#tbb headcanons

bf!hunter who likes the chase. he’s always harbored a very secret, very sick and dirty kink for primal play, living up to his name. he holds your jaw from behind with his big, thick biceps wrapped around your upper body, bringing his mouth down low to your ear in a raspy whisper, “i’ll give you a head start, yeah?” his prowl for you is unpredictably patient, slow to draw out the pounding in your heart as you try to steady your breathing, knowing he can hear and feel everything. he follows the sweet scent of your perfume, all the nearby sounds rattling across his skin like a ticklish whisper, taunting him, dragging him closer to you. he doesn’t hunt aggressively; he plays with time, triumphant when he stands over you and smirks at your round doe eyes. “gotcha,” he murmurs, capturing your mouth in a messy, wild kiss as he rakes his hands over your body, shedding your clothes through a hoarse groan that vibrates against your soft lips.

bf!fox who likes the capture. this is a man who builds himself on his achievements, the thrill of being given a challenge and then delivering on it without fail. he often uses primal play as a way to punish your bratty tendencies, muttering, “ten minutes. don’t let me find you.” but he always does. he wedges his thigh between your legs to lock you down, pinning your wrists above your head with the firm grip of his hand. you squirm under him and rock your hips against his thigh, trying to soothe the throbbing ache in your pussy as he cocks his head to the side, smirking sadistically. “you’re a greedy little thing aren’t you?” he says in your ear. you whine as he kisses your neck and bites the same spot, marking your throat up. his teeth tug your skin back before his tongue runs over the sensitivity, licking up the sharp sting of pain. “mm, you’re gonna behave now, yeah? you’re gonna behave real good and give me what i want…”

bf!wolffe who likes the control. he’s so fuckin’ feral when he finds you, his hands rough as they grab you and put you on all fours, tugging down your bottoms with insatiable haste. sex with him is never delicate, but sex with him in this context brings out all the carnal, animalistic desires that eat him alive the same way he wishes to devour you, like you’re his prize and prey at the same time. you gasp when he spits on your pussy and thumbs your clit, getting you wet and ready for him, but you’re already soaked, which rumbles an amused, fucked up chuckle through his chest. “already making a mess all over me, huh?” he mutters in a low voice as he fists his cock, throwing his head back at the way his tip leaks with desperation. you moan when he slides two fingers inside you and curls them, quietly commanding, “clench—just like that.” he puts your obedience to the test, groaning as he replaces his fingers with the head of his cock, and you squeeze around him so tight he nearly cums right then and there. “that’s it,” he murmurs, grabbing your hips to thrust into you from behind. you cry out, causing him to clamp a hand down over your mouth while he fucks into you harder. “not a fucking sound.”

Hunter moves the datapad onto the workbench next to him, his heavy, armored arm instantly wraps securely around your shoulders to pull you flush against him. Because of his enhanced senses, your sudden presence completely grounds him. He buries his face into your hair, breathing you in deeply, and begins making an incredibly soft, rhythmic humming sound in his throat, trait he only ever displays when he is one hundred percent relaxed.

"The datapad can wait," he whispers, his gravelly voice dropping to a soothing, private register as he presses a soft kiss to the crown of your head. "You're much more important to me, cyare.” He gently rubs his thumb against your arm, completely content to stay frozen in that exact position for hours just to keep you comfortable.

TECH

Tech is completely in his element at his workbench, goggles securely on and wires spilling across the table as he hyper focuses on fixing a broken terminal interface. His fingers move at lightning speed across the keys while he mumbles rapid calculations to himself, totally lost in his own world. You walk up directly behind his chair, lean over his shoulder, and gently rest your chin right on top of his head. When his typing doesn't stop, you take your hands and softly cup his face from behind, your fingers resting right over the strap of his goggles.

"Tech, I want your attention," you say softly, your voice cutting through his frantic muttering.

His hands instantly hover over the keyboard as a bright, geometric pink flush creeps up his neck and spreads across his cheeks. "I am currently handling live electrical currents, which makes this specific positioning highly illogical and potentially hazardous," he squeaks out, though he makes absolutely no effort to move away from your touch. The second you gently nuzzle his hair, he lets out a defeated little huff, carefully powers down his datapad, and pushes his goggles up onto his forehead.

Turning his chair around to face you, he grabs you by the waist and pulls you right into his lap, burying his face in your neck. "If you required companionship, you merely had to state the parameters," he murmurs, his voice dropping to an incredibly soft, shy register as his heart beats a mile a minute against your chest. "I will always adjust my schedule for you. The terminal interface is a fixed variable and your presence is... significantly more time-sensitive."

CROSSHAIR

Crosshair is lounging lazily on his bunk, chewing on a toothpick while staring blankly at the ceiling of the hold. He looks entirely unapproachable, radiating his usual cynical aura that effectively keeps the rest of the galaxy at a distance. You completely ignore the invisible barrier, climbing onto the narrow mattress and crawling right over his long legs until you lie down flat on top of his chest like a human blanket, resting your chin on his sternum.

You look straight up at him and say clearly, "Crosshair, I want your attention."

The toothpick immediately stops moving between his lips, and he rolls his eyes dramatically while letting out a small, possessive smirk. "You are incredibly needy today," he mutters, his voice a low, lazy drawl that lacks any real bite. He pretends to be annoyed by the disruption, but his large hands immediately find their way to your waist, tightening their grip to pull you up until your face is perfectly level with his.

He plucks the toothpick out of his mouth, tosses it onto a nearby shelf, and uses his long, steady fingers to gently tuck a stray piece of hair behind your ear. "Fine," he whispers, another tiny smirk forming on his lips as his thumb lingers to trace your cheekbone with uncharacteristic gentleness. "You win. But if you're going to use me as a mattress, you're trapped." He rolls over just enough to tuck you securely against his side, wrapping his long limbs over you completely so you can't escape even if you wanted to, before resting his chin on your head and closing his eyes.

WRECKER

Wrecker is sitting cross legged on his bunk, happily sewing a loose patch onto Lula while humming a loud, clunky clone marching cadence. He is absolutely bursting with physical energy, completely occupied with his favorite tooka doll. You walk directly into his line of sight, tug gently on the hem of his tank top, and open your arms wide.

You give him the absolute highest concentration of puppy-dog eyes you can muster and say, "Wrecker, I want your attention."

His eyes go wide as saucers, and he instantly drops everything he is holding. Lula falls to the floor and his sewing kit rattles against the frame, as a massive, radiant grin splits across his face. "CUDDLE TIME?!" he booms out at the top of his lungs. He immediately catches himself, clapping both hands over his mouth with a guilty look to ensure the noise didn't scare you, before whispering loudly, "I mean... cuddle time?"

He scoops you up into the biggest, warmest bear hug in the galaxy, lifting your feet completely off the deck and spinning you around once in the air before falling backward onto his bunk with you safely tucked on top of his chest. He acts like a walking radiator, making you feel like you've been wrapped in a heated blanket fresh out of the dryer. He reaches down to tuck Lula right between the two of you, rocking you gently from side to side. "You're the best, you know that?" he beams, wrapping his massive arms securely around your back. "We're staying like this forever! No one's allowed to wake us up!"

ECHO

Echo is standing near the cockpit threshold, intently reviewing tactical flight maps on a datapad in full soldier mode, his posture perfectly straight and serious as he checks off standard maintenance protocols. You walk up to his side, slide your fingers into his human hand, and gently interlock them.

You lightly tap a quiet cadence against the cool metal plating of his prosthetic arm, look up at him, and whisper, "Echo, I want your attention."

He blinks rapidly, his highly trained tactical brain completely short-circuiting at the sudden sensation. He looks down at your joined fingers, then up at your face, his cheeks turning a lovely shade of crimson in the dim lighting of the ship. "I... I was just completing the perimeter logs," he stammers, but the datapad is shut off instantly and clipped to his belt anyway as he squeezes your human hand back with an incredibly tender, protective grip.