg and taken him off his feet. His hand methodically strokes up and down his thigh, only lightly grazing the tent in his pants as he takes his eyes over how you look, over and over again.

“You’re stunning,” he finally manages to say. His hand stops stroking to pat his thigh lightly, and his voice simmers in a way you know is on purpose. “C’mere, sit on my lap again.”

“Are you sure?” You ask for permission despite rocking your feet back and forth to shimmy your way back. As you gesture toward the bandages wrapped around his middle, Hunter huffs and frowns with miffed frustration. “You’re still injured.”

Hunter gripes to himself as he pushes himself up, placing his hands on your hips and pulling you to the free space between his two hard, firm thighs. His dexterity surprises you. The warmth radiating from his body does even more.

“I’ve never been so sure of anything in my life.”

Oh.

Shit.

He looks the part, certainly; you only try to feel the faintest tremble of his fingers when his hands float away from your hips to sit on the top of his legs again,

“Okay,” You mutter aimlessly, reaching up to your face to brush your hair away in a measly attempt to look more presentable. Your voice is just a squeaky little thing, and it’s so incredibly humiliating. “Okay…”

“It’s alright,” Hunter tries to soothe you, and you breathe shallowly.

“I know that.” Your tongue runs over your bottom lip and you heave. “I just…”

Before you’re able to process what’s happening, Hunter’s reaching a hand out to cup your face. Despite the coarseness of his skin, his callouses fall on your cheek, it’s so tender, and you melt into his touch.

“Do you need some guidance, little medic?”

With a slight whine, you nod, letting your lashes flutter. Hunter lets his thumb swipe over your bottom lip, and your mouth parts. He grins at your unprompted compliance.

“Then let me tell you what to do. Let me tell you how to touch yourself and make you come from that, and my voice too.”

A depraved noise is choked out of you.

“Fuck,” your head careens to the side, but his firm hold on the side of your face keeps your gaze on him. His grin turns more into a cheeky smirk.

“How does that sound?” He asks. You nod adamantly before he tries to change his mind, so worried that he’ll push you away at any moment. As though he can read your mind, the hand that was still on the back of your thigh takes a gentle squeeze before trailing up your body, taking appreciative feels of your ass and hips before settling on your waist again.

“Mm…” You hum, reveling in the sensation. “Really good.”

Hunter gives you a half-crooked smile, and you want to cuss him out, or yourself, you’re not sure who to be fed up with.

“Come on, little medic,” He urges you on, patting your hip. “Slip your hand down your panties.”

Wordlessly, you let a trembling hand descend down your body. You have little dignity left in you to try and make yourself appear more seductive, but you hope your image isn’t so repulsive. The moment your fingertips make contact with your heat, your fingers grazing over your mons and clit, your mouth falls open in a silent gasp.

Hunter tilts his head.

“How does it feel? Are you wet?”

He should know already, smug bastard.

“Yeah,” you nod, keening further into his touch when he tilts his chin down, leaning toward your ear.

He takes a gentle lick, so light that if you weren’t in his grasp you wouldn’t have noticed.

“How wet?”

Your hips instinctively buck to rub yourself over your hand, a rush of arousal washing over you.

“Re–“ You swallow a wad of spit sitting on your tongue. “Really wet.”

Hunter’s lips are gentle when they undulate as he speaks oh so close to your ear, quiet and warm, words just for you.

“Just from my voice?” When he asks this time, you don’t detect much smugness; he wants the confirmation and credibility for a foundation of fact he’s built for himself.

You nod, but add on more.

“Not just that.”

“Hm?” His dark rumble travels down your spine and you squirm with pleasant upheaval. Your hand is still awkwardly lodged down your panties with nothing to do.

“Tell me more,” he demands with an assuasive croon. With one last kitten lick that lingers on the shell of your ear, he allows his lips to wander, mouthing against your skin, leaving delicate kisses on your temple, your jaw, and any moles and freckles in his nearest vicinity while he awaits your answer.

“I, uh,” you begin, awaiting to land on a coherent stream of words loosely strung together to fall on your tongue. “your—“

Just as you feel something begin to tie, your gaze drops down. Hunter palms his full erection over his blacks, languidly as though without a care, and the thought of him being aroused by this, aroused by you, slaps your mind into a render less zone.

“—fuck.”

He chuckles right in your damn face, and Maker he’s just too pretty not to kiss. But you resist the temptation with the festering worry of crossing the barrier past simple attraction into affection.

So you swallow slow and hard and try to compose a sentence.

“Your, face—“

Yeah, real eloquent, idiot.

“—That skull tattoo, it’s, well, shit…”

Your tongue wraps around itself again, words becoming more and more hard to piece together the longer you think about it. All that your primal mind begs you to think of is the olympic man presented under you, and the heat that radiates off the both of you.

“Alright now, you don’t have to continue,” Hunter huffs with no real malice contained in his words. It still makes you cringe nonetheless.

“That bad?” You ask with a clenched jaw.

A simple head shake is all you receive, but it’s more than enough to sedate a growing burn in the pit of your stomach. The hand not pressed to his crotch gently holds your hip, thumb swiping over your panties and bare skin; he even dares to let it slip past the waistband. The accurate awareness of your hand pressed to your pussy returns to you.

“Don’t want you to focus your energy on that,” he clarifies, eyes looking into yours with a softness you’ve never associated with Hunter. You’d find it peculiar in a regular conversation, but everything about this interaction has been anything but normal.

You suddenly realize you’re at a loss again. “So what do you want me to do?” You ask because you feel humiliated just straddling him like this.

Hunter puffs out his chest and you prepare yourself for the worst.

A coarse hand presses to your navel, trailing up underneath your shirt to sketch an image of your body underneath, stopping right where “Rub your pussy for me.”

It’s worded like a demand, but he voices it as though it’s a request. Your body wants to tense and retract, but the palm spread over the expanse of your stomach prevents you.

“You can do that,” Hunter encourages you, almost as though you were a creature he’s saddled on to ride. Though in this instance, you’d much rather be the one to ride. “Can’t you? For me?”

With a huff, you look away and nod bashfully. It’s wordless when you begin to move your hand, let your fingers get soaked as they rub up and down, up and down… you’re almost too tense to really feel the sensation, but Hunter’s doting gaze and his firm hand on your stomach keep you grounded. As you collect slick, running your fingers through your folds, it takes heavy petting for you to relax your jaw and let out the most pleasantly pathetic whimper.

Hunter groans, adding fuel to the flame flourishing in your pants, a dark sound of thunder rumbling in the sky, forewarning something much more devastating.

“Yeah, just like that,” he encourages you in that same husky tone following the groan. “Rock your hips too.”

You do so diligently, using your palm to press against your clit as a foundation for the rest of your hand to move leisurely while you rock your hips into himself. Hunter’s hand retracts from your stomach, fingers curling into his palms as he lets his knuckles graze against your skin. When you shiver, he takes it as an invitation to shush you gently against your temple, before his hand falls to your waist again.

The moment you glance down, you have to tip your chin back with an ascendant sigh. He’s got his hand over his clothed erection, palming it with a firm hand, almost absentmindedly as he keeps his eyes on you.

“Fuck, Hunter…” The desperate, embarrassing whimper comes out of you far more loud than you intend. Hunter shushes you gently.

“Keep quiet for me,” he commands; how are you meant to be by him when he speaks like that?

“Good?” He then asks, seemingly seeking approval good enough for him to continue. “Do I sound as good as you imagined?”

You want to say yes, declare it to the entire galaxy, and tell him just how wonderful this man is, but you’re far too overwhelmed by all the pleasurable sensations disrupting your thought process. So instead you nod.

That seems to satisfy Hunter, and the smallest smirk curls on his lips as he watches you squirm and rock your hips into your hands.

“Don’t you as well.”

With a hum, you try to dismiss the comment. But only as you let it sit does the implication of his words sink to your stomach. But he doesn’t allow you to dwell on it for too long, it seems, as he continues,

“I want you to keep touching yourself. Do whatever you need to for me. Whatever makes you come.”

He pats his incredibly intimidating bulge as though it’s an invitation.

“Right here, on my lap.”

You resist the dizzyness that threatens to overtake your senses, but as you steady your breaths, you suddenly feel so exposed. Far too exposed compared to Hunter.

So you try to level the playing field.

“Would you… er…”

If only your words could come out correctly. Hunter raises an eyebrow, perked with a cheeky glint in his eye.

“Hm?” He hums.

You grunt and attempt again to tunnel out the words. Like a plow shoveling out snow or sand.

“It—It feels unfair that I’m the only one here getting off.”

You wince as you finish the sentence. Maker, you sound so clunky and awkward. So much for being seductive.

But Hunter hums with total compliance, letting his hand trail up to where his bottoms cling to his skin.

“‘Guess you’re right.” Slowly, oh-so-slowly, Hunter peels back the waistband of his blacks, letting his hand slip through to free his cock from underneath the garments.

You think you’ve been knocked out for a healthy minute when you get a proper look. You’d never imagine describing a cock as pretty, but just like everything else, Hunter may become an exception. His fingers curl around the base with rather ease, before reaching up with it to his chin. He opens his mouth, letting a wad of spit collect and drop onto his palm, allowing him to stroke his cock with a more slick movement.

Maker, he’s so… so…

No, that can’t be right. His cock is far too thick for his hand to wrap around it so easily. But then you remember his proportions, especially compared to yours. A small chuckle leaves you when you imagine how you might try to wrap a full hand around his length.

Hunter leisurely strokes himself, eyes set on yours with an intensity that makes your stomach leap bounds up to your chest.

“Now it’s more fair, little medic,” he says. “Don’t you think?”

You nod adamantly with no hesitation.

“Yeah, yeah…” Your fingers deftly move to trap your clit between your index and middle, your mouth falling open when you feel the pressure hum over you. “Shit.”

Hunter huffs with a smugly saccharine look, his hand slowly stroking up and down his cock, lingering at the tip before he returns down again.

“You look really good like this.”

You tilt your head and grunt in disbelief. It’s hard to believe him when you feel simultaneously so powerful and so humiliated. Even though he’s just as physically exposed as you, you still feel more vulnerable.

“Do I now?” Despite being sarcastic, you try not to come off too mean.

But then Hunter sighs out the most exasperated, “ Fuck yeah,” his chin tipping upwards as he gathers his breath, tongue darting out to lick his lips, eyes half closed while he squeezes the tip of his dick, and you’re left render less to your own attraction again.

He seems to see the disbelief in your eyes.

“Don’t you believe me, mesh’la?” He asks. You remain still. “You really need me to spell out just how hot you look right now? How sexy .”

“Hunter,” you whine.

He continues without regarding you.

“I’m trying so hard not to— fuck—“ he tenses his stomach as he tries to compose himself. “—just blow my load right now. You’re just so— so pretty and pliant and so damn obedient .” You tremble slightly, and Hunter reaches to hold the back of your neck; not before tucking a strand of hair behind your ear, of course.

“Listening to my every order,” he continues, oddly affectionate.

A rush of confidence flows through your veins. You try to smirk, but instead it comes out toothy and bashful.

“That’s my job, sergeant.”

Hunter groans, his fingers curling into your neck, one pressing to your pulse point so purposefully.

“Fuck, don’t say stuff like that,” he says, shaking his head, though he doesn’t seem too displeased. “Or else this’ll be really short.”

You giggle, trying to look away, but Hunter’s grip on your neck keeps your head in place. You blink rapidly, suddenly overwhelmed by his stare. But you can’t. Move.

You whisper out a weak, “Keep talking,” before your eyes shut close. You press your palm to your clit, whining softly. Hunter uses the grip on your neck to bring you in closer, whispering slow and softly into your ear with purposeful oscillations of his lips,

“I wonder how you’ll feel around me.�� You sigh out the faintest hint of his name in surprise, just as you begin to press a finger into your entrance. “I bet you’re so tight you’ll squeeze me out. Warm, and hot, and loud .”

“Fuck,” you swear, both in response to his words and to the feeling of a single finger pumping in and out of you. You’ve done little to stimulate yourself and cum, but somehow you’re already feeling an anticipated crawl up of an orgasm.

The things Hunter does to you.

“I want your mouth on my cock too.”

You clench involuntarily o over your finger, bucking your hip so your clit catches against your palm. Oh. He isn’t done.

“‘Thinking we’d both have fun if I tried a hand at commanding you around, fucked your face a little.”

Hunter tilts his head. as though expecting a response, so you nod your head — or tilt your chin down, you’re unsure— and he grins in deep settled approval at your compliance.

“How does that sound, hm?”

In a split moment of respite, while he awaits your response, you gaze down, watch his hand wrap around his cock with more insistence than before, stroke at the same rate you move. The hand on your hip drifts down to hold your hip again, rocking you with more fervor. Inadvertently, the movement forces your fingers in a new direction that grazes your g-spot just so perfectly, and you’re sighing again.

“ Oh… ”

The silence becomes too long for Hunter to bear, and he grunts.

“Answer me, mesh’la,” his tone is commanding, yet not overbearing. You appreciate it considering the sliver of shame remaining in your stomach. “Would you like that?”

“I’d–I’d like it,” you stammer out, slowly rubbing a second finger down your folds before pressing in slowly to meet the other. “A lot … fuck.”

With a tilt of his head, Hunter leans in closer, lips dangerously close to yours and for a split moment you consider pulling away.

“Something the matter?” He asks, but he knows the answer. Hunter can damn well see how your legs begin to twitch and shake more rapidly, the unsteadiness of your breathing as you simultaneously calm yourself and try to bring about your high.

“You fucking know what’s the matter, Hunter,” you bark back.

“I don’t think I’m sure exactly,” he responds dismissively. “Could you say it clearly, just in case?”

Something you hope sounds like a playful growl leaves you, but in reality, it probably sounds like a moth cat purring.

“You bastard .” There’s no real bite to your insult, and Hunter knows it, so he grins.

“I do my best.”

Your pleasure overtakes you and a shiver runs from the top of your spine to your legs, your thumb moving to properly rub your clit.

“Oh, fuck, I’m close,” you’re moaning out before you know it, voice dwindling so you’re not too loud.

“Ah,” Hunter hums, affectionately rubbing your hip. “That’s what I thought. ‘Was just making sure.”

His strokes have become more erratic and frantic, but his composure doesn’t give it away. If you weren’t to gaze down, you’d have no tell how aroused he truly was. Though perhaps that’s how he wants it to be— you’re a pretty mess while he’s the foundation to keep you upright.

Suddenly, he’s talking again, using the hand on your hip to encourage you to keep rocking.

“Come on, you pretty thing,” he rumbles. “Come for me and I’ll come for you.” Then you’re remembering what brought you to this attraction in the first place; that damn voice of his. Truly, and you mean truly, never saw yourself being in this position; situated over Hunter’s lap, touching yourself for him while he gets off to you and only you.

With one more curl of your fingers against your g-spot and your thump insistently rubbing your clit, you’re over the hill, and you’re twitching and rocking your hips over and over in arches of your back, jumbled syllables vaguely making up Hunter’s name spilling from your lips like sticky sweet sugar.

That’s when you hear it. When you glance down to catch his spend start to spill on his bare skin the bandages of his, he groans out the most pleasant incantation of your name you’ve ever heard. The moment the noise graces your ears, you’re certain that you never want to hear anything else. Or at the least, any other version of your name.

A few moments pass where you remain panting in each other's presence, his hands remaining render less at your side, rubbing up and down in uncoordinated patterns, while your hands grip his shoulders. You only start to pull away from him as you catch your bearings— and your dignity.

Hunter interrupts you by grabbing the wrist of the hand you had stuffed down your panties. He leans in closer, tongue darting out like a teasing little offer.

“Can I get a taste, mesh’la?” His voice is slow, and warm, like honey pouring into a pot of tea—in any other situation, it would sedate your nerves. But those words ignite that fuel inside you. You press your fingers still coated in slick to his lips, and he opens his mouth graciously, letting his tongue swirl around your digits with a gracious hum that vibrates your skin. Your other hand drops to his chest just before where the gash begins and holds onto it with a tremorous touch.

Hunter pulls away with a resounding ‘pop’ that makes you cringe, but not pull your eyes away.

“Delicious,” he remarks.

Your face is hot again and Hunter is smiling wide, but you’ve figured out by now he means no malicious intent with his mannerisms. His hand reaches out, cradling your face

“Aren’t you a sight for sore eyes,” Hunter admires you with a glint in his eye you’ve never seen before. Sure, you’ve seen affection— plenty at this point— but there’s a tenderness to his words as he continues. It still doesn’t feel fair to not return the compliment, however.

“You’re one to talk.”

The only response you get is a scoff.

“Have you ever seen yourself?” He asks, posing the rhetoric as if you’d go out of the way to compliment yourself. It’s hard to feel anything more than pretty when you have the most handsome man trapped between your thighs.

Hunter doesn’t budge — states it like a fact, as though he truly believes it. “I always get ravenous just looking at you.”

“Oh,” You reply dumbly. “I… I didn’t think.” Your ability to talk to Hunter improves after getting off for him, it seems.

“You thought wrong,” he replies, shaking his head slightly with a smile. He leans his head down, looking better at your face before reaching with his palm to hold your cheek with hands so calloused they feel soft.

“You’re a capable woman, a great addition to the batch–” Your cheeks heat up, and he smiles. “--And I think you’re beautiful. Mesh’la. That’s what that means.”

Your hand crawls up slowly against his arm, unknowingly following the pattern of his skeleton tattoo before your much smaller hand is placed against his.

“Hunter…” You whine.

He tilts his head, that goofy smile still stuck on his face. “What?”

“You flatter me.” With a shake of your head, you unpeel yourself from his lap, and Hunter whines so, so soft as you do to the point you almost leap back onto his lap again.

“I’m being honest,” Hunter insists, lazily using the underside of his blacks to clean his spend off his skin and the bandages. You’re standing idly, stupidly, and you know he’s waiting for you to say something— and you do, you do, but you don’t know what.

“Well, thank you,” you finally answer, attempting to compose yourself. You awkwardly place your feet back into the holes of your pants, pulling them up in a swift motion that leaves you put away wet, but you care very little at this point.

You look up at Hunter, appreciatively looking over his features, before a forlorn feeling fills your stomach when you gaze down at his lips. You felt them delicately graze against your ear, wrap around your fingers to gently suck and lap at the spend coating them, yet you haven’t felt them against yours once.

He notices the look on your face.

“Something up?” He asks.

In retrospect, it must’ve been a rush of confidence through your veins after having him in such a vulnerable state only a moment ago, but you truly don’t know where your next words come from.

“Can I have a kiss?”

You expect, hope even, for Hunter to be thrown off his rhythm so he can be on the same level as you for once. Rather he takes a step closer to you, his hand methodically wrapping around the back of your neck again, thumb pressing the juncture between your jaw and throat for that extra leisure, feeling your pulse as he pulls you in for a kiss.

In your dreams, Hunter's kisses are wholly devouring. But in reality, it’s warm, tender, brimming with an underlying passion you least expected. As his lips press against yours, you can feel the velvet caress of his skin, the exchange of breath between the two of you that makes you hum into him.

His other hand rises to gently stroke your back before pulling you closer, and you feel so enveloped in his embrace that neither of you will be harmed again. You press your foreheads together and pull away, each taking slow, savoring breaths.

Truly, you never expected to be in this situation.

“...I don’t want this to be a one-time thing,” you mutter shyly, a bashful look on your face. It’s that little smile, that damned voice of his, that delivers the final blow, sending you back into his striking orbit.

“Of course,” Hunter tells you, smooth as ever. “I still haven’t gotten to be inside you.”

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stellarbit · 7 months ago

Text

Two Faces

Word Count: 11k Pairing: fem!reader x Bad Batch, light Tech nods Warnings: nada except light violence. Training, some fluff, and general fun Summary: When your sister becomes a senator, you decide to join her guard to protect her. Your mother sends you to train on Kamino as backlash. You are paired with Clone Force 99 under the guise of a regular trooper. Encountering you outside of uniform they mistake you for your sister. It is a delicate situation and you have to play your cards carefully.

This started out as a request for the guys getting jealous of you undercover and here I am. When I tell you this was SO FUN to write but took SO LONG. If y'all like imma make it a part 2.

Edit; you wanted it so here it is Two Faces pt 2

“You want to be a foot soldier.” Your mother snarled down her nose. She was a tall woman, taller than you at least, and the governor of your planet. She waved a slender dismissive hand. “Then be a foot soldier.”

Face neutral, you stood before her in the white armor of a clone trooper. You held the helmet with both hands and a white knuckle grip. This wasn’t exactly what you had in mind when you told your mother you wanted to join your sister’s guard

From your mother’s right your sister stood wringing her hands together. She stood at your height with a face that mirrored your own. Often you were mistaken as twins. Only a few years older than you and already she was the senator for your planet -- the perfect example of what you should have been. Despite everything, the two of you were extremely close.

Concern ate her alive as she watched on. She opened her mouth, but your mother’s hand splayed out in front of her face, cutting off your sister’s voice and view of you.

Continuing to stare you down, your mother’s mouth twisted into her nose. Your family practically bred politicians and that was never your path. If the two of you agreed on nothing else it was that you were no politician.

When your sister was elected as Senator, you knew if you were trained you could be in her guard and keep her safe. It was a decision you were proud of and one that sealed your fate in the eyes of your mother. You would be of no use to her. She heard your wish and wanted to make sure you fully regretted it.

Rolling her eyes away from you, your mother turned her attention to a Kaminoan by her other side. As the leaders of two allied planets, your mother and Lama Su maintained a close relationship. At least close enough to call in favors.

“Thank you, Prime Minister, for this opportunity.” Your mother’s disgust faded into a pleasant smile. “Although, I worry she may damage the reputation of your clone troopers.”

The Kaminoan shifted his gaze to you. In near boredom he said, “You do realize she is liable to die?” Settling his hands in front of him, he turned back to your mother.

She scoffed, the idea of no concern to her. “She made her choice. Should that come to pass, Kamino will not be held responsible.” They spoke of you as if you weren’t even present. “But, do make sure they don’t take it easy on her.”

They. An ‘unorthodox’ squadron of clones you would be paired with.

Your mother said your name, her tone sharp enough to straighten your back. Her head tilted back, the crimp in her lip returning. “If it is discovered that my daughter is beneath that armor, forget ever coming home.” She muttered something to your sister and, in unison, they made for the door.

Your sister managed one last glance at you before the Kaminoan door swirled open and your mother shoved her through. Your heart sank as the giant white doors shut behind the women.

What if you never saw your sister again?

Alone with Lama Su, the bright, sterile room began to strain your eyes. The unnatural ambience of the room was enough to unsettle you without the addition of the Kaminoan’s cold stare. With slow fluidity, he fully turned towards you. His eyes narrowed almost imperceptibly. “The modified armor will hide your identity. All you have to do is follow orders.” Lama Su said in his smooth, detached voice. He gestured a long finger towards you. “Put on your helmet, do not remove it in front of others, and remain silent. Your family may tolerate embarrassment, but I will not endure it here.”

Under his cold stare, you lifted the helmet and sealed it over your head. Your eyes had barely adjusted to the restricted line of sight when the doors hissed opened again.

Where your mother and sister had left, five men strode in. Their armor was mismatched in shape and color, but there was some vein shared between them. It took you a moment until your eyes widened and the gears finally turned. These were the clones!

You were no stranger to clones. The Republic had dispatched a group of troopers to your planet as a show of good faith and alliance, although you wondered at times if your family fully reciprocated that sentiment. That said, these men were unlike any clones you’d seen.

Their appearances were as mismatched as their armor. Your attention immediately drifted to a behemoth of a man towering over his cohorts and obviously blinded in his left eye. Standing shorter than the rest, one man sported a tattoo covering half his face. Two of them stood at the same height, one with goggles and the other with silver hair. The fifth man looked more akin to a standard clone than the rest, yet his complexion was blanched and he was outfitted with cybernetic prosthetics.

They were the most mesmerizing things you’d ever seen. And none of them spared even a glance in your direction.

Resisting the urge to look to the Kaminoan for clarification, you kept your eyes forward and did your best to look at attention.

“Clone Force 99, welcome.” Lama Su took a smooth step forward and swept a hand in your direction. Still, their eyes remained trained on the Prime Minister. “This promising trooper is being assigned to your squad for training. While their designation number is of no concern to you, you may refer to your new addition as ‘Phi.’”

Phi. A word you recognized as meaning nothing.

A pale hand landed gently on your shoulder, finally dragging Clone Force 99’s collective attention to you. Even through the armor, Lama Su’s touch made your skin crawl. The urge to bite settled between your teeth and the intensity of his stare did nothing to dissuade that.

His next words came across as almost proud. “I trust you will find the skills of this soldier to be exemplary, possibly even to surpass standard clone trooper protocol. It has been decided that integrating with your unit will provide... a most beneficial learning environment for all.”

The praise threw you off until you noticed the change in the squad’s expressions. Something in Lama Su’s words did not sit well with them. In particular, the tall silver-haired clone did nothing to hide his annoyance. Whatever it was, the undue praise clearly sealed your fate in some way. His sharp glance alone indicated that the undue praise had somehow sealed your fate—a fate Lama Su had very intentionally engineered.

“Training will begin immediately.” Lama Su said. “Proceed to the training facilities to begin. You have your orders. You are dismissed.”

Clone Force 99 wasted no time in filing out of the room, offering no introductions or even a glance to see if you followed. Their dismissal was clear; you were an outsider, not worthy of their camaraderie. Hurrying after them, the quiet of the corridor seemed to amplify the shifting of armor and footsteps.

"Just our luck!" His voice boomed, echoing off the walls. "Why do we get stuck with a reg?" He threw a glance over his shoulder, his good eye scanning you with disdain.

Reg? The term echoed in your mind, a label you didn’t yet understand.

The cybernetic clone fell back beside you. “The question is: what did you do to get stuck with us?” His tone wasn't unkind, merely curious, probing.

Instinctively, your mouth opened to respond, but Lama Su’s directive flashed in your mind—Do not speak in front of others. Clamping your mouth shut, you turned your gaze forward again, grateful for the helmet’s limited field of vision that spared you from seeing their reactions. You did see the way Crosshair's eyes narrowed, it was safe to assume your silence hadn’t helped matters.

Adjusting to the weight of your gear seemed trivial compared to the weight of maintaining silence.

Sighing, the tattooed man shook his head. “Listen,” He said as he stopped and turned. “If we are stuck together, we might as well get along. I’m Hunter.”

He gestured to the others as they continued walking. "That’s Wrecker," pointing to the large man, "Echo," indicating the cyborg, "Tech," nodding towards the one with goggles, and lastly, "And Crosshair," with a tilt of his head toward the silver-haired clone who had kept his distance.

They all waited for your addition, but it didn’t come and your silence remained. From behind your helmet you cringed. This was shaping up to be a terrible idea. You held your breath, bracing for the uncomfortable journey ahead.

Your silence only fueled Crosshair’s anger. His gaze narrowed, head cocked like a raptor eyeing prey. "Too good to speak to us?" His lip curled in a familiar, cruel sneer that reminded you of your mother.

Noticing Crosshair had an actual crosshair tattooed over his right eye you couldn’t help the little snort you made, emphasized by your helmet’s voice modulator. You immediately regretted your slip up as Crosshair set his shoulders, head snaking forward. “Something funny, reg?” The way he said that word was pure venom.

You almost conceded at the guttural sound he made at your continued silence, but before you could react Crosshair cracked his elbow into your helmet. The helmet crashed into your face and pain bloomed across your nose, knocking you down to one knee. Blood trickled from your nostrils, leaving you reeling with doubts and likely a broken nose.

"Crosshair!" Hunter barked. He didn't need to step in further; Crosshair stood back, arms crossed and lips twisted into a smirk of satisfaction.

Echo and Tech shared a glance, Wrecker gave a supportive smile, and Hunter shot Crosshair a sharp, disapproving look before turning his attention back to you. "Get up," he said firmly, "and keep up."

With one last glare from Crosshair, you pushed yourself up to your feet, determined not to show weakness. But as the sharp metallic taste of blood filled your mouth, you couldn't ignore the cold reality of your situation.

They certainly did not take it easy on you and by the end of your first session it was clear to all of you that you were a miserable excuse for a recruit. In the solitude of your room, you finally removed your helmet. In a small mirror you twisted your head, examining the crusted blood and swollen nature of your nose.

A gentle, and painful, touch confirmed your broken nose suspicions. You leaned in for a better look and smiled. It hurt like hell, but at least you made it through your first day.

You looked to a photo of your sister you’d pinned to your mirror. It’s worth it for her. Giving yourself a nod, you replaced your helmet and headed for the med bay- a trip you were going to frequent.

As you entered the medical wing, the only presence were that of two medical droids floating about and a female Kaminoan. The female swept her head in your direction, slowly blinking as you stood at the entrance. You recognized the Kaminoan as Nala Se. She’d given your family a tour of the cloning operations in the past.

She addressed you with a good evening and gestured for you to approach. “I am aware of your identity. You may remove your armor in my presence.” Nala Se said in her ever measured tone. When you still hesitated she added, “The clones are currently in the canteen.”

Reluctantly, you lifted the helmet from your head, exposing the bruised face underneath. Nala Se observed you quietly, her expression unreadable. “You should return home.” She suggested. “Our clones are trained from their creation. You will not be able to match their abilities.”

“That’s not an option now. I either return with training or in a body bag.”

You placed your helmet in a tote at the foot of the medical table and began discarding the rest of the armor in the same fashion. Clad only in your black undersuit, you continued undressing under Nala Se's impassive watch. Her clinical detachment did little to ease the discomfort of the situation

Stripped down to a bandeau and shorts, you climbed onto the examination bed. A droid hovered over you, scanning your body. "Subject exhibits a broken nose and extensive bruising," it reported to Nala Se, who nodded slightly before administering two injections—one for pain and another to reduce future bruising.

As the droid tended to your injuries, Nala Se handed you a set of clothes. "There is more than one way to remain hidden," she stated as she unfolded a Kaminoan-style outfit—a set of dark, tight-fitting pants and a long-sleeve shirt, complemented by a light-colored vest with fabric strips cascading down your legs

You’d no sooner dawned the outfit when the doors slid open again and voices immediately broke the silence.

You froze with your back to the door. Tech's analytical voice floated through the air, "I am merely saying, excess violence will only worsen the situation for all of us."

It was Crosshair who answered with dry amusement. "Speak for yourself," he scoffed.

Nala Se held your gaze a moment longer before she looked to the approaching clones. “CT-9902 and CT-9904, what is it that you require?”

Tech spoke up from behind you, "There is a high probability that Crosshair fractured his knuckles during training." You could think of a few instances that could’ve caused that, the bruises across your body serving as evidence.

Swallowing the groan in your throat, you finally faced them. Tech and Crosshair stopped in their tracks both staring at you with some confusion.

“Senator.” Tech offered a nod of respect. His polite tone threw you off balance as he mistook you for your sister. The Kaminoans' medical treatment had indeed worked wonders, hiding your identity well enough to prompt the error.

Crosshair frowned, a toothpick tilting in his mouth.

Tech, noticing Crosshair’s tight expression, nudged his brother. “We passed her on the way to meet the Prime Minister.” This was enough for the sniper to remove his toothpick and stand a bit straighter.

The immediate respect was a stark contrast to the blows they’d dealt you all day. Embracing the assumption you smiled graciously despite the stiff feeling in your face. “It is a pleasure to formally meet you, troopers.” You rounded the table to stand before them.

Without your gear, you realized just how much taller they were. And without the restrictive view of your helmet, you could fully appreciate how striking they were. They stood with practiced military bearing, radiating strength and a sense of purpose that matched their formidable presence.

Absolutely breathtaking, and in a much different way than when they'd been knocking the wind out of you earlier.

“The honor is ours, Senator.” Tech said. His eyes searched your face, for what you weren’t certain.Though having his eyes on any part of you was a lovely sensation. He paused momentarily, but found your eyes again.

Crosshair kept his gaze steady as he studied you, lending some clarity to your earlier question. "What brings a senator down to the med bay? Surely not curiosity."

Holding your composure, you lied, “I am… personally interested in the development and progress of the valiant men keeping our galaxy safe.” You took the opportunity to circle the two men while they remained still and eyes forward. The men had equally long legs and cinched waists that were positively sinful. This view of them was certainly an upgrade, igniting an idea in you.

“In fact,” You polished a smile as you came back to their fronts. “I’d be interested in some personal lessons from esteemed men such as yourselves.”

Surprise lifted Tech’s eyebrows and pulled the corner of Crosshair’s lip up.

“Mistress Se mentioned your squad is already undertaking the training of a new recruit.” Their expressions dulled at the reminder. “What’s a few extra morning sessions with a mere Senator?”

Nala Se, observing the exchange from the background, stepped forward to say, "That can be arranged for the morning after next. For now, the senator has matters to attend to. CT-9904, please proceed with your treatment."

Tech offered another polite nod before leading Crosshair to the medical equipment. As they moved away, you exhaled, glancing at Nala Se, who gave you an almost imperceptible nod of approval.

The following morning, back in your armor, you walked into the training room and the middle of Clone Force 99’s conversation.

Wrecker was throwing his head around, moaning about something you couldn't quite catch. “-well, why didn’t I see her?”

“You did, Wrecker.” Tech said in a flat, exasperated breath. “If only in passing.”

“But why would a senator want to watch us train?” Echo shook his head in confusion.

Tech adjusted his goggles. “Correction: she wants to train with us.”

As he twirled a knife between his fingers, Hunter asked, “Then why would a senator want to train with clones?”

“Does it matter?” Crosshair drawled from his perch on a rectangular obstacle with a knee pulled up.. “If the little princess wants our hands on her, who are we to deny?”

Little princess. Your mind stuttered at the words while your body visibly jerked at them. The squadron cut their conversation short and looked to you. The amusement between them quickly faded, yet even this attention had heat crawling through you.

“Let’s get this over with.” Hunter gruffed while putting on his helmet. The rest followed suit and training began.

The session was as brutal as the day prior, starting with sparring and finishing with blaster drills. You didn’t do much better than the day prior, but you were proud to have left with no new fractures. By the next morning you could barely leave bed.

But ‘little princess’ was enough to push you up.

You arrived at the training room early. It was much smaller than the usual arenas, scattered with mannequins instead of physical obstacles. You traded your armor for a form-fitting suit similar to the blacks troopers wore. Without a helmet, you felt exposed—but exhilarated.

When the doors slid open, your pulse quickened. With composure your mother would admire, you smoothed your expression and smiled. “Nice of you boys to join me.”

A small smirk lifted Hunter’s lips as he regarded you. “Senator.” he greeted, his gaze sweeping over your form. The word almost caused your smile to falter, reminding you of the misconception they were under.

They made their introductions before Hunter, hand at his hip, gestured for you to advance. “You sure you’re ready for this?”

The soreness that wracked your body protested when you squared your shoulders. “I was born ready.” Hopefully your feigned confidence won them over.

The way the leader’s head dipped with a small laugh said it did. Even from a distance, the sound reverberated through you to your core.

“Don’t worry,” Wrecker’s large hand clapped down on your shoulder and right onto an unseen bruise. “We’ll take it easy on ya!”

Crosshair rolled a toothpick between his lips. “Easy’s not our style, Wrecker.” You met his still skeptical stare, not backing down from the challenge.

“I can handle it.”

He snorted, flicked away his toothpick, and strode over to you. Leaning in he said in a low, snippy voice, “Better keep up, princess.”

As much as the nickname heated your blood, you maintained your smile, determined to earn their respect. “I intend to.” You said in an equally low, taunting tone.

From the very beginning, their training style was a complete turn around compared to the borderline abuse you endured while in armor.

Hunter set the pace, showing you rapid movements to prove your reflexes. When a moment of exhaustion hit and you noticeably slowed, Hunter teased, “I thought you said you’d keep up.”

Sagging your shoulders, you rolled back your head with a laugh. “Alright, maybe I wasn’t born for this.”

“We sure were.” Wrecker laughed and took over, launching into instruction about utilizing your body weight against an opponent. He demonstrated on Crosshair, who loudly hissed in protest. Wrecker put a shoulder into Crosshair’s abdomen and tossed him over his shoulder like a sandbag.

Crosshair struggled against his brother’s hold, until he landed safely on the ground. He snarled at Wrecker, then caught the amused smile tugging at your lips. With a grunt of annoyance, he averted his gaze and casually placed a toothpick back between his lips, feigning indifference.

“C’mon, now you try,” Wrecker encouraged as you stepped close. He used his massive hands to reposition your torso into a bent over position. “Like this, see? You gotta feel the power through your whole body!” His bubbly enthusiasm made it hard to take the movement seriously.

His demeanor wasn’t your only distraction. Despite your mother’s disregard for you, as the daughter of a politician, people were always careful with you. Between their ruthless training of you as ‘Phi’ and their gentle instruction as a ‘Senator,’ you were finding them more and more captivating.

Their presence was intoxicating.

Tech used a more methodical style of instruction. His hands deftly maneuvered your body into a slightly different form. “Optimal form is crucial,” he explained. His fingers lingered just a moment too long on your spine, sending an unexpected shiver down your back. With one hand he pressed your bruised shoulder lower.

Your teeth clenched against the pain, a quiet whine making its way past your lips. Tech immediately released his hand, observing you with a tilted glance. “Interesting,” he whispered with curiosity that pulled your eyes to his. Behind those brown eyes of his, something passed through. He blinked once, twice, and stepped back.

The moment went unnoticed as Echo chimed in. “Throw your weight behind it and aim for his diaphragm.” Wrecker tried to chuckle, but you cut him off by doing just that. Despite your best efforts, he didn’t even flinch. A chorus of chuckles erupted around you, but it felt good to join their lighthearted banter instead of getting the kriff kicked out of you.

The training continued until you were slick with sweat. You were exhausted, sure, but the exhilaration you felt in the beginning only grew with every brush with the men.

Though throughout the trading, Crosshair paid the experience little interest. He meandered the outskirts of the room, only chiming in when you had a misstep. Finally, winded but grinning, you let yourself sink to the floor. Crosshair sauntered over, standing behind you as he shifted his weight onto one foot.

His weight shifted onto one foot and postured over you. “Looks like what they say about senators is true.” He snorted, but the bite his voice carried when you were Phi was missing.

You leaned back, hands propped behind you, and squinted up at him. “And what’s that?”

His keen eyes scanned you, briefly pausing on your heaving chest before meeting your gaze again. “You’re all talk.”

Crosshair maintained a smug expression while his brothers fell silent, their attention fixed on the two of you. For the first time since training began, the ache in your nose surfaced in your mind. The memory of Crosshair's initial blow hung in the air as you carefully considered the situation, your tongue slipping over your teeth. He didn't realize it, but as you sat there inches from his feet, he was perched right within your reach. His guard was down, dismissing you as a non-threat.

The backhanded comment about Senator inaction was the deciding factor in your next move. You could always tolerate insults aimed at you. The rough training was even tolerable if it meant a means to your purpose.

Calling out a senator’s - your sister’s - resolve, however, was a step too far.

In one swift motion, you fell back, hooked an arm around his ankle, and yanked his foot out from under him. Crosshair's arms swung through the air, desperately trying to catch his balance, but he tumbled to the ground with a thud, a gasp of air forced from his lungs. Lounging back on one elbow, you kept his ankle cradled firmly in your arm.

The rest of Clone Force 99 tried - and failed - to stifle their laughter. Eventually, they gave him the same round of laughter you received. Crosshair shoved up on his elbows with a scowl. The twitch in his lip betrayed the amusement nipping at him. Grunting with a roll of his eyes, he pushed you off his foot. “Lucky shot.”

You raised your eyebrows with a satisfied hum, then let yourself fall back onto the training mat. As you lay there, staring up at the bright ceiling and still catching your breath with a laugh lingering on your tongue, you felt an unfamiliar sensation—happiness.

All your life, you’d been chasing after your sister, constantly seeking your family's approval. You had never been allowed to simply exist or pursue anything for yourself.

But laying there, beaten and exhausted, you felt strangely good.

Wrecker’s face appeared above you with a lopsided smile. He extended a hand as he said, “Now, where’d you learn to do that?”

Groaning, you accepted his hand and he lifted you with ease. “It comes with having a sister,” you replied. The mention of your sister brought a bubble of anxiety to the surface and Lama Su’s warning pricked you.

“Ha! Just like us then.” With his hand still clasping yours, Wrecker steadied you by gently pressing his other hand against the small of your back.

Your face heated, though it was already flushed from training, and you quickly cleared your throat, stepping out of his grasp. Brushing off imaginary dust from your thighs, did your best to sound casua. “I’m curious,” you said, eager to switch topics, “how’s training that trooper Nala Se told me about?”

Just like mentioning your sister had done to you, bringing up the trainee cast a shadow over the troopers’ mood, which only heightened your anxiety.

“Don’t remind us.” Wrecker gruffed. “It’s bad enough we’re missing out on missions and we’re stuck with a reg.”

“Reg?” You repeated.

Echo sighed with exasperation. “Regular clone.” The way you muddled your face prompted the others to elaborate on their own differences. Though you knew Clone Force 99 was different, you hadn’t realized the full extent until now. You understood now why Echo was the least brutal in his training. With his origins as a regular clone, he sympathized.

Lama Su’s conversation with them finally made sense. He was stoking a fire meant to burn you out.

You laughed nervously, “Surely it can’t be that bad.”

Hunter rubbed the bridge of his nose, dreading the afternoon ahead. “Trust us, you’re showing more potential than this guy.”

They all launched into a conversation about the trainee's abysmal performance, not realizing the irony. Meanwhile, Tech stood back, focused on his datapad, occasionally looking up at the group- at you.

Walking away from the group, you tried to peek at his screen. “What are you looking at?”

Tech glanced up at you and quickly tucked the device away. “I was reading up on some political matters.” He adjusted his goggles and glanced at his brothers still chatting away. “Nothing you are not already appraised of.”

Mouthing an ‘oh’ you followed his gaze t back to the others. They looked so different now, discussing the reg amongst them, than they did just moments ago. “Why exactly are you here?” Tech questioned, you could feel his attention on you.

Not bothering to meet Tech’s stare, you answered without hesitation. “To make a difference the only way I can.”

From that point on, a cycle began. Every morning they trained you as the Senator and every afternoon you received a beating as Phi.

Knowing their distaste for Phi was completely unrelated to you may have eased your anxiety but it didn’t make your training any easier.

That came with your mornings with Clone Force 99 and, on occasion, an even meeting.

The first time you ran into them outside of training happened when you’d snuck off to comm your sister. After stealing a holocom from the medical facility, you wandered the corridors for a few nights to find the best place to reach her. You always worried about an unexpected visitor in your barrack room. Wrapped in a cloak, you huddled beside a viewport, lost in thought as you stared at the device in your hands.

It had been the longest stretch you’d gone without speaking to your sister. Nerves kept your fingers hovering over the controls, practicing how you'd greet her, when suddenly your vision went dark. Your hands dropped the holocom in surprise, but it never hit the ground.

“Look who we found!” Wrecker’s boisterous voice boomed, warm and close, as his large form pressed up behind you.

Letting out a startled breath, you gently pulled his hands away from your eyes. Standing before you were Hunter and Crosshair, both of whom looked amused.

Hunter practically sauntered forward as he offered you the holocom back. "Caught you," he teased, handing the holocom back to you with a sly grin. His eyes dipped as your fingers brushed against his, he shot a question with smirk at you. “What are you doing out here so late?”

You clutched the device a bit more securely and shrugged. "Just needed a quiet spot to contact my sister," you admitted.

Crosshair raised an eyebrow, plucking the toothpick from his mouth and pointing it at you. "And you chose the coldest corridor on Kamino for your heartfelt chat?" he was unconvinced.

You spun the device nervously in your hands. “I didn’t think anyone would be out at this time.”

The silver haired clone gave a low chuckle, twirling the toothpick between his fingers. "Well, don't let us interrupt your cozy little conversation.”

“We’re headed to the canteen for a bite to eat, you should come.” Wrecker suggested, resting his hands on your shoulder.

Hunter nodded in agreement. "You’re right about one thing - it’s quieter this time of night. Less regs to get in the way."

Wrecker grinned wide and leaned in closer, giving you a gentle shake as his presence nudged you forward. "Besides, it's warmer there!"

You certainly felt warmer, but not just from the prospect of a heated room. Glancing down at the holocom, you wondered if your sister was even awake. Unable to resist their invite, you stashed the device away and smiled. “Alright, why not? Lead the way.”

“Yes, ma’am.” Crosshair said in a way that made you roll your eyes. He could make anything sound sarcastic.

Joining them turned out to be a worthy trade. Crosshair and Hunter sat across from you and Wrecker. Wrecker made a habit of pushing into your space, offering bites of his favorite bits, while Crosshair and Hunter discussed your upcoming training sessions as Phi—a topic you found less than thrilling. Instead, you chose to bask in Wrecker’s warm attention.

Despite his high energy and monstrous strength, Wrecker proved to be the most gentle of the batch. Always the first to help you to your feet or catch you when you stumbled. His touch light, the calluses of his hands only ever brushing you. The skinship was a new experience for you, but one you wanted more of each time.

After your last bite of a chocolate morsel, Wrecker caught your chin between his thumb and forefinger. He rubbed a thumb over the corner of your mouth, dragging your lip down with the pressure of his touch.

“Got a little somethin’ there,” Wrecker chuckled, showing you the smear of chocolate on his thumb. “Guess I’m not the only messy eater ‘round here.” His smile crinkled his eyes as he dipped his thumb into his mouth to suck off the sweet remnant.

The casual intimacy of the gesture wasn’t lost on you, though it seemed to escape him. He turned back to his plate, completely missing the heat rising to your face. As a soft smile lilted your lips, you shut your eyes and leaned into Wrecker’s form. Surrounded by them, you felt a wave of contentment—you could happily spend all your free time like this

Wrecker perked up, his eyes wide and eyebrows raised as he felt your weight against him. He sat stock still for a moment, glancing between you and his brothers. Gradually, he relaxed into your touch and reached an arm around you.

“H-Hey,” he stammered slightly, patting a hand on your hip, “What’s all this?”

A foot knocked into yours from beneath the table. Peeking out from under an eyelid, you met Hunter’s lopsided smile and received another gentle tap. “Don’t be falling asleep on us. It wouldn’t be a good look for us to be carrying your limp body back.”

“Is the little princess tired?” Crosshair added lightly, a rare hint of playfulness in his tone.

Closing your eye once more, you hummed in agreement. Sitting alone with them in a mess hall, sharing a meal and laughing under the harsh lighting, you felt completely at peace.

Your mother had meant this all to be a punishment. She couldn’t have imagined that this place, these men, would heal a part of you you hadn’t realized was broken. They built you up and their training made you feel strong. They never admitted to it while you were in armor, but from their observations of the Senator you were improving.

Something you showcased one afternoon as Phi. During a drill with dummy droids, you found yourself blindsided by a metallic blow to your back. Another droid seized you by the neck and hurled you about twenty feet, leaving you crumpled on the ground as the simulation abruptly ended.

Still seeing stars, you heard the familiar cadence of Crosshair’s footsteps. “Get up.” Crosshair growled from above you.

Twisting onto your side, you struggled to catch your breath. Crosshair’s helmet angled to the side as he clicked his tongue, shoving his heal into your hip. “I said get up.” He punctuated his words with another kick. The sharp pain instantly boiled up weeks of frustration and pain.

Not a single thought registered with you as you snapped. As fast as a hydrosnake, you lashed out, looped an arm around his ankle and thrashed him back as you had before. This time your training took over.

You didn’t stop at holding him by his foot. No, you pulled his leg to the side, opening his hips, and pinned his thigh under your knee. Before he could grab at you, you pressed your torso across his, driving an elbow into the side of his helmet. Your hands clasped behind his bicep, effectively locking him in place.

Crosshair thrashed against you as his free hand hammered into the soft spot between your chest and shoulder plates. With every hit, you tightened your grip on him. His vile threats drowned out the sound of Wrecker’s stomping towards the two of you.

A large hand ripped you by the back of your neck, instantly detangling you from the sniper. “Not so tough now, are ya?” Wrecker taunted.

Dangling in the air, your legs kicked and fingers scratched at Wrecker’s fingers. The fingers that otherwise delicately touched you choked you in more ways than one. Crosshair shot up from the ground, ripping off his helmet to expose his seething expression.

“Wrecker!” Echo’s voice rang out from the sidelines, but his veiled command did little to deescalate the situation.

The sarcastic, teasing Crosshair who interacted with you as a senator was nowhere to be seen. Instead, he whipped a finger at you, a silent but unmistakable threat as he closed in on you.

It was Tech that quickly slid between you, effectively barring Crosshair from getting his hands on you. “Crosshair.” Tech’s tone was firm, if not altogether scolding. “You kicked them while they were incapacitated. Therefore, their actions were justified, while your reaction is not.”

Crosshair shook with rage, eyes burning into you past Tech's shoulder. The silent threat of his pointed finger became a promise.

“Wrecker, drop him.” Hunter ordered he yanked Wrecker’s arm down.

Wrecker begrudgingly released you, setting you down with a rough thud, but you quickly steadied yourself, brushing off the dust. Your breath was labored, but you didn’t falter under Crosshair’s glare. It didn’t matter who Crosshair thought you were at this point, he was just being cruel. It fully pissed you off more than anything up to that point. Tension hung in the air, and with each passing second, your urge to snap grew stronger.

Tech stepped aside and Hunter’s stern gaze moved between you and Crosshair. “Are we done?”

Crosshair let out a low growl before reluctantly shoving his helmet back on with a quick twist. You, on the other hand, weren’t done and needed to calm down fast.

“You’ll never be worth our time,” Crosshair said with venom. “You fight like a child.”

That simmering urge burst through. You lunged forward, craned your head back, and bashed the front of your helmet into his. The old wound on your nose flared, but watching Crosshair thrown back and stumbling dulled the pain to an ache.

He shook it off quickly enough and charged you again, narrowly missing as Echo intercepted him.

While you regained your balance, Tech fell in beside you, gently catching you by the forearm. You were too busy wheezing to notice the strangeness in Tech’s assisting you as Phi. While you watched Hunter and Echo work to calm Crosshair, Tech brought his head closer, whispering for only you to hear, “Do not antagonize him. You’ve already had one broken nose, let’s not aim for another.”

All of your burning rage cooled in an instant. You slowly looked at the technician, whose eyes watched you intensely from behind his helmet. Something in his gaze drowned out all other sounds around you. He looked at you differently from how the others ever had.

You had no idea how he knew, but the way he looked at you made it clear: Tech knew exactly who you were.

He leaned closer, his voice a low, amused murmur. "It was obvious." Your head jerked back as if to say ‘how was it obvious?’

Sensing your immediate tension, he added quickly, "To me, at least. The others don’t seem to have noticed." He glanced over his shoulder to ensure Crosshair remained restrained before looking back at you. "We'll manage Crosshair. You should head to the medical facility to have your nose examined."

“Tech-” You tried to whisper but Tech cut you off, spinning you towards the exit. You didn’t wait for him to tell you again.

You did manage to hear Tech quip, “For the record, Crosshair, that would be twice now they bested you.” You made sure you were out the door by the time Crosshair turned on his brother.

Tech was right to send you to get checked out. You’d avoided a broken nose, but the swelling did need attention. You were still in armor when you got back to your room. Dropping down onto a storage tote, you set your helmet between your feet. Elbows on your knees, you sat looking out over the swath of ocean beyond your windows.

The steady drum of rain against your window helped soothe your nerves, which had barely eased since you left the training grounds. You sat there for a while, combing through your time on Kamino, searching for any clue as to how Tech figured out who you were. With his keen mind, anything seemed possible, but you still wondered when you slipped up.

The sound of your barrack door opening snapped you out of concentration. You couldn’t reach for your helmet fast enough when someone said,“You need not bother with that”

You whipped around, twisting in your spot. Sans helmet and alone, Tech stood in your room. He’d already seen your face and touched your body, but this felt like you were meeting for the first time.

You slowly stood, picking at your fingertips. “Hi,” was all you managed to croak out as the door shut behind him.

It must've been an odd sight, you thought. The face of a senator on the body of a trooper. You snuck a glance at your reflection in the window. The sight was familiar to you now, but you remembered the juxtaposition taking time to get used to. You weren’t happy that the first time Tech was seeing you as you, your hair was stuck in a bird’s nest of a bun with crooked hairs jutting out at all angles

Tech said your name and something in your chest lurched at the sound. “If I am correct,” He said as moved his goggles up his nose. “-And I usually am, that is your real name. Is it not?” He remained standing just at the entrance of your room.

Your lips tucked into your mouth as you nodded slowly, still unsure about what to even say. “How did you know?”

Upon your admission Tech walked closer, free of the tension you carried. “Observation and deduction.” He explained, stepping around the tote separating you to take you in fully. Unlike when you portrayed Phi or the Senator, you had never noticed him observing you with such explicit curiosity.

Tech circled you, one hand cradling his elbow and the other holding his chin. “I was fairly certain Crosshair broke the trooper’s nose during the initial altercation. When we met in the medical facility, I noticed a distinct mark on your nose—an odd thing for a distinguished guest such as a Senator.” He moved around your right side, his finger gently pressing into your shoulder. “To confirm my suspicions, I applied pressure to a region I hypothesized would be tender if my assumptions were correct.”

"Your reaction confirmed it," Tech concluded, stepping back to give you space. "It was subtle, but it was enough for me to piece together the truth about your dual identities."

He took a seat on the tote facing the window and pulled out his datapad, tapping away as he continued. “Still, I didn’t have an explanation as to why a senator would be here like this. Until you mentioned your sister, which finally prompted me to do a bit of research.” Tech angled his datapad towards you, displaying a news article with a photo of your sister. “I must admit, the resemblance is uncanny. However, with her being accounted for on Coruscant, it would prove impossible for her to be on Kamino.”

He pressed a button and a photo of a stoic family appeared - your parents standing behind you and your sister. You only got a glance in before Tech pulled it back to his face. His eyes narrowed as he focused on the photo. “Besides, while the two of you do share similar features, you are far more… captivating.” Tech looked up at you, still standing beside him. “I could never confuse the two of you.”

Your breath hitched at ‘captivating.’ No one had ever remotely said that to you. It was always either you could pass for twins or your sister was the more fortunate child. Coming from Tech, such a logical and blunt man, it took your breath away. He saw no point in undue praise or flattery; to him, he was merely stating facts. It melted you.

You lowered yourself next to him, knees turned in his direction. “Why haven’t you told the others?”

Tech thought for a moment, his eyes shifting to the side as he considered your question “I do not know your reason for anonymity, but I respect your decision and will not jeopardize that. Your privacy is your own.” He nodded, pivoting to fully face you. “And I find I rather enjoy being the only one to know this about you.”

The tension in your shoulders ebbed, replaced by a fluttering that started in your chest and made breathing a manual task. You caught your reflection again, feeling frustrated that in such a moment you looked so disheveled. You balled your fists tightly enough that your fingernails dug into your palms, embarrassed that he offered such compliments to someone like you.

“Why are you making such a face?” Tech asked.

You watched yourself a second longer before offering him a sad smile. “I think I know now why you wear those goggles.”

Tech’s brows pulled together. “They alter the way light enters my eye to correct my eye’s refractive errors.” You sat back, blinking at the explanation, humor coming to your smile. Tech kept a serious face, not understanding the nuances you were attempting. “They help me see,” He clarified in a flat tone.

You yielded a small laugh, leaning over to tap his knee. “I know, I was trying to say you must need them if you think I’m the pretty sister.” As soon as the words left your mouth, you realized how mean they sounded. Not just insulting Tech’s taste, but fully airing the distaste you held for yourself. Your smile dropped and along with your eyes to the hand still on his knee.

A drop of panic hit your gut as you started pulling your hand away. “I’m sorry, I-”

Tech grabbed your wrist and you couldn’t react before he hushed you, “Get down.” He said, pulling you both down to the floor. He ducked his head, pushing yours down and pulling you flush against him in one motion. His hand cupped over your mouth just before you heard the door open. Two sets of footsteps echoed in. Whoever it was, they were too far away for you to get a clear image of them in the window’s reflection.

You craned your neck, trying to get a look but Tech held you fast.

“His armor isn’t here.” Crosshair’s sharp voice rung out. “The little snake isn’t home.”

Hunter answered with a sigh, “Cross, none of us like this but you need to ease up. The sooner we get him trained, the sooner we get rid of him.” The two of them made themselves at home, walking around on a light inspection of your space.

Tech kept you both completely still, staying so silent you weren’t sure he was even breathing. Which was impressive considering that between the intruders and being positioned between Tech’s legs you were having a hard time regulating your own sounds.

One set of footsteps quieted. “Would you look at that?” Crosshair snarled. “Looks like the reg has a little crush.” The sound of paper snapping told you he found the picture of your sister hanging from your mirror. The level of agitation in his voice made you worry for the next time Crosshair caught you in uniform.

“That might be why I-” Hunter stopped mid-sentence. You heard footsteps shuffle in place.

“What is it?” Crosshair pressed.

A moment passed before Hunter continued. “It’s nothing. We should go. You can play nice later.” Crosshair made a noise of frustration, and the two of them left the room.

As soon as the door shut behind them, Tech eased his grip on you. His arms hung beside you while you instinctively sagged against him in relief. You twisted around to ask, “What were they doing in here?”

“My guess would be that Hunter wanted Crosshair to make amends.” You could see a thought turning over in him. “And I would say Hunter either just realized the situation or is on the very cusp of doing so.”

“How did they-”

“We have always known which barrack was yours.” Tech answered before you could get the question out. He glanced away momentarily, considering his words carefully. “I advised them early on to leave well enough alone.”

The two of you held each other's gaze for a moment, and Tech's expression softened, becoming more reflective. “I did say I enjoyed being the only one to know your identity,” he murmured. “What I neglected to mention is that I took measures to keep it that way.” Gently, he lifted a knuckle to your cheekbone, brushing back a stray hair. The corner of his mouth ticked upwards.

“It doesn’t bother you - not really knowing me?” You asked.

As Tech began to help untangle the two of you from your hiding spot, he responded. “We may not have had traditional introductions, but I know all that I need to.” You pulled your legs beneath you, reaching out for Tech as he stood. He gripped your hand firmly and pulled you up.

With a slight grunt as he helped you to your feet, Tech continued, “You are resourceful and brave. These qualities are not just observed; they are proven through your actions and decisions here.” Tech’s voice carried a respect and a hint of admiration that felt more personal than his usual factual observations.

“And while I may not know every detail of your past or every layer of your personality yet, I understand your core—your competence, your strength, and your commitment to your goals. These are the attributes that define you, not just the name you carry or the role you play.”

Tech bent over and plucked your helmet from the floor. “Plus, as a clone, a name doesn’t hold a great deal of value for me.” He held the helmet in his hands, He rotated the helmet, examining it before gently handing it back to you. “Does that answer your question?”

Nodding in slight awe, you gently accepted the helmet and immediately dropped it, opting instead to quickly wrap your arms around his waist. “Thank you, Tech.”

Tech stiffened slightly, the rush of adrenaline visible as his posture tightened—a clear sign of his surprise at the physical closeness. This type of interaction was uncharted territory for him. In the window’s reflection, he watched the two of you. Your face was tucked into his chest, hidden from view, but he could feel the tremor of your breathing. Unsure of what else to do, Tech lightly touched your head. “O-of course.”

Tech had a myriad of questions for you about your past and your motivations.Holding you in that moment, he decided, was enough. The questions could wait for another day.

The next morning's training session was particularly challenging for you. It was hard to ignore Hunter's scrutinizing gaze. He watched you as if decoding every movement, his eyes sharp and probing. Tech's earlier observations were spot on—Hunter was definitely onto something.

For once, you found yourself eagerly awaiting the end of the session. As soon as it was over, you hustled away faster than usual, leaving Clone Force 99 to prepare yourself for that evening. You were going to tell them the whole truth.

After mentally rehearsing several scenarios multiple times, you donned your armor and headed for the training facilities. However, as you stepped out of your room, you nearly collided with Nala Se.

She didn’t flinch, embodying the typical Kaminoan stillness. Towering above you, she blinked slowly, her gaze piercing. “Before you go, I must see to your injuries,” Nala Se stated matter-of-factly. Without waiting for your response—accustomed to your practiced silence—she turned and headed towards the medical wing.

You followed quietly, your mind racing as you pondered which injuries she referred to. Certainly, your nose and the rest of your face still ached from the previous day's exertions, and your torso was a tapestry of bruises, but these were all injuries that had been treated before. Moreover, Nala Se had scarcely crossed your path in recent weeks. Initially, she had helped you avoid detection, but she had not intervened since.

Her sudden appearance was less than comforting.

In the quiet of the medical facility, oddly void of the typical droids, Nala Se motioned to a bed. “Have a seat and remove your helmet.”

You were so preoccupied with thoughts of how your tardiness for training might disrupt your planned conversations that you barely registered her instructions. Nala Se said your name, snapping you back to the present.

Removing your helmet, you looked across the bed at her and realized her gaze was focused past you. It hadn’t been her calling your name.

Outside, Hunter, Wrecker, Tech, Echo, and Crosshair were on their way to the training facilities, helmets under their arms, when they noticed the Senator entering one of the medical rooms. Today, you weren’t cloaked in your typical attire but wore a robe of deep purple with gold threading, which seemed oddly formal.

Crosshair snorted, “Looks like we need to ease up on our little princess.”

Tech, who had been absorbed in his datapad, looked up. “To what are you referring?”

“I told you she was actin’ weird.” Wrecker said, more concerned than accusatory, ignoring Tech’s question. “Should we do somethin’?”

Echo, looking to clarify for Tech, gestured with his prosthetic arm. “We just saw the Senator enter the medical facility. And yes, we should check on her before heading to training.”

Tech paused, processing the information. He knew you well enough to be aware of your usual post-training soreness and kept an eye on the medical records associated with your after-training exams. You hadn’t sustained injuries severe enough recently to necessitate a deviation from your normal routine. He buzzed with suspicions and worried over the implications of your unexpected visit to the medical facility at such an unusual time.

“Let’s get this over with.” Hunter said, moving forward with all but Tech who stood in place a second longer. If his suspicions were correct, this was not going to go well.

Back inside, you were faced with your reflection. Blinking back confusion, your mind struggled to process what you were seeing. Stepping towards you, adorned in the traditional regalia of your homeworld, was your sister, looking every bit the senator she was meant to be, her hair elegantly braided back with strands of gold and pearls woven through. The purples and golds of her dress made her appear radiant and regal—so much like your mother, and so unlike you in your scuffed armor and haphazardly tied hair.

Nala Se wordlessly removed herself from the room, making the entire setup evident.

“Sister?” Your voice barely whispered as you took a hesitant step forward, half-fearing that any sudden movement might cause her to vanish like a mirage.

Her eyes widened, her pace slowing, as she scanned your face. Her face, so alike and unlike yours, crumpled with emotion, her lip trembling. Then, with a burst of energy, she ran towards you, hands reaching out from the folds of her cloak. You caught her in a tight embrace as she collided into you, her presence grounding the surreal moment.

She didn’t speak at first, only managing to choke back muffled sobs against your shoulder. You rested your head against hers, holding her close, and savored the familiar scent of her perfume—a reminder of days long past. “I’ve missed you,” you murmured, your voice not choked with sadness but steady and comforting. You had always been the pillar for her to lean on; this time was no different.

Your sister pulled back, rubbing tears away with the heel of her hand. She managed a shaky smile, laughing through another small sob. "I’ve been so worried. I’m sorry I didn’t come sooner."

You shook your head with a smile, gently gripping her shoulders. "You have more important things to do. Like, I don’t know, running the galaxy," you joked. Pulling her into another hug, you held her close for a moment before stepping back to reassess her. "Though… what are you doing here?"

Your sister took your hand, her grip soft against your calloused skin, and squeezed it tightly. "I’ve come to take you home. Mother—"

"Mother?" you interrupted, your tone sharpening as you pulled your hand away.

“We need you-”

“We?” You repeated louder. The joy of your sister’s visit dimmed the instant you remembered why you were standing together in a Kaminoan facility in the first place. “If this is for her, you shouldn’t be here.”

Your sister pressed a hand to her chest, perturbed by your tone. You’d never spoken to her like that. “You don’t even know what I was going to say.”

Swallowing the instinct to give in to her, you reached for your helmet. “I don’t need to. You know why I’m here and I intend to see it through. You should leave-”

The sounds of the doors whirring open cut you off as you snapped your helmet on in a hurry.

Suddenly confused, your sister opened her mouth to say something, but instead you heard a familiar voice and the strength you’d maintained was replaced by panic.

The sudden arrival of Crosshair and the rest of Clone Force 99 sliced through the tense atmosphere like a vibroblade. “How touching,” Crosshair drawled, his voice dripping with sarcasm as he rounded the privacy divider at the room's entrance. “What is our little princess doing alone with a reg? I didn’t realize you had a pet.” His cold gaze landed on you, igniting a tremor in your hands.

Your sister’s expression twisted in a stomach churning and familiar way. She scoffed and turned, “Little princess?” She spat the words out, her disdain palpable. You felt like you might gag yourself.

Your attention snapped to Tech who was just as stunned as you’d been moments before. Apparently he’d not predicted this. Hunter kept a straight face, eyebrows a little furrowed. If he had any suspicions about your dual identity, this chaotic reveal was likely skewing his thoughts. Echo, ever the sentinel, stood slightly taller, his posture tightening as if preparing for conflict. Wrecker towered behind the group, watching on with a rare sense of seriousness.

Crosshair, shifting his weight casually and placing a toothpick between his lips, continued to provoke. “What? Don’t want him knowing about our little fun together?” His wording would’ve made you laugh had the situation been different. He stirring up a misunderstanding for his own amusement.

Your sister didn’t bite. She cocked an eyebrow, giving the sniper a challenging stare before turning her attention back to you. “Are these the clones that have been training you?” Her tone was sharp, and her expression mirrored the stern demeanor of your mother.

Caught between weeks of training to maintain silence in your armor and the escalating tension, you found yourself paralyzed, struggling to formulate a response. It seemed all you could do was breathe through the growing panic.

“You two know each other?” Wrecker piped up.

Your sister, her confusion morphing into frustration, glanced quickly back at the group. “Answer me,” she demanded, her voice heavy with authority that did nothing to ease the stiffness of your tongue.

“You little shit,” Crosshair fumed, stepping towards you but immediately restrained by Hunter’s firm grip. Despite being held back, he snapped, “Show respect and answer her.”

Receiving his anger as an unnamed clone never felt as painful as the anger directed to you now.

Whirling on them, your sister jabbed a finger at him. “Who do you think you’re talking to, clone?” The disrespect in the way she said ‘clone’ gutted you and visibly startled Wrecker and Crosshair.

“Me?” Crosshair retorted, pointing a finger back at her. “Why are you defending him?”

“Him?” Her voice rose almost to a shrill. You reached out, trying to pull her back from the brink of the confrontation, only to have your hand sharply slapped away. She spun around to face you. “Take that ridiculous thing off!” She reached for your helmet, and this time, you reflexively slapped her hand away.

Crosshair, seething with anger, wrenched free from Hunter's grasp and charged toward you. Tech's shouts echoed behind him, but Crosshair was undeterred. He brushed past your sister with a dismissive flick, gripped the rim of your helmet with one hand, and shoved you backward with the other. Just as you tumbled to the floor, your sister retaliated, pushing him away forcefully. From your position on the ground, you didn't see it, but the sharp slap she delivered resounded through the room.

With his cheek stinging from the slap, Crosshair held his ground, his grip white-knuckled on your helmet as he turned a furious gaze on the woman standing defiantly before him. The intensity in her eyes was something entirely new to him. They locked eyes, each poised for further confrontation, when a realization dawned on Crosshair.

He’d never seen you look quite like this. In fact, you seemed like a completely different person. Dropping the toothpick from his lips, confusion replaced the anger on his face as he scrutinized the subtle differences in the face before him—slight variations in aging lines and hair length. There was more than that, Crosshair realized as he picked out the innumerable differences.

“Crosshair…” Echo said hesitantly. Still sat on the floor, you were on full display for Echo.

Wrecker’s face fell as he glanced around Crosshair at you.

Steadying a shaky breath, you gathered what composure you could and pushed yourself up off the floor. "Calm down," you whispered, touching your sister’s shoulder as you rose beside her.

Standing there, you couldn't bring yourself to look directly at Crosshair, afraid of the disgust you might see mirrored on his face. You missed the horror breaking across him. Instead, you kept your gaze fixed on your sister, silently pleading, "Sister, please."

Snapping her hand out, your sister harshly gripped your face and forced it towards the men. “You're the ones who did this to her?” She was likely referencing the scar marking your nose or the other tiny, healed wounds your helmet had dealt you over time.

Heat scorched your face as you were forcibly put on display. You reluctantly met the eyes of Clone Force 99. Crosshair’s face was pale, his brows furrowed deeply and his mouth slightly ajar in a mix of horror and disbelief. Echo and Wrecker were in similar shades of shock. Hunter, on the other hand, looked almost regretful.

Gently removing your sister’s tight grip, you attempted to soothe her. “They didn’t know. Mother-”

“Do not blame Mother for your stupid decisions!” She screamed, gesturing a hand at you.

“Stupid decisions?” You challenged, feeling insulted. “My decisions have been for you. So I can keep you safe.”

“I didn’t tell you to do something so childish and I didn’t tell you to go and ruin your face.” You inhaled sharply at her words. She knew how to slap with more than just her hand.

Ignoring the clones, she straightened herself, her demeanor cooling into a composed facade that echoed your mother's authority. “Enough.” she stated firmly, making you straighten your posture subconsciously. “You are to come home and act as my body double at an upcoming gathering. The clones who trained you are to act as your security.” Pulling her hood up to shroud her face, you saw a glimpse of your gentle sister once more. “We will discuss your future afterwards.”

With that, she was gone.

Left alone with the squadron, you looked to the ceiling as opposed to facing them immediately.

Tech approached, saying your name. The others whipped their heads to him, the familiarity in his tone throwing them off. “Are you alright?” He asked gently.

“You knew about this?” Echo accused, turning on Tech.

“Of course I did.” Tech said quickly and dismissively.

Crosshair's hands clenched into fists repeatedly, his anger barely contained. "Was this all a game to you?" he growled, his gaze intense and accusing as he finally turned to you.

You were to weary to be angry at him. How he could ever think being pummeled everyday for weeks was anything close to a game was beyond you.

Meeting his fierce stare you offered a weak smile. It lasted only a second before it fell with your eyes. “No, never. I was sent here for training… I didn’t mean to deceive you.” Your mouth pressed into a tight line. “I’m sorry you were dragged into this.”

The room fell silent. Wrecker, who had been silent until now, finally spoke, his voice a mix of confusion and concern. "So, all this time, you were…”

“Yes,” You finished for him. “But I didn’t mean for it to happen like this. I’ve been taking all the training seriously.”

“It shows.” Echo said softly.

Hunter stepped forward. “Alright, we can sort this all out later.” He gave you a firm nod. “As a team. But right now, we have a mission.” He extended you a hand and a smirk, an offering. “The rest… you can explain on the way.”

Your chest caved at the sight. Taking his hand you choked out, “Gladly.”

Tech adjusted his goggles with a smile. “Then that settles it.” Brandishing his datapad, he started scrolling through the screen. “And I have compiled a list of questions that will clarify this entire ordeal.”

Hunter walked beside you, placing an encouraging hand on your back. “Let’s get going.”

Echo and Wrecker still looked conflicted, but nodded in agreement with Hunter's decision, and even Crosshair, though still visibly upset, did not contest.

Tech gave one final note. “All things considered, that went far better than even I could have predicted.”

@bruh-myguy-what i hope you like <3

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zenlesszonezero · 10 days ago

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#Zenless Zone Zero #Miyabi #Harumasa #HoYoverse #zzzero #zenlesszonezero #Mobile Game #Anime Game #Gaming

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decembermidnight · 9 months ago

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Don't lose your focus

Summary: As a Jedi Padawan fighting during the Clone Wars, you and your Master are used to teaming up with Clones. But none are as intriguing as Clone Force 99 and their leader, Sergeant Hunter. Sparks fly immediately and it's difficult to keep your focus. With the mission complete, perhaps the two of you will finally give in and indulge in your desires...

Pairing: Hunter x Jedi!fem!reader

Word count: 5.7k

Warnings: smut, 18+ MDNI, Dom!Hunter, use of pet names (sweetheart), shameless flirting, mentions of alcohol consumption, masculinity kink, voice kink, light choking, hand kink, body worship, oral (f receiving), unprotected sex, orgasm delay, creampie

A/N: This is the result of me watching The Bad Batch while ovulating. This is (probably) not how the Force works but your honour I was horny. Thank you to my dear @thefrogdalorian for the immense help and support! I love you so much! Amazing divider by @saradika-graphics At the end of the fic you'll find the links to some amazing Hunter fanarts I found here on Tumblr! These were such an inspiration when writing and I wanted to thank and credit the artists for creating such amazing pieces!

Masterlist - Read on Ao3 - Read Part 2 here!

Another day, another dangerous mission in the Outer Rim.

Nothing new for you and your Master who are used to leading these missions successfully. The only difference is that this time you'll be assisted by Experimental Unit Clone Force 99. It’s the first time you even heard about them, but your superiors assured you they’re best suited for this job. A highly-skilled squad of defective clones with desirable mutations? Sounds interesting.

Apparently, The Bad Batch, as they call themselves, despise rules and protocol and adopt unusual methods to get the job done… Much like you and your Master.

Their ship has just made a bumpy landing on the field, causing a fuss. You watch curiously as the squad descends the ramp. There are four of them, and they undoubtedly look badass in their black armour.

The first one – their leader, you assume – removes his helmet and... damn. Damn. He's hot, with a confident look in his deep brown eyes. He also has long, wavy, dark hair; a feature which has always been a weakness of yours. His face is half covered in a tattoo that resembles a skeleton. He's undoubtedly the most charming of the Batch, and also the most attractive clone you’ve ever come across.

“I’m Sergeant Hunter,” he rasps as he greets you and your Master. His voice is deep and husky, very different from those of all the other clones you’ve met so far.

After introducing himself, Hunter moves to quickly describe the peculiarities that make each of the members of the team unique. As you stand back to observe them, you can’t help thinking just how much fun they are. Wrecker (the strong one) is getting reluctantly lectured by Tech (the smart one) while Crosshair (the laconic and lethal sniper) stands there in silence. He reminds you of your Master so much.

As much as you enjoy observing the rest of the squad, you find your gaze returns to Hunter, the clone with enhanced senses. You are unable to tear your eyes away from him. You know you have to keep it together, but you can’t help eating him with your eyes. Your gaze lingers on his body, on the way his pauldrons make his shoulders even broader, how much the black colour of his armour suits him.

You have just begun fantasising about the way his strong body would look without the armour when you notice Hunter staring directly at you. Busted. You lock eyes for a few seconds and you just know that he understands the nature of the thoughts you’re having about him. Then, your pounding heart skips a beat when Hunter winks at you. It is a split-second gesture that is over so quickly amidst the chaos of the conversation, a little secret between the two of you. You smile flirtatiously at him in response.

The whole group begins heading towards their ship, The Marauder. While the rest of the Batch and your Master head up the ramp towards the ship that will take you to the rendezvous point, you and Hunter pause at the bottom.

“I’m afraid I haven’t caught your name, sweetheart?” Hunter asks, breaking the silence with his deep, raspy voice.

"I am a Jedi, not a sweetheart," you point out teasingly and look at him with crossed arms, trying to sound tough.

"A Padawan," he reminds you with a smirk on his face.

You watch curiously as Hunter takes your braid – the unmistakable sign of your rank as an apprentice – between his fingers. He gently rolls it between his gloved finger and thumb contemplatively as his brown eyes meet your gaze once again.

"I technically outrank you, Sergeant," you say, challenging him.

"You do, Commander," Hunter nods, but makes no effort to move his hand away from your braid, or to interrupt eye contact.

Hunter can tell that you don’t mind the gesture. As if to push the boundaries further, he moves his hand from your braid to gently place it on your cheek. The leather of his glove feels soft against your face. You are stunned that a seasoned soldier such as him can actually be so gentle in the way he touches you.

You can feel the tension coming from the two of you, a simmering fire somewhere deep within. It's only a matter of time before it boils over. You look at each other straight in the eyes, neither one of you daring to look away.

Just as you're about to tease him with yet another witty reply, you hear the sound of footsteps at the top of the ramp.

"Hey, Hunter, are you gonna come with us or what?!" Wrecker shouts, abruptly interrupting your shameless flirting.

"On my way," Hunter replies, without breaking eye contact with you.

His intense gaze lingers on you for a few more seconds before he looks at you apologetically and turns to head up to the ramp and onto the Marauder.

As soon as Hunter turns away from you, you realise just how hard your heart is thundering in your chest. His gaze was so intense that it made you forget to breathe properly. So much for the Jedi breathing techniques. It turns out if there is a handsome man with dark eyes flirting with you, they lose all effectiveness. You take a deep breath, filling your burning lungs with oxygen.

When you enter the ship, you are still trembling. As you take a seat next to your Master, you try to ignore his accusatory glare. You feel his eyes burning into your soul as the guilt threatens to overwhelm you, even though nothing too scandalous happened.

As the Marauder enters hyperspace, your Master takes a seat on the cold metallic floor in an isolated area of the ship. Meditating before battle is a ritual he always follows and you immediately join him. It can help you shift your focus back to where it should be – on the mission. Only, you can't focus.

Instead of your mind becoming one with the Force, you're highly attuned to the actions of the members of the squad. It is as though you can see them as if you were standing before them: Tech studying the holo-maps, Crosshair cleaning his sniper rifle, Wrecker taking a nap, and of course, Hunter. He is mindlessly playing with his vibroknife as he slouches on a crate.

You are entranced by the way his fingers move across the handle and the blade. Maker, the movement of his hand and fingers – you can't focus on anything else as he makes the knife masterfully swirl between them. There's something so erotic about the way he plays with it. Your mind wanders to think about his hands roaming on your body, slipping between your thighs, skillfully rubbing your clit. You fantasise about how quickly Hunter would make you come, how hard your orgasm would be as it tore through you, leaving you a trembling wreck.

Your focus then goes to his muscular thighs. Hunter’s legs are spread wide and he looks so effortlessly masculine. The aura of confidence he radiates as he comfortably sits there, taking up the entire crate as he lounges on top of it, gives you even more thoughts that are unbecoming of a Padawan. It makes you almost dizzy with want as you think about how much you want to straddle him and ride him into ecstasy.

“Are you done?” your Master’s cold voice interrupts your filthy train of thought with a brief and concise message through the Force.

He heard your thoughts. Each and every single one. Your Master caught you red-handed. How embarrassing.

You are too mortified to even mumble an apology, through the Force or otherwise. Instead, you sit there wishing you could be anywhere else in the galaxy as you feel the heat rise in your cheeks and pull your hood up to hide your flustered face in your cape.

Luckily, before the awkward moment can continue for any longer, Tech announces the imminent jump out of hyperspace. You still cannot bear to make eye contact with your Master, shrinking into your blessedly baggy cape as you begin the descent into the planet’s atmosphere...

The mission was a success – you and your Master worked your magic with the precious support of Clone Force 99. What seemed like a desperate operation, turned out to be an extremely important victory for the Republic. Training with your Master has been so hard, but damn did that pay off. You slayed all your enemies elegantly and effortlessly, just like he taught you. The whole Bad Batch congratulated you two. Wrecker was especially impressed, electing the two of you as his favourite Jedi. What an honour. Hunter also invited you and your Master to celebrate the victory by having a drink all together in a cantina.

Just as you’re about to enter the cantina and join the Bad Batch, your Master calls your name. You stop in your tracks, scared that he might reprimand you for the way you acted today. You begin panicking and thinking back to what happened in guilt…

When you and your Master had taken off your heavy capes before engaging in battle, you noticed Hunter couldn't keep his eyes off you. You were wearing a skin-tight dark suit, after all.

It was a fact you decided to exploit after Hunter had given his squad their orders for the mission. You walked away swaying your hips, making sure you gave him a great opportunity to look at your ass. You remember how you could feel his eyes glued to it. You could also feel his desire for you. It was impossible for him to hide; it permeated him, radiated from him. Maker, you love making him crumble.

You think back to the way Crosshair rasped, "Hunter, don't lose your focus.” You are certain that is what your Master is about to scold you for.

Instead, you watch in shock as a half smile appears on your Master’s face, something you don't see very often.

“You did good today. I’m proud of you,” he nods.

Since when does your Master pay you compliments like this?

“Th-Thank you,” you stammer, caught off-guard by how unexpected his praise is.

“You fulfilled your duties as a Jedi. Now, go and have your fun.”

You don’t have time to respond before he turns on his heel and walks away, cape billowing in the breeze. You know your Master doesn’t often like to stick around after missions, often needing some quiet time to himself to decompress and meditate. You let him go, knowing that he will find his way back to the Marauder before it departs, as he always does.

As you step into the Cantina, a smile spreads on your face when you notice the Bad Batch sitting at a table with a full flagon of booze and an empty seat for you to toast your success. You and Hunter lock eyes again as he invites you to sit in that spot close to him.

Hunter loses no time in placing his arm around your shoulders while smiling at you. You lean into his embrace, feeling comforted and protected. The warm presence of his arm around you makes you smile contentedly. It feels so good to let the guard down for once, especially if you're in the arms of a handsome, strong and charming man such as Hunter.

As the night goes on, the three other members of The Bad Batch keep conversing with each other, giving you and Hunter the opportunity to speak privately. It’s as though the background noise fades out. You don't even bother focusing on the discourse the others are having. It’s just you and Hunter flirting shamelessly now.

“You know, I've never seen a ship like yours. I wish I had time to properly explore it... Thoroughly," you flirt with him while draining the last few dregs in your flagon.

"Want me to give you a tour, sweetheart?" he says with a smile on his face, perfectly understanding your intentions.

"Would be cool, yeah," you reply.

Hunter offers you his hand and you gladly accept it with a mischievous smile.

Just as you stand, you feel the alcohol has definitely kicked in. You’re not drunk though, just a little bit tipsy, enough to make you brave and go get exactly what you want.

As soon as you and Hunter get out of the cantina and find yourselves alone in the dark alley, you both give into the instincts you tried to suppress all day long. Hunter pins you to the wall as you pull him closer at the same time, until you join in a passionate, longing kiss.

You welcome his tongue in your mouth as his hands wrap around your waist, pulling you closer to him. His touch and the way he kisses you are so confident that you clench around nothing, holding him tighter as you moan in his mouth. Maker, you want him. His whole body jolts when he feels that, pinning you harder against the wall, mentally cursing the armour that is preventing him from feeling the softness of your body against his.

He stops kissing you just so he can look at how stunning you are under the moonlight, hot and flustered after that first, heavy session of making out.

"Look at you. So beautiful," he whispers as he cups your face with his hand, the other one still lingering around your waist. Hunter is treating you like the most precious thing in the galaxy now that he can finally have you all for himself. You lean into his gentle touch as he takes in all the features of your face, especially the way your eyes glimmer with admiration and arousal for him.

You look at his deep, dark and expressive brown eyes and the strong, masculine features of his face that make you throb with need. Your hand caresses his cheek, following the lines of his skeleton tattoo and the contour of his chiseled jaw. He observes you as a sweet smile appears on your face, making you look irresistible and drawing his lips closer to yours once again…

"Hey! Where's Hunter?!" you hear Wrecker shout from inside of the tavern, just as your lips are mere inches apart.

You and Hunter both laugh as you resume the kissing. It's like the whole galaxy stops existing. For a soldier who has seen nothing but war, his kisses are to die for. Your tongues twirl in each other's mouths and it's like his greedy lips can't ever get enough of yours. His mouth is hot like a damn furnace as he takes all the time in the galaxy to worship you with his lips, letting his hands wander throughout your body. You're getting soaked already, feeling your arousal slowly dripping down your legs as a throbbing need pulsates between your thighs. You moan in his mouth as you dig your fingers in his hair, pulling him closer. The kiss is getting deeper and more passionate as you go on.

Hunter's lips start to trail down to your neck, making you sigh deeply as he covers it in kisses. Your scent drives him wild. He can smell your pheromones, feeling you're unmistakably full of desire. He can't resist and just gives a swift lick from the base of your neck to your ear that makes you sharply stifle a gasp, arching your back and tightening your grip on his hair.

"Let's go to the Marauder, shall we?" he rasps in your ear, a voice full of lust that gives you goosebumps.

"Y-yes…" you stutter, feeling light-headed with arousal and being incapable of hiding it.

He offers you his hand as you enter the ship. The two of you cut a clumsy path through the Marauder towards Hunter’s bunk, frequently taking breaks where Hunter desperately pushes you against the cool steel walls of the ship, your arms clinging tight to his shoulders and his face buried in your neck.

"Maker... Take off your armour," you plead as his teeth dig into your delicate skin like a feral beast would do with his prey.

He does, letting each piece fall to the ground as you go on kissing each other, leaving a trail of armour pieces on the floor as you slowly make your way towards his bunk. He looks stunning with just his tight black suit on. You take in the broadness of his shoulders, the way his pectorals stand out, highlighted by the tightness of the suit and grope the strong muscles of his biceps. Oh, fuck. How much do you love a man. Tall, muscular, strong, confident, with dark eyes and a head full of long, wavy hair. A Man.

You moan in his mouth when you feel his thick biceps flexing under your touch. A smile forms on his lips as he feels how much you like this. As his arms wrap around your body, yours go in his hair. Maker, how safe do you feel in his arms. It's such an innate instinct – wanting to be held in the arms of a strong man, surrendering and trusting him, something that usually you would never be permitted to do in your life as a Jedi.

You can feel his erection against your lower belly, straining against his extremely thin black suit. His fingers hook in the hem of your pants, yanking them down over your ass, exposing your drenched cunt as he sits you down in his bunk.

He kneels before you, taking your boots and pants off and spreads your legs, his dark eyes looking into yours as a smirk appears on his face.

"Hunter–" you sigh.

"Wanna get you nice and ready for me, sweetheart," he coos as he starts to kiss your inner thigh.

The vision makes you tremble with lust and your hands helplessly clench into fists in a desperate attempt to grab the material under you to keep you steady. Your legs shake but he keeps them steady in his strong arms. He goes on trailing kisses on your inner thighs without ever stopping looking at you. He's taking his time with it, wanting to enjoy the way your whole body is throbbing with need. Your breathing gets more and more shallow as his mouth gets closer to where you want him the most.

You lift your gaze from Hunter’s dark brown eyes, shutting your eyes for a mere fraction of a second, trying to alleviate the aching need you feel. Hunter chooses that moment to finally give you what you need. With a quick lick to your clit, your whole body jerks into his touch and a whimper escapes from your lips.

Hunter smirks up at you, the corner of his mouth lifting upwards in a smug, satisfied look. Then, he proceeds to bury his face between your legs and masterfully lick your swollen clit. His tongue brings you so much pleasure that your back arches involuntarily, pushing yourself further into his mouth. You moan his name and grab a handful of his long, thick hair. He purrs in your cunt when you entangle your fingers in his hair and you notice how his grip on your legs becomes tighter.

"Oh... Oh fuck!" you exclaim in ecstasy, barely able to form words.

One of his hands releases its grasp on your legs, which he has been using to keep you spread open for him. You throw your head back gasping as he slowly slides two of his thick fingers inside you.

"So tight," he growls with a smirk on his face.

Hunter pumps his fingers inside of you, slowly increasing the rhythm, ensuring that you’re stretched out for him. It is a motion that brings you so much pleasure you wonder how it could possibly get better. Your whole body jerks in pure bliss under his touch. He enjoys looking at you like this, you can see it from how darkened his eyes are with lust.

For a brief second, his fingers and mouth leave your cunt, leaving you devastatingly empty. You watch in awe as Hunter sticks them in his mouth, without breaking eye contact with you. He sucks on his fingers, humming while closing his eyes to savor your taste from places where his tongue can’t reach.

"You taste so good, sweetheart," he rasps as he resumes fucking you with his fingers.

He watches you contort under him, moaning and begging for him to return his skillful mouth between your thighs. Your hips thrust up and down right in front of his face. You are shamelessly fucking yourself on his fingers, inviting him to bury his face back in your folds. You desperately bury your hands in his hair in an attempt to pull him closer.

"Damn, you're so beautiful like this," he says before his mouth goes back exactly where you wanted.

Then, Hunter does something absolutely devastating. While he continues licking your clit, he starts sucking it gently, all as he continues pumping his thick fingers inside of you. Hunter wants to draw an orgasm from you, his actions becoming more and more frantic as you grow closer to your climax. He can feel by the irregular way you breathe and shake that you're close.

"Yes. Yes. Like this. Let go, sweetheart," he encourages you.

It's only a matter of seconds before you come, writhing under him. Your legs are wrapped around his head, squishing it. You scream his name so loud it echoes in the Marauder. Hunter is pleased as he looks at your blissed-out expression and feels your cunt clamping around his fingers. Your back arches as you ride your orgasm, pushing yourself further into his tongue so you can feel him licking you through your orgasm. Hunter purrs into your cunt, loving the way you let go around him. He loves how his face is getting soaked in your arousal, so addicted to the way you taste.

Hunter holds you steady as your orgasm fades out. When you regain your senses, you slowly release your grip on his hair. Only then he props himself up and slowly unzips his suit, showing you the beautiful golden skin underneath. A warm contrast under the black, tight layer.

The dark hairs on his chest are perfectly trimmed, accentuating each of his toned muscles and the tattoos which decorate his thick, masculine body. Your gaze is locked on his hand trailing down his abdomen, his muscles rippling as he approaches the hem of his pants.

You shamelessly look at the bulge in his dark suit, a sight that makes your mouth water. Hunter’s lips curve into a smirk once again, noticing that you like what you see. The smug look on his face makes you throb with need once again, despite the fact that he just gave you an intense orgasm.

He hooks his thumb in the hem of his pants, watching intently for your reaction as he slowly pulls the material down to reveal the trimmed, dark hairs around the base of his thick cock.

Hunter notices the intense way you look at it and hears the whimper you just tried to suppress in your throat. He can feel your heart rate going up. It makes him smirk confidently as he goes on, finally freeing his hard, thick cock. You gulp while looking at it, as he uses the same fingers he had buried in you to cover it in your arousal. He gives it a few, firm strokes to ensure it’s nice and wet for you. The mere vision of it makes you bite your lip to muffle another impatient whimper.

Then he is on you, peeling your shirt away from your quivering body, rejoicing when he can finally touch it and worship it with his mouth. Hunter trails kisses across your collarbones and down towards your breasts. He swirls his tongue around the sensitive flesh there, before softly biting your nipples. You gasp when you feel his erection hard against your cunt. He starts to thrust his hips against yours so his cock can rub against your drenched core, getting it soaked in your juices. Your mind turns completely blank at that, heart thundering in your chest as his hands roam across your body.

Hunter aligns himself to your entrance, groaning as his cock slowly makes its way inside of you. You admire his restraint. You know how much he probably wants to take you with one thrust, but instead he is being so gentle and careful with you, making sure that you are well-adjusted to his size.

He takes your jaw in his hand, looking deep inside your eyes as his thick cock stretches you open. You struggle to keep eye contact with him, unlike earlier when you were flirting with him. Now, your eyes only want to roll backwards. The pleasure you feel as he splits you open is overwhelming your body and senses.

You pathetically try to mumble some incoherencies, but he's quick to shut you up with a kiss. Hunter growls low in his throat when he feels your walls desperately clenching around him, as he buries himself into you to the hilt.

"Fuck, sweetheart, you feel so good," he rasps, almost desperately before giving you another wet kiss. Then, he raises his hips only to bury his cock deep inside you, making you moan into his mouth.

"How – how can you feel so fucking good?" he whimpers.

Hunter’s large hands gently cup your face, as he continues placing passionate kisses against your lips while thrusting into you. You notice his kisses become more desperate as he slowly increases the rhythm. As Hunter picks up the pace, he buries his face in your neck, panting low in your ear.

You are certain that he can’t go any faster, before he proves you wrong. He increases the pace to a brutal rhythm, fucking you so hard you start screaming.

"So loud,” he rasps, “They're gonna hear us in the Cantina."

"Then make me shut up," you whisper daringly.

A blaze of lust glimmers in his eyes as you lay down that challenge. Something shifts inside of him as he gives you a feral, animalistic look. Hunter quickly covers your mouth with his hand, showing you his more dominant, commanding side which makes you clamp tightly around his cock.

"Oh, you like this," he smirks, satisfied that this is precisely what you wanted all along.

You nod frantically. There is no use hiding how much this turns you on. Despite how much Hunter shows care towards you, you suspect there is something darker which lingers below the surface. You want to draw it out of him.

"What else do you like, hm?" he coos as he wraps his other hand around your throat, lightly choking you, his thumb rubbing your throat possessively.

The sight of you, looking so vulnerable under him as he can finally dominate you makes him frantic with lust. Gone are the measured thrusts and even rhythm of before. Something feral has overtaken Hunter, a desperate need to claim you. He continues silencing your moans with one hand around your throat and one across your mouth, muffling your gasps as he wrecks you with his cock.

Having Hunter's hand muffling your own moans gives you the opportunity to hear his desperate grunts and pants as they mix with the obscene, squelching sound his cock makes each time he thrusts into you. You close your eyes in bliss, enjoying this moment of pure pleasure.

"Can't keep your eyes open for me, sweetheart? Look at me with those pretty fucking eyes," he growls.

You can't help but whimper at that, at how authoritative he sounds. The Sergeant of The Bad Batch is dominating the fuck out of you. You are a moaning, gasping mess beneath him, unable to think about anything other than how good being furiously pounded by him feels.

"I didn't catch that,” Hunter rasps as he slowly lifts his hand from your mouth. He leans down to put his ear against your mouth “What were you saying, sweetheart?"

"L-let me – fuck!” you gasp, too blissed out to form words.

“Use your words,” Hunter commands, slowing his thrusts down so you can finally speak.

“Let me touch you!" you beg, unable to care about how desperate and pathetic you sound. All you can think about is roaming your hands around the warm, firm expanse of his body.

Hunter smirks, intrigued by your request, only too happy to oblige you. He grabs your hand roughly by the wrist and positions it over his abdomen. You can feel his muscles flexing and contracting under your touch as he thrusts into you. His body is as hard as iron and on fire like a damn furnace, burning with lust.

"Maker…" you whisper.

You let your hand trail up to his firm chest. You grope his pectorals, appreciating the firmness of his muscles. Your cunt clenches around his cock at the sight of your hand against his golden skin. A smirk appears on his face, enjoying what he does to you.

Your hand goes up to his broad shoulder, rubbing over it before you move your hand towards his back. You feel how his muscles strain there with each thrust as he continues pounding into you at a relentless pace. Both of your hands are now caressing his back, feeling every single dimple under your fingertips. Just as you try pulling him close, he starts to give it to you even harder. You scratch your fingernails along his back. You watch in awe as Hunter moans in your mouth at that.

"Could–could fucking smell how much you wanted me earlier. You distracted me the whole time. Couldn't think of anything else besides how good you'd look with my cock inside of you,” he rasps in your neck before biting you, growling wildly as he does. “I was so fucking hard for you, sweetheart," Hunter grunts.

He's so feral for you, fucking you so hard. You can't even mumble a response.

"Smell so good – so fucking good–" he whispers in your ear.

"D-don't s–stop," you mumble in your cockdrunk delirium.

"I can't, sweetheart. This cunt's all I ever wanted,” he growls, “Gonna make you mine. Mine."

"Oh, fuck… Yes," you pant as he props himself up, kneeling in front of you without stopping that devastating rhythm for even half a second.

He looks at your body, at the way your boobs bounce with each thrust as he gives it go you even harder, holding on tight to your legs, using them as leverage to bury himself even deeper inside of you. Seeing him like this makes you remember just how badly you wanted to ride his cock earlier.

"Hunter. Hunter. I want to ride you," you whimper.

"Is that an order, Commander?"

"Y–yes. Yes. Order. S–s-sergeant," you mindlessly go on as he keeps thrusting his cock inside of you.

The thought of you bouncing on his cock makes him throb. In an instant, Hunter lifts you in his arms as if you were weightless and makes you straddle him. He sits with his back against the wall of the bunk. His hands are on your waist and you immediately start rocking your hips up and down, giving into your fantasy from earlier.

"Such a good soldier… So good at following orders," you whisper against his lips.

"Yeah… Sometimes," he smirks before gripping your hair and stealing another wet, hot kiss that makes you melt into him even further.

Your head rolls back in pleasure at the way his cock feels from this position. It's devastating, hitting something deep within you. You almost lose yourself in that feeling, but Hunter won’t allow you to. Even though you are on top of him, Hunter is quick to remind you who’s in charge as he takes your jaw in his hand.

"Eyes on me," he orders firmly.

"Yes, Sergeant," you moan.

You swear you feel him throbbing and choke a grunt when he hears the sensual way you pronounce his title. Clearly, using his rank in this context has done something to Hunter. He moves his thumb between your lips and you suck it provocatively, never stopping yourself from meeting his gaze. Hunter’s pupils widen at the sinful way your lips envelop his finger and your tongue gently touches it. His eyes take into your sensual, precious beauty, before bringing you to him and kissing you again.

Your bodies are damp in sweat and rubbing against one another. Your nipples deliciously catch against his hairy, broad chest. You continue moaning into each other's mouths; your tongues never stop touching.

"Hunter, I'm gonna come–" you whimper.

"Hold it for me, sweetheart," he rasps in a sweet, yet dark voice, having the opposite effect from what he intended.

"Please, I want to come on your cock," you plead desperately.

"Not yet," he smirks.

Hunter grabs your hips and guides your movements so that your clit starts to rub against his pelvis. You let out a loud moan as you hold on to him tighter, digging your nails in his shoulders.

"I can't hold it!" you scream with your eyes shut.

He grabs your chin in his hand, clearly uninterested in your desperate appeals.

"Look at me," he says firmly as you open your eyes. Your vision is too blurry to focus on him but you try nonetheless.

"Now come for me, sweetheart," he rasps darkly.

You obey his order and come hard around his cock. An overwhelming, intense wave of pleasure starts at your core and completely takes over your body. You’re wrecked by uncontrollable shakes as Hunter holds you in his strong arms. You scream and pant as you ride your high. Your eyes roll backwards while Hunter focuses on how beautiful you look when you lose control. Especially when he is the one responsible for it.

Hunter feels your heart running in your chest and every single contraction of your muscles around his cock. The unmistakable, heady scent of sex that fills the Marauder drives him insane, making him burst inside of you. He grunts loudly as he fills you up with his load, holding you tight in his grasp.

You moan in each other's mouths, your forehead leaning on his as you look into each other’s eyes. You never leave each other’s gaze as you both give into the highest of pleasure.

As you come down from your high, your rhythm slows down until it stops completely. Your bodies are intertwined like vines, naked and sweaty as you catch breath in each other’s embrace.

You really do make a great team, after all.

Fanarts: Hunter's back + Shirtless Hunter by @mesvi Hello handsome by @corukant Wet Hunter by @iszapizza Hunter under the shower by @shakall Hunter and his vibroknife by @ve-ti-ver Hunter under the shower by @cloned-eyes Hunter taking off his shirt + Tech by @constant-brain-fog Hunter taking a shower by kaijurave (on twitter/x)

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