This 18+ zine has 139 Pages of Clone Shipping Content, 28 amazing contributors, and can come with amazing digital and physical merch!! Zine Profits will be donated to InsideOUT Kōaro.
With all purchases, you will receive an amazing digital clone dollmaker by @kyraltre, to create your clone OC! But we have an amazing array of physical merch if you upgrade your purchase!
Pre-Orders will be open until the end of April, 2026.
Chapter 2 of @essentiallythesky's @clonebang fic is now live, and that means I can share the first piece of art to go with it!
Go check it out and enjoy some good old fashioned clone clubbing shenanigans.
✨ And Then There Were Five on ao3 ✨
You are a civilian doc on Kamino. You can’t sleep because you are too horny so what do you do? You slip into one of your lovers bed naked.
“You’re doing that on purpose,” he muttered, voice low and scratchy with sleep.
You turned your head slightly, voice a breathy whisper. “Doing what?”
Crosshair made a sound that was almost a laugh, but there was no humor in it, just quiet, simmering hunger.
“Wiggling that needy little ass on me like you don’t know exactly what it does.”
You wriggled again for good measure, your bare thighs brushing his. “I couldn’t sleep…”
“And that’s my problem now?”
“Mhm.”
Notes:
This implies an esthablished ethical non monogamous relationship between the reader and all members of the Bad Batch, but the main focus here is on Crosshairxreader. Reader is afab and fitted with a protective implant. Tags include vaginal sex, vaginal fingering, degradation, praise, exhibitionism, oral, F/M/M, aftercare, sloppy seconds, Crosshair is a pleasure dom, you can’t change my mind.
It was late, well past lights out, and the room was dim and quiet, save for the never ending rhythmic sound of the rain falling on the big window overlooking the ocean and the soft, even breaths of four sleeping clones.
Or at least, three.
You snuggled closer against Crosshair in the dark of his bunk, burrowed into the narrow space between his long body and the edge. You knew he woke up a while ago but pretended to still be asleep. The blanket was pooled somewhere near your hips, kicked away during a restless stretch of half-sleep. Your skin was too warm, too sensitive. Every inch of you buzzed.
And you needed him.
He was pressed against your back, the heat of him impossible to ignore. You shifted slowly, innocently at first, just a little adjustment, but then again, and again, until your ass was flush to the growing bulge in his blacks.
A low exhale fanned over the back of your neck. You grinned, biting your lip.
“You’re doing that on purpose,” he muttered, voice low and scratchy with sleep.
You turned your head slightly, voice a breathy whisper. “Doing what?”
Crosshair made a sound that was almost a laugh, but there was no humor in it, just quiet, simmering hunger.
“Wiggling that needy little ass on me like you don’t know exactly what it does.”
You wriggled again for good measure, your bare thighs brushing his. “I couldn’t sleep…”
“And that’s my problem now?”
“Mhm.”
A long sigh. You felt the twitch of his cock against you and knew you’d won. He never told you no, not when you needed him like this. And especially not when you were already soaked and grinding back against him.
He rolled his hips forward, letting you feel just how ready he was. “You really don’t know how to behave, do you?”
You tipped your head back, lips brushing his jaw. “Only for you.”
That seemed to do it. Crosshair growled something low and wordless, his hand skimming down your front over your sensitive nipples until it dipped between your legs. You parted them eagerly, letting him slide two fingers through your folds.
He froze.
“Well, well…” His voice darkened. “You’re completely naked and you’re leaking cum.”
Your breath caught.
“No need to deny it cyare, I can feel it,” he murmured, dragging his fingers slowly through your slick heat. “Who fucked you and left you needy like this ?”
You swallowed, guilt flickering across your face for a moment. “H…Hunter…”
“I figured,” Crosshair said, his fingers slipping teasingly just inside. “And now you want me to fix it.”
“I…he…he made me come. A few times,” you rushed out, heat blooming in your cheeks. “But I couldn’t stop thinking about it. My pussy kept throbbing, I couldn’t sleep and didn’t want to wake him. They said mission call was early tomorrow and…”
“And what?” Crosshair’s voice was like velvet over a blade. “You thought I’d be your second round? A way to fuck the ache out after your precious Hunter couldn’t finish the job?”
“No! That’s not…he always makes me finish…he just…he...was so gentle.”
“And you don’t always want soft and sweet, do you?” His fingers pushed deeper. You whimpered. “Sometimes you want to be ruined.”
You nodded against him. His free hand came up to cup your chest, holding you tight, possessive.
“Don’t worry cyare, I’ll take care of you,” he said against your ear, his voice laced with wicked promise. “When I’m finished, you won’t need another cock.”
You moaned softly, your hips grinding back against him.
“But you’ll be nice n’ quiet for me, won’t you, pretty thing?” His arm shifted, and before you could answer, he slid two long fingers into your mouth. “You don’t want to wake the whole squad.”
You nodded and sucked his fingers obediently, whining softly around them as the hand between your legs moved faster.
He fucked you with those long precise fingers, curling them expertly, finding that sweet spot again and again likethetriggerof his weapon until your thighs trembled with tension. You clawed at the sheets, grinding helplessly as you muffled every sound.
“That’s it,” Crosshair whispered, lips brushing your shoulder. “Come on my fingers like the desperate little slut that you are.”
You shattered with a choked gasp, biting down on his fingers to hold back the cry. Your body arched, back pressed to his chest as you spasmed around him, dripping wet and utterly undone.
But it wasn’t enough.
You turned your face, breathless and pleading. “Please, I want you.”
You arched back against him, reaching down to grab at the waistband of his blacks. “Please Cross, fuck me.”
“How could I ever deny you when you’re asking so nicely.”
He didn’t need more convincing.
He quickly slipped his cock out of his blacks and lined himself up behind you, sliding into your still-twitching core with one long, slow thrust. It felt incredibly good. While Hunter was thicker, Crosshair was longer and his tip immediately brushed up against your cervix. A soft moan slipped from your lips, uncontrolled, helpless, and suddenly Crosshair stilled.
There was movement across the room. A shift. A faint rustling of sheets.
Your breath caught.
Crosshair grinned, still buried inside you. “Well, well. Not my fault you woke him up,” he drawled.
You peeked over to the other side of the room just in time to see Hunter sitting up in his bunk. His hair was mussed, his chest bare, and his eyes took in the scene in an instant - your writhing form, Crosshair’s smug face, the way his hips rocked shallowly against you.
“Are you serious?” Hunter asked, voice still rough with sleep.
“She came to me,” Crosshair said, voice thick with satisfaction. “Snuck into my bed, naked and leaking your cum, apparently you didn’t fuck the need out of her properly.”
“That’s not…!” you started to protest, but Crosshair thrust deep, clearly enjoying getting under Hunters skin, and the words disintegrated into a strangled moan.
More rustling. Tech and Echo sighed. Wrecker groaned something unintelligible from his bunk.
“Now that you’ve woken the whole damn squad,” Crosshair drawled, voice pitched louder now, “you might as well put on a show.”
Your cheeks burned and you barely had time to gasp before he slipped out of you, leaving your walls clenching helplessly around nothing. You whined at the sudden emptiness, but he ignored your protest, reaching down to shove the thin blanket away.
Hunter was still watching, lips parted, chest rising and falling. There was something hungry in his eyes, even as he shook his head slowly.
“I swear,” he muttered, but didn’t look away.
You caught his eyes across the dark room—and something passed between you that you couldn’t name.
Cool air rushed over your naked body, goosebumps rising over your flushed skin. The low lights from one of the moons spilled across the room, bathing you in a soft, silver-blue glow.
“On your hands and knees,” Crosshair ordered satisfied. “Let ‘em all see the way you beg me to fuck you.”
You obeyed without question, scrambling up onto all fours on his bunk. Your body trembled, still high from your last release but greedy for more. Behind you, Crosshair took his time, dragging his cock through your folds with lazy precision before thrusting back into you hard enough to make you jolt forward with a gasp.
“That’s it,” he hissed. “You love this, don’t you? Love being filled up in front of them.”
You whimpered again as Crosshair thrust harder, picking up a rhythm that made your legs tremble. There was no hiding now. Every sound you made echoed in the tight quarters of the barracks. Every wet slap of skin against skin was audible. Every sigh, every curse, every name on your lips.
Crosshair fucked you slow and deep, dragging it out for everyone to hear. You heard Wrecker groan and roll over, probably stuffing a pillow over his head. Tech muttered something under his breath about “his sleep schedule beeing ruined.”
But Hunter didn’t move.
His gaze locked with yours as Crosshair whispered filth into your ear, as your body trembled and your walls clenched around the cock buried deep inside you.
Your mouth opened, but no words came, only a moan as he set a brutal pace, hips snapping against your ass, sharp slaps on your cheecks echoing in the quiet room.
“You always come to me when you’re needy. When the others are too soft, too sweet,” he grunted, thrusting deep. “I know sometimes you just want to be used like the good little slut that you are. You want to be ruined and I’m the only one who can give that to you.”
You cried out, the sound shameless, echoing off the durasteel walls.
“Louder,” he said, voice rough. “Let them all hear how much you need it.”
You buried your face in the mattress, one hand reaching between your thighs, trying to get to your clit to push you over the edge.
But Crosshair was faster.
He grabbed your wrist, yanking it behind your back. “Ah ah. Not yet.”
“Please!!!” you whimpered.
He only chuckled. “You’ll come when I say.”
Then he pulled out abruptly, and before you could protest, he was hauling you into his lap.
You landed with a breathless gasp, back pressed to his chest as he slid you down onto his cock again. Your legs trembled, spread wide over his thighs, completely open and exposed. The edge of his bunk creaked under the weight of you both.
You could only imagine what you looked like now, on full display, back arched, tits bouncing with every sharp thrust as he fucked up into you from below.
His arm hooked around yours, trapping them behind your back, while his free hand dragged up your stomach and chest. He pinched one of your nipples hard, making you yelp.
“You’re such a sight,” he whispered in your ear, breath hot. “Look at them watching you. Do you know what kind of mess you’ve made of this room?”
You couldn’t look, you didn’t dare.
You were flushed from head to toe, dizzy with need. His fingers slid up, wrapping around your throat, pressing just enough to restrict the blood flow. The world tilted slightly, sound dulled to a low throb, and your walls clamped tight around him.
He fucked you relentlessly, cock slamming up into you in hard, perfect thrusts that made your whole body jolt.
You wanted to cry out, to beg, but his grip on your throat had your lips parting soundlessly.
He loosened it, just a little.
You gasped in air, voice breaking. “Please Cross…please, let me come, I need it - please!”
He groaned, head falling back. “Mhm, that’s what I like to hear. So pretty when you beg.”
Crosshair’s sharp eyes flicked toward the bunks, his voice a low growl edged with wicked amusement. “Echo. Stop staring and get over here. Put that mouth to good use.”
There was a beat of silence, then the sound of movement, a low chuckle from someone else, and then Echo appeared, gaze dark, pupils blown wide with hunger. His scomp arm clicked softly against the floor as he knelt before you, between Crosshair’s spread legs. You could feel the heat of him, the subtle hum of his prosthetic as he reached out and ran his hand along your thighs, steadying you.
“This okay?” he murmured, breath brushing over your sensitive skin.
You nodded desperately, barely able to find your voice. “Please…”
“Good girl,” Crosshair rasped. “Make her fall apart, vod.”
And Echo did exactly that.
His mouth was hot and devastating, tongue teasing your clit with practiced skill, syncing his rhythm with Crosshair’s relentless thrusts. You cried out, the sound torn from your throat as pleasure crashed over you in waves. Echo held you open, letting you tremble against them, letting you feel every sharp, obscene flick of his tongue as Crosshair drove deeper still.
You were spiraling, unraveling, body tightening like a wire pulled too taut, your pussy clenched around his cock and your muscles locked, the pressure climbing, unbearable and searing at the edges.
Then Crosshair leaned forward, his lips at your ear. “You want to come?”
You nodded frantically. “Yes…please…Cross, I… I need…”
The rest of your sentence died in your throat whis his next hard thrust.
“Then come for us,” he ordered, voice a growl.
He loosened his grip on your throat and pulled back slightly, then with a wicked smirk, brought one hand up and slapped your tits -once, twice- just enough to make you gasp, enough to make the blood rush back to your head in a dizzying rush.
The slaps stung just right, adding to the overwhelming pleasure building between your legs. With the rush of blood surging back into your brain and Echo’s tongue still relentless on your clit, your body convulsed, shattering into release with a cry that echoed through the barracks. You trembled hard in their grasp, lightheaded and boneless, twitching as Crosshair rode you through it with hard, brutal strokes.
Your climax was like a never ending bolt of lightning, your entire body convulsing in his lap. You sobbed out his name, hips jerking as you gushed around him, muscles fluttering in wild, helpless contractions.
Echo had let go of you and sunken back on his legs, he looked dazed, his cock still twitching in his hand and his cum spilled all over the floor.
Crosshair let out a strangled moan behind you, thrusting up once, twice, then he stilled, grinding in deep and filling you with a hot rush of his cum. His chest heaved against your back. He stayed inside you, locked tight, one arm still holding yours behind you, the other now stroking down your trembling thigh.
“Fuck,” he whispered against your neck. “That’s my cyare. So perfect for me.”
When you collapsed back against him, boneless and spent, he kissed your shoulder and nipped gently at your neck, lips surprisingly soft after how rough he’d just been.
“You’re welcome,” he whispered smugly.
The only answer you could get out was a mix between a whine and a sigh.
“I love you,” he said quietly. “You’re always so good for me.”
Your breath caught at that—not because you didn’t know it, but because hearing it now, in the warm, aching aftermath, hit different. He rarely said it like that. Soft. Unarmored. You tilted your head, brushing your cheek to his, barely able to turn in his arms.
“I love you too,” you whispered, your voice hoarse and shaky. “Even when you’re a smug, possessive bastard.”
He huffed out a laugh against your shoulder, his hand still idly tracing the curve of your hip. “Especially then.”
You felt his heartbeat slowing against your back, his chest rising and falling in time with yours. For a few blissful moments, there was only the sound of your breathing, your bodies tangled, your skin sticky and flushed and trembling in the best possible way.
Crosshair pressed another kiss to your temple, then nuzzled close and finally let his grip loosen around you. You shifted, limbs heavy, letting your head fall back against his collarbone, content and sore and absolutely blissed. And just when you thought the haze might pull you under, you sensed the change in the air—felt the quiet, palpable attention from the rest of the room.
You opened your eyes slowly, just in time to meet Tech’s.
He was across the room, shirtless, glasses slightly askew, his cheeks pink.
So were Hunter’s. Wrecker was sitting up too blinking sleepily, a guilty smile tugging at his lips. And force help you, all of them were in varying states of undress, wiping their hands or adjusting their blacks.
Your eyes widened. “Oh—”
Tech cleared his throat, pushing his glasses up the bridge of his nose. “Well. That was… impossible to ignore.”
Behind you, Crosshair chuckled, smug and unbothered. “She was feelin’ a little neglected.”
“Mm, I doubt that,” Tech hummed neutrally, though the look he gave you was far from indifferent. “Regardless, she cannot be left like that. Her body temperature is elevated, her skin flushed…” he took a deliberate step forward,” and she is quite literally dripping onto the floor.”
“Maybe I like it that way,” Crosshair muttered, his arm still wrapped lazily around your waist.
“You like a lot of unsanitary things. Doesn’t mean we let them fester,” Tech replied, unimpressed.
Crosshair chuckled but eventually exhaled a slow, reluctant sigh. “Fine.” …”She’s all yours.”
Tech held out a hand to you, his touch careful but firm. “Come with me.”
You tried to stand, but your legs buckled immediately. Tech caught you around the waist, before you could tip over.
“Hhm…sorry,” you mumbled, flushed again.
“Easy,” he said softly, adjusting his grip as he guided you upright. “You’ve had… quite the exertion.”
Your face burned as you leaned into him, every inch of your body humming. “Sorry…”
“There’s nothing to apologize for,” he murmured, the timbre of his voice dipping lower than usual. “You are overstimulated. Likely mildly dehydrated. I’ll take care of you.”
Behind you, Crosshair growled halfheartedly, but he let you go, trailing his fingers across your lower back as Tech helped you toward the fresher.
“Don’t worry,” Tech said under his breath, the heat of his palm firm and grounding. “I’ll be quick, I just want to make sure you won’t regret your choices tomorrow.”
You leaned your head against his shoulder and he made sure the water was warm before he helped you in. He was gentle as he cleaned you up, murmuring something about electrolytes and rest. The water cascading down your skin felt good, you leaned on him, warm and dopey and still floating.
When you returned to the barracks, the lights were low again and everything was clean. Everyone had settled. Crosshair was sprawled across his bunk like a smug cat, his soft silver hair a mess, eyes half-lidded and a satisfied smile on his face. Hunter watched you pass, gaze unreadable but intense. Wrecker smiled sleepily from his bunk, already holding out one arm.
You made your way over to each of them, giving soft kisses - forehead, cheek, lips- whispering, “Sorry for waking you.”
Hunter caught your wrist before you could walk away. “You never have to apologize,” he said. “Not to us.”
“I love you Hunter…it…I…,” you stammered. You didn’t want him to feel like he was not enough but your brain was still mushy and you didn’t know what to say.
“It’s okay meshla, we can talk in the morning if you want.”
You hesitated, pulse fluttering, but then Wrecker called out, “C’mon! Lula’s waiting!”
That made you laugh. Hunter squeezed your hand reassuringly and you gave him a long kiss pouring all the love you had for him into it before you made your way over to the other side of the room.
You slipped into Wrecker’s bunk, curling up beside his broad chest. He pulled you close instantly, wrapping both arms around you like a warm weighted blanket. Lula was tucked between you, her soft little plush body pressed to your cheek.
“You okay?” he asked, voice a gentle rumble. “You looked real pretty bouncing on Cross.” he added sheepishly.
“Yeah,” you whispered, resting your head on his shoulder. “More than okay.”
He hummed happily and tucked you even closer. “You can always snuggle here, you know, and I can also…eh…help if you can’t sleep, I…I just, I don’t wanna break you.”
“I know Wreck, what I have with Cross is not better, just different, I love that you are so gentle with me,” you said softly.
And you did.
As room finally fell quiet and the drum of the rain and Wreckers soft snores surrounded you again you closed your eyes, warm and sated and safe, held between the strongest arms and the softest heart in the GAR.
Bonus scene:
You were still sipping your morning caf, reviewing medical inventory reports, when there was a knock on your door.
“Yes,” you answered hoping it would be Hunter. You had said goodbye to all of them earlier in the morning when you had sneaked out of their barracks and into your own quarters before anyone could have noticed, but you hadn’t had the time to talk to Hunter.
The door slid open with a soft hiss, and there he stood—boots planted, arms crossed loosely, like he’d spent the whole morning pacing and finally gave in to instinct.
“Mission briefing over?” you asked.
He nodded. “We leave in an hour.”
You swallowed, sensing the tension radiating off him.
You stepped toward him slowly, heart pounding. “I was hoping you’d come.”
Hunter nodded once and waited for the door to shut behind him. He didn’t speak at first, just stood there watching you, his eyes searching your face like he didn’t know where to start.
“I…” you began, nerves crackling in your voice. “I want to say something first.”
He tilted his head.
“I love you.” You swallowed. “Last night… I wasn’t trying to make you feel left out. Or like you’re not enough. You’re always good to me, Hunter. I know you would have fucked me again if I’d woken you up but I also know how much pressure you carry, how much stress you’re under. I just wanted to let you sleep. That’s all.”
His expression softened. “You have no idea how much it means to hear that.” He stepped closer, lifting a hand to gently tuck your hair behind your ear. “I knew you weren’t trying to hurt me. But I’d be lying if I said I didn’t notice it. I’ve seen the way you respond to the others. To Crosshair when he’s rough. To Tech when he takes control. And I know… sometimes, you want more from me too.”
You hesitated, then nodded. “I do. But only because I feel like your holding back and I want you. All of you.”
He let out a long breath. “And that’s the part that scares me.”
“Why?”
He didn’t answer but the kiss that followed was gentle, at first. His lips brushed yours, tentative, reverent. Then he tilted your chin and deepened it, suddenly hungry. His grip tightened at your hips, and in the next second, your back was pressed to the wall, his thigh sliding between your legs, his body caging yours in.
You gasped, clutching at his arms as his mouth descended to your neck. He growled low when he found your pulse, dragging his teeth along the sensitive spot.
“H-Hunter!”
He nipped at the skin, just shy of leaving a mark. “This what you want from me?” he muttered against your throat.
You squirmed in his grasp, flushed and breathless. He’s never been so rough with you, the pressure of his knee against your core made your head spin and your core throb.
“Yes…” you exhaled shakily.
He inhaled through his nose, breathing you in deeply and let out a low growl. You could feel the pace of his heart quickening and the heat radiating off of him in waves.
But then just as quickly as it came, the pressure eased. He stepped back half a pace, letting the air cool between you.
“I need you to understand why I hold back,” he said, his voice quieter now. “Why I have to.”
You waited, heart still thudding in your chest.
“We’re not like the regs. Not just enhanced—we’re altered. Crosshair has better reflexes, better aim. Tech’s mind works faster. Wrecker has unnatural strength you know all that. But me… They didn’t just give me better senses.”
He looked down at his hands, flexing his fingers like they belonged to someone else.
“They made me something else entirely. I feel everything so intensely. Sound. Smell. Touch. Emotion. I can hear your heartbeat change when I walk in the room. I can smell when you’re aroused from down the corridor. And sometimes, when I can’t filter it out anymore, when those senses overwhelm me… when they flip that switch—I stop thinking.”
You frowned. “What happens?”
“I become something else. Something primal. Instinct takes over. It’s not a metaphor, I’ve blacked out in combat before, acted purely on reflex. There’s a part of me that’s closer to a predator than a soldier.”
You stared at him, stunned.
“I’ve never let that side near you. Never wanted to. But the more I care about you…” His voice caught. “The harder it is to keep that part caged, because I want to give you what you crave.”
You stepped close, placing a hand over his heart. “Then don’t cage it. Show me.”
He let you hold him, but he didn’t look comforted. “When that switch flips, I’m not myself. I don’t mean losing my temper. I mean losing control. Everything gets louder - your heartbeat, your breath, your scent. If I let go completely, I don’t know if I’d stop when I should.”
You blinked at him, understanding dawning.
“That’s why you hold back,” you said.
He nodded. “I have to. You’re precious to me. You’re not some battlefield. You’re not something I want to dominate—I want to love you, to protect you.”
“I know that,” you whispered. “Hunter…”
“I watch the others with you,” he said softly. “I know how you crave intensity sometimes. But if I gave you what’s inside me… it wouldn’t be like that. It wouldn’t be gentle. It wouldn’t be controlled. It would be dangerous. I’ve never let it out with anyone.”
You nodded. “A safe word. I can do that, I have one with Cross too.”
Hunter flinched. “It’s not that simple. If I let it out… I don’t know if I can stop. And if you’re not ready, if you get scared, if you say no, I have to be able to stop but I might not be in control of it.”
“I trust you, you could never hurt me.”
“I’m not so sure of that and I couldn’t live with myself if I’d hurt you. If you want this, Wrecker needs to be nearby,” he said quickly. “He’s the only one strong enough to stop me if I lose control. I trust him more than I trust myself sometimes.”
You looked up into his face and found something raw in his expression. Fear, yes - but more than that, love.
“I don’t want to hurt you,” he said again, almost brokenly. “I don’t want you to ever look at me and be afraid.”
Your voice was soft but sure. “I won’t be. I know who you are, Hunter. And I want all of it. The protector. The soldier. The lover. Even the part you’re scared of.”
He didn’t move. Just stared at you.
Then he bent, brushing his lips over yours like a prayer. “Think about it,” he murmured. “Take your time. Just… don’t ask me to give you that part of me until you’re absolutely sure.”
For a long moment, he just breathed you in. Then he stepped back.
“I have to go,” he said. “We’ll talk when I get back.”
“I’ll be waiting.”
He leaned in to kiss you and then he was gone, the door hissing closed behind him, leaving you alone with the echo of his touch and the wild, thudding certainty that you were sure.
You wanted all of him. Every shadow. Every scar. Every primal, feral piece he thought unlovable.
Part (5) of Divergent Paths, the next arc of Doc's Misadventures! If you're new, start at the beginning with Touch Starved!
This was supposed to be the last chapter... but it was running too long, so I decided to split it
Warnings: Medical terminology, sexual tension, PTSD, guilt, reference to murder/ torture, snogging
WC: 3,437
“If you haven’t found anything by now, I think it’s safe to say I’m okay.” It was more teasing than impatient. In truth, there was something delightful in listening to him orate each groove and bony process that might have caused bruising, in the effortless elegance with which his crisp voice danced about complex anatomical names and phrases despite the very real danger they might represent. I’d missed this, too. Maker, I’d missed so much in the months of anxiety and dread and guilt.
“It can be difficult to account for coup-countercoup injuries with only a handheld scanner.” He countered, drawing a soft sigh from me.
“Anything too small for that to find isn’t likely to pose any real threat.” His lips bunched in that little scowl that screamed his desire to object, mind analyzing every angle for some means to disprove me and knowing that want came up short.
“Unlikely does not mean impossible.” It was a weak argument, and he knew it, but I didn’t say that; I didn’t need to, and the way his cheeks warmed at the smile toying with my lips only made the prolonged check-up all the better. “I still advise you remain under observation for at least another day… but it would appear as though you managed to avoid serious injury…” His eyes swept almost mournful over my face, those yellow lenses nearly hiding the soft brown, “beyond the obvious bruising, of course.” He added, voice dropping with an apology he should never have felt the need to give.
“Bruises heal.” I replied gently. He let out a slow breath, index finger giving only an occasional tap against the medical scanner still in his hands.
“All the same, I'll review your scans once more to ensure I haven’t missed something.” That was as close to a dismissal as I was going to get, but still I found myself hesitating, unable to turn away from the worried determination painting subtle lines at the corners of his mouth. He didn’t notice until the silence lasted a beat too long, eyes flicking toward me with an uncertainty that made my heart jump. I almost hesitated… but he’d seemed so undeterred when he took my hand mere moments prior…
I let out a slow, deep sigh as I stepped toward him, arms looping around his lower back with a gentle, featherlight embrace; one he could escape with the barest of withdrawals, but I needed him to know just how grateful I was; for his concern, his understanding, his willingness to talk to me when the others still tripped over the words.
“Thank you.” I whispered against his chest. He was still for a moment, air held in his lungs, arms flared ever so slightly, and I worried I’d overstepped; that I’d pushed too far and might rekindle the heartbreak from that moment he’d shied from my touch… but then his free hand settled lightly over my shoulder blade, the other thoughtlessly setting the tablet down on the bed or the counter or wherever was nearest before moving to slide softly along my lower back.
I’d planned to grant myself only time enough for a single, slow breath, and then I was going to pull away. I was going to give him his space for however long he needed it, but then his body shifted, embrace wrapping so firmly around me, I couldn’t help but let my torso arch forward, molding against his as his deceptively tall form curled around mine, head ducking down to rest his cheek against my temple, ruffling my hair in a thoughtless, firm caress that surely couldn’t be called a nuzzle, his own breath fleeing with a tension neither of us would draw attention to. Not yet. But I let my arms tighten. I let him feel every glimmer of affection and adoration that might be sown through something as innocent and tender and desperate as a hug might possibly portray, and I realized something as my own breath caught.
Some part of me had still feared that he might have reservations; that in our time apart, he had distanced himself from emotion and found logic wanting for reasons I ought stay; that he’d concluded what chaos surely lingered in the days to come as we six struggled to settle into new norms and new roles governed by a love and lust that was anything but new couldn’t be justified by what use I had to the squad as a unit, but that embrace, the relief so shamelessly screamed in the way his fingers dug into the narrow gaps between my armor silenced even whispers of that doubt.
My hand slid up to card through the short curls at the base of his neck, fingertips tracing lightly over the band of his goggles as I tilted my head to just brush my brow against his chin, lips laxed in a gentle smile.
“Thank you.” I murmured once more, leaning back just enough to find his gaze, to let him see my own relief in the face of his, and his breath caught slightly, a tension returning to draw his shoulders back and straighten his spine as though belatedly remembering himself.
“O-of course.” He stammered ever so slightly as he stepped back. “I’ll… inform you if I find anything of note.” The subtle embarrassment in his voice as he quickly turned his attention to where he’d thoughtlessly abandoned his datapad left me chuckling softly as I turned away.
There was a weightlessness to my step that I hadn’t realized I’d been without for so long, suffering beneath the guilt for wants I’d been ashamed of, fears of what retribution surely awaited me should they ever come to light, but now I was free of that, and the possibilities laid out before me in its absence were exhilarating, consuming my every thought as I tread quickly through the door. Too quickly.
I wasn’t paying attention; wasn’t thinking beyond the thrill lingering in the wake of Tech’s embrace, head bowed as though trying to hide the grin I couldn’t begin to fight from my lips, and I didn’t see him; didn’t notice how near I’d come to accidentally walking right into him, but the instant Echo’s hand grabbed my arm, the instant his voice filled that small room, it didn’t matter what he’d said nor how gently he held me. All I saw was that rage in eyes unfocused and hazy with illness, the venom in that remorseless threat, I’m not asking again, and my entire body froze, ice flooding my veins, panic locking my muscles taut, too terrified to move, to breathe, to even try to flee for what punishment it might bring.
“Whoa-whoa; easy.” His arms flared, releasing me before my short, strangled gasp even fell silent. I saw him – saw the sharp concern in the soft brown of his eyes, the way his shoulders dropped like it might lessen the intimidating visage of his powerful form, lessen the way his broad silhouette so effortlessly blocked the hallway, but I saw that nightmare just as clearly, how ruthlessly he’d ground my face into the floor, twisting my arm behind me…
He took another step back, and my heart sank, chest bucking with a stolen breath as my gaze dropped, stomach twisting at the horrifying realization of what had just happened, the fear I’d let him see in me, the guilt and worry storming in his eyes…
“Kriff, sorry; s-… I, um…” I stammered, trying and failing to find some believable excuse that might give a reason – any reason – for my limbs to be shaking like they were; some way to convince him that it had nothing to do with him; that my mind had been broken and pieced back together too many times to even guess toward why such a touch might have so easily shattered me.
“Y- uh… j-just s-surprised me.” The words caught and fumbled, and I knew he granted them no more belief than I did, stance still carefully loose, as unthreatening as he could possibly pretend to be even as that haunted corner of my mind screamed that it was a lie; that I needed to run… to hide, and how I hated myself for it, for the realization that this ran deeper than a moment’s surprise; that this wasn’t something I could just ignore, and the terror of how it would hurt him if he ever found out… kriff, I could never let him find out… So, I pushed it down. I let an impatient shame pinch my brows and pull my lips in a small scowl, and when he carefully lowered himself onto a knee before me, that guilt only grew.
“Alright, just… just take a breath with me, okay?” He murmured, the subtle, lilting accent in his deep voice almost disjointed in how utterly juxtaposed it was to the feral terror still making my heart race, because how could I feel like this when he spoke to me so softly? How could I shy so violently from his touch now when just moments prior I’d so eagerly lost myself in his embrace?
“Doc?” He pressed in a quiet whisper, and I forced out a small huff, loathing the air of defeat that stole through me, the regret as I hesitantly glanced toward him.
“Hey.” He murmured in a barely there rumble that made my breath hitch, shoulders slumping as a tiny fraction of tension slowly began to drain from taut muscles and faintly trembling limbs. “Sorry… I shouldn’t have grabbed you like that.” I let out an almost frustrated sigh.
“No… no, I’m sorry…” I interjected, “You shouldn’t… Dammit, you shouldn’t have to worry about just… touching me like that.” He let out a long, slow breath, eyes just as haunted as they were gentled by how intimately he knew the exact tang of my frustration and the helplessness it carried.
“Are you okay?” He asked, and I felt myself pause; not because of the shame of the only answer I could think to give, but because that wasn’t what he was asking. He wasn’t dwelling on the moment of panic; not when he knew talking about such things would offer no relief. Not yet, at least; not when the adrenaline had yet to fade and memories still threatened to distort and degrade and ruin that happiness I’d only just been allowed to taste.
Stealing another quick breath, I glanced back toward the medbay where Tech was surely still scanning every snip of data until he could silence his own fears, and I nodded.
“Yeah… yeah; no brain bleeds or broken bones.” I answered, voice still too thin but far steadier than I’d expected it to be, and I relished in the smile he offered. It was small, and neither could deny the heartbreak in it, but it was real.
The duality haunted me. This was the Echo I was used to: kind but honest, gentle but firm; yet the man that hurt me, the man that so effortlessly crippled me by twisting my shoulder from its socket… that man was Echo, too; the monster he became when he had to.
“Ple-”
My breath caught at the ripple of that memory, finger tightening around the phantom trigger to murder that mercenary from so long ago, the one I’d tortured for the keycode to save the arc trooper now kneeling before me with that sad, knowing smile, and I leapt for even a tiny distraction.
“That can’t be comfortable.” The glimmer of accusation in my words as I glanced down at his legs earned a barely-there chuckle, but he didn’t deny it as he slowly rose to his full height, shoulders still slouched ever so slightly.
“They’re pretty much healed – just a little sore if I’m on them too long.” He replied, not dismissively, but clearly hoping to leave it at that. I let out a low sigh, attention lingering on the new prosthetics, the image of putrid wounds so poorly hidden beneath stolen bandages and wildly inadequate swaths of bacta long-since stained a far too dark red left me itching to beg him to show me, to let me see for myself that the skin hadn’t yielded from the day’s abuse and begun to fester anew, and I wondered how long it might take for that fear to fade… for any of those fears to fade…
He didn’t mean to move when I reached for his hand, but I saw the little shift of his fingers, too eager for the coming touch to lie still. Despite the warmth that sight sent humming through my chest, I couldn’t bring myself to smile, not when the soreness he was referring to only plagued him because of secrets he’d felt he had to keep because of me, because of the confusion of changing dynamics, the sudden need to second-guess every word and gesture to ensure some line wasn’t crossed that had been blurred long before I even knew it existed, and the heaviness in what was so nearly a gentle quiet weighed all the more merciless amidst the loss of his own tentative grin.
“I’m sorry.” My voice dropped into something almost too quiet to be a whisper, movements desperately gentle, reverent, as I cradled his hand between mine, fingertips tracing scars and veins and the creases adorning his palm. “Dealing with wounds like those… You must have been so afraid, and in so much pain… and to feel like you couldn’t ask for help…” He let out a slow sigh, head dropping though he seemed to lean ever so slightly closer; not crowding me, but… close enough that I could hear his lips and tongue shifting over words he was still trying to find the will to say.
“That’s… not your fault.” He finally admitted. Part of me wanted to ignore that claim, to dismiss it as an empty attempt to offer comfort; to free me of guilt, but that wasn’t Echo’s way, so I found my breath quieting, stilling; waiting for something more. “It’s… it’s still hard to accept sometimes…” He glanced down toward his new legs, such reluctance in hushed words colored only in various shades of shame; shame for the hurt he’d caused and the hurt he’d suffered, shame for being too proud or embarrassed or scared to ask for help, shame for needing help at all…
And there, again, those dual images clashed, because how could I possibly fear the gentle man before me? How could I bring myself to acknowledge that this was the same person that had left me shaking and broken barely more than a week past when now he stood so repentant and vulnerable, muscles atop his cheeks balled in a self-disdained scowl as he glared at the interplay of metals and silicas and engineering that was more deserving of awe than the disgust so evident in twisted lips and narrowed eyes?
I let out a slow breath as I guided his hand to my lips. It felt so natural. Like I’d kissed him a thousand times already with the promise of millions more awaiting, patient as though they’d never known the taste of doubt, and he shared so willingly in that unquestioning comfort as his touch spread out to cup my cheek before letting his thumb and forefinger toy with a loose strand of hair.
“I’m here.” The words washed from my lips as more plea than promise, and the ruin of a smile that sat so briefly but with such heaviness upon his battle-worn face left me stealing a step closer, grip tightening ever so slightly, anything to convince him that there were no conditions to my devotion; no reservations built on prejudice or pity.
“I know.” He murmured, some glimmer of warmth managing to ease that weight from him as he leaned closer in turn, and there was no hesitation from either of us as my head tilted back.
He tasted like caf that had been forgotten for too long and now held a bitterness emphasized by the slight chill of his lips. Still, there was a subtle rhythm to how he kissed me, unrushed and unworried; and how could I not loop my arms around his neck in a gesture both yearning and lazy and unabashed by the breathy sigh that followed, before, with the same breath, letting myself sink back onto my heels.
His shame wasn’t gone, but it was softer. I wanted to tell him that it was okay to have those moments – to acknowledge what he’d lost and rage for it, but I didn’t need to. He didn’t need me to tell him things he already knew. He just needed to know that I could love him all the same; that I didn’t see him as less than whole even on days when he felt so terribly fractured.
With a final smile, my hands slid down his jaw as I began to ease back, attention flicking past him toward where his brothers surely lay in waiting, but, before I could so much as think to step away, his hold shifted, willing me back toward him with a desperate, “wait” in the split second before he kissed me once more, breath nearly a growl as he pressed himself closer, scomped arm wrapping so tightly around my waist that my torso arched flush against his with a gasp that fell far too willingly into a muffled whimper, the sound devoured by his lips.
There wasn’t space left even to moan his name, nails catching on armor and cloth and hair as I lost myself in the suddenness of his need. It wasn’t until I heard the air catch between his teeth in a breathless hiss that I even realized how my body had rolled into him, hips grinding against his armor until he could feel me through even the thick durasteel shifting so cruelly between us. Part of me wondered if that fleeting murmur of friction would be enough; if such muted whispers of movement coupled with far too many months of repressed desires might bring him to the edge, and I found myself desperate to find out, to learn what other noises I might draw from him absent true touch.
But then he was pulling away, forehead brushing mine in what should have been affectionate yet earned only a flare of frustration as I strained to chase his lips once more. The breathy chuckle, the smile beaming across his face, the way his chest seemed to swell as he granted me exactly what I wanted for far too short an eternity, kiss nearly chaste amidst the thoughts raging through my mind; I couldn’t try to suppress the quiet groan from catching in my throat as he straightened up, the muffled sound only fueling his glee.
“Sorry,” he whispered, hand slipping so delicately down my cheek that I instantly felt myself melting into it, “just had to make sure.” My brows twitched together with confusion for the beat it took to remember how to speak.
“Make sure what?” I practically mumbled, voice far more hoarse than I’d intended, and he answered only with that stunning smile, free of every memory of pain or loss or guilt for just a moment as he kissed me once more before finally stepping back, scomp still resting lightly around my waist.
“Come on.” I couldn’t remember the last time I’d seen him like this: light. Happy. Truly happy. And whatever glimmers of my own fears lingered suddenly felt so foolish as I let myself be drawn nearer to him, idly following his every step in those few seconds in which we yet remained hidden from sight, body pressed so perfectly against his that even that damned armor felt inconsequential as I cursed how little distance lay between us and the cabin where light from the surrounding hanger already breached the Marauder’s halls to jostle us back to a too impatient present.
Crosshair was waiting out there. As was Hunter… and Wrecker… And my heart fluttered once more at the trepidation of relearning each of them amidst this new reality. But that trepidation was no longer born of pure dread… Despite every sliver of common sense screaming that this was bound to break us, despite the danger constantly looming beyond every corner, I couldn’t deny the real reason my heart was racing as Echo finally stepped away from me in those last few meters to the yawning doorway atop the ramp, his lips still softened with a smile and swollen from my kiss. Despite everything… I was excited.
Click here or message me if you'd like to be added to a taglist! (please note, if you've never interacted, I'm not going to add you)
MerMay fic will be late as it is still being edited. Have some werewolves instead.
Love At First Bite
Fandom: The Bad Batch
Characters: Echo, Tech, Wrecker, Crosshair, Hunter
Rating: T
Warnings: minor needle use
Word Count: ~1500
Read Here on AO3
Synopsis: The Bad Batch each carry a unique strain of lycanthropy. If he is to become a member of Clone Force 99, Echo must join them in their transformation.
with hints of polyBatch and a dash of HuntEcho
“That’s it?”
Echo watched incredulously as Tech slid the needle into the indigo vein pulsing in the crook of his elbow. The engineer depressed the plunger, slow and controlled, and the whisper of transparent fluid was injected from the glass cylinder into his bloodstream.
“That is it,” he confirmed, just as carefully removing the syringe and wiping an antibacterial swab over the puncture for good measure.
When Echo didn’t speak, Tech sat back, frowning softly.
“You are displeased?”
Echo flexed his hand thoughtfully, bent his elbow.
“I just expected it to be more–”
“Painful?”
“Dramatic.”
A guffaw from Wrecker. “Ya should of said. We coulda done somethin’ to mark the occasion!”
From his perch on the top rack, Crosshair bit out a sardonic smile. “Don’t worry. Tech has done everything he can to sanitise the process.”
Tech sniffed, looking perturbed.
“Transference of the lycanthropic trait occurs when the bloodstream is contaminated with infected saliva,” he recited in a practiced cadence. “However, Echo does not need to be exposed to whatever other pathogens are lurking inside that filthy cavity you call a mouth.”
Wrecker bared his teeth in a grin, revealing canines that were just a little too long; a little too sharp.
“Woulda been more fun my way.”
“It’s fine,” Echo assured them quickly, to avert an argument. “So, uh… how long ‘til it takes effect?”
Tech’s lips pursed in thought, pupils flickering as he ran calculations in his head.
“Hard to say,” he said at last. “The progress of the infection is typically dictated by the victim’s immune system, and not necessarily the virility of the donor.”
“I don’t like the way you said victim,” said Echo with a wry smile. He flexed his arm once more, before hooking the tip of his scomp into the crumpled sleeve around his bicep to pull it back down.
Tech shrugged.
“It would be incorrect to insinuate that this procedure is often undertaken consensually. Most people who undergo infection and transformation typically do so after being unwillingly bitten.”
“What about you four?” Echo asked, glancing around his new squad. “How did you all get…” He paused, searching for a word without negative connotations and coming up short. “How did you all end up like this?” he asked in the end.
He had seen their scars. Any one of them could have been the bite that infected each member of the Batch. Four werewolves, misunderstood and maligned, bonding to form their own fractious but inseparable pack.
Soon to be five.
He hadn’t expected the silence that met his question. Crosshair stared moodily from his bunk, sarcastic quips absent as his expression creased to something introspective. Tech was unusually silent, and even Wrecker’s enthusiastic glow dimmed a notch.
It was Hunter who spoke, lounged in a shadowed corner of his bunk, following every part of the exchange without looking.
“We were made this way,” he said, a short answer which didn’t invite expansion.
Echo pressed him anyway.
“What do you mean?”
He looked at each of them in turn, really looked. Taking in each of their different traits, from Crosshair’s rangy height to Wrecker’s bulk. Tech’s lightning-fast reflexes and Hunter’s preternatural awareness. With dawning realisation, he gestured at his elbow and the discarded syringe. “Made… like this?”
“After a fashion,” said Tech cryptically. “Individual strains of the lycanthropy genes were isolated. Although all share some common characteristics – enhanced strength, accelerated healing – they each carry unique mutations also. Hence, our differing characteristics and abilities.”
“So they injected you,” Echo clarified flatly. Another nod toward the syringe. “Like this.”
“No,” Crosshair drawled, the word placed with lazy nonchalance into the room. “We were treated in-vitro.”
For a moment Echo was stunned to silence, his worldview shifting to accommodate this new piece of information.
“In the tank,” Wrecker supplied helpfully, as though Echo’s delay in responding were due to an issue with comprehension.
“No, I… I get that,” he said faintly, glancing up at Wrecker’s broad, kind face. The big clone looked almost sympathetic, wearing a reassuring smile. “I didn’t know.”
“Awww.” Wrecker cuffed his shoulder affectionately, “we turned out alright! Least we didn’t have to go through a horrible first transformation like you will.”
At Echo’s alarmed expression, Tech swiftly stepped in.
“The first transformation is painful, yes,” he agreed carefully, holding Echo’s gaze as he talked. “But I have isolated an exceptionally pure strain of each of our saliva and combined them for an optimum outcome. Your body will be fighting neither extraneous additional infections, nor the typical trauma of a bite wound. I predict that the process will progress much more smoothly for you, than for standard documented cases of lycanthropic transformation following infection through the typical vector.”
“By ‘the typical vector’,” clarified Crosshair, “He means biting.” He also looked like he was enjoying this.
As if to demonstrate, Wrecker dived in and bit a heavy lovebite under Echo’s jaw, making him moan.
“See?” he said enthusiastically. “This is gonna be much more fun once we don’t have to worry ‘bout infectin’ you.”
“I concur,” said Tech with a small smile, glancing at Echo sidelong as he tried to hide his interest. “Once we no longer need to worry about any open wounds and accidental saliva-to-blood transmission–”
“Not to mention the swift healing of those wounds once we’ve made them,” added Crosshair with a devilish grin, showing his own canines.
“Agreed,” Tech concurred. “I for one look forward to welcoming you most fully into pack life.”
Their enthusiasm was sincere. Echo felt something warm and welcome tingle up his spine – something like coming home. Something like belonging.
“So, nothing to do now but wait?” He tried to keep his tone neutral, but the thread of anticipation wound through his words nonetheless.
“Correct,” said Tech. “We shall monitor your vitals. I suggest you rest and remain hydrated. When your temperature starts to spike, we shall know the process has begun.”
Echo nodded.
“Cool,” was all he could think to say.
Crosshair vaulted down from his bunk in one fluid movement, throwing an inscrutable look at Echo as he stalked towards the door.
“C’mon, Wrecker,” he said, gesturing for the other to follow. “I’m hungry.”
“I too shall join you in the mess hall,” Tech announced, scooping up this discarded syringe and neatly packing it away. “I will oversee selection of some nutrient-dense foods to support Echo’s appetite and recovery during this demanding phase.”
Wordlessly, three sets of eyes turned to Hunter. He was still lost in the shadows of his bunk, wrapped in his usual mysterious air whilst his eyes glinted to show his attention.
“You go,” he said, his tone somewhere between permission and command. “I’ll keep an eye on Echo.”
As the other three traipsed off, the room settled to stifled silence, tension in the air so thick that Echo didn’t need a lycanthrope’s enhanced senses to detect it.
“Do you think I’m making a mistake?” he asked at last, resolutely watching the opposite wall. The weight of Hunter’s scrutiny would be too much to bear direct.
A low huff that might have been a laugh greeted him.
“I think it’s going to be hard,” came the uncompromising reply. “I think there’s going to be times you regret it.”
Echo stiffened, but before he could mistake the comment as criticism Hunter continued.
“I think you’re strong enough to make it.”
A breath Echo didn’t know he was holding was exhaled in relief.
Hunter’s low chuckle resonated through the space, before finally the squad leader rolled to sitting, leaning forward with interest.
“How’re you feeling?”
A shrug, and a wry laugh. “Underwhelmed,” Echo confessed.
For a moment there was nothing, only Hunter’s sharp brown gaze gleaming with unspoken intent.
Then, fast as thought, he lunged. A vice-like grip closed round Echo’s wrist, and before he could react his arm was yanked up, a familiar vibroknife flashing before his eyes. He barely had time to register the sting of the blade, dancing across the pad of his thumb, before a shallow cut welled blood and Hunter pressed the hand to his mouth in a demanding, devoted kiss.
Echo hadn’t yelled; simply froze in place, wide-eyed, hypnotised by Hunter’s dark, intense stare as he met Echo’s eyes and moved his mouth softly, deliberately, around the wound. He shuddered a little as the tip of a hot tongue tasted his blood, branding him.
The only point of contact between them was his hand in Hunter’s, and Hunter’s mouth on his skin. He might as well be frozen in carbonite. It was just as immovable, being pinned by the weight of Hunter’s gaze.
Slowly, without breaking eye contact, Hunter’s lips caressed his hand once in a hungry, sucking motion. Then he pulled back, cool air rushing in to the void where his heated mouth had been. He didn’t smile, but he looked undeniably satisfied.
With conscious effort, Echo remembered to breathe. Something in his core lit up alert, and if letting Tech inject him with their saliva hadn’t already shown his willing, this. This would have claimed him.
“Get some rest,” said Hunter, his rough gravel voice completely even, as though he hadn’t just had Echo at his mercy. “You’re going to need all your strength for this.”
