Hypothetically, if you and your brothers/Squad would square off against each other (1v1v1v1v1) in—let’s say—a controlled environment, (like a training arena), who do you think would win?
Factor in an incentive to win: prize for the winner ofc :DD
While each of us possesses our own area of expertise, I believe it is quite clear who would emerge the victor.
Summary: You are a lowly spy living on Akiva. Your mission is to gather intel for a growing resistance led by Bail Organa of Alderaan. You want to keep hope alive for people across the galaxy—but it won't do you any good should you die trying.
Enter the Imperial Headhunter—you've slipped up. Will you be captured and taken in, or will you get a second chance?
Warnings: NSFW/ 18+ for: Elements of predator/ prey, cat and mouse, brat-taming, enemies to lovers, knife play, cunnilingus, heavy kissing and petting, PiV sex, foul-language, and explicit sexual content. Mild dubious consent. There is use of pet names. Reader has hair of indeterminate length.
Word count: 6.2K
Notes: I've decided to write an Imperial Bad Batch series of fics and started with Hunter! Shoutout to @imperial-tracker and the memeforce crew, as they are an inspiration! I love the idea of an Imperial version of the Batch and couldn't help myself. I am choosing not to discuss the activation of his chip to let that be open-ended or ambiguous. No timeline for when I will write the rest, but I hope you guys enjoy this!
P.S.: I've been playing a lot of Star Wars: Outlaws, thus I chose the jungle planet of Akiva to be the setting for this story.
Ao3 link.
Fat droplets of rain pelted your face as you ran like wildfire through the jungles of Akiva, your pursuer hot on your trail. Overgrown vegetation, along with the fragrant blossoms and gnarled vines of Jarwal trees, provided cover as you leapt over a steep incline made of rock and landed hard on the ground.
You hoped desperately to avoid the Venga, an opportunistic creature that thrived during the rainy season, though now, the rain poured without relent. Still, it would be better than if he caught you—the headhunter sent by none other than the first Galactic Empire.
You had information—intel. You kept track of the small number of Imperial forces on this planet, relaying anything and everything of even minute importance to Senator Bail Organa of Alderaan. You were a part of a growing resistance—a small band of people spread thin across the galaxy—your sole mission to keep hope alive for all who needed it, though you were but a cog in the machine.
You needed to tell your contact that more people were willing to fight, that more of the Empire’s forces were arriving on Akiva by the day, and that soon they would take over the Stormhollow sector. Already, they were covertly building a military base just outside Pyke territory.
Ultimately, you were worried about your planet’s future.
Unfortunately, you had been caught snooping at an imperial construction site.
This soldier who was giving chase wasn’t like the others. Out of breath, you made it to a network of labyrinthine tunnels, catacombs that rested beneath Myrra, stretching far beyond the city—they were a series of twisting pathways that spiraled off into various tracts like that of an anthill, one specifically leading you back toward your longtime home in the mountains.
You lived east of the capital; you hoped to lose him somewhere along the way, knowing this planet like the back of your hand. Surely, he would be unable to find you if you could shake him in the foothills—little did you know he was built for this.
You pulled your cloak tighter, your hood closer, darkness momentarily prevailing upon your entrance to the catacombs, torches fueled by dilarium oil greeting you a few feet down. The Uugteen lived here, out of sight, but you knew how to avoid them, going the way of the old Separatist droid foundry, its machinery left derelict and in disrepair.
You desperately wished you hadn’t ditched your speeder once you realized you were being followed; a noise off to your right caused you to startle. You flashed your glowlamp toward the vicinity of the sound to spot a fengla scuttling off beneath refuse, having disconnected it from your belt. It was a small, hairless vermin with green eyes; you would rather meet a horde of them alone than to face your adversary head-on.
You sighed and moved onward, the creaking of expanding and contracting building materials and the smell of stale air your only company—or so you thought. Your human senses were incapable of detecting the commando who watched you, biding his time like a predator stalking its prey.
Brown eyes surveyed your every move from beneath a visor tinted black; the enhanced clone assessed your threat level, finding you to be no more harmful than a mouse. Hunter thought that to track you down was almost beneath him, though he had been given a direct order—not that he always followed through per his discretion.
“What do we have here …” the clone asked quietly enough, his voice echoing throughout the otherwise desolate space; it bounced off the walls in every direction so that you could not pinpoint its exact origin.
You gasped as you turned around, your eyes wild like that of an animal as you searched him out—that Imp you knew was in here with you—horrified to find that he stood mere feet away, blending into the metallic backdrop of the factory.
“A little bird,” — the black clad sergeant stepped forward, his pace languid, almost as if teasing you — “one that chirps a little too much, and a little too loudly.”
You bolted like a skittish fathier, kicking up dirt and grim as you fled down the nearest corridor, your heartbeat raging in your ears as you traveled what felt like miles, never once looking back.
And that voice was strangely familiar, as if you’d heard it somewhere before but couldn’t place it. It was smooth and sultry, unhurried—the auditory embodiment of patience, and more than a bit unnerving.
You broke free of the tunnels, escaping through an exit dug out from the earth to dash across a lush field of green grass. Nearby was a dilapidated temple, leftover from a bygone era, built by the Ahia-Ko; you would take shelter in its crumbling remains.
The mausim had worsened since you had ventured underground, thunder crashing above your head as your heart continued to thunder in your chest. You crawled beneath an outcrop of carved stone, decorated in ancient markings no one knew the meaning of, doing your utmost to hide.
“Shit, shit, shit,” you whispered to yourself, whipping your head to the left and right, knowing that just ahead was a steep drop-off you would need a grappling hook to handle, though you had stupidly left yours behind.
The only way out was to your right, though you heard footsteps, the crunching of twigs underfoot. This man wasn’t doing anything to conceal himself, knowing that he was somewhere up above you, the only thing shielding you from his sight, that bit of stonework hanging above your head.
“Hmm … where could she have gone?” the imperial commando asked aloud; you prayed to the stars above that he wasn’t being facetious in humoring himself, knowing full well that you lurked just beneath his boots, cornered like a dog on a dead-end street—perhaps he expected you to bite.
“Come out, little bird. I know you’re there,” came that purring lilt, the microscopic hairs on your arms standing at attention as you held your breath, daring not to make a peep like the little bird he thought you to be. You could feel yourself trembling, as much from the weather and the unrelenting rain as from fear, finding that instinct had led your hand to your blaster, ready to use force even though you felt you were no match for him.
“All right, then. We’ll do this the hard way, hm?”
You sucked in a ragged breath as the dark clad soldier landed roughly on the ground before you, having jumped from at least six feet down. You were trapped—literally—between a rock and a hard place, knowing that you would have to stand and fight.
“Kark you, imperial shit!” you screeched, pulling your pistol; the clone shot it straight out of your hand so that you screamed in pain, the bolt having singed your skin as you found yourself disarmed.
“Now, now. That’s no way to—”
Before the man could finish his sentence, you sprang to your feet and lunged. Despite facing off against a hardened soldier and you being a woman, you pinned him down, knocking the blaster out of his grip. But once you were both sprawled across the remnants of the temple floor, you did not know what to do next. It was obvious you had not thought this through, and your enemy could tell.
“What a compromising position,” he quipped, taking hold of both your wrists. You made to knee him in the groin but felt a wellspring of pain radiate up through your leg. He was well-protected from head to foot.
“Let me go!” you demanded, thrashing against him. He endeavored to hook your leg with his own, using his body weight to flip you over onto your back. You squirmed like a fish out of water, determined not to go down so easily.
Just then, your hood fell off. The clone hesitated, looking down upon you. You seized the opportunity to free one wrist, snatching off the bastard’s helmet so that your fist could land a clean shot to his jaw.
Then, you did much the same thing as he was, gazing up with a dumbfounded look on your face. It was the handsome clone from The Alcazar—the one you had fucked back in some cheap motel room.
“Hu-Hunter?” you asked breathlessly, staring into his doe brown eyes, even as a steady downpour of rain wetted your cheeks, your hair all but plastered to your forehead—you knew there had been something recognizable about his voice.
“Hmm,” he hummed, a low vibration in the back of his throat, your one-night stand tilting his head to the side. “I thought I smelled something … familiar,” he slyly returned; your eyes narrowed as you came back to your senses.
“You’re imperial?” you asked through gritted teeth, having met this clone when he was dressed in civilian clothing. You supposed he had been off duty then, stationed on Akiva for Force knows what, and you just happened to be a sucker for a pretty face, not to mention halfway to wasted.
“And it would seem that you’re a naughty girl,” he replied silkily.
You silently cursed yourself as you felt your loins stir, thinking your body ridiculous for behaving in such a manner, though you had no control over your own hormones. You threshed against him once more, taking a swipe at his hair, aiming to rip off that stupid bandana he wore marked by the symbol of the empire. If only he had been wearing it when you first met.
The commando was too fast for you, dodging by shifting his neck one inch to the left. He smirked, snatching that roaming hand back up to affix both your wrists to either side of your ears, pegging your arms to the ground.
“What am I to do with you?” he asked rhetorically, Hunter’s chestnut locks dangling limply over his eyes, soaked to the roots by the rain.
You were quiet, so taken in by his beauty; no man should be this pretty, you thought, attempting to shake yourself free of his spell.
You briefly came back to yourself. “You’re on the wrong side,” you hissed, “and I have done nothing wrong.”
“No? And just where is that camera you’re hiding?”
You stiffened, knowing he meant the one you had used to take visual images of the partially constructed imperial facility back in Stormhollow, having concealed it in the pouch hanging from your belt. It was small and compact; you had planned to share the photos with Bail Organa, though not all was going according to plan.
“None of your business,” you seethed.
Fuck, he was hot. You hated yourself increasingly with every passing second, feeling your blood warm beneath the surface of your skin despite the cool temperature of the surrounding air. Most of the time, Akiva was hot and muggy, but this was the wet season—suddenly, in more ways than one.
“Oh, but it is my business,” Hunter said, his butter smooth tone doing a number on you twice now. “Don’t make me have to search you by hand, little bird.”
“Don’t touch me,” you growled, though it lacked conviction. You weren’t sure you could even convince yourself you did not want him to, much less the clone on top of you.
“Come now, you didn’t seem to mind before,” Hunter teased, lifting both your arms higher, cinching your wrists in one hand, mashing them together. His other hand gingerly explored your clothes, starting at your shoulders before moving toward your middle, giving you a pat down in small increments.
“That was before I knew you were an Imp.” You wriggled beneath him, trying to move away from his soft touch, though you felt bothered in a different way, remembering the night you had spent together all too vividly.
“So, now what’s your excuse?” Finally, his open palm rested along your waist. He had a simper tugging at the corner of his mouth. It was infuriating, but also incredibly attractive. You kicked your legs one more time for good measure, but Hunter did not budge.
“Piss off,” you grated.
“Do you know how I found you so easily, sweetheart?” He was clearly amused, and that further angered you.
You glared at him, not answering, finding it peculiar, though you did not want to readily admit it. Akiva was your home—it had been since your birth. You knew this planet like the back of your hand, yet still he was able to find you when other troopers had failed. They had always lost your trail; you had always outsmarted them, yet Hunter was the only one who had come this far.
“I’m a tracker, little bird. An experimental soldier—” he bent down low, nearly brushing his nose against yours, your eyes scanning his tattooed face as you feigned not wanting to kiss him. “I pick up on things—smells, sounds—the scent of sex, lust, desire.”
Hunter’s free hand slid down, his knuckles caressing the side of your face, his leather glove smooth against your skin. “And you’re nothing if not an open book.”
Your whole body stiffened; you felt like a mouse caught in the claws of a nexu, yet you would be lying if you told him he was wrong. You sucked in a breath, uncertain of your escape, notwithstanding that you were comfortable right where you were, and rightfully so—the clone nestled securely on your lap, apparently uninclined to move.
As fate would have it, the headhunter’s superhuman senses caught wind of something else, just as that something came crashing down with an ear-piercing screech. All of Akiva was a jungle; you had no doubt about what thatsomethingwas, though Hunter was caught off guard for one split second—it was enough time for you to initiate a new sequence of events.
You wrenched one arm free from his grasp just as a fussy little Kowakian monkey-lizard tumbled into sight. It was angry, as the branch it had been seated on had snapped under pressure, causing the reptilian creature to take a rather nasty fall. Surprised to see you both, it threw a rock in your direction; Hunter swatted it away, not expecting you to reach up toward his face.
He reclaimed your wrist, but it was too late; you were cradling his cheek in your palm. It was the best plan you could produce—hopefully, he wouldn’t see through it straightaway.
You curled your fingers, then drew him in, whispering, “kiss me, then.”
Hunter gazed at you with a furrowed brow; he studied the look in your eyes before consciously agreeing, even if against his better judgment.
The clone dipped down low, scooping up the back of your head. Truth be told, he was happy to indulge you. There was no reason he could not have his cake and eat it, too. Although he would have to turn you over for detention, he might as well give you pleasant memories for those cold, lonely nights you would spend in a cell.
Your lips parted as Hunter’s pressed against yours; you searched out his tongue, lapping eagerly at the inside of his mouth. With a moan, you clawed into his damp curls, bringing him closer as your breathing intensified and became uneven.
You made a move to coax him to release you all together, wiggling your other arm. After a moment’s hesitation, he let you loose; you used the opportunity to wrap it around his neck as your kiss went deeper and slowed down—it was all a part of your poorly thought-out plan.
“Hunter,” you enunciated between broken breaths, your hips lurching upward. You had to commit to the bit, or otherwise you would lose your focus, finding it hard to concentrate on anything but the taste of him, or the feeling of his body cozied up to yours.
But why not just go with it? What harm could it do? It was tempting to ignore everything and simply give in to the moment, but your mission far outweighed any pleasure you might receive, or at least that’s what you had to tell yourself to carry on.
“What a shame I have to turn you in,” Huntersaid in that deceptively erotic tone; it would drive you wild if you allowed it, your hand slipping down, down, gripping Hunter’s black spaulder before inching toward his rerebrace, ever closer to your goal.
“You could always let me go,” you whispered, digging into his armor with your fingers as if you could touch his bicep beneath it, skirting the underside of his blacks.
The sergeant chuckled against your lips; you could feel his codpiece grinding into you, knowing what he kept beneath it, how it felt inside you. “I don’t think so, kitten.”
“Too bad,” you muttered, wrapping your tongue under and then across his in a swirl. Your cheeks hollowed to suck, distracting the commando the best you could as you finally had the guts to try your luck.
You snatched Hunter’s knife loose from its sheath on his vambrace, then broke away from the kiss; it hummed to life as you held the blade to the clone’s bare throat. His dark eyes flashed; he bore a mischievous smile, though your expression had turned serious. He seemed unbothered, though his voice was stern. “Is that the best you can do?”
It took milliseconds for him to latch on to your forearm; he twisted it in such a manner that it caused your fingers to loosen. You screamed, then aimed to drive your other palm into his nose, but Hunter was too quick.
You found yourself once more bound by your wrists. You bucked violently beneath him, then thrust all your weight to one side. You both rolled toward the edge of the ledge—the one you would have needed your grappling hook to conquer.
“Wait!” you shrieked, one arm dangling over the side of a precipice that was a drop of at least one hundred feet. The clone snatched you backward to where you now rested on top of him, having nearly tossed yourselves over the brink.
You both breathed heavily, staring into each other’s eyes. After a moment, Hunter latched onto your shoulders and forced you to roll the other way, collecting dirt and leaves all over your clothes—though by the end, you found yourself pinned once more, only inches from the actuated blade.
Hunter snatched it up, twirling the weapon once between adept, gloved fingers. This time, he held it to your throat—his breathing finally settled, though you were still all wound up.
“Do you know why they call this a vibroknife, sweetheart?” he asked, his expression stoic and unreadable. You gazed up at him like a dugar dugar caught in the headlight of a speeder, swallowing down your excess spit.
Instead of elaborating, he trailed its vibrating pommel between your breastbone, zigzagging it for effect. Hunter slipped its handle all the way down your chest toward your belly before he ended at your lap, pressing the butt squarely against your groin. He would push it into the soft fabric of your tights, then lean in close.
“I’ll give you one guess,” he said cockily.
The faint buzz of the blade on your tights silenced you, the sensation delightfully climbing upwards. It was clear he knew what he was doing; your breathing would not calm but deepen.
“Tooka got your tongue?” he asked, smiling subtly down at you, though he held within his gaze something mildly sinister. “Well, then. It’s best I show you.”
Hunter pushed the butt of the vibroknife more succinctly between your thighs. Even though you were clothed, you felt every tremor, every oscillation of the pommel. Your tights were thin, made for easy maneuverability, just like his armor. You gasped as the clone angled it against your clit, the quiver of the knife so intense your eyes rolled toward the back of your head, able to feel everything as if he were touching bare skin.
“H-Hunter!” you breathed his name once more, trying to hold on to your dignity. The commando canted his head, a few strands of sodden hair following suit as he stared down at you, forcing the knife’s handle against you just a little harder.
“Hm?” he asked with a kind of arrogant nonchalance, Hunter watching the way your facial muscles twitched as the continued vibrations drove you closer to the edge of an orgasm. You felt as if you couldn’t catch a breath, one of your knees lifting as you gyrated gently against the ground, both your hands finding the clone’s shoulders as you held on tight.
“Fuck,” you muttered, finally giving in to a moan. Your hips arched upward without your permission, the whirring of the blade seeming to increase in its intensity. Then, fireworks erupted before your eyes; you did not consciously know what was happening, losing sight of your surroundings as your vision blurred. You stared straight up at the canopy of trees above your head as your heart fluttered rapidly, your body seconds from succumbing to his game against your will.
“That’s right, sweetheart, give into it. It will make things all the easier,” Hunter purred, his other hand rising to cradle your face in the bowl of his hand. He brushed back a droplet of rain clinging to your cheek with his thumb, as if it were a fallen tear, then leaned down to kiss you, even as you writhed like a common whore, unable to stop yourself from coming.
You had no idea what he had meant—easier to capture? Easier to control?
You rode out your orgasm to its completion, knowing why the Twi’lek called it “the little death,” feeling as if you had transcended to another realm entirely as you came down, though now feeling wholly insatiable, wanting the man all to yourself—no matter who or what he was.
“Fuck me,” you spoke between jagged gasps for oxygen; Hunter had not yet pulled the blade away. You could feel another orgasm building, your chest heaving with every new breath you sought.
“And will you be good for me?” he asked, beginning to swirl the butt of the blade in micro circles. Your hips rotated in unison as you attempted to speak your mind.
“A-asshole,” you managed between fractured pants for air. Hunter chuckled wryly at your struggle.
“Wrong answer,” he stated coolly, able to sense your pleasure mounting. He waited until the time was right, then took his vibrating blade away; you clenched your thighs in protest, letting out a whine.
You were so distraught that you barely noticed him hoisting you up to sit by your gathered wrists, having easily sheathed that accursed knife. He dragged you back, the seat of your pants dusting the ground as he positioned your spine against a tumbledown pillar once belonging to the Ahia-Ko. The remains of this temple were a feat of architectural engineering; perhaps he would have taken the time to admire it, but for now he had other things to occupy his mind.
“What-what are you doing?” you asked with a soft exhalation, Hunter keeping you still as one hand disappeared behind himself. He unclipped a set of binders from his belt, then brought them around.
“Stand up,” he laconically demanded.
You were tempted to disobey, but you drew your knees up to place your feet flat on the ground. You pushed up with your thighs. Hunter remained silent for as long as it took him to anchor you in place, then inched backward to study his work.
“Can’t have you trying anything funny, now can we?” he asked in a deep, enchanting drawl.
Curse him and the starship he flew in on.
“What are you on about?” you dared, though your chest felt tight, having been tortured by pleasure, unsure if you were glad that it was over. But you found you missed the taste of his kiss, pining for it; all you could do was lamely rattle the binders that barred you from touching him.
Hunter did not answer you; he dropped to his knees and pulled the waistband of your tights and underwear down along with him in one fell swoop, revealing your sex to the open air of the jungle. To say that you felt a breeze was an understatement, though no other coherent thoughts filled your mind; Hunter buried his tongue between the folds of your labia without warning, its flat, broad surface lapping a line from the cusp of your cunt to the top of your clit, stopping to thoroughly suck your throbbing bud between his puckered lips.
“Fuck—” you could only repeat yourself from earlier, hardly able to stand up straight as Hunter switched to gingerly flicking his tongue’s tip across your nub. You were practically sopping wet from before; you could feel your own slick dripping down your inner thighs.
Hunter did not shy away, slipping one arm under your ass to help keep you aloft as he spread your lips apart for better access between his fore and middle fingers. You felt as if you could melt; become one with the forest floor.
“Don’t-don’t stop,” you begged. Hunter moaned his appreciation into your mound as his nose brushed against soft flesh; he ate and ate. His strokes became longer and more languid; he pressed his face more firmly against you, his cock standing erect behind his codpiece. Once he felt you were stable, he released his hold, then steeped two gloved digits inside you, the creak of leather accompanying the act of him curling his fingers, playing you like some Zeltronian lute.
“Too much,” you whispered, though it was just right, knowing you were seconds away from coming for the second time. The pressure against your anterior wall was perfect; the glide of the leather itself was an indescribable turn-on, though you were far past that.
“Kiss me,” you entreated once more, though instead he went back to a diligent suck, the undulation of his tongue’s tip rolling against your clit as he pushed against the deep seat of your core.
It was a triad of sensations; your body trembled against the moss-covered pillar propping you up. You knew you had your work cut out for you if you were to escape the headhunter’s clutches once and for all, but you were not sure you even cared to do so by this point.
Within the sleeve of your cloak was a tool designed for picking locks; you slipped your fingers across and inside, even as you fucked Hunter’s face, gently riding the curve of his nose as he continued to titillate you, the warmth in your bowels rising to a head, your body already so sensitive.
“Yes,” you praised him, biting down on your lower lip. Hunter’s eyes trailed up your form to land on your face; you were cognizant enough to halt the movement of your hands. He wanted to witness your expression as he led you to the point of no return.
Within seconds, you obliged him with one of ecstasy, whether or not meaning to. You rode the fingers still immersed within you, gliding back and forth, over and across them. Hunter matched your pace until you were practically limp, the clone retreating from your insides to wipe his fingers off on his thigh before he stood up to his full height.
You teetered, though you kept hold of that tiny tool that would allow you to pick at your cuffs; it was nothing larger than a hairpin. Hunter pressed his body against yours, overcome with the animal instinct to bury himself in your hair, smelling deeply of your natural fragrance before he released a low, predatory sound.
Then, he cut a piece off.
You gasped as he twirled his vibroknife, sliding it back inside its sheath. He had been so quick to do so; it boggled your mind. The commando gazed at you with heavy-lidded, brooding eyes before stowing the bit of hair into a pouch on his belt. “Just in case,” he smirked, knowing now that he would never be one to lose your trail should you escape.
You blinked, unsure of what had just occurred. The clone pushed his belt up and unhooked his crotch and skid plate; they fell to the ground with a clatter. You stared up at him, panting for breath as if you had just run a marathon. Hunter hovered close, the smell of you still on him, taking hold of your chin.
“Ready for me, little bird?” he asked.
You shook your head; Hunter kissed you, prying apart the magnetic fasteners of his body glove at the groin. His prick was swollen with his blood, thick and girthy, with pre-cum leaking from its head. You knew what it looked like from days previous, your eyes closing as your tongue joined in with his, tasting yourself as he pressed his cock against your eager sex.
You lifted one leg; Hunter hoisted it up, guiding it to wrap around his waist. Though you were bound, you pulled him closer by the crook of your knee, your other foot still flat on the ground.
“Come on, then,” you taunted, sinking your teeth into his bottom lip. Hunter gave you a dark, sensual look that sent shivers down your spine. He guided himself in—you were wet ten times over, ready, and willing to take every inch.
“You are a brat,” he remarked. You fit him like a glove, the clone commando groaning throatily as he sunk deep into the core of your being, your walls snug and warm, Hunter having to force himself not to release his seed too soon.
“Let’s see if I can make you sing, bird,” he spoke softly into your ear, twisting his fingers into your hair as he pulled you tightly to his body. You found yourself flush against his cuirass, never imagining yourself to be in this position, yet so drawn to him it was nearly inexplicable.
Hunter palmed the shape of your breast, tilting his hips forward; slowly his hand trailed down, locking onto the dip in your waist while the other kept hold of the back of your head. He used your own body as leverage; you met him in the middle every time, counter-thrusting when Hunter did, gliding smoothly over his cock with ease.
“But you’ve caged me,” you whispered, appealing to whatever goodness might be inside him. Even so, you were hungry for him, peppering kisses at the corner of his mouth, across his lips, seeking his tongue time and time again.
“You’ve done that to yourself,” Hunter replied, moving to squeeze your bare ass. You gave a chirrup in response, flexing your walls around him. Hunter groaned from the added pressure, slowing the roll of his hips lest he burst.
“What a funny way to look at things,” you hissed, taking the lead. Hunter concealed himself in the bend of your neck, the other hand joining his left, each now tightly groping one half of your shapely buttocks.
“I have my orders.”
You laughed a dry, vicious laugh. “What a good little soldier you are.”
Something snapped within him, the commando activating his powerful quads to drive his cock into you at a speed that was more pronounced. He snatched you around the throat, forcing you to look him in the eye, the other hand moving to pinch your clit between two fingers.
“I am what I am,” the clone growled as you gasped, his pinching turning toward a frictional rub, adding to the pleasurable prodding of your erogenous zone.
You felt the fire in your belly building up, slipping down, sending you toward climax as Hunter fucked you open, arms clinging, mouth wide as you gazed at the sky; the rain still fell, clouding your eyes.
You were nearing overstimulation; you rocked with him in a steady rhythm, disregarding everything but the feeling of him inside you. Then, Hunter lifted your shirt, your nipple sucked into his ardent mouth. You struggled to maintain your balance, kissing his ear, neck, nipping and biting, moaning his name. “Hunter.”
His left hand stayed between you both; his thumb running circles over your thrumming bud. You couldn’t hold back any longer—it was too much. You vocalized to the heavens, the entire jungle, coming for a third time, praising his name over and over like a mantra.
His voice purred into your ear, telling you how good you felt, bouncing you over his cock until you were begging him to stop. It was your pleading that drove him over the edge; you sang for him like the little bird you were.
Hunter thrust into you twice more, already aware that you were protected, coating your walls with his ejaculate as he groaned your name, his blunt teeth grazing your lip as he smashed his mouth onto yours, both of you once more joining tongues.
You timed it exactly right; you unlocked your binders as Hunter soared high, though you made no moves to dislodge them from your wrists. Instead, you stood there, letting the man rest his head, letting him lie against you, his chest rising and falling as he breathed in lungfuls of air.
Then, the commando’s comlink bleeped at him; someone on the other end wanted his attention—his superior, no doubt, or perhaps a colleague.
The clone pulled back to stare into your eyes. You held his gaze for as long as he stood transfixed. Something silent passed between you, Hunter gradually sliding out of your plush loins, wanting to stay there a moment longer, but knowing that you both were now at a crossroads, and him with a final decision to make.
“CT-9901, reporting.”
You did not bother to strain your ears as he walked away; Hunter tucked himself back into his blacks with his other hand. You watched quietly from your position against the pillar, finally slipping the first cuff from off your wrist.
You saw a pause in his step—had he heard you? If he had, the clone gave no outward sign, so you continued.
“I am aware, general,” you heard him say as you gathered the waistband of your tights and panties, shimmying them back up your waist and hips. With the clone’s back turned, you took a chance, bending down low to creep along the ground.
Hunter seemed distracted with his conversation. That, and the fact he had stooped down to scoop up his helmet, not seeming to notice you picking up first your own blaster, then his; they had long been discarded after your first altercation more than half an hour ago.
“This planet has a habit of washing away evidence,” Hunter said, his inflection denoting his annoyance, “this thing the locals call a mausim doesn’t seem to be letting up.”
As you stepped backward, you felt a small rock roll underfoot; it bounced lightly across the temple floor, clinking against a piece of Hunter’s discarded armor, the commando having taken the call without reattaching his crotch or skid plates.
Hunter had been pacing, though he jerked to a halt. He kept his back to you, not bothering to investigate. The clone had recognized from the get-go you would attempt to run from the moment he had placed his face between your legs. His heightened senses were keen enough to notice the slight movement of your fingers, though he had chosen to ignore it.
“Affirmative. Understood.”
You had inched farther away by the time he disconnected the comm, both blasters poised and at the ready, aimed at Hunter’s back. He placed his helmet back over his head, securing it in place, then spun around to face you.
“Are you going to shoot me?” he asked point-blank.
“Are you going to turn me in?” you returned, wondering if he had changed his mind.
“I won’t be going far without my codpiece,” he replied, walking back toward the pillar where he had left them on the ground. “The least I can do is give you a head start.”
You stared at him, unable to read his face through the bucket on his head, gazing into the black visor that hid his beautiful brown eyes; he began to clip the pieces back to his waist. You hesitated, not wanting to leave, but not wanting to stay—Hunter made sure to give you a bit more of a wake-up call.
“I’d get a move on; this won’t take long.”
You felt like crying, yelling, kicking, punching—but you wouldn’t let your feelings get in the way. Not now. Not when you had a second chance, however small. You still had the camera, the photos, the intel. You had your mission, and Hunter had his—you were star-crossed, doomed from the start.
“Isn’t there some other way?” you pleaded, voice cracking with emotion.
There was a lengthy pause.
“No.”
You nodded, taking one last, long look.
Finally, you departed, propelling yourself forward through the wind and rain, determined to lose him if that was what must be done. You would scent yourself with the blooms of the Asuka tree, cake yourself in mud—anything to throw him off your trail.
Hunter sighed and watched after you. What a waste it would be to throw you in a cell, though it was, after all, his duty.
His voice did not reach you as you vanished into bramble and vine—“Beat wing, little bird,” he whispered.
Ok I have to ask, how do you get all your hair into your helmet?? Do you put your hair in a bun?? Like whenever you put your helmet one the hair that was on your shoulders just vanishes
"What is the ethical threshold for 'acceptable' collateral damage during experimentation?"
I find this question difficult to answer, as my ambition knows no bounds. Am I not the one to define my own definition of success?
In my esteemed opinion, these bureaucrats should learn to keep their place. "But at what cost" is something to ask Imperial payroll, and is the least of my concerns.
Theoretically speaking, if you were tasked with hunting someone down that needed to be kept alive, how would that play out? Asking for a friend, of course. He's just wondering (〃´▽`)
This image has been creeping around in the back of my brainpan for days. I wonder what sort of vile experimental goo is in those vials? It's probably better not knowing.
This is an example of appropriate representation of Imperial personnel. Everyone, take note.
@pockafwye — Unless you desire something else to “creep around in the back of your brainpan,” darling, I suggest you do not ask these types of questions.
Afraid I can’t say, but I am curious as to why he’d carry them so close to the collar. He should know better after incident 4479. Some messes can’t be unseen.
…I couldn’t eat for a week.
Special Forces Head Hunter @imperial-tracker - Tumblr Blog | Tumgag
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