Bad Batch Barracks Bunny 🐰 @badbatchsprincess - Tumblr Blog

Show me where the delicate stops

Hunter x f!reader

Rating: Explicit

Wordcount: 9.5k

Summary:

Hunters enhanced senses have come with a price. There is something almost primal living in his blood, he has always been afraid of this part of himself and learned to lock it away it but since you have come into his life you have rattled on these chains. He’s afraid to hurt you but he has finally agreed to show you the part of himself that he deemed dangerous and unlovable.

“He was undeniably pretty, anyone with eyes could see that but you had never seen him like this before and you had never realized how well that wildness fit him, how the loosened control carved his features into something almost mythic. The feral glint in his eyes and the sharp set of his jaw didn’t make him look dangerous so much as breathtaking, like he’d finally stepped into the shape he was always meant to wear. Free of restraint, he wasn’t just handsome, he was devastating in a way that felt undeniably right.”

Notes:

This is a sequel to Greedy little thing, it’s not necessary to read that one first but to understand their dynamic better I highly recommend it. This fic includes: Established ethical non monogamous relationship between reader and all members of the Bad Batch, Hunters enhanced senses, primal kink, breeding kink, slight scenting/marking, a tiny bit of blood, oral sex f! receiving, vaginal sex, unprotected sex, Hunter has a knot, feelings, so many feelings, Crosshair being a little bitch, aftercare

Hunter had been through hundreds of missions, he’d lost count a long time ago, each one demanding everything he could give. But this… this was different. Nothing could have prepared him for the way he felt now, standing on a lonely training platform with the ocean crashing below, pacing like a caged animal.

He wanted this. He had agreed to it. For you, and for himself. But wanting and being ready weren’t the same thing.

The thought of finally loosening the restraints he had spent years wrapping around himself made his gut twist. He was so used to keeping it all under control, even if it regularly caused him migraines, his strength, his instincts, the heightened awareness of every heartbeat and every shift in the air. All of it, carefully contained. And now he was supposed to let it all go.

He could still hear your voice from nights ago, steady and sure. “I trust you, Hunter. I want this with you, my decision is final.”

Force, you had no idea how much that meant to him. No one had ever trusted him like that, not with something that felt this wrong and dangerous. He was supposed to protect you and that included protecting you from himself but he would be lying if he didn’t admit that he wanted to finally be free, to not have to cage a part of himself all the time. Besides his brothers no one had ever seen who he truly was and stayed… or survived. For the longest time he had learned to keep parts of himself locked away to be accepted and not pose a danger to everyone around him and he cursed the Kaminoans for that.

He tried to remind himself of all the ways you had freely surrendered yourself to the others before. He’d seen it, felt it. He knew how your breath hitched when Crosshair reduced you to nothing but a panting little mess in front of the whole squad, how your body trembled when Tech tied you up and whispered precise instructions until you broke under his careful, deliberate control. He knew those sides of you existed, knew you craved it.

But they were always present and in full control of the situation. Crosshair in his merciless precision, Tech in his attentive discipline. They were there, in their heads, fully conscious of every motion. Hunter wasn’t sure he could promise the same. He had blacked out before, in the heat of combat, when his instincts took the reins and left only blood and silence in their wake. And sometimes guilt.

What if that happened with you?

What if he hurt you?

He dragged a hand over his face, pressing his fingers into his eyelids to alleviate the building pressure and kept pacing the metal walkway, his boots clanging against the platform’s durasteel. The sea churned below, a storm flashing far on the horizon, the wind had tousled his hair and made him look even more agitated. He was only clad in his blacks but the shiver than ran through him had nothing to do with the the thin fabric, it was thermo-regulated, engineered to withstand extreme conditions, no, he felt like the very thread that was holding him together had started to come loose. Every gust of salt air carried your scent back to him and he hated how easily it unraveled him. You were waiting inside the Marauder, trusting him more than he trusted himself, while equal parts of him cheered and cursed his decision.

Wrecker leaned against the ramp, watching him with narrowed eyes. “You’re gonna wear a hole in the deck, Sarge.”

Hunter ignored him at first, but Wrecker didn’t move. The big man folded his arms. “You don’t have to do this if you don’t wanna. She’ll still…uh…love ya.”

Hunter stopped, stared out at the black ocean. “It’s not about me wanting it,” he muttered. “I do. I’ve wanted it longer than I care to admit.”

“Then what’s the problem?”

Hunter’s jaw flexed. “The problem is if I lose myself. If I…” He cut off, shaking his head. He didn’t need to spell it out. Wrecker had seen him in the aftermath of those moments, the times when the world went red and instinct steered him instead of thought. And to make things worse, if he’d hurt you tonight, then he’d probably ruin the relationship for everyone. How could you ever want to be around them anymore if you’d finally seen him for the monster that he was.

“You won’t,” Wrecker said simply. “And even if ya did, we’re all here. We’re not gonna let anything happen to her.”

That was the plan. The only way Hunter had even agreed to this insanity. The others would be close, close enough to stop him if things went wrong, close enough to care for you if he couldn’t. Tech had meticulously planned the precautions: monitors, safety protocols, a full medical kit. Hunter had insisted you bring your own first response medpack too, even though you’d laughed, saying it wouldn’t be necessary.

“You really think I’ll need that?” you had teased him, smiling with so much certainty that it had almost broken him.

Now that medpack was probably sitting at the foot of the nest Tech had arranged in the back of the ship.

The “cover story” had been clean, at least. Tech had filed the official request and it had been granted without any further questions: a three-day training excursion to a platform with underwater training facilities out in the open ocean. One day for this. Two more for rest, recovery, or, for Hunter’s worst fear… damage control. They’d been here many times when they were younger, the water dulling the constant background noise had helped him adjust to his enhancements and learn to control them or sometimes just to hide from the galaxy when everything had been too bright, too loud, when everything felt like it was screaming at him. It had been a long painful experience until he’d learned to adapt. They hadn’t been here for a long time but Echo’s new prosthetic adjustments were a plausible justification for the trip and more important for your presence.

“Hunter,” Tech’s voice broke into his thoughts as the lean clone stepped out onto the platform. “Everything is prepared.”

Hunter went rigid, his heartbeat thundering in his ears.

Tech studied him calmly. “We have reviewed the plan multiple times. Every variable has been accounted for. Nothing she hasn’t consented to will happen. If you feel yourself losing control, we will intervene.”

Hunter’s fists curled. “That’s what I’m afraid of.”

But there was nothing left to stall.

He drew in a long, sharp breath of Kamino’s damp salty air, then stepped past Tech and into the Marauder. Tech and Wrecker followed suit and the hatch sealed behind them, muting the storm outside. The familiar hum of the ship pressed close around Hunter, but it didn’t steady him like it usually did.

He could smell you more intensely now. Faint, nervous sweat mixed with excitement, sweetness, warmth. The combination punched the air out of his lungs.

His boots carried him down the narrow corridor. The cockpit door slid shut behind him with a sharp hiss. He knew his brothers were in there, watching the monitors Tech had rigged. Ready to step in if this went sideways. He hated that he needed that safety net and it did nothing to calm his nerves, it was necessary to protect you, but in case intervention was called for the damage would have been done already.

The bunk section door loomed in front of him. His chest was tight, every muscle strung taut.

He paused, let the silence stretch for one last moment. He thought about what was waiting on the other side: the makeshift nest Tech had arranged, a sprawl of mattresses and thin GAR-issue blankets layered on the floor. A space stripped of all sterility, made into something soft and warm, a place to hold you.

And you.

Waiting.

Trusting him more than he deserved, wanting to love all the parts of himself that he deemed unworthy and unlovable.

Hunter swallowed hard, his hand hesitating for a fraction before he hit the door control. The panel slid open with a quiet shhk.

And there you were, nestled among the blankets, looking up at him with wide, steady eyes.

The scent of you hit him full force.

His hands were trembling. Not outwardly, not in a way anyone else could see, but inside, in the cage of his ribs, everything shook. He had already spent too long pacing outside, every step echoing against the durasteel platform until he thought the sound would drive him mad. The ocean wind had whipped at him, sharp and briny, tangling his hair, but it hadn’t cooled him. Not when he knew you were inside, getting ready for him.

He could still turn back.

Your heart was beating fast, the sound ringing in his ears threatening to unravel him already but there was no trace of fear in the air, at least not from you.

No.

You wanted this. You wanted him. You had insisted, week after week, with a stubbornness that matched his own. He had seen it in your eyes, heard it in your voice when you’d told him you trusted him. And Maker help him, he wanted you. He wanted to give you what you were asking for: all of him, unrestrained.

You sat on the blankets Tech and Wrecker had thrown together into a makeshift nest, legs folded beneath you, the dim lights catching on your bare thighs. You weren’t naked, but the sight still almost undid him. The comfy, wide, soft shirt you wore clearly wasn’t yours. It hung off one shoulder, dipping low enough to hint at the swell of your breasts, smelling faintly of Wrecker’s soap. And below… only the faintest scrap of fabric, the tiniest panties, delicate and teasing.

Hunter swallowed hard. His blacks suddenly felt too tight.

“Hunter,” you breathed, and even your voice was different tonight. Lower, softer. Expectant.

For a second, he couldn’t move. His hand remained braced against the frame, fingers flexing against cold metal as if the ship itself might anchor him in place. His mind screamed at him to stay back. This was dangerous. Not the way a firefight was dangerous, not the clean, familiar threat of blaster fire and tactical odds, this was quieter. Slower. The kind of danger that unraveled things from the inside out.

What you had built hadn’t happened overnight. It had grown in stolen seconds and reckless decisions. In glances held a heartbeat too long in briefing rooms. In fingers brushing in the dark corridors of Tipoca City when no one was looking. In coded messages buried inside routine reports, in Tech rerouting security logs and overriding security cameras with a sigh that pretended annoyance but carried silent loyalty and Echo standing guard outside doors so you could sneak into their barracks long after lights-out.

You weren’t just his. You were theirs, in different ways. A quiet constant in a life that offered none. The one who waited for them to return. The one who pressed a kiss to his forehead before a mission and told him, “Come back to me.” The one who loved them all.

Every rational part of him snarled at him to protect what you had, that it was good the way it was, that it wasn’t worth risking it, but a different part of him desperately wanted to be acknowledged, wanted to be loved.

Walking away now might protect what you had.

But it would break him.

You shifted nervously, the hem of the shirt sliding higher up your thigh, and the scent hit him full force.

Warm. Sweet. Wanting.

It nearly buckled his knees.

He finally stepped inside. The door shut behind him, sealing you both into the low-lit room.

“You look nervous,” you whispered.

His throat barely worked. “I am.”

You looked up at him with wide, steady eyes, but he could smell your nervousness under the faint sweetness of your shampoo. That blend of clean and sharp was always clinging to you, your floral soap, antiseptic, saltwater and something sweet and warm that was undeniably you. It had become a part of how he knew you, how his senses recognized home.

He swallowed, forcing himself forward one step at a time, until his boots were on the edge of the bedding. You tilted your chin up at him.

“Hunter,” you whispered again, searching for words.

He froze. His name on your lips was always enough to rattle him, but now it went straight to his spine.

“You don’t have to…” you started, voice soft, uncertain. “…we…I know…all has been arranged but …”

“I want to,” he cut in, maybe too quickly. His throat felt raw. “More than anything.”

Your lips curved in the faintest smile, relief flickering over your face. You reached a hand out toward him, your fingers brushing his wrist.

That small touch almost undid him. His pulse surged, senses flaring open all at once, drowning him in you. The warmth of your skin. The whisper of your breath. The steady, delicate thrum of your pulse.

He kicked his boots off and crouched at the edge of the nest, hands hovering but not quite touching. You reached first, catching his wrist again, tugging him closer until the fabric of his blacks brushed your bare skin.

“Then don’t hold back,” you murmured. “Let go.”

Hunter let out a sound that was almost a growl. He hesitantly dragged his palm up your thigh, over your soft skin, leaving goosebumps in his wake, until his fingers brushed the hem of Wrecker’s shirt.

“You say that now…” His voice was rough, raw. “But I still don’t think you fully understand what you’re asking for.”

Your hand slid around his neck, bold, pulling him down towards you for a kiss. His breath stuttered.

“Then show me,” you said, your lips brushing against his, ”show me who you really are Hunter.”

Something snapped in him.

The careful Hunter who always calculated every risk, who carried the weight of his squad, who denied himself more often than not, he faltered, cracked, and something hotter, sharper, surged through. His lips crashed against yours, and finally, finally, he let himself taste you.

When he kissed you, it wasn’t careful like he’d planned. It was desperate, all the tension he’d carried for weeks pouring out. You gasped against his mouth and your fingers dug into his shoulders, pulling him closer until he nearly crushed you against the thin mattress.

He pinned you beneath him, his weight caging you in, his senses erupting like a storm. Every sound you made hit his ears louder than the ocean outside: your sighs, your moans, the rustle of your hair on the blankets. He could hear the wet slick between your thighs, your heartbeat racing faster, rushing louder. The world outside blurred until nothing existed but you.

The scent of you rolled over him, arousal sharp and intoxicating, tangled with the faint sweetness of your shampoo and that familiar antiseptic note. He buried his face in your neck, inhaling deep like he could drink you in, his bandana falling loose until his hair spilled around your face.

He felt the electric undercurrent of excitement buzzing through your body and his pupils began to swallow the golden brown of his eyes, leaving them dark, feral. He looked nothing like the disciplined sergeant everyone else knew. For once, he wasn’t contained.

For once, he was free.

He was undeniably pretty, anyone with eyes could see that but you had never seen him like this before and you had never realized how well that wildness fit him, how the loosened control carved his features into something almost mythic. The feral glint in his eyes and the sharp set of his jaw didn’t make him look dangerous so much as breathtaking, like he’d finally stepped into the shape he was always meant to wear. Free of restraint, he wasn’t just handsome, he was devastating in a way that felt undeniably right.

You gasped into him, arms circling his neck, dragging him closer. His tongue swept into your mouth, claiming, hungry, and he growled low in his chest when you kissed him back just as fiercely.

Your shirt was gone before you realized he’d stripped it from you, tugged over your head and tossed aside. He pulled back just enough to stare, pupils blown wide, black swallowing almost all the golden-brown of his irises. There was a hunger in his gaze, raw and unguarded, and it made your breath hitch as heat coiled low in your stomach. In that moment, with restraint stripped away and instinct shining through, he looked at you like you were the only thing anchoring him to the ground. It was equal parts terrifying and arousing.

He dragged his nose down your throat, inhaling deeply, the sound vibrating against your skin.

“Maker, you smell so good,” he muttered, voice gone ragged. He nipped at your pulse, not enough to break skin, but enough to make you shiver. “Sweet. Mine.”

Your panties were next. He hooked two fingers into the waistband, slow enough to make you writhe, then ripped them down and flung them away. The sharp, heady scent of your arousal flooded the air, and he groaned, shoving you back into the blankets.

“Oh…” you squeaked.

He barely noticed, he was already kissing down your chest, your stomach, until his mouth hovered just above your core. He didn’t hesitate. The first long lick of his tongue made your hips jerk.

A gasp escaped your lips.

He groaned into you, arms banding around your thighs to hold you down. Your taste sweet like honey flooded his senses threatening to drown him. His tongue lapped, slow then faster, savoring, devouring. The wet sounds filled the room, slick and obscene, but it was his growls that undid you, the way he sounded like he couldn’t get enough, more beast than man, like he was starving and you were his only salvation. It took only a few flicks of his tongue against your clit until you felt a familiar pressure starting to settle in your lower belly.

“Fuck… I’m…, please,” you gasped, hands tangling in his hair.

You felt teeth gracing your sensitive folds and his fingers digging into your hips like claws, hard, too hard. Hard enough that his nails broke skin. For a split second pain laced through the pleasure, sharp enough to make you cry out. Fear flickered in your chest, just for a moment, maybe he had been right, maybe you should have been content with what he’d been giving you, maybe you had been too confident that his love for you could override whatever the Kaminoans had done to him, maybe….maybe…you began to spiral, the marks on your hips burning into your skin.

And then he was gone from your hips, mouth leaving your clit, and panic spiked, until you realized what he was doing.

He was kissing where his nails had cut. Lapping softly at the tiny beads of blood, groaning as if the taste itself made him drunk, his eyes searching yours, pleading, apologizing.

Your heart pounded, but the fear ebbed. He hadn’t lost himself. Even feral, even with instinct driving him, he’d stopped. He’d felt the pain bleed into your pleasure and reacted to you without thinking, before you even had to ask. This was what you had hoped for, what you had firmly believed in, that no matter what happened, and no matter what state he was in, his love and his instinct to protect you would be strong enough to prevent him from harming you. And it was. The realization almost brought tears to your eyes. Yes, having him be rough with you was undeniably thrilling. The weight of him. The way he caged you in. The growls that vibrated through his chest and into your bones. It lit something reckless and molten inside you, something that made your head spin and your pulse race, but after what he’d told you about his enhancements, the main reason why you’d wanted this was to prove that your bond was strong enough to tame the monster he thought he was, so he wouldn’t have to live the rest of his live believing he had to cage whatever darkness lived in his blood to be loved.

The realization settled deep in your chest, warm and steadying. It eased the last of your nerves, quieted the faint tremor of doubt that had lingered beneath your excitement.

You could trust him.

Slowly, deliberately, you let your body fall back into the mattress. The makeshift nest of blankets cushioned you, cradled you, but it was him you surrendered to. Your muscles softened. Your fingers loosened in his hair.

You opened yourself to him, your thighs fell apart in a silent invitation.

Hunter lifted his head and the sight of him stole your breath, he was utterly beautiful like this, face slick, lips swollen and slightly red from where your blood had mixed with your arousal.

The growl that tore from him was feral. He dove back in, mouth closing around your clit, sucking hard enough to make you cry out. His fingers spread you open, tongue driving into you, relentless. The sounds, wet, hungry, animalistic, echoed in your ears, and you knew you weren’t going to last.

He licked and sucked with feral hunger, burying his tongue inside you, fucking you with it before dragging back to circle your clit. You bucked under him, helpless, and he pinned your hips down harder, holding you in place while he devoured you.

Every sound you made was loud in his ears, every gasp and moan amplified until it felt like music written just for him. Your heart thundered, your pulse racing under your skin. The sounds of the ocean and the wind, the soft hum of the ship, the heartbeats of his brothers, all gone, drowned out by you. He couldn’t stop, didn’t want to. You were everything.

“Hunter, please…I’m…m…close.” Your voice broke through his haze.

He latched onto your clit, sucking hard, and without warning slid two thick fingers inside you. The sudden stretch made you cry out, your body clenching tight around him. He curled them, stroking that spot he could feel buzzing under his fingertips, and your body snapped.

You came hard, shuddering, your thighs clamping around his head, legs shaking, body arching, mouth open in a cry that filled the bunk.

He groaned against you, drinking in every drop, your taste coating his tongue, your nails scratching at his scalp as you writhed.

“Hunter…” you gasped, tugging his hair. “I…I…fuck…”

He didn’t stop.

He licked you through it, savoring every twitch, every spasm, until you slumped back into the blankets, wrecked and panting.

When he finally pulled back, his face was wild. Hair loose and tousled, pupils blown, mouth slick with you. He licked his lips like he couldn’t bear to waste a drop.

You smiled weakly, still trembling, too blissed out to form a coherent thought.

He crawled over you and kissed you, letting you taste yourself on his tongue, it was intoxicating.

Your body was still buzzing, nerves fried and trembling from the orgasm he’d wrung out of you so quickly with his mouth, but he didn’t give you time to recover. His lips left yours in a messy kiss, and he pulled back just far enough for you to see the hunger in his eyes.

Not hunger.

Need.

It radiated off him in waves, thick and consuming, filling the air of the bunk with something primal and electric. His chest rose and fell in sharp pulls of breath, nostrils flaring, as if he couldn’t get enough of your scent. Loose sweaty strands of his hair fell into his face and he looked divine.

You reached for him, fumbling with the fastenings of his blacks. “Hunter, please… I want to feel you.”

He hissed when your fingers brushed against the hard length straining beneath the fabric. His hand caught your wrist, grip firm, almost too firm, bruising, but he wasn’t trying to stop you. No, he was holding himself back, as if one wrong move would break the last fragile thread of restraint he still clung to.

“Careful,” he growled, voice low and dangerous. “You really sure you want this?”

“Yes, yes I do.” Your voice almost betrayed you, but it was true. You knew him. You trusted him. And now that you had seen how he reacted instinctively, how even in his frenzy, he’d sensed your fear and stopped, you trusted him more than ever. “Hunter, I want all of it. I want all of you.”

For a moment, his expression cracked, the barest flicker of disbelief crossing his features. Like a man who had been bracing for rejection his entire life and suddenly realized the blow wasn’t coming.

His jaw tightened. His throat worked. For a split second, his eyes shone with something dangerously close to awe, raw, disbelieving gratitude. As if you had just handed him absolution. As if you had seen the worst parts of him and called them worthy.

It wrecked him.

Then the growl returned, and his mouth was on yours again, rough and claiming.

You tugged at his blacks until finally he tore the fabric open himself, shedding the top half with a snarl of impatience. The muscles of his chest and shoulders flexed in the dim light, every line carved hard and perfect. The musky scent that was uniquely him, already heavy in the air, grew stronger now, thick enough to make you dizzy.

You shoved at him, breathless and impatient but he seized you. His hands clamped around your thighs, dragging you down beneath him. Your back hit the blankets, your arms locked in over your head and he caged you there, his body covering yours completely.

You gasped. The sheer force of him pressed down, encompassing you. Technically he wasn’t much bigger than you, only a little taller, a little broader, but right now, he felt enormous. His presence filled the entire room, the weight of his body pinning you, suffocating in the best possible way.

Your heart pounded like crazy.

Yes. This was what you’d wanted.

“Hunter…pl…please…fu…”

He kissed you hard enough to steal the words from your lips, then tore his mouth away and shoved his blacks down, baring himself at last.

Your eyes widened. Maker. Was your mind playing tricks on you or was it possible that somehow he was bigger tonight? He was thick, flushed dark, every vein enhanced and pre-come already glistening at the tip. You knew he was big but something about seeing him like this, throbbing, feral and unrestrained, made your breath catch.

Your thoughts were interrupted when he nudged against your entrance, your body clenching instinctively, and a desperate whimper escaped your lips when he pushed in. The stretch stole the air from your lungs.

It felt intimate in a way that went beyond physical sensation. Like he wasn’t just entering you, but crossing some invisible line between where you ended and he began. The pressure built slowly, steadily, forcing you to breathe through it, shallow, uneven breaths that trembled out of you without permission.

It wasn’t pain, not really, but the sheer fullness of it made your vision blur at the edges. Every nerve ending lit up at once, hypersensitive, as if your body couldn’t decide whether to tense or melt. You felt opened, claimed, vulnerable in a way that made your fingers curl into whatever they could reach.

There was a fragile second where you felt almost too full, your body straining to adjust and then something shifted. Your muscles softened, yielding inch by inch, welcoming him in.

Every sense drowned him in you. Your heartbeat hammered against his chest. The rush of your blood roared in his ears. Your slick pussy squeezed him, wet and perfect. The scent of your arousal was thick in the air, mingling with his musk until it was everywhere and he felt your desire buzzing under your skin like waves crashing against a cliff.

He held you there for a moment, shuddering, every instinct screaming at him to move, to rut into you until you were stuffed full and leaking. Then you shifted your hips, squeezing him deeper, and all restraint vanished.

He pulled back and slammed into you, hard enough to shove you both over the edge of the makeshift bed. Again. Again. His rhythm was punishing, deep, driving you into the thin mattress, the wet slap of your bodies filling the small room.

Every thrust made you cry out louder, your moans echoing off the metal walls. He swallowed each one like it was the only thing that mattered, kissing you hard, biting your throat, sucking marks into your skin until you were covered in his claim.

***

The cockpit was silent.

Not silent in the usual comfortable way, filled with quiet clicks of Tech’s hands moving across the controls, or Wrecker’s occasional hum while he fiddled with something. No, this was the kind of silence where every man inside was hyper-aware of the small speaker on Tech’s console.

Through it came the faint, muffled sounds of you. Your moans. The slap of bodies. The guttural growl of Hunter’s voice.

Four pairs of eyes stayed glued to the monitors that Tech had rigged up to keep tabs on the bunk area. The image was clear enough to see Hunter pinning you down, fucking you hard, your body arching under him with every thrust.

Echo cleared his throat, trying, and failing, to look anywhere else.

It was Wrecker who broke first. “ Kriff,” he muttered, shifting uncomfortably in his seat. “That’s… wow.”

No one answered.

Then the sharp click of plastoid cut through the silence, unmistakable.

All three heads whipped toward Crosshair.

The sniper had undone his codpiece and freed his cock, long and hard in his hand, stroking slow and deliberate as if he didn’t have a care in the world. His expression was calm, smug even, eyes flicking lazily between the monitor and his brothers’ faces.

Tech’s nose wrinkled. “Are you serious?” His voice was sharp, scandalized. “We are on watch. Our priority is to monitor Hunter’s state and intervene if…”

Crosshair chuckled, low and amused, the corner of his mouth twitching up as his hand kept moving. “What do you want me to do, Tech? Shoot him?”

Tech pinched the bridge of his nose. “We all have agreed on a safety protocol, you too if I may remind you. Your commentary is unnecessary.”

“And your hypocrisy is adorable,” Crosshair shot back smoothly. “You’re watching just as closely as the rest of us.”

“I am monitoring for safety.”

“Of course you are.”

Crosshair’s smirk widened. “Ohhh Technology, don’t pretend your cock ‘s not desperately straining against your armor. None of us can overpower him in that state anyway. You know as well as I do, if Hunter’s gone rogue, the only one strong enough to stop him is Wrecker. He will tear through the rest of us in the blink of an eye. So unless you actually want me to shoot him, we’re just sitting here. Might as well…” He flicked his wrist, slow and obscene, “…enjoy the show.”

Wrecker groaned, “That’s not fair.”

Crosshair barked out a laugh. “Life never is, big guy.”

Tech inhaled sharply, muttering, “Unbelievable.” Then, louder: “You will not distract yourself with… this. I am recording the session for later analysis. If you wish to view the playback, you may do so privately.”

Crosshair leaned back in his chair, still stroking, a wicked grin on his face. “Of course you are. I knew it. You’re the most depraved of all of us, Tech.”

Smug bastard.

Tech’s head snapped around, affronted. “Excuse me? We agreed the data could prove valuable in understanding the extent of Hunter’s enhanced responses. ”

“That what we’re calling it?” Crosshair drawled. “Just admit you love watching her turn into a little fucktoy. Reduced to a shaking, quivering mess while Hunter fucks her stupid.”

Wrecker suddenly leaned forward, boots thudding against the deck. “Hey. Don’t talk about her like that.”

The shift in his tone was immediate, protective, sharp. His broad hands curled into fists against his knees.

Crosshair tilted his head slowly, studying him. “Like what?”

“Like she’s just…” Wrecker struggled for the word, jaw tight. “Like she’s just some plaything.”

A quiet beat passed.

Crosshair’s expression didn’t lose its smug edge, but something cooled behind his eyes. “She’s not just that,” he said smoothly. “And you know that.”

“Then don’t make it sound like she is,” Wrecker shot back.

Crosshair tilted his head, unbothered. “Why not? She likes it. She likes being our little slut.”

“Well not with me,” Wrecker shot back. His voice was firm, almost protective.

It was Echo who cut in, voice dry but sharp. “Not all of us can just let her bounce on our massive cock until she screams, Wrecker.” His gaze flicked to his brother, then back at the screen. “Some of us have to be more creative.”

Wrecker’s grin spread, sheepish but proud. He rubbed the back of his neck. “Yeah, well…”

“Enough,” Tech muttered, dragging his hands down his face. He looked at each of them in turn, exasperated. “Has it ever crossed any of your minds that perhaps, just perhaps, she likes us all for different reasons? That we are not in a competition because each one of us provides her with something unique but equally important to her?”

The silence that followed was thick.

Crosshair flicked the toothpick that was lazily hanging from the corner of his mouth. Echo’s jaw tightened. Wrecker blinked at the monitor like the thought had never occurred to him before.

None of them spoke, because Tech was right, this was not a competition.

Finally, Tech sighed, shoulders dropping in defeat. “Good, now that we cleared that can we please return our attention to monitoring Hunter’s condition? We are being highly negligent at the moment, if he crosses a line, we must be ready to intervene. I anticipate that none of you want to risk loosing her.”

Tech adjusted the display settings with more force than strictly necessary. “Eyes on the monitors. All of you. If there is any deviation from expected parameters, we have to be ready to respond immediately. I won’t tolerate any further deviation from protocol.”

A faint scoff left Crosshair at that. “We’re on guard, Tech. Contrary to popular belief, I can multitask.”

Tech exhaled through his nose, displeased but satisfied enough. The cockpit fell quiet again, focused, restrained, every man pretending his pulse wasn’t just a little too fast.

***

Hunters thrusts became deep and hard, pinning you down as his weight crushed you into the mattress. Each thrust jolted through your whole body, your nails digging crescents into his back.

You moaned his name again and again, and it only drove him harder. He fucked you like he was trying to brand himself into you, claim every part of you until nothing else existed.

You looked up at him through heavy lids, gasping as he filled you over and over. His hair hung wild around his face, his bandana gone, his pupils blown wide and black. He looked feral, predatory, more beast than man and there was a strange beauty in it.

Hunter groaned against your throat, voice broken. “Maker, you feel so good. So tight. So…fuck.”

You cried out, back arching, nails clawing at his shoulders. He filled you completely, almost too much, overwhelming, but it was perfect.

He pulled back and slammed into you again, harder, deeper, and you screamed. The sound made him growl, hips pistoning, each thrust rougher than the last.

Everything blurred.

Your heartbeat thundered in your ears, joined by the wet slap of his cock driving into you, the rustle of the blankets, the ragged sound of both your breaths. He growled low, burying his face in your neck, inhaling you like he needed your scent to breathe.

It was overwhelming. His cock felt bigger inside you, stretching you wide, pushing so deep you swore he was hitting your cervix. Every thrust sent sparks through your body, pleasure tangled with the edge of pain, but you didn’t care. You wanted it. You wanted him.

He groaned, fucking you harder, burying his face against your neck, his teeth grazing your skin. He bit and sucked, leaving marks down your throat and chest, each one a brand. His fingers dug into your hips hard enough to bruise, dragging you back onto his cock.

“Mine,” he growled against your skin. “All mine.”

“Yes,” you gasped. “Hunter, I’m yours.”

He slammed into you, even deeper, his thumb pressing down on your clit, your body jolting with each thrust. Your moans filled the small bunk, echoing off the walls, and he fed on them like they were the only thing keeping him alive.

The need to breed you tore through him, primitive and wild. He wanted to fill you until you were dripping with him, mark you so thoroughly that no one else would ever mistake who you belonged to.

“Gonna fill you up,” he growled, the words rough, torn from his throat. “Gonna breed you, mesh’la. You want that? Want me to fuck you full?”

“Yes,” you gasped. “Yours…Hunter, please…don’t stop.”

He shifted, changing his angle, and the next thrust had you sobbing. He hit that special spot inside you again and again, ruthless, relentless. Your body tightened, spiraling fast, too fast.

You tried to cling to him, fingers slipping against sweat-slick skin, breath shattering in your lungs. It was building too fast, too sharp, the pressure coiling tight in your belly, winding and winding until it felt like it would snap you in half.

“Hunter… I’m…”

The words dissolved into a broken cry.

He answered with a growl, low and feral, the sound vibrating through his chest where it was pressed to yours. His hips drove forward harder, deeper, stealing what little air you had left. The rhythm turned relentless, the wet, raw sounds of it filling the space around you until there was nothing else, no ship, no world, no future beyond the next thrust.

“Come for me,” he growled, voice rough.

And you did. The tension inside you detonated.

Your vision went white, not fading, but bursting, like light had swallowed you whole. Your back arched, muscles locking, thighs tightening around him as wave after wave tore through you like electric shocks. You screamed his name, nails raking down his back hard enough to draw blood, to anchor yourself to something real.

He didn’t stop.

He held you there, drove you through it, hips snapping forward as your body spasmed around him. The pleasure tipped past sharp into overwhelming, too bright, too intense and then something in you simply… let go.

The edges softened.

The sounds around you dulled, like you were sinking underwater. His ragged breaths became distant and close all at once. Your limbs felt weightless, tingling, no longer entirely yours. The frantic heat in your chest melted into something heavy and warm, spreading outward until you felt like you were floating inside your own skin.

Your body still responded, clenching, fluttering, pulling him in with needy pulses, but your mind drifted somewhere soft and hazy. The pain you were causing with your nails digging into him registered only as a faraway thought. Even the overstimulation blurred at the edges, turning into a distant hum beneath the waves of pleasure that kept rolling through you.

You were sobbing, but it sounded small and far away to your own ears.

Hunter wrapped his arms around you, forehead pressed to yours, breath hot and uneven. His movements didn’t slow, but they changed, less frantic, more deliberate. Grounding. His hand slid into your hair, firm but steady, anchoring you.

“I’ve got you,” he murmured, voice cutting through the haze. “Stay with me. That’s it.”

Your walls tightened around him instinctively, milking him helplessly, and he choked on a curse. The sensation dragged him closer to the edge, your body pulling him down with you, claiming him just as surely as he claimed you.

You were floating and burning all at once.

Weightless.

His rhythm faltered, thrusts turning erratic, his whole body shuddering, pressing down on you, while the last tremors wracked through your trembling form.

Every movement felt driven by instinct now, unguarded, his breath rough against your throat as his control slipped through his fingers.

Your legs snapped tight around his waist, pulling him down flush against you, chest to chest, heart to heart. You arched into him, chasing that contact, eliminating the last sliver of distance between you, fingers fisting in his hair, guiding his forehead down to yours so you could breathe the same air. So you could feel the shudder in him as if it were your own.

You wanted him so close it almost hurt. Wanted the weight of him, the heat of him, the certainty of him. If there had been a way to merge, to blur the line between where he ended and you began, you would have taken it without hesitation.

Your nails dragged down his back, not to hurt, but to hold. To ground him. To keep him from slipping away.

His eyes met yours, wild and searching.

“Please…Hunter…p…please…I…I want to feel you cumming inside me.” you gasped.

That broke him.

He slammed deep one last time, a full body shudder ripped through him, while hot, thick pulses filled you, so much you could feel it leaking around his cock, but he didn’t pull out.

No, he pressed deeper, throbbing, grinding against you, pinning you down with his weight as his release spilled into you. And then… he locked.

His cock pulsed, locking in place as if his body refused to let go, keeping you pinned to the hilt while his cum pumped into you.

You gasped when you felt it, the way his cock swelled inside you, trapping you. It wasn’t exactly a knot, but it was close, the pressure was dizzying, holding him inside, keeping every drop of his seed buried as deep as possible.

He ground his hips against yours, groaning low in his throat as wave after wave of release shook him.

“Stay,” he panted, forehead pressed to yours. “Gotta keep it in. Need you full.”

You clung to him, overwhelmed, shivering as he held you there, stuffed full, locked in place. The heat of his release spread through you, so much you swore you could feel it dripping past his cock even as he sealed you tight.

Hunter shuddered, his body finally easing but his cock still seated deep inside you, keeping you connected, keeping his seed where it belonged. The blood rushed through his body in a dangerous pace, his head was spinning, so much like he felt he’d loose consciousness for a moment.

You pressed your lips to his, kissing him through the haze, whispering against his mouth. “I’ve got you. I want it. All of it. I love you.”

Your voice grounded him and for the first time in his life, he didn’t feel fear or guilt in losing control. He felt whole.

He groaned against your skin, shuddering. “Maker…can’t…don’t ever want to let you go.”

You stroked his hair, tangled and loose around his face, kissing his temple.

“Then don’t.”

He stayed like that, panting, trembling, holding you as if he could merge your bodies together. His weight pressed you into the blankets, his scent drowning you, his release dripping from you but locked inside by the swell of his cock.

You had never felt so full. So owned. So loved.

And Hunter.

He had never felt so free.

He had never believed in things like fate, or bonds deeper than blood. He’d seen too much death, carried too many ghosts, to put faith in something as fragile as destiny. But now. Now, with your scent clinging to his skin and your body molded perfectly against his chest, he couldn’t call it anything else.

It wasn’t just sex. He’d had that before, the kind of release that burned fast and faded faster. And it wasn’t just love, he had known that before already, that he loved you. This was different. This was primal, threaded into his marrow, carved into his lungs with every breath he stole from you. He felt… tethered. As if invisible cords tied him to you, sinking deep into his skin, stitching you into the very fabric of who he was.

The primal part of him, usually buried, usually shackled, had recognized you in a way he had no words for. Not just as a lover, not even as a partner. Something more, it whispered, insistent and unyielding, it had for a long time. And for the first time, he hadn’t fought it.

It scared him, how much he wanted to keep you marked, filled, claimed in every way possible. But more than fear was relief, because you hadn’t run. You hadn’t recoiled from the raw, ugly truth of what he was when stripped of control. You’d met him there, in the storm, and instead of breaking, you’d anchored him.

He pressed his lips to the damp crown of your head, inhaling deeply. Shampoo, salt, the faintest metallic tang of your blood where his teeth had broken skin . All of it tangled together into something uniquely yours. Something he could find blind, anywhere in the galaxy.

The thought settled in him like a vow. You were his. And he was yours. Maybe it didn’t need a word. Maybe “bonded,” “mated,” “claimed”, all of them fell short. What mattered was the truth burning in his chest, undeniable and absolute.

He would never let you go. And he would protect you with his life. Forever.

The quiet afterward, after the storm had slowly settled was almost deafening.

Hunter’s chest heaved against your chest, his arm locked around you as though he thought you might slip away if he let go. His body still trembled, every muscle strung tight, but slowly, inch by inch, you felt him soften.

Your own lungs struggled to keep pace, each breath shaky and high, your skin damp from sweat and the faint spray of tears you hadn’t even realized had spilled. And still, you burrowed back into him, pressing your nose against the thick column of his throat.

Hunter flinched at the touch. Then stilled.

A low, guttural rumble rolled through his chest. Not speech, not yet, just sound, primal and raw. It vibrated against your cheek where you nuzzled him, and when you tilted your head, brushing your lips over the edge of his jaw, he responded in kind. His nose skimmed your temple, then the curve of your ear, down to the side of your neck. He breathed you in greedily, as if scenting you, marking you in the only way he could.

It wasn’t words that passed between you, it was instinct. The kind that belonged to creatures older than either of you. Nuzzle for nuzzle, breath for breath, your scents mingling in the humid air of the Marauder’s bunkroom until there was no longer a “him” or a “you.”

You shivered against him, the tremor running straight through your bones.

You wanted to say so many things, tell him how much you loved him but the words wouldn’t come so you stayed like this for a while, nestled against his chest, until your breath had steadied a bit and you felt the swell of his cock going down.

When his cock slid out of you, followed by a splash of his cum, a soft, needy sound escaped you before you could stop it, it left you feeling empty and you instinctively tried to cuddle up closer, fingers tightening around his neck like you were afraid he might disappear.

His grip tightened briefly at the sound you made, something low rumbling in his chest as though the instinct to keep you close hadn’t yet released him. For a heartbeat he held you almost too tight, breath hot against your temple, like some part of him refused to allow even the smallest distance between you.

Another while passed until you slowly felt how the rigid tension in his shoulders eased by degrees, fingers flexing once against your spine as if he were testing his own control. The fierce possessiveness that had burned so bright only moments ago began to settle, not disappearing, just changing reshaping itself into something warmer, steadier.

His heartbeat slowed beneath your cheek.

The rumble in his chest faded into a deep exhale, long and grounding, and you felt the exact second he crossed that invisible threshold.

Hunter blinked hard, coming back into himself piece by piece. He tucked your face beneath his chin, rubbing his cheek over your hair like he could soothe you by scent alone. Slowly the hum of the ship, the crashing of the waves and all the other sounds faded back into his consciousness. Without letting you go he rustled around the edge of the mattress, looking for the comm, then, voice rough and thick, he activated it.

“Tech.”

Static crackled in the channel. “Hunter?”

“It’s okay,” he said, closing his eyes. He let out a long breath, his voice steadier with every word. “It’s over. I’m in control.”

A pause, then the click of an open channel cut short. You knew Tech, knew he would be on his way before Hunter even lowered the comm.

Sure enough, the cockpit door hissed open moments later. Tech’s precise footfalls crossed the threshold, carrying him into the space with his usual calm composure. A bottle of water was in his hand, already uncapped. His gaze flicked over the scene, your naked bodies, Hunter curled around you like a shield, the sheets tangled and damp. He didn’t stare, didn’t leer. He only looked, assessed, and came closer.

“Water,” he said simply, holding it out.

You tried to lift a hand, but Hunter shifted first, taking the bottle and pressing it to your lips himself. His arm was still possessive around you, unwilling to give you even the few inches of freedom needed to drink on your own. But it felt good so you let him, tilting your head back, swallowing obediently.

When you finished, Tech adjusted his goggles. “Do you require assistance with hygiene? I am prepared to help if…”

“No.” Hunter’s voice was firm. He met Tech’s eyes squarely, and there was something in it, territorial, protective, that made Tech incline his head without further protest.

“Very well. I will allow you to manage. Should you require medical assistance, call.”

He left as briskly as he came, door sealing behind him.

Hunter exhaled hard and pressed a kiss to your temple, as though claiming you all over again. “Not letting you go,” he murmured.

You turned in his arms, looking up at him. His pupils were still dark, but the amber-golden glow of his irises was slowly coming back and the storm in him had calmed. His hair, loosened from the bandana, hung damp and tousled around his face, making him look younger, freer. His lips were swollen from kissing and biting you raw, but soft now when they brushed your forehead.

Wordlessly, he scooped you up.

You clung to his shoulders, letting him carry you down the short hall and into the fresher. The door shut, and for a moment you both stood still, listening to the patter of water as he twisted the valve. For once, the Marauder wasn’t soaring above some battlefield, it was docked, secure, its tanks connected to the platform’s supply allowing you the luxury of a freshwater shower.

Hunter stepped beneath the spray with you still in his arms. Warm water cascaded down his back, over your shoulders, rushing away the slick evidence of everything you had just done. His hands were gentle, guiding soap across your skin, smoothing the lather over your hips and thighs, washing between your legs with careful reverence.

“Hunter…” Your voice cracked when you tried to speak.

He only hushed you, tilting your chin up so he could press his lips to yours, soft, coaxing, sweet. Nothing like the brutal claiming before.

“You’re so precious,” he whispered against your mouth. His thumbs caressed your jaw, your cheekbones. He looked at you like you were made of glass and starlight. “Don’t know how I got this lucky.”

Water sluiced down your body as his hands mapped every inch, slow and tender, assessing the damage he’d caused. He kissed along your shoulders, your collarbone, trailing warmth in his wake, carefully rubbing away the dried blood on your hips. Not once did his hold falter. Even as he rinsed you clean, even as you trembled from exhaustion, he made you feel untouchable, worshipped.

And something had changed.

For as long as you’d been with Hunter, you knew he loved you, deeply, openly, without hesitation. But this felt different. This felt like the two of you had crossed into some other territory, one where words like “partner” or even “lover” didn’t quite reach. His and yours in a way that could never be undone.

You leaned into him as he turned the water off, letting him towel you dry, letting him dress you in one of his shirts. You never once protested when he lifted you again, carrying you back to the bunk.

The others had worked quickly in your absence. The floor was cleared of mess, fresh sheets and blankets layered into a sprawling nest large enough for all six of you. The air smelled faintly of cleanser now, the traces of sex washed away, but the warmth lingered.

They looked up as you reentered.

“Do you two want… alone time?” Echo asked carefully. His voice was soft, his posture respectful, but there was no missing the concern in his eyes. No one had said it out loud but after they'd watched on the small monitor how Tech had tried to bring you water and towels they couldn’t shake the worry that Hunter might have become slightly territorial about you.

You shook your head immediately. “No. I want you all here.”

Hunter didn’t complain.

Relief flickered across Wrecker’s broad face. He grinned, already scooting aside to make room.

Tech, of course, wouldn’t let the night pass without his duties. He approached first with a medkit, eyes narrowing slightly as he examined your skin. “Scratches, bruises,” he muttered, peeling bacta patches from their backing. “And bites. These must be covered. Otherwise, when we return, inconvenient questions will arise.”

You wanted to pout, to argue that you’d gladly keep Hunter’s marks, but you knew he was right. With a resigned sigh, you let him press each patch into place, cool gel soothing the sting of teeth and nails.

Crosshair leaned against the wall like he had all the time in the world.

Arms folded. One boot braced against the bulkhead. Watching.

His gaze followed Tech’s hands as the last bacta patch was smoothed into place and medical tools were packed away with neat precision. He didn’t comment. Didn’t smirk. But his eyes tracked every small reaction that flickered across your face, the tiny flinch, the slow exhale, the way Hunter’s hand never left your thigh.

When Tech finally stepped back, satisfied, Crosshair pushed off the wall in one fluid motion. He didn’t say anything at first. He just moved closer, presence cool and deliberate, until he stood in front of you.

A canteen appeared in his hand.

He tilted it slightly toward you. “You need to drink some more meshla. Can you do that for me ?”

The words weren’t sharp. They weren’t mocking. They were low and steady, an order softened by something unspoken.

You didn’t argue. You parted your lips, and he lifted the canteen for you, controlling the angle carefully so you wouldn’t have to strain. The water was cool against your tongue, grounding. He watched your throat as you swallowed, eyes dark but focused, calculating in the way only he could be, checking for dizziness, for delayed reaction, for anything out of place.

When you’d had enough, you touched his wrist lightly.

He lowered it immediately.

For a fraction of a second, his fingers lingered at your jaw as he took the canteen back. Just the faintest brush of knuckles against your skin. It could have been accidental.

It wasn’t.

His expression didn’t change, still composed, still edged in that familiar, dangerous calm, but the touch was careful. Possessive in its own quiet way. As if he needed to reassure himself you were solid. Here. And still his.

You knew he struggled with expressing his feelings so you quickly leaned in to press a soft kiss to his lips to ease his nerves. But before the moment could stretch too long, Wrecker’s heavy footsteps thudded across the floor.

“Alright, alright,” he announced, dropping down onto the blankets with exaggerated care, as if the entire ship might shatter under him. “Move over. I got the good stuff.”

He tugged a bundled cloth toward the center of the nest and unfolded it with almost ceremonial pride. Inside was a small feast by Kamino standards, thick slices of bread, bruised but sweet fruit, blue milk cookies he’d clearly hoarded, and a parcel wrapped in paper that revealed strips of fried rootleaf when opened.

The smell alone made your mouth water.

You’d barely touched your meals earlier, too wound up to swallow more than a few bites. Now that everything had settled and the adrenaline went down, your body caught up with you.

Wrecker started arranging everything with surprising gentleness, big hands careful not to crush the bread as he pushed a piece toward you. “You gotta keep your strength up,” he added, tone turning mock-serious. “Can’t have you passing out on us.”

“Besides, we got something for ya”, he reached into a side pouch on his belt and pulled out something smaller.

A bundle of ration bars.

Meiloorun flavored.

Your breath caught.

“You didn’t,” you squeaked.

Wrecker grinned. “We did.”

Those bars weren’t served in the mess hall. They were issued to the troops when they were deployed off-world for a longer period, limited run, morale boosters.

You loved them but they were hard to get.

“They saved theirs,” Tech clarified mildly from behind you.

“For you,” Echo added with a big smile.

Wrecker dropped the bundle into your lap. “Guilty pleasure, right?”

You stared at them for a second before peeling one open. The first bite was sweet and bright, artificial meiloorun bursting across your tongue in the best way possible. You let out a small, helpless sound.

Hunter’s arm tightened slightly around your waist, amused. “Worth it?”

You nodded happily, already taking another bite.

Crosshair watched you with a faint satisfied smirk.

Nestled in the center of the pile, with Hunter tucked protectively at your side, you let them orbit you without thinking about it.

Hands passed you pieces of bread, strips of meat, fruit already peeled so you wouldn’t have to bother. A ration bar disappeared from your fingers only to be replaced with water a second later. Someone brushed crumbs from your shirt with absentminded precision. A low comment earned a soft laugh from you; a dry retort followed; warmth rippled through the small space, easy and lived-in.

It wasn’t loud. It wasn’t chaotic.

It was seamless.

You didn’t have to ask for anything. You didn’t have to reach far. Every time you shifted, someone adjusted automatically to make room, to keep you steady, to keep you close.

When the last of the food was gone and the canteen made its final round, the movement gradually stilled. The nest settled.

You exhaled and let yourself sink back into it.

An arm tightened around your waist, firm and grounding. Heat pressed along your spine, broad and solid. A thigh bracketed yours to keep you from rolling too far, while another presence lingered close enough that you could feel the quiet awareness there, watchful, measured, constant.

Across your legs, Crosshair’s lean frame was stretched out like a content tooka.

Blankets shifted. Fabric rustled. A pair of lips ghosted over your shoulder, a soft kiss.

And just like that, you were held, not by one of them, but by all of them at once.

Four steady breaths surrounded you, syncing with your own. One soft snore, Wrecker already dozing, rumbled into the dim light.

You smiled into Hunter’s chest, heart bursting at the impossibility of it.

Safe. Loved. Whole.

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