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hunnythebee · 1 year

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Jealousy

Recent events between Phee and Tech have you feeling... well to put it bluntly, have you feeling jealous.

2.4k words - first person - gender neutral

Tags: Reader x Tech, GN Reader (let me know if I used anything gender specific and I will edit it out), Jealous!Reader, Best Friend!Hunter, mild spoilers for Season 2 Episode 13, pining, angst, fluff, love confessions, kissing

I would like to preface this by stating for the record, I am in no way against the direction they are going with Tech and Phee. I love that they are leading toward a canon romance (or at the very least hinting at it). However, posts made by people voicing their own opinions have inspired me to write this because I've never written a jealous!reader before and it sounded fun. Now that that’s out of the way, enjoy!

I had been cordial, friendly even with Phee. She was decent… for a pirate. Not that we had been much better in recent times, so who was I to judge? But what had me sucking at my teeth while I glared from my seat behind Tech was the way she was touching him. So familiar. And this nickname she had for him always made my stomach twist. ‘Brown eyes.’ How creative of her. I shouldn’t be so mad at her. She was going to help us afterall. Stars I just… I can’t figure out why she rubs the wrong way so hard.

I was silent as the dead the whole trip to wherever she was taking us. I hadn’t realized I was clenching my jaw until it unclenched. My whole mouth fell slack at the sight of this small island civilization. Beautiful blue waters surrounded a mountain dotted with small white huts. It looked so peaceful, so serene. Tech landed the Maurauder at the peak of the mountain, where there stood a tall tree and an even taller temple-like structure. As I stepped out of the ship the warm sun hit my skin and I sighed in relief. My seething anger melted away from me almost instantly.

A man, whom Phee referred to as Shep appeared on the platform, along with a young girl. She hugged the man, which made my anger melt even more. Maybe this was her husband and child? Maybe she’s just really friendly by nature. Then I overheard Wrecker make a joking comment towards Tech.

“Looks like you’ve got some competition.” He nudged Tech with his elbow to emphasize the remark. I bit my cheek and rolled my eyes, a gesture Hunter couldn’t help but notice. I relaxed a little when I took notice of Tech’s utter confusion towards Wrecker’s remark as he lowered his datapad. Phee then introduced Shep to us as the mayor of this island, Pabu, and his daughter Lyanna. Phee proceeded to list us off by name, Omega, myself, Hunter, Wrecker, and then Tech. My anger flared back up just a little when she saved Tech’s name for last, but I quickly attempted to stomp out the internal flame. Hunter was giving me a side eye, which meant I wasn’t quick enough about it.

After the introductions were made, Shep invited us all to eat with them at his home. As we were leaving the platform, Phee stated that she would catch up. Tech lingered behind the group, she said something to him and left. He turned around smiling and proceeded to catch up. I noticed his grin and his body language when they were talking, and I felt twinge. It wasn’t anger or hatred. This was something else entirely. I was so lost in thought I hadn’t realized that I was becoming a straggler, lingering so far behind the group that I couldn’t hear what any of them were saying. It didn’t matter. My heart pounded in my ears and I could feel a lump forming in my throat. I didn’t want to feel like this, not when everyone else was so happy. Yet here I was, turning green with jealousy. Worse yet, I couldn’t understand why. I turned my head to look out at the water as I walked, hoping the view would calm me as it had before. I was so focused that I didn’t notice Hunter blocking my path until it was too late.

I would have walked square into his chest if he hadn’t grabbed me by the shoulder with a gentle, yet firm hand. The contact startled me and I let out a small yell and clutched my chest.

“Hunter! You nerf-herder nearly gave me a heart attack,” I exclaimed.

He was silent for a moment and then responded with a simple, “Your heart’s fine. Your head is what I’m concerned about.”

I tried to feign confusion. I knew exactly what he was talking about, but I was hoping if I acted dumb he wouldn’t pry. As usual, it didn’t work. He shouted up to the rest of the group that we would catch up in a minute, then turned his attention back to me.

“Talk to me. What’s going on? You’ve been off all day.” He was looking at me with that sincere concerned look he gets, and I knew I couldn’t hide what was bothering me. I sighed and fell against the wall to my right.

“It’s… Phee.” I started, struggling to get the words out.

“I figured out that much,” he stood in front of me, folding his arms over his chest. “The question is why does she make you so angry?”

I froze. My heart dropped into my stomach. I knew why. I had figured it out moments before the collision with Hunter. I wasn’t ready to say yet. Not fully.

“Because…” I hesitated, looking everywhere but Hunter’s eyes.

“Because?” He echoed.

I sighed heavily. I couldn’t say it. I physically couldn’t make the words take form, despite them being right on the tip of my tongue. I was struggling and he could tell. He stepped closer to me and I felt a caloused hand touch my cheek carefully. I finally let myself look at him. He had this knowing look on his face.

“Do you need me to say it for you?” He asked. I bit my lip and shook my head in agreement. There was no way of knowing if he actually knew what was running through my mind, but it did always kind of feel like he could read minds sometimes.

“You’re in love with Tech.”

He stated it so easily. Like it wasn’t the most planet shattering phrase in the galaxy. Tears welled in my eyes and I whispered a barely audible, “Yes.”

Hunter pulled me into a tight hug as the tears began to fall, and then the verbal floodgates released.

“I can’t stand it, Hunter. Seeing the two of them together. She’s always flirting with him. Touching him or calling ‘Brown Eyes.” What kind of kriffing nickname is that anyways? ‘Brown Eyes’? You all have brown eyes! At least be more original than that! But that’s not even the worst part. The worst part is the way he looks at her. He would never look at me like that…”

“That you’ve seen…” Hunter mutters under his breath. I pull away and stare at him with a furrowed brow.

“What’s that supposed to mean?” I questioned.

“Nothing. I think you should talk to Tech. Tell him how you feel. If he feels the same then you can stop feeling so jealous. If he doesn’t… then at least you have closure.” He grabs my shoulder one last time and gives it a squeeze. “Think about it over dinner, okay?”

“Okay…” I responded.

I gathered myself and we headed toward the home of the Mayor. Dinner felt… long. Scratch that. It felt like an eternity. Phee was her usual self, and Tech seemed to actually be enjoying it. I felt sick. I couldn’t eat anymore. I stood up from the table abruptly and excused myself. I wasn’t sure where I was going to go, but I needed to get away from there. I decided to go back to the ship. I raced up the steps as fast as my legs would carry me. I don’t even think I was halfway there before I got winded and had to stop for breath. I felt far enough away that I could at least take my time now. I decided to take a break to watch the sunset, hoping that it would make me feel better. It was sort of working to calm my nerves, until I heard my name being called by a familiar voice. I turned my head to catch a glimpse of Tech, running up the steps towards me. His long legs carried him up two or three steps at a time. My heart raced and I panicked. I couldn’t face him like this. I turned quickly from him and began sprinting back up the steps, with him in tow and gaining. I was already exhausted from booking it up the steps before and my endurance was nothing compared to a clone’s, so it was a given that he was going to eventually catch up to me. I at least managed to get to the landing second to the top before he got to me. He caught my hand in his and my heart leapt inside my chest.

He was breathing hard from the exertion, “What…is…going…on?” He spoke, panting between his words.

“Just…leave…me…alone.” I panted back. I pulled my hand from his, despite wanting to keep it there forever. I tried to move to continue my climb, but I was too slow. His hands pressed into my shoulders and shoved me against the wall. My eyes widened at the show of brute force he was exhibiting. It wasn’t like him to use his strength like this. I had almost forgotten that, despite his differing physique, he was meant to be as strong as any other clone. There was escaping now, but I could still refuse to look in his eyes. If I did, I was sure I would break.

“Why are you running from me?” He still sounded exhausted, but his voice was like music to me. I sighed deeply and looked up at the sky, anything but his eyes. He lowered his head and continued to speak.

“Hunter…said I should be the one to come after you,” he admitted.

“That mud-scuffer…” I muttered.

Tech laughed, it was dry and tired, but it gave me chills. I was breaking already and I wasn’t even looking at him.

“Why didn’t he want me to catch you? Why are you running? And why… why won’t you look at me?” I could hear pain in his voice. I didn’t want to cause him pain. That was the last thing I wanted. I bit into my lower lip and finally met his stare. His eyes were filled with worry. He was looking straight into mine and I felt it. I was breaking. There was nothing stopping it.

“Please…” I pleaded with him in one last feeble attempt. “Please Tech… don’t.”

“I know something is wrong…” He ignored my pleas. “You can tell me anything. You know that.”

He was right. I am usually so open with him, so why should this be any different. Just tell him how I feel, be rejected and move on. Like Hunter said.

“I…” I start, but lose my train of thought when I look into his eyes. I closed my eyes and leaned my head back against the wall. Just say it already.

“I love you.”

My heart was pounding so loudly I wasn’t sure if he had responded and I couldn’t hear him, or if he was being unusually silent. I couldn’t bear to look at him. I didn’t want to see his eyes, the look of betrayal over my confession. Or the confusion. I couldn’t take it. I just wanted him to tell me doesn’t feel the same way so this could all be over. Finally I felt movement, his hands left my shoulders. I still didn’t dare look at him, keeping my eyes shut tight and my head against the wall. Still nothing from him. Maybe he left. I finally decided to open my eyes, to see if he truly had just walked away. But I couldn’t have been more wrong.

He was standing in front of me, looking magnificent with the sunset behind him. His hands were limp at his sides. I took my time working my way to his eyes. Wanting to avoid the moment for just a little longer. His mouth hung open slightly in shock. Finally I made it to his eyes, but they didn’t have the look I had been expecting. There was shock, which was to be expected, but something else. Something… contemplative.

“Tech, I–” I began, but the moment I spoke he moved in towards me. His hands found my neck and jaw, much softer than Hunter’s were, and fitting there perfectly as if they were made to hold me. Tech’s body was pressed completely against mine, with one of his legs tucked between mine. His face wasn’t even an inch from mine, as he nuzzled my nose with his own. My breath hitched in my throat as he spoke. His voice was still familiar, but the tone was foreign. He spoke low and with a heat I had never heard come from him before.

“Say it again,” he requested.

“I– I love you, Tech,” I confessed once more, as I leaned into his hand. And then his lips were on mine. Soft and gentle, patiently waiting for me to confirm that this action was okay. I kissed him back, pressing into him and reveling in this moment. He hummed happily and deepened the kiss. We continued like this till the sun had set completely. Finally we broke apart for air and he pressed his forehead to mine.

I needed to hear him say the words. So I leaned back, wanting to see him say it. Then I breathlessly asked, “Do you love me?”

“Emotions are a complex concept, and I don’t fully believe that words can be utilized to sum up one's feelings at any given point. But… if I had to put a word to what I am feeling, then… yes. Love is about as close to explaining how I feel about you.” He responded, making even that absurdly roundabout ‘yes’ sound sexy.

I laughed, “I wouldn’t have expected you to say you love me in any other way.”

“Am I truly that predictable?” He looked a little offended.

“Hmm… occasionally.” I responded. “For example, I didn’t know what to expect from you when I confessed. But I do know what you’re going to say next.”

“Do you now?” He cocked his head in amusement.

“Mmhm. You’re going to say we should head back before the others begin to worry,” I replied.

His eyes widened slightly, “How did yo–”

“I know you,” I shrugged, grabbing him by the arm. “So, let’s head back. There’s plenty of time for… this, later.”

He blushed a little at the thought, and agreed to head back down to the Mayor’s home. I finally felt at ease. I hope the rest of the night is more relaxing.

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starqueensthings · 8 months

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Dork Love: Part Three

Summary: Tech returns to Coruscant to take charge of the required repairs on the reader's electrical panel, and his anxiety is only intensified by the unexpected surprise waiting for him at your shop.

Rating/WC/POV: Teen 16+ for slight whumpage. 6161 words, 2nd POV (though this chapter follows Tech, and reader is only alluded to).

Warnings: casual conversations about anxiety, mentions of blood splatter, mentions of blood soaked objects (LOL this one took me down a weird path).

A/N: this one was a challenge and a half, my friends, so I apologize that it’s not up to my usual standard. I just need to finish it and move on before I pluck my eyebrows off my face. But pls enjoy! LMAO. And thanks to the queen of whump herself for proof reading @staycalmandhugaclone

Chapter One | Chapter Two | Chapter Four | ao3

As if it were funneling every effort in to soothing his nerves, the weather had fashioned itself significantly more pleasant than when he last traversed this pathway; the cool drizzle falling that day managed to dampen the typically unabsorbent collar of his blacks with an irksome ease, and had lingered unpleasantly against his skin for several hours afterward. Despite now being favourably warm and dry, elongated shadows cast by the sun’s obtuse position over the mouth of the underworld was making the screen of his datapad annoyingly difficult to discern, the intermittent bouts of intense glare blinding him to the articles that he was only absentmindedly scanning, yet relentlessly fetching.

Bemused that the apex of Tech’s affection had landed itself upon a person and not a superfluous piece of technology, Hunter was insistent that he accompany his brother on today’s voyage, though the guise he’d chosen to conceal his disbelief was a weak one. The coils of wire that he had absurdly deemed “too heavy” for one man to carry, swung daintily from the crooks of their elbows with every stride, and despite having bore witness to the innumerable sleepless nights that Tech had spent meticulously studying current commercial Electrical Code, Hunter remained unwavering in his adamance that his heightened senses may prove valuable – (“what if you need me to sense where the wires are in the wall?”)

‘If only the journey to Coruscant had been for a more inconsequential reason,’ Tech found himself longing as the armoured duo departed the ship. ‘Simply a mission to seek a replacement part, or a simple separatist data decryption.’ Had this been the case, his sergeant’s company would have been welcomed and even encouraged; independent as he was, Tech rarely declined an opportunity to be accompanied by a brother, particularly so if it meant freeing the cockpit of any officious, unsupervised visitation in his absence. Today on the other hand, as his mind continued to shirk his every offer of distraction, and perpetually whirred with cyclical, desultory thoughts, he would have much preferred to make the journey solo.

As they typically did to pacify his overactive mind, his fingers danced fervently across the illuminated buttons of the device clutched tightly in his left hand, the absentminded prods and swipes of his fingers triggering a near constant pull of new, yet continuously marginalized information. Most recently ignored was a collection of graphs depicting the primary effects of seasonal climate changes on the pollination schedule of Felucia’s native flora, though more imperative to Tech in that moment, was calculating the likelihood that you would notice the droplets of engine oil still splattered across the toes of his boots; the only remnants of a night spent repairing the damage that Wreckers most recent attempt at landing the ship had caused to the Marauder’s undercarriage.

Regrettably, the poor condition of his boots was only one of several trivial misgivings. In its company was the budding dread that his lenses had dirtied themselves again despite having mastered the disinfection process, and the fear that the callouses emerging on his palms from several hours of dismantling and reassembling the hyperdrive would deter you from initiating the contact that he’d found himself near-addicted to.

But anchoring all of the other menial anxieties, was the gnawing possibility that the entirety of this adventure could be naught but a misunderstanding; those were, admittedly, frequent occurrences for Tech. The disfigurement of his genetics had rendered him largely unable to accurately identify and categorize the infinite array of human behavior, particularly when expressed by those with whom he was unfamiliar.

What if this was one of those times? What if the request that he come find you was merely a parting statement made with the sole intent of being complaisant, and not one that you intended he act on? Much to his dismay, it was a hypothesis that warranted investigation; after all, you were quite polite… and intelligent… and munificent… and welcoming… and so very becoming to him. What if the profound sense of adoration that welled inside him at only the thought of you, was not a feeling mutually shared? What if the unrelenting desire to be back in your company, with your chilled yet capable hands curled around his, was simply unreciprocated? Could all of this be yet another miscategorization of body language, and was he presently walking toward a potentially crippling rejection? And why did Hunter have to insist that he come along?

Seeking any semblance of reprieve or solace from the advice of a brother was an idea banished from his mind almost as swiftly as it presented itself, as even the most casual, off-hand comments regarding a squad mate’s possible love interest typically had Wrecker jeering so extravagantly that even droids in the immediate vicinity saw their circuits overheating under a potent, secondhand indignity.

Crosshair’s passive yet targeted quip of being to spot “dorks in love” from a mile away had caught Tech entirely off guard as the squad marched otherwise silently through the arid and brittle forest abutting a Separatist ComHub on Sullust, yet the sardonic remark, while unprovoked and initially jarring, did succeed in diminishing a portion of Tech’s uncertainty, and he clung to it as if it were a talisman against the degenerative doubt.

That was until today. With boots clunking noisily along a familiar pathway now bathed in a radiant sunlight that in no way mirrored the turbulence in his mind, his every step toward the bright, yellow door of his emotional demise saw the protection of his brother’s sentiment almost entirely stripped of its integrity.

Tech swallowed heavily, stumbling over the fragmented motions of his feet, the fluidity of their typically athletic movements interrupted by the sudden and irrepressible urge to try and remove the oil from the toe of his left boot with the back of his right pant leg. Hunter, nostrils flared against the onslaught of foreign underworld aromas, remained tactfully blind to the uncharacteristic stumble on his right, only concealing the first signs of a smirk by shifting the coil of wire from the crook of his elbow to the ridge of his shoulder bell, and offering the tip of his nose an absentminded scratch.

“You, uh… excited?” the sergeant probed, waiting until the pair had fallen back into a casual cadence to cast an inquisitive glance toward his brother.

“I am most eager to begin the installation, yes,” Tech answered smartly, his response somehow void of the apprehension currently plaguing his thoughts. “I suspect this to be a multi-faceted problem requiring an equally detailed and well-planned solution. The existing circuitry was designed to house breakers of a 15-amperage allotment, and was thus outfitted with 14-gauge wiring throughout. The previous owner was, regrettably, an amateur in the field of electrical requirements and failed to investigate the symbiotic correlation of breaker-to-wiring before interchanging several breakers, thus rendering the preexisting wires incapable of transporting the increased charge and escalating the likelihood of an electrical fire. A complete overhaul of the electrical panel, including all new breakers of the correct specifications, paired with a 10-gauge wire that appropriately fulfills the demand of several different amperage allotments, would serve the in building’s best interests. Additionally, I will need to determine which of the machinery have a load requirement exceeding that of the common 20 amperages. I suspect both the generator and the lens polisher will both require a replacement breaker with a higher allotment, which may, in turn, require me to reconfigure neighbouring breaker requirements to accommoda—”

“That’s not what I was asking,” Hunter interrupted, the vocoder in his helmet failing to smother the exasperation that wreathed his words. “And I think you know that.”

Offering only a guilty glance toward his sergeant, Tech pursed his lips and refocused his gaze upon his datapad. All too aware of the heat surging to his cheeks, and the failure of his helmet to completely veil its presence from the attuned senses of his brother, he maintained a contemplative silence while earnestly scrolling back to the beginning of the article he’d been thoughtlessly skimming (an abstract on the ‘Primitive Parasocial Behavior Patterns of the Felucian Flying Manta’, a species they were likely to encounter during their next mission).

“You know, you don’t need to deflect, Tech.” Hunter finished the assertion by pulling his helmet from his head and shaking his long locks from his shoulders, an absentminded smile peeling across his lips as the radiant sunlight warmed his tattooed features. “I’ve been in your shoes before… I can help you sort out your feelings if you want.”

The gentle, yet, surveying gaze that his sergeant turned toward him while a discomfited silence expanded the space between them saw Tech nearly flinching; not entirely prepared to respond to his brother’s request for vulnerability, he inculpably reattuned his attention to his hands.

“The Felucian Flying Manta bears the ‘Repatavian’ genus, unlike its fellow Manta counterparts with the Reptaquatic subclassification, though socially maintains a similar hierarchy—” he read futilely for the ninth time. “—A lone alpha maintains a symbiotic and systematic breeding schedule with the females of the colony, and remains largely unchallenged for his position as protector and genetic contributor. Rival males must only challenge the alpha for authority during that of a waning gibbous moon, when shifts in the atmospheric currents bring forth—”

“Or… we don’t have to talk about it at all,” Hunter continued with a small shrug, noting both the redoubled avoidance and the subsequent microshift in Tech’s posture. “That’s cool too, but don’t feel like you need to suffer in silence. You know that I’m here for you.”

The likelihood of retaining any imperative information about the flying Manta continued to reduce at a rate that nearly matched the dwindling of Tech’s confidence; the source material slipping from the clutches of his mind as if both the memory of you (and the remnant oil on his boots) were expropriating any and all available cranial space.

Despite his sergeant’s head swiveling about next to him, eagerly taking in the domestic sights of the under-city and offering respectful nods to passing pedestrians, Tech could spare no consideration for the surroundings attempting to permeate his attention. It was likely that they’d already passed the seamstress’ shop that he knew to be only a dozen doors from yours, its impeccably maintained windows exposing the myriad of wealthy politicians pompously designing their senatorial wardrobe from scratch. And if that were true, then surely the cobbler’s shop would be approaching imminently, its windows nearly opaque under the duress of a hundred exuberantly colourful signs, all iterating the implausible claim that Mr. Purble’s shoe repairs were “out of this world!” Yet… despite the dwindling proximity, he still could not summon the resolve to lift his gaze and watch that jubilant yellow door draw nearer.

Tech cleared his throat quietly, nudging his goggles further against his brow in a motion as soothing as it was unnecessary, as he’d long since modified the bridge of his helmet to keep them securely in place on his nose. With time continuing to betray him, now seemed an appropriate opportunity as ever to seek a moment of private counsel.

“I… I am not sure how to quantify the nature of my feelings,” he admitted with a sigh, conceding to Hunter’s periodic glances of encouragement. “I am undeniably excited to be returning, as I have been anticipating this reunion for several weeks, yet I am unreasonably apprehensive. I fear that I may have misconstrued the entirety of this situation and am walking toward an… ignominious encounter.”

Hunter’s sharp eyes softened under the admission, lips momentarily compressing into an empathetic grimace before offering his reply. “I’d argue that’s a pretty normal emotional reaction,” he acknowledged with a reassuring nod, “though even normal is a spectrum from person to person. And some degree of insecurity is to be expected in a situation like this, especially when we’ve placed a high value on someone else’s opinion of us. But your actions speak volumes about how you feel if you take a step back and look at logically: for one, I couldn’t tell you the last time you put your datapad down and forgot about it, let alone for hours and immediately before a mission. That’s gotta mean something, right?”

A moment’s hesitation stilled Tech’s response on his tongue, his eyes narrowing against the embarrassment of his previous, neglectful mistake. Discarding both his datapad and the com system on his gauntlet had been a highly irresponsible oversight, but the hours hidden away in the blissful seclusion of your workshop had seen him too enraptured by your capabilities and intelligence to spare his squad even a transient thought.

“I suppose that is accurate,” he beseeched, apologetically glancing downward to the aforementioned device still encircled by his hands.

“And I have a scar on my wrist from the last time that I tried to touch your goggles. From the few details that you’ve agreed to share, you seem to have no issue letting this mysterious ‘labcoat’ completely dismantle them. Surely, that means something too?”

“Well… yes. Yes, I would agree.” He barely managed to get the words past his lips before they began to curl into a reminiscent smile; the petrification that had coursed through his veins upon hearing the audible snap of his lens unceremoniously snapped out of his goggles, now only a comical memory.

“And you tried every trick in your arsenal to keep me from joining you today,” the sergeant continued with an amused scoff. “So there is obviously an element of confidence here that you’re just overlooking in the shadow of nerves. Seems to me that you really like this person. As far as if the feelings are reciprocated or not? There’s no way of knowing until it plays out, but show me a person that holds hands with a stranger platonically and I’ll eat my fucking boots.”

A chuckle that perfectly matched the hoarse nature of his smoky voice, left lips now smirking under his feeble attempt at humour. “And speaking of boots,” he continued, the smile slipping from his features and replaced with the ghost of a mildly disgusted grimace. “You should have thought about giving yours a quick wipe before we lef— Tech?”

But the sage advice had utterly dissipated into that moment’s soft gust of summer wind; frozen mid step on the pathway, Tech had fallen long out of stride with his brother, the response stolen off his tongue by the peculiar and devastating sight that had finally torn his attention from his hands.

The vibrant entryway that he’d deliberately forestalled seeing was, quite frankly, nowhere near as welcoming as he’d remembered it to be, the joy of its vibrant colour almost entirely negated by a new and… obtrusive… addition.

A perplexity as dense as the furrow in his brow triggered those magnified eyes to fervently dart across the unexpected dereliction in front of him, and a prickle unrelated to the blissful daydream of which he’d just been yanked quickly raised the fine hairs along the back of his neck.

Hunter reappeared at his elbow a moment later, his posture quickly moving to mirror that of his brother with bewilderment knitting his brows, and his head tipping delicately toward one shoulder. “Is this the place?” he asked Tech, his query dripping in skepticism.

“Yes.” A solitary word was all that Tech could formulate, the shambolic disrepair having entirely robbed him of both breath and understanding, his mind whirring near frantically as he tried to make sense of the unheralded situation.

Almost every inch of glass had been opacified; the oversized windows spanning the entirety of the storefront, now completely obscured by the adherence of several, nondescript wood panels affixed into place from the interior of the store. They’d been hung somewhat impetuously; this was apparent on first glance with the lopsided positioning and the subsequent gaps created between panels intensifying the appearance of arrant abandonment. The smaller window inset into the entry door appeared to have been treated similarly, but it was the barrier hung hastily behind its panes that had seized Tech’s attention and refused to free it.

An untidy, scrawling note had been imprudently scrawled across the wood, the dark ink of each letter seeping into the surrounding fibers and ominously distorting the redundant message.

“Temporarily Closed.”

His lips wrapped their way around the pairing of words though no sound left them, his throat bobbing under the duress of a heavy swallow as his heart slipped unsettlingly from his chest to his stomach.

“Looks, er… welcoming…” Hunter chirruped from Tech’s left side, removing the thick loop of wire from his shoulder and tossing it unceremoniously to the ground at his feet.

Tech remained deaf to everything except the trepidation still tickling the hair on his neck. Even the dull ache radiating from his elbow as the joint began to mutiny against the prolonged oppression of its freight was rebuffed, disappointment and a puzzling sense of foreboding fighting for position at the forefront of his mind.

He stepped over Hunter’s abandoned cargo, deftly stowing his datapad away into its respective pouch as he neared the door. “Temporarily closed,” he repeated to himself, as if the act of voicing the phrase might provide some semblance of the understanding that he just couldn’t seem to excogitate.

‘This is highly nonsensical.’ The thought flashed like a warning across his mind as he cautiously pressed a palm to the glass. It was unsurprisingly warm to the touch, the heat of the sun trapped between the glass and the wood panel on its other side, radiating easily through the pliant yet protective Kevlar of his gloves; a sensation that entirely juxtaposed the blossoming dread prickling his skin.

“Safe to assume this isn’t what you expected?” Hunter mused, the soft chortle that encapsulated his words exposing his equanimity, but something sinister had caught Tech’s eye as he tipped his head back and reread the sloppy message. A smattering of red dots, soaked deeply into the fibers of the wood below the scrawling penmanship that he did not recognize to be yours…

Something near a gasp left his lips as he yanked his hand from the window, quickly jerking the wire from his arm and hurrying to engage the mechanical visor on his helmet. Hunter continued to mutter queries over his shoulder, but Tech remained incognizant to it all, too intent on initiating a scan of the liquid that he was praying he’d misidentified upon first glance.

“Sanguination: POSITIVE.” flashed devastatingly across his vision. “Origin: HUMAN- HS.”

“I… I do not like the looks of this.” He pushed the visor up and out of his line of sight, the presumption spoken lowly, and saturated in a sense of foreboding that could not be immediately rationalized.

“Talk to me, Tech,” Hunter probed, knotting his arms semi-impatiently over his chest. “What am I looking at? Other than a sign that looks like someone wrote it with their kriffing toes…”

“There… there are several things amiss,” Tech muttered unhelpfully, wrenching his gaze from the carnage only long enough to tug his helmet from his head and lower it sightlessly to the ground beside the abandoned wire. “I cannot make sense of this.”

“Sense of what, exactly?” Hunter urged through another infuriating chuckle.

But all desire to answer his brother had dissipated, its urgency overtaken by the dread surging through his veins and pounding heavily in his ears. He turned his attention toward the window on his right, eyeing the linear gap between the frayed edge of the wood board and the window frame. Desperate for a clue as to why there would be blood splattered ominously across a barrier hung where it shouldn’t be, he jammed his eye to the glass; the audible clunk of his goggles hitting the window went completely ignored, his attention funneled blindly toward only that which would provide him even an inkling of plausible reasoning. But the opacification of the boards had rendered the inside of the shop completely enshadowed, and the only detectable movement in the dim was the soft cycling orange glow of the sleep light on your computer monitor.

He affixed his gaze to it determinedly, squinting his eyes to near-closed in an effort to focus on anything in the area that its glow may illuminate, but the same irksome glare that had rendered the screen of his datapad nearly indiscernible minutes previously continued to rob his eyes of the clarity that he desperately sought, and while the cupping of his hands around his face helped marginally, he was soon wincing against the pain of his goggles digging forcefully into the side of his nose as he pressed his eyes ever further against the rigid glass.

“Anything?” Hunter probed curiously.

“No,” Tech lamented, shifting his feet below him to further alter his vantage. “It is too dark to differentiate anything.”

“Well, here…” the sergeant chuckled. “Here, Tech… Tech!… Maker, will you just take the damn flashlight?”

Tech permitted his gaze to depart the shadows for only long enough to snatch the offering from his brother’s outstretched hand, igniting it with a deft flick of the switch and aiming at as precisely as he could through the infuriatingly small gap, but the presence of any obvious clues remained shrouded in darkness… evading him, and every panicked exhale accumulating like a cloud on the glass in front of him, saw the simmering panic in his chest continue to boil until even the innate act of swallowing became a challenge.

“Well… I don’t sense anything weird,” Hunter offered, his voice perfectly pairing the phlegmatic way he stepped backward and looked casually toward the direction they’d come from. “I thought I could smell blaster fire a few minutes ago, but it might have been that pair of shifty looking Rodian’s we passed. And, if I’m being honest, it’s hard to smell anything over the rank trash scattered everywhere in his hell of a hole-in-the-ground. How does anyone even bre—”

“There is a mug,” Tech interrupted gravely, his gauntlet clunking against the glass as he impatiently moved to wipe away the condensation collecting in his line of sight again.

“A what?” Hunter chirruped, cocking an eyebrow.

“A mug,” Tech repeated, stepping away from the window and pointing uselessly at the gap he’d been peering through. “On the counter nearest to us. During my last visit, the sullied dishes had been collected and arranged in the sink in preparation for washing. I– I cannot fathom that someone partaking in a planned, prolonged absence would abandon dishes to garner bacteria.”

But those lips, pressed thin with worry, relaxed only long enough to shift into an indignant frown at the nature of his sergeant’s suceeding reaction; Hunter’s long hair brushing gently atop worn, painted shoulder bells as his head tipped back, and his chest heaved beneath uninhibited laughter.

“Come on, Tech,” the sergeant chuckled. “You’ve lived with Wrecker your whole life. You’ve seen how he leaves his bunk on Kamino… wrappers everywhere… used spoons hiding under his pillow… dirty socks crammed at the bottom of the bed…”

Growing increasingly inexorable, and frustrated that his brother continued to make light of a clearly ominous situation, Tech shook his head. “The Fichus is limp, Hunter,” he spoke intently, jabbing his finger toward the narrow space between wood boards.

“The what-now is limp?”

“The fichus,” he repeated unhelpfully. “The potted plant beside the computer. It appears as if it’s been severely neglected in my absence.”

“Probably,” Hunter agreed, his shoulders jerking lightly in motion of delicate frustration. “It’s dark as hell in there. It’s likely starving for sunlight.”

“Precisely.”

Tech disengaged the flashlight and held it loosely at his side, jamming his goggles back up his nose as he turned pleadingly to his brother. “That is precisely my concern, Hunter. During my last visitation, I observed several written reminders. There was every intention to ensure that all the soiled dishes were sanitized, that each of the various plants were watered, and that the electrical panel was urgently cared for. It was written in ink clearer than this foreign writing. I saw it; I kissed it.”

Hunter’s eyes shifted behind a lagging, unhurried blink, the weight of his skepticism apparent as he looked doubtfully back at the anguished hitch in his brother’s eyebrows, those large brown eyes peering at him in something near a plea behind now crooked goggles. “I don’t know, Tech,” the sergeant sighed, tightening the fold of his arms across his chest and dropping his gaze to the small pebble below his boot. “I’ll agree it’s unusual that someone would board the windows for a temporary closure, but it probably has a valid explanation. I hate to say it because you’re usually not one to jump to conclusions, but… I think you might be overreacting on this.”

“I’m going inside.”

It was not a question nor a request, and Tech didn’t spare his brother even a glance before pocketing the flashlight and stooping to collect both his helmet and the coils of wire from the pathway at his feet.

“Woah, woah, woah,” Hunter protested immediately, unknotting his arms and extending a hand to still his brother’s seemingly impulsive movements. “I can see you’re a little worried, Tech, but this isn’t a separatist stronghold. It’s a private place of business, and we can’t just break our way in and sniff around. It’s an invasion of property and privacy.”

“I familiarized myself with the locking mechanism during my last visit,” Tech answered smartly, throwing a heavy coil over each shoulder. “So nothing is required to be broken for me to gain entry, and my scanners will ensure that neither of us are required to make determinations based on the evidence gathered by the use of our respective olfactory systems.”

“Tech…”

But Hunter’s impatience was matched by only that of the man in front of him now jamming his helmet back onto his head and reengaging his visor.

“I will not cause a disturbance of any kind, I assure you,” Tech continued, dropping to a knee in front of the door and examining the keyhole with narrowed eyes. “My objective is simply to gather the evidence capable of disproving my emerging theory that a perilous, possibly life-threatening event has taken place.”

“Perilous and life threatening?” Hunter repeated after an indignant scoff left his lips. “What in Maker’s name do you think happened here? It’s likely this is just a planned vacation and the topic just didn’t come up in conversation last time. Let’s just take a deep breath and head back to the ship for now. If everything goes to plan on Felucia, we can stop back here on the way to Kaliida Sho—”

“Hunter,” Tech interrupted, pivoting on a knee to look upward at his brother. “My feelings on this are clear and unclouded. I– I feel an admittedly unprecedented yet intense sense of unease, and I am confident neither will subside until I am able to disprove my suspicions. Several aspects of the present situation do not stand to reason. Our final conversation, while frenzied by the urgency of my departure, left me with the premise that I was to return here at my earliest convenience. There is no mistaking the task list that I observed: ‘wash mugs, water plants, call electrician.’ And– and my scanner indicates that there is substantial sanguineous residue embedded into that sign. I suspect the source of the blood is inside, so I must go in and investig—”

“Okay okay okay,” Hunter appeased, his dark eyes thankfully beginning to soften again as he acceded to his brother’s concern. “I don’t necessarily understand your fear, but it’s very unlike you to lose your cool so I’ll heed your curiousity. But make it quick; this walkway is a little too crowded for my liking and we’re already turning heads by loitering.”

Anything even resembling an argumentative retaliation didn’t dare depart Tech’s tongue, the risk of Hunter redacting his already precariously offered blessing was simply too probable, and this was too important. It was imperative that he gain entry.

“I’ll go up top and keep a lookout,” Hunter continued, gesturing with a nod to the roofline above them. “Poke around, but don't linger. Can you get in there without making a mess?”

“Well, of course I can,” Tech answered immediately. “The door is equipped with a primitive deadbolt system; one easily disengaged with the right leverage of a micro tool similar to that of—”

“Okay, do it.” Hunter waved away the unnecessarily lengthy explanation, impatience and regret beginning to ghost across his features. “If you’re interrupted for whatever reason, Plan-11.”

Tech signaled his understanding with an appreciative nod and a heavy swallow, returning his attention to the door while Hunter’s heavy footsteps vanished amongst the crowd of passing children, their raucous screeches and laughter echoing tauntingly into Tech’s ears.

His composure began to dwindle, adrenaline inciting a tremble in his fingers as he retrieved the soldering needle from his belt, sitting back on his heel to reevaluate the best method for a clean and concise entry. Overriding a lock system with his datapad was child’s play, but manually disengaging a deadbolt was not something he practiced regularly. After a deliberative pause, he jabbed the fine tip into the keyhole and began to methodically maneuver it around. With ears attuned for the nearly inaudible clicks that would affirm his success, he redirected his efforts into preventing the simmering panic from permitting his mind to wander; concerns for what potentially lay on the other side of the door pulling droplets of sweat to his furrowed brow. Fear was not a commonplace emotion for soldiers, particularly not for a squad of enhanced commando’s with a 100% mission success rate, but fear for the safety of someone else… a civilian… was both a foreign and a potent feeling, and not one that he was eager to reexperience.

The deadbolt released with a click audible enough to warrant Tech quickly glancing over his shoulder for prying eyes. When satisfied that he hadn’t garnered any unwanted attention, he quickly turned the handle and pushed the door ajar. Long stagnant dust particles danced about in the beam of stark luminescence as the disturbance imbued them with new life, yet Tech observed them for only moments before hurriedly shutting the door behind him; he could not risk a pedestrian risking the open door as an invitation to enter.

He reactivated the borrowed flashlight, his eyes hungrily following the beam as it darted toward the darkened corners. Was it worth calling for you? Making his presence known before clearing the area of perpetrators seemed a foolhardy action given your obvious incapacitation, but his frantic need to establish any semblance of your safety, paired with Hunter’s request for efficiency, demanded that he at least try. The echoing silence in response to his call only succeeded in inflating the now undeniable dread sending his blood pounding heavily through his veins.

He engaged the visor over his eyes again, ignoring the strobing alert in the upper corner warning him of his increased heart rate, and directed both the beam of light and his line of sight toward the floor beneath his boots. Despite having anticipated its presence, the blood splattered amongst the floorboards threatened to tear the breath from his lungs.

Sporadically smattered like a trail of morbid breadcrumbs, he followed the droplets into the open space of your shop, peering around in the oppressive darkness. The familiar orange glow from the computer stole his attention almost immediately, and after casting a final glimpse at the gruesome implications dotted across the floor, he departed their path and made for the counter. The dilapidated ficus was offered only a fleeting glance as he passed, as was its equally dehydrated fern counterpart and the ivy trailing down the wall, their dilapidation having already been registered. No, he was more interested in the mug; the second clue.

The degradation of its contents became obvious within seconds of stepping into its proximity, yet despite the aroma of its putrefaction forcing his top lip to flatten, Tech continued toward it without hesitation. Milk had coagulated densely in the center of the unfinished liquid, and a quick activation of his scanner indicated a bacteria progression only achievable by several weeks in an undisturbed environment.

“Unusual,” he mumbled to himself, stooping to observe the sparse layer of crystallization forming around the rim where the anemic looking liquid met the white ceramic.

A sudden, booming thud against the window sent his shoulders jerking in alarm; his datapad stowed deftly into its pocket and his pistol departing its holster in the span of a blink, but the ringing laughter and jeers of the passing children outside quickly exposed the intrusion as nothing more than an inopportune distraction, and a reminder that time was of the essence.

Tech cast one last surveying look at the mold festering in its unmolested paradise before departing the area and retracing his steps back toward the droplets of blood scattered atop the floor. Like the worn footpath that his own boots had traversed during his last visit, the red blemishes formed a direct path toward the back room, scattered at near precise intervals as if a gruesomely soiled object had been dripping as its holder tread across the store, yet the macabre trail was but a walk in the park compared to the door to which it led. He stared, horrified to the point of immobility at the once glimmering gold knob that would permit his entry, its radiance hidden by a crusted, red handprint.

The grip around his pistol tightened until his hand began to tremble, yet despite its demand for absolute security, he longed to simply drop it and reach instead for his datapad, his always reliable source of information… his comfort, but too much unknown still lingered in the air; too many enshadowed spaces still to explore. A horrifyingly developing theory needed disproving if he were to be able to leave this place with his heart intact.

He dared not disturb the third clue lest it be scanned at a later time and tested for identification purposes, so an assertive kick of his boot saw the door swinging ajar, the hallway opposite as hauntingly enshadowed as the one in which he stood. A seemingly endless trail of blood lay on the floor in front of him, nearly stealing what was left of his resolve; the droplets increasing in frequency and size before diverging into a small room on the left that he knew to be the kitchenette.

His fear only intensified at the sight of another morbid handprint, this one smeared across the faucet of the sink where… in the depths of the aluminum basin, was a soiled hammer.

The threat of suffocation encompassed him as a sinister realization began to fit puzzle pieces into place, but he was robbed of the opportunity to process the additions by the chirp of his comm.

“Tech,” Hunter urged. “I think you may have a visitor inbound. Someone is hovering by the door but I can’t get a clear line of sight through the crowd.”

Plan-11: The Perceiver. Hide and observe; do not engage until you’ve established a visual on your approaching backup.

A degree of focus that only imminent danger could provide saw his jaw tensing beneath his helmet, his gaze darting from the bloody tool in the sink toward the door in which he’d just passed through. He raised his pistol, crossing one wrist over the other so that blanching beam of light may guide him back through the din.

Your workshop, the haven in which he’d mentally prepared himself to spend the next several hours in, was as dark as it was silent, and for the first time hesitation stilled his steps from exploring the the uncharacteristically lifeless space, as there were numerous shadowed corners in which further clues, or dare he think it, your body might be found.

But time had seemingly diminished, and every extended blink into the darkness was a moment wasted; a moment he needed to enact Plan-11 while he still could. He disengaged his flashlight, and a quick nudge of the door with his knee saw him reentering the retail space, his eyes immediately darting around to search for any semblance of cover; somewhere he could stoop and watch until Hunter appeared in the doorway to flank the intruder, but his moment of hesitation had cost him.

Poised to welcome the perpetrator who’d likely come to clean up their mess, he refused to squint against the onslaught of sunlight as the door creaked slowly open and exposed the intruder.

Final Chapter coming soon!

taglist: @anxiouspineapple99 @sinfulsalutations @starrylothcat @nobody-expects-the-inquisitorius @dystopicjumpsuit @freesia-writes @blueink-bluesoul @littlemissmanga @523rdrebel @wings-and-beskar @sunshinesdaydream @clonemedickix @drafthorsemath @jediknightjana

**if you are on my taglist but were not tagged, it's because you indicated whump is a no for you**

#bad batch fan fic #tech x reader #tech x gn!reader #tech bad batch #bad batch tech #gn!reader x tech #queued

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neon-junkie · 3 months

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How would TBB react to seeing the reader about to leave on a night out dressed up in a super hot outfit?

Gender-neutral reader, but feminine presenting. Words like 'beautiful' and 'pretty' are used!

Hunter - Even with half of his face tattooed, he still manages to blush through the thickness of the ink. - He's truly lost for words. - Hunter has an adorable stutter as he compliments, "wow, you look… nice- I mean, incredible. Good. Beautiful?" - Hunter then facepalms as he scolds himself for picking "nice" as his first compliment. Ugh, you look so much more than nice! - You'll both be giggling as Hunter takes a deep breath, and begins going into detail about how good you look, highlighting the specific parts that really stand out to him. - You're heading out with friends, but Hunter is quietly hinting that he wants to come along. Totally not because he's jealous or anything, but because he hopes to meet your friends, right? The friends that he's met several times before? Yeah! - Tell him that you'll still be looking this good when you come back home later tonight, and he'll get the hint. - However, he may need to leave a fresh mark or two on your neck, just to get the point across that you're taken.

Echo - This poor, poor man is going to turn the deepest shade of red when he finally sees you. - Why, just WHY did you have to wear that specific outfit that he loves so much?! And you're going out without him too?! Oh, what a tease! - Echo is lost for words as he gushes over you. He feels like it's his wedding day - How is he this lucky? How did he land an angel like you? - There's a tear in his eye as you smother him in kisses, reassuring him that you're all his, that you're the lucky one for being with him, that you can't wait to come home and snuggle up with him later. - Echo doesn't ask for much, but he would like to be kept in the loop on your whereabouts. Purely for your own safety! - "And when you reach the next bar, just comm me. Your friends have my comm number too, don't they? If anything goes wrong, and you want picking up-" blahblahblah. - One final smother in reassuring kisses, and you're good to hit the town!

Wrecker - His mouth instantly hangs open, his eyes turn wide, and his facial expression swiftly turns into a grin as he comments, "HOT!!" - You know in cartoons where the character's mouth drops open, and they begin howling and barking? Yeah, that's Wrecker. - Seriously, you look hot, and Wrecker's going to ensure that you know it. - "Look at you! I can't believe I got myself an angel as sweet as you!" - He'll mention how he's sad that he's not tagging along, but he'll assure you that it's important you spend your time with your friends. - Wrecker isn't as clingy as he seems. After all, he'll be right here, waiting for your return. - And when you do return, all your hangover needs will be met. A tall glass of water waiting for you, a midnight snack, breakfast in bed, and a big buff man to cuddle you back to health!

Tech - This will go one of two ways: - Option one: Tech eyes you up and down, and with a firm nod, he comments, "that is suitable attire for your evening. I hope you enjoy yourself." - Option two: Tech's brain short circuits. He can barely muster up a thought, let alone a comment. Radio silence, but his expression says it all. - Either way, Tech is more than impressed with your outfit choice, and how stunning you look. He just… struggles to find the words, like a deer in the headlights. - Give him a few moments, and you'll be met with suitable praise. "How exquisite you look, a truly elegant and radiant creature." - Tech can't pinpoint one specific word to describe how beautiful you look, so instead, he selects the most complex and in-depth ones. He doesn't want to rely on a 'standard compliment.' - A few kisses later, and you're off to meet your friends. All the while, Tech begins pacing around the Marauder like a lost puppy. He needs to keep himself occupied until you return!

Crosshair - He's instantly thirsty for you, smiling cheekily as he eyes you up, gawking at the sight of you. - Crosshair has a way with words, and spews out his praise, all whilst kneading at your waist, his hands trailing down to grab your ass whilst he steals a handful of kisses from you. - And then it dawns on him… - You're going out with your friends tonight, not him… - Jealousy swiftly takes over, and his compliment turn into teasing (yet petty) jabs. Nothing to hurt your feelings, though. - "Any reason why you're wearing this tonight? Do you need more attention? Am I not enough for you?" - Whilst his tone is teasing, there's a desperate need for validation. - Yes, he knows you'd never be stupid and hurt him, but… can you please remind him one more time? - Don't be surprised when you leave, and minutes later, Crosshair sends you a holotext. "Comm me if you need anything, Beautiful."

#tbbwriting #the bad batch #tbb #tbb x reader #the bad batch x reader #reader insert #gn!reader #fluff #hunter x reader #echo x reader #wrecker x reader #tech x reader #crosshair x reader #tbb fanfic

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verybadatwriting · 5 months

Text

To Be Held

Summary: Reader is injured.

Warnings: Angst, blood, and wounds

Notes: Thank you so much @arctrooper69 for the request and @promptsbytaurie for the prompts! :D

Prompts:

“You did so good. Don’t worry, you-you did so good.”

“Hey, hey, shhhh. Shhhh. You’re okay.”

“I know, I know it hurts.”

Gn!reader

Word count: 1,019

Tech often held you like this. Your head tucked against his neck and shoulder, his arms wrapped around you, holding your chest to his, you were safe. Sometimes the two of you were curled up on your bed, sometimes you were seated atop the Marauder, Tech quietly mumbling about the stars, but never before in a pool of your own blood. You tried to drift away in these good memories, let go of the pain.

A surge brought you back. Tech’s hand pushed against the wound on your upper back. The blood quickly seeped through his fingers.

“Aah.” You writhed at the pain.

“I know,” He said, “I know it hurts. Just stay awake. Please.”

“Did…” You started to ask. “Did we do it?”

“Yeah,” Tech said after a moment, amazed you could be thinking of the mission while bleeding out “You did it. You did such a good job.”

“Really?” You asked, a slight waver to your voice.

“Don’t worry, you–you did so good.”

“I-is anyone else… hurt?” You managed between shaking breaths.

“No,” Tech held you tighter. “The rest of the Batch is fine. They’re on their way. They’ll be here soon. You’ll be okay…. You’ll be okay.”

“Oh,” You said, taking another deep, shaky breath. “It’s that bad?”

You leaned back, pushing away from him so you could see his face. His front was soaked with blood. Your blood. You looked up at his eyes, but they were focused on the horizon.

“They’ll be here soon,” He repeated. He sounded like he was trying to reassure himself more than you.

“Hey.” You said, reaching a hand up to his face and tilting it down to face you. Your bloody fingers left four lines on his cheek. He lifted his similarly bloody hand from your back and grasped your fingers.

“We need to keep pressure on the wounds,” He said, “Or else… or else you’ll …”

You nodded, and allowed him to pull you closer. His chin was tucked on the crown of your head, your cheek pressed to his collar. Seeping into the ground was your blood. Too much of it.

“Tech,” you started, surprised at how weak your voice sounded, “I love you.”

“Shh, no, no. Don’t talk that way.” He shook slightly as he soothed you. “Shhh. Shhh. You’re okay.”

“Please,” You pleaded, “Just say it back.”

A few moments passed. Tech seemed to be mulling it over, coming to terms with something.

“I love you, too,” He eventually whispered, as if the words were so fragile that saying them too loudly would shatter them.

Reassured after hearing that, your breathing changed. The slow shaky breaths became shallow, and too fast.

“I love you,” Tech continued. “And all the little inside jokes we have. And how you can always find a way to make Omega laugh. And how… how you listen when I ramble. And when you talk about the future and your eyes fill with life. And when you smile.”

When he said that you smiled weakly against his shirt. Listening to him, you almost didn't mind the cold numbness spreading from your fingers and toes. Or the pain in your torso. One again, you could be lost in his voice.

Your body was slowly shutting down in a last ditch effort to save you. Your entire being went numb, every muscle and tendon relaxing. At least that meant your breathing finally slowed. Your eyes drifted closed. The coppery taste of blood faded, along with the burnt smell from the ash and rubble.

“Hey?” Tech squeezed you tighter. “Stay with me. Please.”

As your hearing – your last lifeline to the world of the living – faded, you faintly heard the sound of the Marauder flying low.

Then there was nothing but darkness and a dull ache that you couldn’t quite place. You felt it deep inside, like you had been gutted, and smoldering coals had replaced your insides. It was the deepest grief you’d ever felt. It started to fade away, but you heard a familiar voice.

“Stay with me. Please.”

Tech. You thought. I need to get back to Tech.

Although it felt like your limbs were made of lead, and weighed down in tar, you fought. This dark abyss wasn’t it for you. Not yet. You tore yourself from the inescapable stillness, despite the coals burning from inside.

You had to see Tech again. Hug him. Hold him. Tell him it would be alright. Save him from the pain you’d seen in his eyes.

After what felt like a lifetime, you heard something. It was muffled voices, ones you recognized, which slowly became crisper. You smelled sterile medical supplies, and felt your chest rising up and falling down with each breath.

Pain accompanied consciousness. You could stop fighting, slide back into the abyss, but that would mean never seeing Tech again, so you soldiered on.

With one last push you flung your eyes open, and you were back. Breathing, living, hurting. You’d escaped from the void, and you were back in your body.

You turned your head, and saw Tech in the seat next to your bed. He hadn’t changed his clothes, as evidenced by your dried blood. You didn’t know if it would ever come out. He had a faraway look in his eyes. The same one he had while waiting for the rest of the Batch to come save you two.

You shifted slightly, and he snapped to attention at the sound.

“Cyare,” He whispered, reaching out to take your hand. “Welcome back.”

His eyes scanned your face, as if he was trying to make sure you were real. You squeezed his hand to reassure him.

“I am,” You said, voice scratchy and weak. You cleared your throat, which triggered a sharp pain. You let out a small gasp.

“Are you okay?” Tech asked, his eyebrows furrowing together. You looked at the lines in his face, deepened by a lack of sleep and surplus of concern. Reaching one hand up, you cupped his face.

“I’m fine, love,” You smiled up at him, and he returned a weary smile.

#star wars #tcw #writing #tech x reader #tbb #the bad batch #bad batch #x reader #gn!reader #tbb tech x reader #tech angst #tech x reader angst #angst tech x reader #tech x you

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littlelioncub43 · 1 year

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Walking up behind Eddie and greeting him with a playful smack on the ass for the first time: Did you just? On his?? Aaand he's hard.

Well, yes. HeheheHEEEEEEEEEEEEE

"Mornin', handsome," you croak playfully in your sleepy voice as you exit his bedroom in your pajamas, but before he can turn to greet you, your hand is swatting his behind through his sleeping pants.

He jolts in his spot standing at the kitchen counter, his brain literally static as he processes what's just happened and how he feels about it. Judging by the tent in his pants, he likes it. A lot.

You're drawing a cup of water when you feel Eddie corner you in, his hard on rutting into your ass and his lips attacking your throat.

"E-Eddie!" You giggle and playfully try to wiggle out of his grasp (totally not grinding on his dick to tease him more). "What's gotten into you?"

"Sweetheart, you know how flattery works with me."

#tech tuesdays #tech tuesday #eddie munson x you smut #eddie munson x you #eddie munson x reader smut #eddie munson x reader #eddie munson x female reader #eddie munson x gender neutral reader #eddie munson x fem reader #eddie munson x female!reader #eddie munson x fem!reader #eddie munson x gn!reader #eddie munson fluff #eddie munson #little lion literature

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nahoney22 · 2 months

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Hi! i love your writing and was wondering if you could do the tbb (or just tech if you dont wanna do all of them) reaction to their gender neutral S/O pulling out their old instrument or color guard equipment from their marching band days and practicing what they remember (i dont even know if star wars has an equivalent to marching band/color guard lol but i picked an old practice flag up for the first time since high school earlier and the thought popped into my head for this request..) feel free to disregard this if it’s not something you wanna write, keep up the amazing work!!

Colour Guard Memories

The Bad Batch Boys X GN!Reader

How The Bad Batch react to you pulling out your old instrument or colour guard equipment.

warnings: none, gender neutral reader, can be read as platonic or romantic, Batchers admiring/encouraging reader.

authors note: this is a really cute idea and sorry it has took so long to do anon. In the UK we don’t really have marching bands/ colour guards aside from royal parades from what I know so I’ve relied on Google to help me out 😅 enjoy!

Echo

"Think we've got everything?" Echo asks, sealing the final box of your belongings.

As you survey the sea of packed boxes, you're struck by the realisation of just how many possessions you've gathered over the years. It's only now, in the process of moving out of your family home, that the extent of it hits you. After what feels like an eternity of packing and stacking, you're finally done and you couldn’t be any more grateful for Echo's helping hand.

"I hope so," you reply, wiping your brow and straightening up, hands on your hips. "Now, all that's left is to get it onto the ship." The prospect of lugging boxes onto the ship isn't exactly thrilling, but you're itching to kick back and relax.

Echo chuckles and reaches for one of the sealed boxes, but disaster strikes as the bottom gives way, sending its contents tumbling to the floor. "Well, that's just great," he says wryly.

Letting out a sigh, you join him in gathering up the scattered items. Amidst the chaos, something catches your eye: an old, familiar object. "No way!"

Startled by your sudden excitement, Echo turns to you. "What is it?"

"It's my Sabre!" you exclaim, holding up the cherished item for him to see.

He blinks in surprise. "Uh, your lightsaber?"

You playfully roll your eyes at Echo, a mischievous glint in your eyes, as you take the equipment into your hands and wave it at him. "You've known me long enough to know I'm not a Jedi, Echo," you tease, giving the Sabre a quick twirl. "It's from when I used to be be a colour guard for a marching band."

Echo chuckles, shaking his head in amusement. "I didn't know you did that."

"Yeah! I loved it. Want to see what I can still do?" you ask, a hint of excitement in your voice.

"The floor's all yours," he says, stepping back to give you space.

You take a moment to steady yourself, feeling the weight of the stainless steel Sabre in your hands. With a deep breath, you begin your routine, the familiar movements flooding back to you. As you twirl the Sabre with practiced precision, you can't help but feel a surge of nostalgia. However, in the midst of your performance, disaster strikes as the Sabre slips from your grip, narrowly missing a nearby window.

"Okay, okay, I'm a little rusty. Give me a second," you laugh sheepishly, quickly retrieving the saber and regaining your composure but Echo was still smiling and impressed throughout.

Determined to redeem yourself, you focus on each movement, executing smooth transitions and intricate spins. With each flourish, you feel a sense of satisfaction, the familiar rhythm of the routine bringing back fond memories. As you finally come to a graceful finish, you can't help but feel a sense of pride wash over you.

Echo applauds, a smile playing on his lips. "That was really impressive. You should've told me you could do that before."

"We all have our hidden talents," you grin, a twinkle in your eye as you admire the old memory in your hand before carefully tucking it back into the box. "Anyway, we should probably get going before I get distracted again."

“Well,” he says, resting a hand on your shoulder, “you should perform for me again sometime. If you want to that is.”

There’s a shine in his eyes, genuinely in awe of you and your talent. “I’ll definitely think about it.”

Hunter

Low on credits and desperate for some food to fill your stomachs, you and Hunter venture into a bustling market on a remote planet, hoping to find some opportunity to earn a bit of cash.

"See anything?" Hunter asks, strolling alongside you as you take in the sights and sounds of the market.

"Not really," you reply with a frown. The market is dimly lit, offering little in the way of useful materials, and the locals don't seem particularly welcoming. It's no wonder Hunter insisted on accompanying you.

But then, something does catch your eye. "Hey, that looks like one of my old flags," you remark, pointing to a colorful flag tucked away at the back of a small pop-up stall.

Hunter stops beside you, his interest piqued. "You used to spin those, didn't you?"

You chuckle at his phrasing, yet surprised that he remembers since it was just something you mentioned in passing once. "Yeah, I did. Not sure if I still have the touch, though."

A smirk spreads across Hunter's face as he holds up a finger, indicating for you to wait a moment. A bit embarrassed, you watch as he approaches the seller and strikes up a conversation. After a brief exchange, Hunter returns, flag in hand. "Let's put that theory to the test, shall we?" he suggests with a grin.

"Hunter! Did you just pay for that?" you exclaim incredulously as he shoves the pole into your hand.

"No," he says with a mischievous grin, his eyes sparkling with amusement. "But they said if you can impress them, you can keep it."

You narrow your eyes at him, a mixture of amusement and disbelief dancing in your gaze. "Fine. But I'm warning you," you declare, stepping into a clearing and scanning the area to ensure there's enough space before attempting to recreate a routine you haven't performed in years. "I'm not as good as I used to be."

Taking a deep breath, you grip the pole firmly and let muscle memory take over as you start spinning the flag with practiced precision. The fabric unfurls in vibrant arcs, catching the sunlight and casting colorful patterns across the ground. With each twirl and flourish, you feel a surge of nostalgia as memories of your days in the colour guard come flooding back.

As you continue your impromptu performance, you can't help but lose yourself in the rhythm of the routine, the flag becoming an extension of your body as you spin and swirl with grace.

Hunter is watching you silently and appears to be actually enamoured by your performance. His eyes are wide in surprise.

When you finally come to a graceful finish, you turn to Hunter with a triumphant smile, the flag held aloft in your hand. "How's that for impressing them?" you ask, a hint of pride in your voice.

“That was… wow.” Is all he says, a proud smile on his face. He takes one look to the seller who just gives a brief nod. “And the flag is yours it seems.”

Hunter comes up beside you once more but you feel a tug on your top, turning to face a young child who was holding out credits to you. Bashfully, you accept and the credits swiftly came flooding in.

“Heh, seems like you still got it.” He nudges your side playfully.

This could be a pretty safe way to earn some extra credits it seems.

Wrecker

"Wrecker, come look at this!" you call out excitedly, beckoning your companion over.

With Wrecker's assistance in tidying up the Marauder and transferring some items to the Remora, you stumble upon an unexpected treasure: an old snare drum tucked away amidst the clutter.

"Woah, what's tha’?" Wrecker asks, intrigued, as he joins you on the floor, his eyes fixed on the instrument in your hands.

"I used to play it in a marching band. Forgot I even had it," you reply with a wistful smile, the memories of your band days flooding back, tinged with nostalgia and a touch of sadness for times gone by.

Wrecker notices the flicker of emotion on your face and decides to lift your spirits. "Well, go on then. Give us a beat," he encourages, nudging the drum closer to you and offering a drumstick.

You smile gratefully, feeling a rush of anticipation as you accept the drumstick from his outstretched hand and pick up the matching one from the ground. "Just so you know," you say with a playful glint in your eye, "it sounds much better in a chorus rather than individually."

With a deep breath, you position the drumsticks in your hands, feeling the familiar weight and texture of the material. Closing your eyes, you let muscle memory guide your movements as you begin to play. The rhythmic tapping of the drum reverberates through the air.

As you lose yourself in the music, your fingers move effortlessly across the drum's surface, producing a lively beat that echoes off the walls of the ship. With each stroke, super fast and then skilfully slow, you feel a sense of liberation.

Wrecker watches in awe, a grin spreading cross his face as he listens to the infectious rhythm you create. For a moment, all worries and cares fade away, replaced by the joy of listening to you play. Flourishing a finish, your cheeks warm to Wrecker applauding enthusiastically.

"Tha’ was amazing!" he exclaims, his voice filled with genuine admiration. "You've still got it."

You grin, feeling a surge of pride at his words. "Thanks, Wrecker," you reply, a sense of contentment washing over you. "Maybe we should start our own band."

“Definitely!”

Tech

"Is this yours?" Omega's voice interrupts your thoughts, drawing your attention to the slim case she's holding. As you approach, a wave of nostalgia washes over you at the sight of the familiar case.

"I haven't seen this for a long time," you smile warmly, taking the case into your hands. Kneeling down, you blow the dust off and flip open the lid, revealing your old clarinet nestled inside.

Omega's eyes widen with curiosity as she peers at the instrument. "Wow, that's cool! Did you play it?"

You nod, a fond smile on your face. "Yeah, I used to. In a colour guard and in parades."

"Can you play something now?" she asks eagerly.

Before you can respond, Omega suddenly calls out, "TECH! COME HERE!"

Tech, engrossed in his data pad, looks up in surprise and heads your way. "What is the nature of my presence this time, Omega?"

Omega launches into an exaggerated explanation of your discovery and her request. "Listen to them play."

Tech adjusts his goggles and looks down at you with curious eyes. "I was not aware you could play any instrument."

"I haven't in a long time," you admit sheepishly, wiping the mouthpiece and adjusting the bridge keys. "But I can give it a try."

With a deep breath, you bring the clarinet to your lips and begin to play a soft, melancholic tune. The notes fill the air, weaving a gentle melody that seems to resonate with the quiet stillness of the surroundings. It was a gentle tune, a stark difference to the ones you played in parades.

As you play, you notice Tech glancing up from his data pad, his expression softening as he listens intently to the music. It's a rare sight to see him so engrossed in something other than his work, and you can't help but feel a sense of satisfaction knowing that your music has captured his attention.

By the time you finish the piece, Tech is still watching you, a thoughtful look on his face.

Omega bursts into a loud applause meanwhile Tech smiled at you. “I would not mind you playing that whilst I do some repairs... it’s rather relaxing.”

Crosshair

“What are you doing?” Crosshair's voice breaks your concentration mid-performance, and you freeze as your arms flail, causing the wooden rifle to slip from your grasp and clatter onto the grass.

You spin to face the clone, feeling a flush of embarrassment creeping up your neck. "I found my old rifle from when I used to perform," you explain quickly, bending down to retrieve the prop. With a flick of your foot, you send it spinning into the air, catching it effortlessly as it falls back down. "Want to see?"

Crosshair eyes the rifle with a hint of intrigue, his skepticism giving way to mild interest. "Perform? Rifles are for shooting. Not messing around with.”

“It’s wood, idiot.” You knock on the equipment before you then shrug, a sheepish grin tugging at your lips. "Anyway, it’s called rifle spinning. I used to do it as part of a routine in a performance group. It's more about coordination and showmanship than anything else. Wanna see?” You ask again.

Crosshair nods slowly, his gaze lingering on the rifle as you twirl it expertly in your hands. He stands back as you shows off your moves and he couldn’t hide the small impressed smirk forming on his lips. "You’re quite impressive I’ll give you that. But don't let it distract you from our mission." The compliment was rare but not one you were going to refuse as you give him a smile of thanks. But, he was right. There were more pressing matters at large.

You chuckle, nodding in agreement as you secure the rifle back in its holster. "Of course not. Just a little trip down memory lane."

Masterlist

Tags:

@littlefeatherr @kaitou2417 @eyecandyeoz @captxin-rex @jesseeka @theroguesully @ladykatakuri @jambolska-grozdova @arctrooper69 @padawancat97 @staycalmandhugaclone @ko-neko-san @echos-girlfriend @fiveshelmet @dangraccoon @plushymiku-blog @chrissywakingup @pb-jellybeans @nunanuggets @sleepycreativewriter @erellenora @zippingstars87 7 @ezras-left-thumb @the-rain-on-kamino @tech-aficionado @grizabellasolo @therealnekomari @tech-depression-inventory @brynhildrmimi @greaser-wolf @tinyreadersmur @seriowan @kaminocasey @marvel-starwars-nerd @ladytano420 @ladyzirkonia @thesith @raevulsix x @mssbridgerton @cw80831 @knightprincess @crosshairlovebot @imalovernotahater @id-rather-be-a-druid @the-bad-batch-baroness @lulalovez @green-alm0nd

#nahoney22 writes #gn reader #the bad batch #tbb #tbb echo x reader #tbb hunter x reader #the bad batch x gn reader #tbb wrecker x reader #tbb tech x reader #tbb crosshair x reader #tech bad batch #Hunter bad batch #crosshair bad batch #wrecker bad batch #echo bad batch

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knightprincess · 1 month

Text

Softness Suits You (Tech x GN! Reader)

Words: 2k Warnings: None - unless you count Kriff and Karabast as swearing. Note: Gender Neutral - Use of You and (Y/N) A part of the Bad Batch Gift Exchange @cloneficgiftexchange For: @theunderscorekinginyellow Prompt: "Softness Suits You"

“(Y/N),” called Tech, skidding to a halt as he rounded the corner. Blaster fire passed the corner mere seconds later. “Now is not the time to give up on me,” he commented, pulling you back to your feet. You’d slipped down the durasteel wall you’d been learning against with a sharp groan of pain, an arm tightly wound around your midsection, the other putting pressure on another unseen wound hidden beneath your armor and the layers of fabric.

“Wasn’t the time for the plan to go wrong either,” (Y/N) voiced, recalling how the mission had gone sideways quickly. “We went over the plan five times,” you grumbled, blowing out an agonized sigh as the stabbing pain grew in strength.

“I got the package, didn’t I?” responded Wrecker, the sound of blaster fire being exchanged echoing through the com.

“Anyone injured?” came Hunter’s smokey voice. Omega’s innocent one followed, celebrating after hitting another target with her energy bow. Echo soon confirmed he and Wrecker were slightly banged up, but nothing serious. Their main problem was being pinned down.

“(Y/N) got hit, unsure how serious it is,” announced Tech, seemingly ignoring your comment that you were okay. Even when it was evidently obvious you were anything but. You were losing blood, feeling dizzy and shaky, and could barely stand on your own two feet, and Tech had stated you looked paler than usual.

“Tech, get (Y/N) back to the Marauder,” demanded Echo, his voice severe and unyielding. The job for Sid meant little compared to the life of a friend.

“Omega will meet you there,” said Hunter. The young clone’s protests shortly followed his words. “That’s an order,” he added, slipping into a mix of his previous Sargent Mode and that of a protective father figure trying to protect their child and family. “The rest of us Plan 13.”

“Oh yeah,” exclaimed Wrecker, launching into the attack on droids and mercenaries alike. The human wrecking ball wasted little time running head-first into the battle again. His actions a reminder of his days as a soldier of the GAR, back when everything was simpler before the dark times began to strangle the galaxy.

“Oh brother,” mutters Echo before readying himself to rejoin the battle before him. Pushing aside the memories of the many food fights on Kamino before it was bombarded and forgotten about—memories of his brothers of the Domino Squad, 501st, and Bad Batch.

“Ready?” asked Tech, placing his D17s in the holsters for the time being, reaching for your arm to pull you back to your feet. Directing the arm around his neck as his own snaked around your midsection. Hearing the sharpness in your breath as you began to limp forward. The pilot soon pulled the yellow-tinted screen of his helmet down, scanning you over to get a clear idea of the damage and injuries sustained.

“What’s the prognosis, Doctor?” sarcastically asked (Y/N), your eyes glazing over as you become confused and disorientated. “Is it as bad as Crosshair’s friction burns from the Skako mission?” you asked with a light chuckle, wincing shortly after with the pain shooting through your ribs.

“I would argue that was worse,” answered Tech, recalling Crosshair grumbling for days afterward—even more so when Wrecker refused to let him forget about it. “However, this is a close second,” he said, trying to keep your spirits up and offer a distraction from your injuries and dire state.

“Damn. I was hoping to top him this time,” replied (Y/N), as if you had forgotten Crosshair wasn’t there. Instead, he had chosen to return to the Empire, even after they had bombarded Tipoca City with all of them inside. “Still working on that plan to get him back,” you add with the smallest of grins.

“Crosshair … chose a different path. We have to accept that, even if we don’t agree with it,” spoke Tech with a prang of sadness. Thankful when the Marauder came into view, Omega was already on the steps, waving at them with a small smile of her own. At least until it hit her, Tech was all but keeping you up now.

“What happened?” questioned Omega, quickly running back up the steps, moving to get the medical kit stowed away aboard the ship. At the same time, Tech pulled (Y/N) over to the sleeping racks upon getting you aboard. Nodding to Omega in thanks, when she brought the medical kit over to him, he reached for stem cells and bacta gel in hopes of aiding the healing process.

“We could use a lift,” came the booming voice of Echo, the coms lighting up with the disagreement between the Arc Trooper, Hunter, and Wrecker.

“That with or without Omega hanging from the ship and me falling out or over something?” asked (Y/N), doing your best to lighten the dreary mood and keep Omega from seeing just how bad things were. You had a soft spot for the kid and the boys.

“It was an unscheduled study break,” Tech voiced in response. At least explaining Omega hanging from the ship. A smirk appeared across his lips upon remembering the two separate incidences regarding (Y/N) falling over something and falling from the ship completely. “And momentarily lapse in coordination.”

“Just patching (Y/N) up, then we’ll be there,” announced Omega, keeping the trio of Hunter, Echo, and Wrecker in the loop.

“This is going to hurt,” stated Tech, receiving a (Y/N) famous deadpan look in response. At least informing him, he was pointing out the obvious again, without calling the exceptionally minded clone by the normal nickname. Captain Obvious.

“You mean more than it already does?” You asked, the next part of your comment forgotten as the bacta gel burned like someone had poured the lavas of Mustafar into your open wounds. “Kriff!”

“Language” worded Wrecker via the comm link.

“Aurebesh,” you replied, much to Omega’s amusement. Tech could only shake his head and roll his golden eyes.

“Switch out the words, (Y/N),” spoke Hunter, once again the familiar sound of blaster fire following his words, hinting at the trouble the trio was in now.

“Yes, Papa Hunter. Next time, I’ll use Karabast,” quickly shot (Y/N), not noticing Tech had stepped close with an anesthetic, at least not until he caught you with it.

“Rest for now (Y/N). Omega and I can handle the extraction,” announced Tech. He made sure you were lying comfortably on his rack before heading to the cockpit with Omega. The young clone gave Gonky his own mission to watch over you while you slept.

When (Y/N) finally woke up, the Marauder was on stable ground, and the ship was quiet—too quiet. The only noise was Gonky waddling the length of the ship with the normal “Gonk” on repeat, although the droid did seem to be pestering Tech, who sat at the communications desk just in front of the sleeping racks.

“Where’s the others?” you asked with a cracked and broken voice. Your throat was dry and scratchy from the lack of use. Slowly, you moved your head to look around the ship. The cockpit was empty, void of Echo and Wrecker. The rear gunner's port had no Omega resting there, although Lula and her little clone trooper were. Hunter was nowhere to be seen either. Only Tech and Gonky were there.

“Wrecker and Omega are following through with their tradition,” Tech replied, standing and walking over, an unreadable expression painted on his features. The moment he reached you, he placed a soft hand on your forehead, relief washing over him minutes later. "Hunter and Echo are delivering the package to Sid.”

“How long was I out?” you asked. Then it hit you: You were no longer on Eadu but instead back on Ord Monell.

“Just over a day,” started Tech, helping you sit up. “I’d appreciate it if we didn’t repeat what happened,” he added, pushing his goggles back up the bridge of his nose.

“I’m not gonna let you get shot, Tech, and I did tell you to leave me,” argued (Y/N), feeling relief now the majority of your pain was gone, either nulled by the anesthetic or washed away by the bacta healing the wounds.

“We don’t leave our own behind,” stated Tech, a matter of factly, with a pointer finger raised, as if to drill it into your head and make it stick. “The others are fine as well. Wrecker still thinks the scans are invisible spiders,” he added, allowing his stiffness to melt a little upon hearing your small ring of laughter.

“Hunter and Echo still the parents?” (Y/N) asked, side-eyeing and suspicious, just in case something had changed while you were out for the count.

“Careful (Y/N), your softer side is showing,” joked Tech. “Either that, or you hit your head harder than I thought.”

“Or I’m high as a kite and hallucinating,” you commented.

“Not lost your sense of humor, " Echo said upon boarding the ship. A scratch now donning his cheek below the left eye. However, the worry plaguing him now seemed to melt away.

“Mustafar would freeze over before that happened,” (Y/N) replied with a small smile, “Or Hoth would warm up.” You quietened for a few minutes before it hit you: Tech had said your soft side was showing. Didn’t it always when you were around your found family? “Wait, what you mean my softer side is showing?” you questioned, hearing Echo chuckle as he held his hands up in surrender before walking off to the cockpit.

“I don’t mean to offend you,” started Tech, suddenly uncomfortable, even more so when his hopes of you missing his words were dashed. “Normally, when out in the field or around Sid, you appear like Crosshair, stoic, cold, and armed with snide comments for enemies and sarcastic ones to lighten the mood,” he rambled, hoping to explain away what he now saw as a blunder.

“Tech,” you softly call, a sweet grin appearing now as you made it apparent you weren’t offended by the comment, merely curious.

“I thought it was obvious. Softness suits you,” directed Tech,

“Will you two make it official already?” voiced Wrecker as he and Omega returned to the ship. Hunter followed along behind, slightly confused by the comment but smirking nonetheless.

“Way to ruin the mood, Wrecker,” (Y/N) replied. “I’m recruiting Omega to help terrorize you the next time you go speed dating.”

“That was one time.”

“Wrecker went speeding dating?” questioned Echo

“Yup, It’s right up there with Hunter and Crosshair waking up handcuffed in a fountain,” you reply, hearing Omega laughing,

“I hate your memory right now,” commented Hunter, his cheeks redding as he sat down at his normal spot.

“Please do tell me more,” commented Echo, knowing he and Fives got up to some crazy things, along with Kix, Hardcase, and Jesse, things he often got a chuckle out of when he allowed himself to remember them. However, he wanted to know more about what the rest of the batch got up to during the war.

“No! I’m gonna die of embarrassment,” replied Wrecker, recalling the speeding dating disaster. Their first shore leave after joining the war effort. (Y/N) as their Jedi had told them to have fun, not expecting to get a call from Fox informing you, your squad was spending the night in detention.

“Wasn’t that bad” replied Tech, trying to soothe the situation. Although he’d admit you laughing from behind him wasn’t helping.

“I want to hear about it,” Omega called, her sweet, innocent voice seemingly breaking through. Hunter and Wrecker shared a glance, knowing (Y/N) couldn’t deny the young clone anything, although, thankfully, you told the stories in a child-friendly way.

“Was that the one I have no memory of?” asked Tech, recalling they’d gotten up to a lot of mischief. He’d personally set off a few security breaches from hacking sensitive information. Wrecker had set so many alarms off with his explosives that the Coruscant Guard had come to expect it and, at points, used it as a training exercise. Hunter and Crosshair found themselves in contests with different goals. Meanwhile, (Y/N) collectively named everything the Lame Game.

“Yup,” replied (Y/N), popping the p. “Never did find out how you ended up black-out drunk under the booth table. Or why you were wearing Wolffe’s helmet?” You laughed.

“Tech’s right; Softness does suit you,” replied Hunter, the smallest of grins appearing across his lips as he got comfortable, ready to relive the embarrassing moments of the past. “You’re still the best storyteller, though.”

KnightPrincess Masterlist

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vodika-vibes · 18 days

Note

ive been having a really really rough week. my depression has been kicking my ass and ive been just rotting in my bed most days. but would it be too much for me to request something where the reader (gender neutral please) is essentially doing that (rotting in bed, barely eating, and not leaving their home) when their boyfriend (tech) comes home and sees his partner like that.

i think i just need something really comforting and sweet with tech taking care of the reader, and being really gentle and understanding about everything.

For You

Summary: When your depression hits you hard while Tech is away, you struggle to force yourself to do anything more than lay in bed.

Pairing: TBB Tech x GN!Reader

Word Count: 693

Warnings: Reader is depressed

Tagging: @trixie2023 @n0vqni @imabeautifulbutterfly

A/N: I'm sorry to hear that you've been having a rough time. I hope this fic helps, even if it's only a little bit. I will admit that this isn't my best work, Tech was fighting me every step of the way, but I hope you like it anyway.

Your gaze is locked on the holo at the end of the bed. You’re not quite sure what you’re watching, it looks like an infomercial about some kind of super towel.

It’s dumb. It’s dumb and stupid and pointless…but rolling over to change the channel to something else feels hard and impossible, so instead you just curl around your pillow and keep watching the infomercial.

You haven’t gotten out of bed for longer than it takes to go to the bathroom in days. Though, you did force yourself to eat some instant noodles this morning. And the reminder from Tech that he was coming home today did prompt you to drag yourself to the shower earlier.

But even so, when you hear the front door open, you can’t seem to work up the will to go and greet Tech, and you kind of hate yourself for it.

The last thing you’ve ever wanted was to be a burden for him, and yet here you are. Burdening him.

You hear silence for a moment, just a moment, and then familiar heavy footsteps through the apartment, before your bedroom door slides open. You do manage to twist so you’re able to peer up at the man standing in the door.

Neither of you say anything for a moment, and you watch as Tech’s gaze slides from you, bundled up in your most comfortable blanket, to the stack of water bottles next to the bed, and the empty cup of instant noodles.

And then his gaze slides back to your face, and there is something soft and warm on his face, “Having a hard time, love?”

“...m’sorry.”

“You do not have to apologize. Not for this. Not to me.” Tech walks around the bed, and picks up the trash, before he leaves the room for a few minutes.

And then he’s back, and he’s no longer wearing his armor.

“Do you feel up to getting up with me, love?” He asks as he sits on the side of the bed.

You sigh quietly, “That sounds hard.”

“That is alright, you do not have to.” He reaches over and lightly brushes his fingers against your cheek, “How long have you been in this condition?”

A shrug, “A couple of days. Maybe.”

“Have you been eating?”

“...sorry.”

He smiles at you sadly, “It is alright. Do you think you will be willing to curl up on the couch while I make you food?”

You consider his words for a long moment, and then you nod, “I guess I can do that,” You admit, and you’re rewarded with a beaming smile and a gentle hand on your shoulder.

“I am glad,” Tech admits, his touch so gentle as he encourages you to sit up and then swing your legs off the bed.

“I’m sorry for being such a…pain.” You mumble as you lean into him and press your face against his shoulder.

“You are not a pain. You are just having a hard time right now. And that is okay.” Tech folds his arms around you, “Is there anything specific that you would like to eat?”

“...something easy?”

“How about pancakes?”

You rub your nose against his shoulder, “I suppose pancakes don't sound too hard.”

“Good. I know that they are your favorite.” Tech guides you towards the living room and gets you settled on the couch, before he tucks a blanket tightly around you, and he kisses your forehead, “One plate of pancakes, coming right up.”

“Thank you, Tech.”

“For what?”

“Taking care of me. For not being mad. For being you. Take your pick.”

“You do not have to thank me for that.” Tech presses a light kiss to the top of your head, “I am happy to take care of you. And I would never be mad. Not at you. Not for this.”

He presses one more kiss to your forehead, and then, finally vanishes into the kitchen to start making food.

You curl up under the blanket, and watch him move around the kitchen, and a small smile crosses your face. You love him so much…you’re just glad that he loves you just as much.

#star wars #tbb #tbb tech x reader #tech x reader #star wars fanfiction #x reader fanfiction #gn!reader fic #answered asks

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523rdrebel · 5 months

Text

When Feelings Aren’t Logical

Tech x Reader (gn)

Warnings: Implied RSD- Rejection Sensitive Disphoria

SFW- Mostly just fluff, Tech comforts reader.

I wrote this for a friend and, with their permission, am sharing here for anyone else who my struggle with what we like to call gremlin thoughts.

Divider by @snotbuggle

You’d curled up in your favorite fluffy blanket, just the top of your head peeking out so you could stare into space. Your thoughts spiraled down, down, into the darker shadows of your mind.

They’ve been different today. Did I do something?

They’re so quiet… Are they mad at me?

Oh my gosh! What if they don’t like me anymore?

What if they never did!?

Were they just pretending?

Am I useless?

Tech entered the room, face down in his datapad. Probably working on something important. When you didn’t greet him in your usual way, Tech stopped abruptly, lifting his head to regard you with concern. He observed your position, curled up in your comfort blanket, the lost expression in your eyes, and he deactivated his datapad, stowing it away safely and crossing the room to sit down next to you. “My darling, what do you need? Have you eaten today?”

It was just like Tech to lead with solutions, knowing how you forget to eat when you’re particularly overwhelmed.

You shook your head and sighed, your heart clenching painfully at his obvious care and affection. You tell him about your thoughts, about how you were afraid that your friends didn’t want you anymore, or worse yet, that they never did. The words spilled out rapidly, panic increasing as you verbalized your feelings, “I just— I can’t help but think that I’ve done something wrong. Or what if they’ve never really liked me at all and they were just pretending? Or what if I offended someone and now they don’t want to talk to me anymore? Did I–did I mess up?”

Tech wrapped you in his arms, giving a gentle, reassuring squeeze, “Hush now, love. If any of your friends were offended by something I am certain they would speak to you about it.”

You could see the gears working in his mind as he formulated solutions for you, it filled your heart with warmth, but did not quiet your feelings, “But– what if they didn’t? What if they were so offended that they never wanted to speak to me again and then I’ve lost my friends and— I don’t want to be alone.”

“Have they ever given you reason to believe that they would not approach you directly? And, my dear, you would never be alone. You have me.” He pressed a soft kiss to your temple, punctuating his point.

“Well no… but I just–”

He nodded, holding up one finger with decided assurance, “If there is no evidence to suggest they would leave you for no reason, then you can safely deduce that they are not upset with you, and they did not leave you. Logically, you know that they still care for you- Correct?”

“Yes, but–”

“But? What further argument do you feel has merit?” His voice was softer, his affection for you made plain.

You sigh, shaking your head lightly, “Sometimes– sometimes feelings aren’t logical. I don’t disagree with you. And I know you’re not wrong here,” You tap your temple, “but there is still this fear inside… It doesn’t always make sense. It’s just how I feel.”

He pulls you closer, sitting you firmly onto his lap where he can wrap you in his arms more securely. He presses another soft kiss to your head, “Hmm. Then I will just have to keep reminding you. And I am certain your friends will as well.”

HAPPY LIFEDAY TAGLIST:

@anxiouspineapple99 @wings-and-beskar @starrylothcat @secondaryrealm @arctrooper69 @sev-on-kamino @littlemissmanga @wolffegirlsunite @dystopicjumpsuit @idontgetanysleep @clonemedickix @sunshinesdaydream @followthepurrgil @yubnubhub @nahoney22 @jediknightjana @dangraccoon @wizardofrozz @freesia-writes @mythical-illustrator @echoxbuggs @trixie2023 @ezras-left-thumb

#RebelWrites #Comfort Fic #Fluff #star wars #the bad batch #tbb #tbb tech #bad batch #Tech Fluff #Tech Comfort #Warning: Implied RSD #divider by Snotbuggle #Tech x Reader #Tech x Reader GN

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stardust-kenobi · 1 year

Note

Hey! I saw your requests are open. I absolutely love your work, and i how you're doing alright! I will take any opportunity I can to request Tech x Reader smut with Dom!Tech vibes 💜

Sorry I know you requested this a while ago but I’m just now getting around to it! Hope you enjoy this quick little drabble <3

Did someone say dom!tech 👀?? I am blushing

Tech x GN!Reader drabble

Warnings: rough/dom/possessive/jealous(?) tech, smut, 18+ minors DNI

How did you get here? How did you end up with your body shoved against the building behind 79’s, Tech’s cock buried inside of you, with his hand pressed against your mouth, suffocating your moans?

Quite frankly, you didn’t give a shit how you ended up here, you just knew you never wanted it to end.

Something lit a fire into Tech earlier in the night. Maybe it was the way that Rex couldn’t keep his wandering eyes off of you. Maybe it was even the revealing nature of the outfit you chose to wear. Maybe it had just been too long since he’d felt you, and he couldn’t take it anymore.

“That’s right, darling, take my cock” He growled against your ear, his thrusts turning brutal as he fucked you from behind.

This was not the Tech you knew in bed. This was a version of Tech with such a burning hunger for you that he couldn’t stand it not one minute longer. He was possessive of your body, his grip around you being relentless. You didn’t mind it one bit, in fact, you loved this. It was unexpected, and turned you on more than you were willing to admit.

“Maker, you are so good” He gritted through this teeth. Your cries of pleasure seeped through his fingers over your mouth.

He yanked his hand tighter against your face, causing your skin to burn, but it hurt so good.

“You want this whole bar to know who you belong to, hm?” He whispered against your ear. You nodded.

“Go ahead, then, darling. Tell them who fucks you this good” He smirked.

“Stars, Tech. You fuck me so good” You whimpered. In response to your filthy remarks, he fucked you faster and harder now. He loved watching your ass bounce against him with every thrust.

Your legs began to tremble as you became overwhelmed with your approaching orgasm. You felt the tingling form in your lower belly, and his cock filled you so perfectly, brushing your most sensitive places with every stroke. It was all too much.

“Come for me” Tech demanded.

You obeyed, feeling the rush of your euphoria wash over you. The feeling in your legs faded, as all sense of feeling centered in between your legs. Loud cries of pleasure escaped you, but Tech did nothing to suppress your expressions now.

“That’s it. Oh, Y/N, I’m going to fill you up” He faltered, his hips losing their rhythm as he spilled his release inside of you, marking you even more…as his.

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starrylothcat · 10 months

Note

Hi! I was wondering if I could request spicy Tech (gn reader plz also sorry if you're not doing requests right now! You can ignore this if you aren't)

More spicy prompts! Thank you for this Tech ask, anon. This is my first time fully writing Tech so please bear with me…I hope it’s satisfactory 😉

I wasn’t sure if you wanted something from the spicy prompts list, so I chose “Just lay back and let me take care of you.”

Offering a Hand

Warnings: NSFW 18+. You give Tech a hand with his work (you give Tech a handjob)

Pairing: Tech x GN Reader

Word Count: 1400. These are getting longer. Lol

Spicy Prompts

You and Tech had been tinkering all day, doing much-needed repairs and tune-ups on The Marauder.

The others had just left to search for some parts at a nearby junkyard per Tech’s request.

You slyly stayed behind, saying Tech needed your help with repairs to the navigation system. That was a bald-faced lie, and everyone knew it, but it was an excuse to be alone with your boyfriend.

You were in the cockpit, as was Tech. He was hunched on the ship’s floor, soldering a piece of equipment he had ripped from underneath the main console.

His jaw was set tight, fingers working quickly and expertly, his eyes set in intense concentration.

You swallowed, a familiar spark igniting in your loins, thinking of what those fingers could do, how you wanted that intense, yellow-tinted gaze on you, your lips on that incredibly alluring jawline…

“Do you need assistance with something?” Tech questioned without looking toward you, continuing his work.

“No…just enjoying the view.” You remarked as you schooched next to him, pressing your shoulder to his. You were also on the floor, trying to sort a pile of wires that was untouched.

“Can you hand me the servodriver since you are just “enjoying the view” and not assisting me like you told the others?” Tech adjusted his goggles, glancing at you momentarily before going back to his tinkering.

You chuckled, remembering Hunter’s look when you said Tech needed your help and you should stay behind.

Hunter knew that wasn’t true, but gathered Omega, Echo, and Wrecker to go to the junkyard, knowing you wanted privacy.

“Sure...only if you kiss me.” You leaned into him more, the aroma of hot metal mixing with his natural musk flaming the fire inside you even more.

Tech stopped, placing his soldering equipment down, looking fully at you.

“I presume your proximity to me and the promiscuous tone in your voice means you will not be handing me the servodriver, correct?”

“That’s right.” You smiled, brushing your hand across his cheek.

Tech adjusted his goggles. “I also infer you stayed behind, not because you wanted to aid me, but to be alone with me. Is that also correct?” You bit your bottom lip, nodding.

“Ah. What would you like to do?”

You took one of Tech’s hands in your own.

“Well, I was thinking I could actually give you a hand if you’d let me.” You raised your eyebrows, seeing if he’d catch your meaning.

You could see Tech’s cheeks darken slightly as he cleared his throat. “Oh, I see.”

You leaned in, your nose brushing against his as you moved your other hand up his thigh.

You could hear Tech’s breath hitch, his own hands coming to your shoulders as your lips met.

“It’ll be a while before they get back. And besides, you look like you need a break.” You muttered against his lips, giving his upper thigh a hearty squeeze as you grazed your hand over his crotch.

Tech gripped your shoulders and let out a low groan as he leaned toward you, kissing you back, his body relaxing as your mouths moved together.

“Just lay back and let me take care of you.” You whispered as you pulled away momentarily, seeing a quick flash of hunger pass over his brown eyes. “We have time before the others get back.”

Your hands roamed up and under his shirt, watching Tech begin to calculate behind his goggles as you tried to tug his shirt off.

“Taking into consideration the travel time to and from the junkyard, and how quickly they may be able to find the parts, we more than likely have an hour before they return. So I suppose you can…assist me.”

You grinned mischievously, crawling on top of Tech’s lap, his shirt halfway up his torso, him still calculating how much time you might have alone.

“Sounds like plenty of time, don’t you think?” You asked before taking his lips on yours again, and Tech finally helped you get his shirt off.

Your hands roamed his lean form, and you could feel his muscles flex under your gentle touch.

You pressed down into his lap, feeling him harden beneath you.

Tech’s hands were now skirting under your shirt, touching all the places he knew elicited a response from you.

He had every inch of your body mapped and memorized, knowing exactly where and when to touch you to get the best response.

You hummed in contentment against his lips, those expert fingers working their magic as he caressed your skin.

You released his lips from yours, yanking off your shirt and going straight back to an impassioned make-out session.

You began kissing down his chin and nibbled on his jawline as Tech pushed his goggles back into place.

You worked to undo his pants, making quick work of his many straps and pockets, tossing them to the side with a thud as you slipped a hand under his waistband. You carefully ran your fingers up his now hard length, relishing how he felt.

This situation was one of few where Tech was speechless, a shaky sigh from him the only sound he could emit.

Tech grunted while you teased the head of his cock with your fingers, eyes wide under his goggles as he stared down at your careful ministrations.

You loved how he felt under your fingertips, his velvety head already wet with precum. You used your thumb to slowly spread it around, and you could feel Tech tremble against you, his quiet sounds of pleasure catching in his throat.

“Hold on.” You said, quickly jumping up off his lap and running to your bunk, digging through a small drawer. You grabbed the bottle of lube that Tech loved to use on you, but this time it was all for him.

You squirted a generous amount on your hand and hurried back to where he was eagerly waiting, now sitting in the pilot’s seat. You stepped up to him as he tugged his pants further down his thighs.

“Easier access and more comfortable for the both of us.” He stated as you sat back on his lap, Tech’s rigid cock pressed against his belly.

You reached down between the two of you, gently sliding your hand up and down his length, a hiss of approval escaping through Tech’s clenched jaw, his eyelids fluttering at your touch.

You squeezed and twisted your fist in a languid rhythm, also knowing just how he liked it.

Tech grabbed at your waist, his head leaning back against the headrest as you worked his cock with your hand.

He opened his mouth like he wanted to say something, but a low groan came out instead as you squeezed him a little harder.

You watched his chest heave faster, his other hand digging in to the armrest as his brow furrowed, concentrating and focusing on how you were making him feel.

“F-faster.” Tech urged, sweat beading on his brow, his breath labored.

You obliged, increasing the pace of your fist around his cock, loving how you could feel every ridge and vein slide across your palm as Tech came apart in front of you.

Tech suddenly grasped the back of your head, bringing you to his lips, his mouth hot and desperate on yours as you worked him.

“Close…” was all Tech was able to utter, his pleasured moans becoming louder and more frequent.

You couldn’t help but let out a blissful sigh, seeing how much pleasure you were bringing him as your other hand reached down to tenderly squeeze and cup his balls.

Tech twitched and bucked against you, his head falling back again to the headrest, cursing under his breath.

“Cyare…I won’t…last much longer.” Tech warned, his goggles now sliding down the bridge of his nose.

With a final twist of your wrist, Tech let out a long groan of your name, his pearly release coating his lower abdomen and chest.

You eased him through his orgasm, feeling his cock twitch and throb under your palm, milking him of every drop, drunk on the sight of him fully undone just by your hand.

You stroked him a few more times, rubbing your thumb over his sensitive head as Tech tried to compose himself, pushing his goggles up with his hand, steadying his breathing.

“That was…satisfactory. Thank you.” He leaned forward, kissing you sweetly in thanks.

“I hope it was more than just satisfactory.” You teased as you hopped off him, grabbing a clean towel from your bunk.

A small smirk tugged at the side of his mouth. “It was, very much so.”

You leaned over him, gently cleaning him up as he softly ran his hand down your face.

“Thank you, cyare.” Tech tugged his pants back up and you sat on his lap again, leaning onto him as he held you. You felt his hands wander, his fingers now slipping under your waistband.

“Based on my calculations, we still have plenty of time for me to return the favor.”

Tech’s words were husky in your ear as you smiled into his neck, shivering at his touch. “It’s my turn to enjoy the view, hmm? Now…where did you put that lube?”

A/N: Am I sorry for continuously posting smut and having a great time writing these? No. 😅

Taglist: Taglist: @blueink-bluesoul @pb-jellybeans @the-cantina @king-chaos-world @wolffegirlsunite @523rdrebel @dukeoftheblackstar @sleepingsun501 @wanderer-six

#tech tbb #tech x reader #tech tbb x reader #tech x you #tech tbb x you #tech smut #tech x gn!reader #starrycatwrites #the bad batch smut #thirsty clones #tbb tech #the bad batch fanfiction #tbb smut #x reader

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momojedi · 2 months

Text

— KILLER MACHINE

bad batch x gn! imp! reader

chapter one. the division

“Clones?”

My face falls at the sight in front of me. There, on the opposite side of the mirrored glass, my future division is properly lined up in full, black gear; armour I’ve never seen on a clone before. Doctor Hemlock chuckles before moving away from the window and pacing down the hallway. “Not just any clones,” he hums, clasping his hands behind his back as I follow him under the watchful eye of the clone commando accompanying us. “A reconditioned kind. Specialised for the kill.”

“Sir,” I pipe up, trying to keep up with his fast strides, “Clones are a loyal specimen and possibly even the best soldiers we could’ve asked for during the war, yes, but I’m not sure they’re fit to be assassins—“ He cuts me off.

“Oh, they are.” His voice is laced with confidence, leaving little room for doubt and I hesitate before shaking my head and letting my stubbornness slip.

“With all due respect, being an assassin requires far more than just killing. It’s about precision and stealth, both things clone soldiers aren’t exactly known for,” I fight back, motioning toward the soldiers with a wave, “I’ve looked over the Cuy’val Dar’s records from Kamino before, there’s a reason I never worked with them during the wars; most of the troopers performed weakly in those areas, mediocre at best!”

With a sigh, Hemlock stops and turns to face me. “This division underwent extensive reconditioning and rigorous training to ensure full success in the field. Every operative within this elite unit possesses unparalleled expertise, from precision marksmanship to covert infiltration,” he then towers over me, cold eyes penetrating my soul in a judgemental manner, “You have been selected to lead these specimens to success and the Empire expects no less of you. Have I made myself clear?” A chill runs down my spine at his tone and suddenly my mouth goes dry.

I have never been a people person, always working alone and always triumphing alone. Even during the days of the Republic, the Jedi knew better than to pair me up with their people after requesting my help for a mission. Putting me in a position of leadership and responsibility for an entire division is … scary to say the least. But when the Empire wants something from you, it’s better to comply than to step back and so, I swallow the fearful lump in my throat and nod slowly.

“Yes sir.”

Hemlock smiles, a sickeningly sweet smile as he breathes out. “Wonderful.”

Suddenly, the piercing ring of a commlink catches our attention and he raises the small cylinder. “Sir,” a female voice pipes up at the other end of the line, “the Kaminoan scientist is requesting your assistance.” Without responding, Hemlock the commlink back in his pocket and then faces me again. “It appears I am needed elsewhere. RC-1262 will meet you here tomorrow at 0600 sharp for briefing.” He fiddles with the black glove draping one of his hands, ready to turn his back on me but not before giving me one last warning glance. “Remember,” he starts with a dangerous glint in his eyes, “failure is not an option. The Empire demands excellence, and I expect nothing less." His words hang in the air, heavy with the weight of expectation and consequence. As he strides away, followed by his clone commando, I'm left with a sinking feeling in my chest.

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starqueensthings · 4 months

Text

Dork Love: Part Four

chap1 | chap2 | chap3

Pairing: Tech x GN!reader (can be read as ND!Tech x ND!GN!reader if you squint)

Summary: never thought I'd see the day, but here is the final part of Dork Love! Things happen, questions are answered. I won’t say any more for fear of spoiling things. Make sure you’ve read the previous three parts before proceeding.

Rating/WC/POV: Teen+ readers, but no real warnings. 7847 words (I hate myself too, don’t worry). 2nd POV but from Tech’s perspective.

A/N: thank you to the always lovely @staycalmandhugaclone for proofreading, and for reminding me that unstiflable, as much as I’d like it to be a word, is not LOL like “so fetch” it just ain’t gonna happen!

That autonomic demand to narrow his eyes was irrepressible, and the onslaught of light pouring in through the open door dazzled him to near paralysis as he stood in the shadows, pistol raised and poised to fire blindly if or when the situation required. But even through long lashes near-opacifying his vision, Tech’s astute mind instantly noted the familiar, swaying cadence of the figure stepping through the threshold, its movements much less hurried and frenetic than his sergeant’s broad-shouldered, deliberate strides would have been as he hastened to provide backup. In that subsequent second, as Tech’s eyes screamed in protest and the alleged assailant stepped delicately atop that worn wood floor, a cresting wave of unadulterated relief and realization crashed into his heaving chest and forced the bated breath from his lungs.

“Thank the Maker,” he exclaimed as he attempted to swallow the panic that had taken up residence in the back of his throat.

His feet took him urgently toward you, stowing his pistol in it’s holster with a deftness that his trembling hands should not have possessed, and the now-redundant flashlight fell with a thud to the floor, spinning away to uselessly brighten a forgotten corner as he closed the space between you and flung his arms around your shoulders.

The startled gasp that escaped your lips at the unexpected movement went ignored. He spared no consideration for the way your arms balked against the restriction of his unexpected embrace; your choked and stuttered demands for distance and clarification registered even less in his mind than your obvious sense of alarm. He would explain after… He’d offer a million apologies in just a minute… What mattered most to him in this second was that you were safe— you were there in front of him unailed, injury free and not bludgeoned to death by the bloodied hammer still imprinted in his mind's eye.

“T— Tech?!” you stammered, the futile attempts at tugging your arms free creating barely enough leverage to tip your head back and peer upward at your captor. “Is that you? What— what are you doing here?”

“You are alive,” he spoke, seizing the brief opportunity that your acknowledgement presented and retightening his grip around your shoulders.

“Of— of course I am?” you answered, the snort of incredulity almost completely muffled by the power of his embrace as you slowly reciprocated his affection by encircling his narrow waist. “How did you get in here?”

But your behest for an explanation once again failed to pull even a fragment of reasoning from his lips, that brilliant mind utterly failing in its feat to process the emotional undulation of your perceived murder, and he hung his head silently into the gap above your shoulder, greedily breathing in the same scent he’d spent countless mornings trying to imagine were in the bunk next to him.

“This doesn’t look like any ‘perilous and life-threatening event’ that I’ve ever been a part of.”

Hunter’s amusement, while somewhat muffled by the modulator in his helmet, was entirely apparent in the small chuckle that followed his quip. Tech snapped his head toward the door, the intrusion he’d utterly forgotten was on its way taking quick advantage of the adrenaline still doping his blood and setting every inch of his akin aprickle. Yet… having your form pressed against his in that quiet moment of long-anticipated reacquaintance had embedded him with a need for you equally as powerful, and releasing you from his clutches felt oddly like he was willingly permitting a limb to depart his body.

“Who— who are you?” you voiced as you turned toward the door, shielding your eyes with the same hand that had last been the recipient of Tech’s converged affection.

“Hunter,” the sergeant chirruped, boots treading thoughtlessly atop that trail of morbid, red breadcrumbs as he crossed the room and extended a hand. “Glad to see you’re not dead.”

“Why would I be dead?” you asked as you shook his hand, a very potent confusion still swaddling every word that left those lips.

“Good question,” Hunter chuckled, tipping his head forward slightly to pull that painted plastoid bucket from his head. “Can’t say I have an answer. Tech was losing his marbles about a limp fickle tree or someth—?”

“Ficus,” Tech interrupted, feeling a fresh surge of embarrassment rise to his already heated cheeks. Those frenzied emotions… the atypical and unbridled panic from mere minutes ago was being quickly usurped by a coursing regret for the composure he’d altogether abandoned the minute your safety was in question.

He cleared his throat and shifted his goggles on his nose, shying away from your inquiring gaze as it returned to him. “My apologies for the infiltration,” he continued, readjusting his helmet needlessly under his arm. “My brother and I returned with every intention of completing the required electrical repairs, only to find the premises looking uncharacteristically derelict. Regrettably, I had no means of contacting you, so I permitted myself entry hoping to affirm your safety, or collect clues to identify the assailant.”

He chanced a glance in your direction; the way your wide eyes darted intently yet curiously back and forth between his instantly threatened to steal the justification still poised on his tongue, and watching your lip disappear between your teeth saw the battle against that implacable itch to reach for your hand vigorously resurrected.

“There was undeniable evidence that harm may have come to you,” he offered, reaching instead for his datapad and tipping the screen toward you. “My scanners indicated blood of a human origin splattered in several places, with a significant percentage of it congealing atop the handle of a hammer still perched in the sink. Objectively, all access points to the establishment appeared to have been boarded to prevent any external supposition, eliminating any obvious need for an investigation. Your beloved flora was presenting with several signs of neglect, and I noted a discarded caf beside the computer that my scanners confirm has been sitting undisturbed for nearly two dozen rotations.”

“Ew, what?!” you exclaimed as your expression shifted abruptly from concern to disgust, nose scrunching as you peered over your shoulder toward the counter.

“Is that what that smell is?” Hunter queried under his breath, his throat bobbing heavily as if trying to steel himself against the cresting heave in his stomach.

But the notion of the abandoned dish and its putrid contents didn’t befuddle you as it had Tech, instead he watched your eyes soften and roll before an incredulous scoff huffed from your nose.

“Figures,” you groused with a small shake of the head. “He has the wherewithal to put a bloody hammer in the sink but not the dirty mug.”

Tech paused, your grumbled words failing to establish even a scrap of sound reasoning in his already overladen mind, and the slight cock in Hunter’s brow as he turned to glance inquisitively at his brother clearly indicated he was equally as confused by your insufficiently explanatory grievance.

“Who’s ‘he’?” the sergeant asked on their behalf.

“My father,” you answered with another disgruntled roll of the eyes. “I asked him to come here and seal the place up for me.”

“Your father left this carnage?” Tech posed, unable to keep the bewilderment from his voice. “How peculiar.”

“But… why?” Hunter added.

“It’s a long story,” you replied, failing to conceal a large yawn with the back of one hand as the other stretched high above your head. “And I’ll happily tell you the whole thing once I get some caf in me. Give me a few minutes to turn the power back on and then we can catch up.”

The first twinge of an adoring smile tugged at Tech’s lips as he watched you first heave a preparatory sigh before squaring your shoulders and reaching for the handle of that soiled mug. With your nose pinched tightly between your fingers, and your cheeks expanded to their full capacity under the strain of a held breath, you carried the dish at arms length and retreated to the back door. Tech watched you go without even really seeing you… eyes unfocussed, mind spinning tirelessly. It seemed wholly impossible that attempting to ascertain his feelings for you during their trek along that sunlit pathway had rendered him so uneasy that he nearly faceplanted; then mere seconds later, he’d hurled headfirst into a panic so foreign and inexplicable that even Hunter, his most astute brother and the person who likely understood him most in this galaxy, had difficulty navigating Tech’s discombobulated fears. Now here he stood, the ravaging tornado of emotions spanning the last half an hour, only a thing of the past. His mind, instead, brimming with nothing but absolute certainty of his affection for you, and it wasn’t until (“...oof!”) you tripped over the long-abandoned spools of wire and nearly slooped that rancid liquid all over the floor, that a distant glimmer of reality returned to him, and he hastened to retrieve the discarded flashlight and hand it over to you.

“Was that a hug I just saw?” Hunter jeered, knocking his fist against the dome of Tech’s shoulder the second your figure vanished into the enshadowed hallway.

The genius soldier did not answer, offering his brother a mildly embarrassed, reproachful glance before shifting his attention to the device in his hands.

“You know Tech,” the sergeant persisted, keeping his voice tactfully low. “You’ve pulled some really impressive tricks out of your arsenal over the years, but I don’t think I’ve ever been more impressed by you than I am now.”

Tech let his brother's indirect praise wash over him, turning his response over in his mind several times. “It is most peculiar,” he uttered quietly to the screen as the lights flickered into life overhead, “That simply the notion of this companionship can trigger such dichotomous sentiments.”

“What do you mean?” Hunter queried as he stepped toward the front door and pushed it closed.

“Well… it seems implausible that one individual could initiate both anxiety and comfort in another, as they are contradictory emotional responses that otherwise do not theoretically coincide.” Tech kept his eyes pointedly downward to the illuminated device in his hands as he spoke. “How is it that my fear for the safety of another is rendered so paramount, that the notion of having lost said person clouds the judgement in which I hold in such high regard, particularly so when the person in question is one of whom I hardly know? Yet, the moment I deem their safety established, I am overcome with a protective urge so robust that I would unquestioningly forfeit the use of my limbs if encircling them promised a shield from any potential harm?”

The momentary silence that ensued post-confession was undoubtedly amplified by the recent extermination of fracas from the outside world, yet nothing reverberated louder amongst the walls of that dusty shop than the proud pause that proceeded Hunter’s answer, the smile doming his inked cheek as he stepped back toward his brother entirely missed by the genius still staring deliberately downward.

“I don’t know,” the sergeant answered slowly, placing a discerning hand on the top of Tech’s shoulder. “Feelings are powerful things… I guess we don’t give ‘em enough credit.”

“Indeed,” Tech agreed as he finally lifted his gaze, eyes flashing as he peered at the space where you were due to appear at any moment…

“Hunter?” he added quietly as a thoughtful silence reemerged.

“Yeah, ‘vod?”

“I do not think I will ever tire of this ‘feeling’.”

Hunter’s response was stolen off his tongue by the squeak of old hinges as you pried that back door open with the toe of your shoe, reappearing moments later in the doorway with a green mug held carefully in one hand and a clear glass of water in the other; the way your lips pursed and hitched to one side as you focussed on maneuvering toward the counter without spilling either liquid, rearousing the tingle under Tech’s skin.

“What’d’ya say we pull these boards down?” Hunter spoke loudly, clapping his brother on the arm before turning to face the obstructed windows.

“That would be fantastic,” you said, carefully depositing your steaming mug beside the computer. “I’m handy enough in my own right, but I don’t trust myself not to pull a ‘Dad’ and take a finger off trying to get them down.”

“It’s not a problem,” Hunter answered, dismissing your comment with a wave of his hand as he crossed the room and debated which of the wood panels to dismantle first. “Tech, let's start with the one on the right—”

But Tech heard none of his summons, too enraptured with the charming crease between your brows as your concentration shifted toward your drooping plants, hands lovingly tipping that glass of water into the clay pot housing your limp, little tree.

“—and then we’ll just go along the front and rip 'em down one by one. We can stack them in the corner out of the way for now. Ready? Tech…? Tech.”

“Coming.” Tech wrenched his gaze from you and hurried to meet his brother next to the furthest of the boarded windows.

“I’m a little alarmed at how easily you broke in,” you admitted with a smirk as the duo trod past the counter moments later, carrying the first the half-dozen bulky boards between them.

“It was quite simple,” Tech offered, lowering his end of the board to the dusty floor in the corner and keeping it stable while Hunter tipped it against the wall. “With the correct tool and the appropriate leverage, one can deactivate such an unsophisticated deadbolt system with relative ease. If the security of your store is of utmost concern to you, I would recommend installing a mechanical upgrade; one that permits only those who carry an individually coded microchip to ent—”

“What’s with the boards anyway?” Hunter interrupted, leading his rambling brother back toward the windows.

“I, uh… I was on Ryloth.”

The soldiers froze, hands stalling in their feat of tugging the next of the boards down while they exchanged fleeting, dark looks. “Ryloth?” Hunter repeated. “In the middle of a war? Hmm… that’s kinda—”

“Kinda risky. I know,” you agreed, looking somewhat crestfallen as you perched your chin in your palm and gazed listlessly out the now transparent window. “In my defense, the war hadn’t really reached Ryloth when I bought my ticket. Though, admittedly, I would have gone anyway with the situation being so dire. Those poor kids… Maker, I feel for them. And it’s only going to get worse as access to medical supplies gets increasingly challenging…”

Hunter looked back at Tech and raised his eyebrows, confusion etched into every superficial line of that tattooed face as he readjusted his grip around the edge of the wood panel and tugged it free of its shoddy adhesion.

“Are you being intentionally vague?” Tech voiced innocently while shifting his goggles on his nose. “Or have I simply overlooked a myriad of implied details?”

“No,” you snorted, glancing at him with an unexpected affection and igniting a blush to his cheeks potent enough to force his gaze away from you again. “Sorry, I’ll backtrack a little…” As you picked your head out of your palm and perched yourself, instead, in the desk chair behind the computer, Tech reached for his end of the nearest board and gave it an assertive tug. “About a month or so ago, an impoverished family came in here looking for some help. There were these three kids– cute as a button, but losing their eyesight pretty rapidly. Their mom has a degenerative visual disease that the kids ended up unknowingly inheriting, and Dad was at-a-loss for what to do. There’s no cure for the condition itself, but I told them I’d make some glasses for them that would help preserve the vision they had left. I tried to expedite the process as much as possible, but they fled the planet before I could finish.”

“They wouldn’t stick around for free glasses?” Hunter asked incredulously, eyes attuned to the floor below him as he walked carefully backward to the corner where they’d stashed the first panel.

“Their situation was pretty destitute,” you answered sadly. “Anyway… once their glasses were done, the only option left was to hand deliver them, as I don’t particularly trust inter-stellar couriers anymore with all the rampant piracy these days, and… well, part of me has always wanted to do some missionary work. Unfortunately, it was barely an hour after my shoes hit the sand outside of Lessu that the blockade was implemented, and all public transports were barred from entering or leaving the system. So I—”

“You’ve been trapped on Ryloth!” Hunter groaned. “For weeks!”

“That explains the fetid caf,” Tech chimed.

“Please don’t take this as a complaint,” you continued quickly. “Being on Ryloth and living with that family was an unforgettable experience, and one of which I would never have been granted the opportunity, but… I was more than a little worried about this place; this level of the Undercity is notorious for petty theft and pickpockets thanks to its proximity to the lifts, and the affluent clientele that trickles in from the surface one level above. A few days after I landed, I managed to get a transmission back to my Dad and asked if he’d come and secure the store until I could figure out how to get back, but… I think I might have drastically overestimated his handyman skills. He admitted to me afterward that a poorly-aimed hammer strike had done some damage to both his left thumb and my floor. He conveniently didn’t mention he was growing a mold farm in my favourite mug.”

“Any substantial trauma to the thumb could prove detrimental,” Tech spoke up, tipping the second board on top of the first. “The thumb houses several primary vascular bodies including the Princeps Pollicis, a major artery branching from the deep palmar arch. If the artery itself has sustained enough significant external force to cause a secondary dermal laceration, it has the potential to elicit substantial blood loss, not to mention warrant a possible surgical repairment.”

“And that explains the mess,” Hunter agreed, pointing toward the puniceous trail still adorning the floor beneath their feet.

“Mess is an understatement now that I’m looking at it,” you chuckled. “I’m still not sure if I want to thank him for helping me or invoice him for all the cleaning I’m going to have to do before I can reopen this place.”

***

It took just shy of an hour to remove and rehome the barriers your father had inexpertly installed, and the welcome addition of the dazzling sunlight through the now-unobstructed (albeit dusty) windows had the store feeling nearly exactly as Tech remembered. As he and his brother trod back toward the counter, dabbing droplets of sweat from their brow with the backs of their hands, the Ficus Elastica on the counter stood proudly erect in, what appeared to be, its own personal ray of sunlight.

“Thank you so much,” you sang as they approached, the grin atop your lips challenging that bright celestial body in the sky for its title as the most radiant entity in the galaxy.

“Not a problem,” Hunter answered as you hopped out of the chair and walked around the counter to meet them. “If the panels are still here the next time we’re planetside, I’ll get Wrecker to come rip up 'em and throw ‘em out back for you.”

“That’d be great,” you nodded eagerly. “He’s the only one I haven’t met yet.”

“Actually speaking of…” he continued, “I should check in and make sure Crosshair hasn’t lost his temper and used him for target practice. Gimme a second and then we can start the wirin–”

“I can manage.”

His interjection was abrupt, slipping off his tongue nowhere-near as passively or nonchalant as he’d intended when Tech opened his mouth to reassure his sergeant, and the responding look on Hunter’s face readily confirmed that Tech had also failed to conceal that burgeoning need to be alone with you. But he was fighting a losing battle; the trio stood only inches from where he’d first wrapped his arms around you. Despite continuing to dodge each other’s bashful glances, the near-irresistable urge to grab your hand and wreath you with his arms hadn’t left him since releasing you, and he was more determined than ever to swallow that ever-plaguing apprehension and physically communicate how much you’d been on his mind since your last encounter.

“I am capable of completing the installation without assistance,” he added politely. “And Crosshair was particularly irascible this morning despite having acceded to his demand that I park the ship in an area of complete shadow, so the need for a supervisory presence is likely heightened.”

“Shadow?” you interrupted questioningly from Tech’s elbow. “What does he have against daylight?”

“Hurts his eyes in the morning,” Hunter answered offhandedly. “You sure, Tech? We lost time with the whole ‘possible-murder’ thing. Think you can tackle it alone?”

“I will not be alone.” He glanced fleetingly in your direction before swallowing.

Hunter hmph’d quietly, mimicking his brother and glancing your way as his lips twitched against the impish smirk he continued to stifle. “Well alright then,” he conceded, returning his brother's mildly guilty look with a rather knowing one of his own. “I'll leave you two to get… reacquainted. Just don’t abandon your comm again; there are no ‘unscheduled breaks’ from war no matter what you say.”

“Thank you for the help,” you said, extending a hand toward the retreating sergeant. “And for making sure I’m not dead.”

Hunter offered you a smile and a respectful nod before his face disappeared behind that painted plastoid again, and he made his way toward the front door. Distant, yet raucous laughter filled the shop as he pulled the door open and stepped over the threshold.

“Oh… and don’t forget, Tech,” he added, the visor of his helmet poking back around the door unexpectedly. “We’re leaving for Felucia at first light tomorrow. Midnight curfew.”

***

As you locked the door behind the departing sergeant, Tech stooped and collected the coiled wires from the floor, tossing them over his shoulder before following in your wake toward the sanctity of your workshop. Despite your established safety, he couldn't prevent his eyes darting toward that large aluminum basin as the kitchenette passed on the left, the tool that had so-instantly horrified him now scrubbed clean and leaning benignly against the side of the caf maker to dry. The moldy mug, however, was nowhere to be found, though the peculiar addition of a small, tightly tied garbage bag sitting on the floor by the fire exit had Tech near-certain he’d never see that red ceramic again.

“I’m sorry I scared you,” you offered as you veered right into the fabrication lab, the slight chuckle beneath your words recapturing Tech’s attention. “It seems that’s a habit I’ve unintentionally fallen into. First I gave you a heart attack about your goggles… then this. I’m regularly quite the bore, I promise.”

Tech bit back the retort on his tongue as he stepped through the doorway— you, a bore? Well that seemed even less likely than Crosshair dropping to his knees and begging them to forgive his abhorrent attitude.

“An apology is not required,” Tech spoke instead. “It would appear that I jumped to an inaccurate conclusion upon arriving here to find you missing. It was a most uncharacteristic overreaction, and one from which I now-suffer a great compunction.”

“Compunction?” you repeated, brows furrowing at the implications of his confession as you reached gently upward and began to lift those heavy coils from his shoulder. “Why?”

Tech hesitated for only a breath, watching your nimble fingers blanch under the weight of the wire as you took it from him. “Well… several years of advanced training and exposure therapy have rendered me effectively inured to a multitude of scenarios that others may deem distressing,” he divulged as something near concern wiped the smile from your lips. “Yet, I failed to maintain control of my emotions in the face of your disappearance. I became largely inexorable, making objectively impetuous and questionable decisions.”

“Tech,” you uttered in little more than a consoling whisper, his stomach lurching as your free hand collected his from somewhere near his hip, those slightly chilled fingers weaving their way in between his before the soft, consoling brush of your thumb nearly weakened his knees. “There is nothing to regret. Worrying about someone is nothing to be ashamed of, and arguably even less so if that person is someone you care greatly about. In fact, an initial surge of panic followed by attempts to verify their safety is likely the expected psychological response to such concerns. You walked into what looked like a very foreboding situation and had no data to disprove your suspected theory.”

“I suppose that is correct,” Tech shrugged, dropping his gaze to the toe of his oily boot, “Though it has been several years since I last studied the sympathetic subsection of the autonomic nervous system in response to traumatic stimuli.”

“Sounds like an interesting read,” you mumbled through a sarcastic smile that prompted the return of his gaze. “Tell me– if the same situation presented itself again, would you not react similarly? Would you not do everything within your power to make sure that someone was okay while everything around you was telling you they’re not?”

“Of course I would.”

“Then that’s that,” you answered simply. “There’s no reason to regret your actions, just like I don't suffer any contempt for getting myself stuck on Ryloth. Making the trip there was the best and potentially only solution based on the information available to me at the time. Things went awry… and that’s okay, because we should always do what our gut is telling us to do when it comes to things and people that we care greatly about.”

And there it was: that intemerate benevolence that he wholly adored about you, reemerging to knock him over the head with a validation that he’d never experienced before… and the subsequent moment, as his eyes locked on yours and his grip on your hand tightened, he felt truly seen as himself. Not Tech the highly-skilled soldier… not Tech the ingenious mechanic responsible for keeping the GAR’s most elite squad in the air… not Tech the pilot who loved his datapad above all else and never slept. You saw Tech… accepting and welcoming him as he is; validating his infrequent displays of vulnerability as if humanity was something he could and should experience first hand without fear of persecution or judgement.

“Oh, and don’t think I didn’t catch that,” you added, brow shifting into a devious arch as a playful smirk tugged at your lips.

“Catch what, exactly?”

“The oxymoron you dropped in there: ‘found you missing’. Someone can’t be found and missing, hun. But keep dropping them– I’ll catch ‘em every time.”

Was it that teasing smile, or the enamoring, little puffs of air that escaped your nose as you snickered in the wake of your own coy intelligence? Or could it be the way your gaze kept darting from his eyes to his lips, that had him feeling as if he were suddenly hovering? The ground had, at some point, simply disappeared from below those smeared and blackened boots– vanishing into nothingness with everything else that had previously encircled them underneath those dim, humming lights. There was simply nothing but your hand interlaced with his. Nothing but the soft flutter of your eyelashes as they danced with every subtle shift in your gaze, and the unobtrusive quiet of an empty building that promised no foreseeable interruption. Every unhurried second ticked into the past by the chrono on the wall saw him pulled toward you by a force presented to him only once previously– when he’d boldly adorned the back of your hand with the same gesture that he longed to press to your smiling lips.

But… did you want that? Was your heart also hammering heavily in your chest, threatening to send the room spinning more than it already was? Were you as captivated with his eyes as he was with yours, letting that effulgent twinkle dazzle him like the radiance of hyperspace did? Had the last month also seen you seeking out moments of solitude, keen to forgo the mundanity of the present in favour of vanishing into the memory of him? The memory of an utterly ineffable connection?

Or were you standing there watching his eyes flutter closed, wondering what in Maker’s name you’d done in your past life to warrant having to endure such an awkward encounter? Was your mind frantically trying to find the words to politely reject his bold advance? Were you desperate to yank your hand from the clutches of his clammy gloves, and assert that he simply complete the required electrical repairs and then vanish indefinitely?

That sabotaging little flitter of doubt was enough to have Tech leaning backward, eyes opening to their full extent and quickly darting toward his boots while he reached for his goggles and shifted them needly atop his nose.

“Tech?” you whispered as he pulled his hand from yours, stowing his gauntlet comm in the pouch at his thigh before tugging at his gloves.

“I should initiate the electrical deconstruction,” he muttered as his face burned, pulling his datapad from its holster and bringing it to mere inches from his nose. “Can you please deposit those coils in the corner underneath the panel?”

“Sure.”

The sigh that preceded your curt answer was near deafening, circling around that quiet room what seemed to be half a dozen times before it dissipated into the now suffocating quiet. And while that soft huff of exasperation had near-tortured him, it was the unbridled disconcertment wholly engulfing your reply that stole his attention back from his device, and he watched with a sense of suppressed horror as your face fell rapidly into, what looked to him, an expression of dispirited chagrin.

***

Tech spent the next several hours near-furious at himself. Thoroughly incensed that his body never failed to repeatedly fall into the encompassing urge to physically connect with you whilst his mind remained downright incapable of elucidating the veracity of his perception, and infiltrating every modicum of that surging desire was an equally powerful right-hook of uncertainty.

Chiefly infuriating was your continued, unwavering kindness; he could barely stomach the ever-gracious way you offered to help him at regular intervals. Truthfully, he’d like nothing more than to have you hovering at his elbow for the entirety of the process, handing him whatever tool was required to progress the installation and witnessing him do what he truly did best while he chattered endlessly about the importance of matching the electrical capacity of the wire to its respective fuse. Yet, every time his eyes met yours, he was harrowingly reminded of his close shave with humiliation; reminded of the sheer confusion he’d seen behind your eyes as he pulled away from you, and your persisting geniality had him nearly-suspicious it was nothing more than a front upheld until the work was complete.

For the sake of niceties, and as a measly effort to atone for his self-proclaimed embarrassing behaviour, he accepted the glass of water you’d offered him shortly after he began the labour-intensive work, though despite the layer of dust gathering in his throat with every inhale, it sat untouched on the counter beside the lens generator.

He took his frustration out on the task at hand, snipping wire casings with an unnecessary gusto and scowling anew with each new electrical breaker that he clicked into place, but it seemed no degree of mechanical tinkering could distract him from the resentment coursing through him. Even the addition of a small radio, churning out happy-go-lucky, intraplanetary hits every couple of minutes was no match for his morose mood.

“Tech?” he heard you probe from the doorway several hours later, as he stooped over the sink in the kitchen and began to scrub the grime from his hands.

“Mmm?” he answered, ignoring the prickle erupting on the back of his neck at the sound of his name leaving your lips. He felt you approach, listening to the muted scrapes of your shoes on the floor as you neared, casually leaning against the counter in his peripheral vision.

“My brain might still be on Ryloth time but… were– were you about to kiss me?”

His stomach plummeted to his toes, eyes quickly unfocussing on that aged and rusted drain, hands briefly hesitating in their attempts to rid his skin of the encrusted soot and grime that had accumulated over hours of working in the walls.

“Yes,” he admitted after a poignant swallow, and found himself watching the drain noisily consume the stained suds falling from his fingers, hoping the gurgling sound would be loud enough to drown your surely impending stammered apologies for the uncomfortable misunderstanding and your request that he leave and take his misguided feelings with him.

“Well why didn’t you?”

His head jerked somewhat awkwardly; he’d nearly snapped his gaze toward you, only to stop himself part way through as the sound of your stifled chuckle surprised him. Tech stilled upon realizing that laugh had not sounded chastising at all. Nor jeering or humiliating, nor repulsed or repugnant. It sounded almost… frustrated. Indignantly accusatory, as if you were mildly annoyed that he hadn’t kissed you.

He reached blindly for the towel folded on the counter adjacent the sink, lips pursing as he thoughtlessly ran that cloth between his fingers until his skin began to revolt against the continued abrasure.

“Tech?” you whispered, the delicate probe successful in only fleetingly drawing his gaze.

“My affection for you, while subjectively highly enjoyable, is paired with an exponential degree of uncertainty that I have never previously experienced,” Tech divulged to the fabric in his hands. “And there are recurrent moments when, despite all other variables suggesting otherwise, I suffer an inherent doubt that you would ever reciprocate my feelings. You are well educated and even better mannered… meticulous with the quality of your work… exceedingly intelligent… your compassion for others and your willingness to assist them, even where the circumstance would deem reciprocity impossible, is truly unrivaled by any person I have ever met and… and…” He paused to regain control of his words as they spilled uncontrollably from mind to mouth.

“Tech, hun,” you cooed through the ghost of another exasperated laugh. “You are all of those things too. You have no vested interest in this shop yet here you are, laying on your back in the dust, doing several days worth of electrical work so this place can function at peak productivity and make my life easier. You graciously donated several hours of your time last month to help me plough through the mountain of work that had been looming over me for days. You broke in here ready to hunt down and assault whomever it was that had allegedly harmed me without even a thought for yourself. Despite having malignantly convinced yourself that you lack emotional intelligence, you have a truly exceptional mind. You are uncommonly and refreshingly polite, and you have the most beautiful eyes I’ve ever seen, which is saying something because I’ve seen a lot of eyes. I– I’m kinda crazy about you, too.”

A truly exceptional mind? Refreshingly polite? Did you believe all of this to be true? He searched every inch of your face for any signs of insincerity, any fragments of dishonesty, any twitch of the lip that might disenchant the gratification coursing through his veins from your admonishment.

“Well,” he continued, attempting to keep his tone neutral as the realization that he’d likely blown his chance with you threatened to kick his heart clean out of his chest. “With any luck, another moment shall present itself where I may demonstrate how much you undoubtedly mean to me.”

He jammed his finger needlessly against the bridge of his goggles, dejected gaze dropping back to boots now dirtier than ever while a quiet, albeit forlorn sigh left his lips and he resumed inattentively fiddling with the little towel.

“Well,” you mimicked. “Since, the ‘ideaology of luck’ is, apparently, illogical… allow me.”

He must have stumbled over his toes in the subsequent second, though the most he’d ever be able to offer was a deduction based on the force you’d used to tug him toward you. In the reality of that moment, your perfect response to the divulgence of his feelings and the unexpected affirmation that you, too, felt similarly, had instantly rendered him euphorically ignorant to anything other than the feeling of finally having your lips against his.

That damp little towel somehow ended up displaced and draped atop the caf machine, but exactly how and when it had left his hands was a mystery that did not need solving. There was simply nothing else worthy of consideration or acknowledgement in that moment; nothing more important than the small drafts of warm air cascading across his cheek every time you shifted your lips atop his; nothing more prudent than the small yet mighty grip you maintained on the collar of his chest plate keeping him no more than a breath away from you. Somehow, you ended up perched on the counter next to that hammer, its existence now so inconsequential that it wasn’t even spared the courtesy of a glance as it fell over and landed with a thunk behind the caf machine. Tech didn’t even notice you blindly lift his goggles from his nose and rest them on his forehead, though the tender brush of your thumbs along the chronic indents on his cheeks sent shiver after shiver down his spine.

It wasn’t until your lips separated from his, and he was enveloped almost entirely with that same feeling of permitting a limb to depart his body that he returned to some semblance of awareness.

“Are you still uncertain?” you asked him with a smile that sat somewhere on the border of devious and playful.

“Darling,” Tech answered near-breathlessly, “The only notion unclear to me at this point, is how I will survive until I can see you again.”

“Speaking of…” you sighed, gesturing to the small chrono embedded into the caf machine. “You should probably head out. It’s nearly midnight.”

Tech glanced at the old clock as it mocked him. 23:44 pm. Just enough time to collect his tools from their scattered displacement around the fabrication lab and depart the store. He’d be climbing the Marauder’s ramp within minutes… silently deposit his pack in the cockpit… settle down at the workstation to tinker with his current modification project and reminisce about his afternoon in your company. But… why? Surely if his squad members were already tucked into their bunks, or quietly preparing their weapons for deployment tomorrow, there would be no harm in staying here a little longer with you? “There are no unscheduled breaks from war, no matter what you say…” The sergeant had been referencing his previous alibi; the off-the-cuff excuse Tech had offered his brother after the previous, irresponsible mistake of letting his comm depart his person had ensured him unavailable and unreliable.

His jaw tensed under the audacity of what he was about to do.

“Please excuse me,” he requested of you politely, stealing a chaste peck of a kiss from your lips before stepping backward and extracting his gauntlet comm from the cargo pouch where he’d previously stored it for safekeeping.

“Hunter,” he spoke after activating that little blue light. “What time are we set to depart for Felucia?”

“0600…” his sergeant answered suspiciously. “But curf—”

“I will see you then.”

“Te—!”

Tech silenced his comm with the blind poke of a button and tossed it carelessly to the countertop where it came to rest next to the hammer, his hands instantly reaching to cradle your waist while he chased your kiss so eagerly that you nearly toppled backwards.

***

An hour. It took an hour to stop kissing long enough to resume talking, and then several hours after that to accept that neither of you were going to achieve any other productive tasks that night. Still wholly invigorated by your union, Tech declined your midnight offer for a caf, though with how the taste lingered on your tongue between sip and kiss, he may as well have drank a cup on his own.

At quarter-past two, you dragged him by the hand back toward the lens edger and lifted his goggles from his nose. You first giggled about how much he absentmindedly squinted in the void of his regular, average eyesight, before instantly launching into an educational titter about precisely why humans even developed that anatomical squint response, and how effective it can be at temporarily improving visual acuity. And while he longed to query every fact against one of which he’d researched on his own time, he’d found a new use for his lips that he much preferred.

Shortly after four, as you locked your hands around his waist and groaned into his chest about having to spend the next several days on your hands and knees, scrubbing the floor in preparation for the reopening of your store, Tech accidentally knocked over a bottle of effervescent blue liquid; the same concoction you’d used to disinfect his glasses previously, and a quick glance at the ingredients list while he collected the dripping container had him instantly yammering about how the peroxide additive would be the perfect solution for removing the embedded blood stains.

A short time later, an unseen gang of bad mouthed adolescents were heard hollering on the other side of the fire exit door, their voices amplified by the stillness of the night and the empowered notion that they were loitering where they were not permitted, and despite their inebriation posing no apparent threat while you remained behind a locked door, Tech still refused to let you leave the backroom until he could confirm their exodus.

At half-past five, an oversized yawn barely concealed by your hand reminded Tech that, despite wishing Father Time would simply abandon his post and gift him a moment with you free from that nagging and imminent deployment, his squad was waiting for him; his sergeant likely highly perturbed and waiting for the pilot’s next transparent excuse.

“How do the eyes feel now?” you asked over your shoulder as you walked ahead of him toward the front door, his pride-and-joy helmet bobbing near comically on your head as it concealed the smile that he could hear lay atop your lips.

“Much improved,” he answered, breathing in what he could before your companionship would be lost to him for another little while.

“Thought so!” you chuckled proudly, the modulator in his helmet distorting the music of your amusement. “Changing the refractive indices of a lens can sometimes initiate a bit of a hiccup in visual processing, especially when paired with changes in curvature and correct application of coatings, but the foreign sensation typically dissipates within a rotation or so.”

“May I remind you, you need not have gifted me new lenses.”

“I just supplied the material,” you argued, helmet wiggling again as you casually shrugged away the innocent condemnation in his tone. “You did all the work the last time you were here. They’ve been sitting here waiting for you to come back so I could put them in your goggles. Plus, yours were in… questionable… condition, and if your last set were any indication of Kaminoan knowledge of refraction, you’re much better off with these. How do you feel about the slight tint after wearing it for a few hours?”

Tech forced his gaze toward the window where the sky was undoubtedly beginning to lighten under the embrace of the sun's first morning rays. He, truthfully, hadn’t given that slight yellow tint any thought in some hours; what was initially found quite unusual had quickly morphed into something… “Quite calming,” he answered.

“There’s built-in blue light protection, too, for all the quality time you spend with that datapad. Give it a month or so, and your circadian rhythm will thank me.”

You stopped when you reached the front door and turned around to face him. Despite the exhaustion having swollen the tender skin beneath your eyes, there was no denying they were still alight and twinkling as they watched him approach. But Tech stopped shortly after you did, knowing that the nearer he reached the door, the nearer he’d be to leaving, and he wasn’t yet done processing the night's events. The budding sunrise on the other side of the glass was bringing with it an understanding he never knew he’d been deficient. So this… this is what he spent his days fighting for. Feelings like this. Companionships like ours. People like you who spent their time trying to better the lives of others without even a hint of motive. Someone who cared if he returned or not.

Tech sighed, very aware that finding the correct words to elucidate his feelings for you was simply a task for another time. For now, as the sun continued to betray him by rising ever higher with every lingering breath, he wanted every last second with you to be one completely void of thought.

“How many fingers am I holding up?” you probed suddenly, breaking into his torpor. He refocussed his gaze and found another of those playful smiles crinkling your eyes, palm raised to shoulder height and facing him.

He let only the ghost of scoff depart his nose as his lips lengthened under their own smile, and he resumed his approach, not stopping until the toes of his boots were nearly touching yours. As he reached upward and gently pulled his helmet from your head, a faint ache erupted in his chest, amplified by the quiet snicker that left you and the regretful reality of that sound being one he would not hear for the foreseeable future.

“Five,” he whispered after tucking his helmet under his arm, interlacing his gloved fingers with yours and holding tightly to your hand.

“Correct,” you breathed, eyes fluttering closed as he rested his forehead against yours. “If your next mission is counting fingers, you’ve got that in the bag.”

“Considering Felucia is widely known as the Planet of Fungal Forestry, I would deem that largely improbable. However–” he added, identifying the first flickers of fear behind your eyes, “–it is highly probable that I shall return by month’s-end.”

“If Cranky Crosshair doesn’t use you for target practice first?”

“Cranky Crosshair compares naught to Hunter when he’s truly angry. Hence why I must not be any later than I already am. Goodbye for now, darling.”

He stole one last, lingering kiss from your lips before reaching for the handle on that vibrant yellow door.

***

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#bad batch fan fic #bad batch fanfic #bad batch Tech fanfic #tech x reader #tech x gn!reader #x reader #starqueenswrittenworks #starqueensedits #tech Tuesday

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neon-junkie · 6 months

Text

Fractured

Summary: Tech's recent injury has led him to your Medical Bay, and despite you being excellent at your job, Tech needs additional assistance with easing the pain. You have something fun in mind.

Pairing: Tech x gn!Reader

Tags: Medical assistance, Fractured bones, Medic Reader, Friends to lovers, Oral (giving,) Handjobs, Size kink, Cock worship, Large cocks, Flirting, Pain relief.

Word count: 5.1k

Notes: This is set after Episode 1&2 of Season 2. I actually started writing this back when those episodes aired, but then… depression… lol I have never broken/fractured a bone before (alpha genes,) so I have no idea what actually goes on when you break one lol. I did my research, but… IDK, this is probs off, but you're not here for the medical side of things, are you? Also, I like the idea of nerds with big dicks. I don't really care about size IRL, but Tech with an absolute unit of a cock? Yeah, sign me the fuck up!!!

"You got squished like a bug."

"I did not-" Tech cuts himself off. "Like a bug? Please, restrain yourself from making such comedic remarks about my pain and suffering."

With that, Tech lets out a grunt, and you're unsure if it's at your remark, or an outlet from the pain that he's currently in.

Tech was squished like a bug during the last mission. Splat! As you so put it, after Tech explained what exactly happened in that war chest. The force of a thousand suns flattened his poor leg, and his thigh soaked up most of the damage.

That's what he gets for not wearing thigh armour.

That comment didn't go down well, either. However, Tech should know by now that your wit and sarcasm will never fail you. You have, after all, been running with the Batch long before the Clone Wars fizzled out into… whatever this is, The Galactic Empire, and those who opposite it.

If only Hunter would allow you and the others to join the fight…

Back onto the topic. Tech was carried into the Marauder's medical wing, with Echo's assistance, and left on the medical bed for you to check him over. He was hissing and wincing as he pushed himself up onto the table, his hands flexing whilst he gripped onto his thigh, and pleading eyes met yours as he began going over the series of events.

You were stationed with Hunter and Wrecker, seeing as Wrecker is your loyalist customer when it comes to injuries, only Tech has taken you by surprise!

"It's definitely fractured," you state as you dig through your medical kit, finding something exciting to dial down the pain. Tech has stated that he'd prefer to remain awake, which is understandable, seeing as you won't be stitching him up, or worse, cutting him open.

"I assume I'll have to lounge around with a cast on for the next six weeks?" Tech questions, his eyes watching you as you read over a few labels, deciding which drugs to supply.

"Minimum," you say with a soft nod, half-focused on his words. "These will do," you decide, holding the pill bottle in one hand, whilst the other shuts your medical box.

You turn to face Tech, and with a nonchalant expression, you order, "take off your pants."

Tech's eyes blink wide beneath his goggles, and he lets out a sheepish cough before asking, "pardon?"

"I can't do an X-ray with your pants still on, and do you really want your cast applied over those jeans?" you point to his new pants - casual, straight jeans, which surely can't be comfortable to work in?

Forgive him. It's his first time out in the Galaxy, and a newly freed man is bound to make poor decisions. Live and learn, Tech…

"Oh," Tech mutters. "Understood."

You hand him the pill bottle first, along with a glass of water, and give Tech a strict order to take his drugs before stripping off. "I'll give you some privacy, call for me when you're ready," you inform, and leave the medical wing, the door swishing shut behind you.

Sure, you've seen Tech in all sorts of states, almost naked that one time, back when you were new. Wrecker had found it hilarious to fiddle with the refresher's water supply as Tech went to take a shower, and poor Tech, who was rather reserved when first meeting you, had to leave the refresher with only a towel around his waist. He had barked at Wrecker to, "leave the hot water supply alone! Are you attempting to impress our newest member? Or perhaps, make a fool of me? Both? Do you find this amusing?!" blah blah blah…

Minutes have passed, and you overhear Tech calling out, "you may come in."

The door swishes open, and you're greeted by Tech in the same position on the medical bed, relaxing back against the headboard. An untidy pile of armour and clothing has appeared on the floor, not that he has the ability to neatly organise them.

Tech remains in just his turtleneck under armour, his fingertips currently running along the neckline, picking at its tightness. He's wearing a standard pair of briefs, nothing enticing, and the hemline thankfully stops above the X-ray zone. Great! You don't fancy having to order Tech to remove those as they're in the way…

As for the last item of clothing, they're-

"Tech," you speak with firmness. "Are those my socks?"

Tech stops picking at his neckline to gawk down at his feet. His wiggles his toes mindlessly as he sheepishly mumbles, "it appears they are."

"Is that so?" you repeat with a raised brow.

Tech's pleading eyes come out again as he meets your gaze. "I could not find a pair of my own this morning, and seeing as we were in a rush, I opted for the next best thing."

Your eyes trail from his to look at your socks once more, the little tookas on them smiling at you. They're fuzzy, warm and snuggly, and not the sort of item that you ever thought you'd see on Tech.

Omega? Perhaps.

Wrecker? Definitely.

But Tech?

"The next best thing," you repeat his words again. "I'm surprised that you picked the tookas over the voorpaks."

Tech scoffs. "Tookas are the obvious choice. Whilst voorpaks may be pleasing to the eye, they're needy, with no consideration for personal space. Tookas, on the other hand, are far more independent animals, with a…" Tech shuts his mouth, and nervously licks his lips before asking, "I'm rambling again, aren't I?"

"A sign that the drugs have kicked in," you say with a shrug. "Time to X-ray!"

Tech lets out a defeated sigh, and watches as you set up the X-ray machine. It's a numbing and dull task, but needed, seeing as such a smart man has managed to get himself injured.

The X-ray is taken, and you leave Tech to his own devices as you begin processing the scan at your desk. Whilst you wait for the image to form, you check on a few other things, and in the corner of your eye, you notice how Tech fails to sit still.

His fingertips are running along his neckline again, attempting to find fresh air, even though his under armour has never seemed restricting before. A light glisten of sweat is sitting above his brow, and whenever Tech's hands stray from his neckline, they rest directly on his lap. His fingertips begin fidgeting with the hem of his briefs, only for his eyes to meet yours, and his hands to fall motionless.

"Are you alright?" you question.

"F-fine," Tech mutters. "Just awaiting the results."

With that, the scan is processed, and you hum to yourself as you study it. Tech doesn't look away from you; he studies your reaction, and his shoulders drop with relief as yours do. "It's not as bad as I thought," you state as you rise from your desk. "I'll apply a cast, and unfortunately for you, you'll be bound to the Marauder for the next few weeks."

"Charming," Tech huffs.

You put together a bowl of warm soapy water, and hand it over to Tech, along with a towel. "Give your thigh a good scrub. It'll be the last time it's cleaned until the cast can come off."

Tech follows your orders, and leaves you to begin putting the cast supplies together. He's letting out soft grumbles as he scrubs himself down, not applying much pressure, seeing as bruises have already begun forming.

Within minutes, you're ready, and Tech is attempting to dry his thigh. The bowl of water is discarded, and you softly mutter, "here," as you take the towel from him. "Let me help."

With your order, Tech slowly bends his leg, raising his knee high enough so that you can gently dry the underside of his thigh - a task that he was struggling to do alone. He's still wincing as you dab over the area, but nowhere near as much as he was when tending to himself. It seems you're light on your touch, and Tech is silently thankful for it.

"Keep your leg bent like that," you instruct as you dispose of the towel, and bring your cast supplies over to the workbench.

You gently run your palm over Tech's thigh, questioning if his skin is dry enough to begin the application, and only now do you realise the predicament that you're in.

You're no stranger to Tech's good looks - impeccable cheekbones, a toned chest, nimble fingers, adorable doe eyes, and a hairline so sharp that it can slice through beskar - but the issue is purely that, his good looks. You're attempting to work, and the sensation of your fingertips dancing through the light hair on his tanned thighs is causing quite the distraction.

You scoot your stool over to the medical bed, and adjust the height. Once seated, you let out a deep sigh before beginning your work, attempting to keep your eyes on his forming bruises, rather than allowing it to wander… higher…

Tech looks down at you, quite literally, watching through his tinted goggles as you begin binding his leg, paying special attention to any signs of discomfort - not that he shows any. His fingertips are subconsciously entwining with each other, fidgeting, and attempting to cover up his briefs out of politeness. It's not that you've never seen Tech, or any of the boys in their undies before, but your face is less than half a meter from his crotch, and you're both well aware.

A huff flows from your lips as you fix the soft material in place, the easy part over and done with. Now, it's time to wet the plaster, and apply it one strip at a time - a lengthy process, seeing as you have to wait for each layer to dry before continuing.

As time goes on, you both seem to relax, becoming accustomed to your new-found closeness. Tech even strikes up a light conversation, filling you in on his side of the mission, and speaking highly about the civilian that he met on the way.

"He called me Ace," Tech informs you, "not that I had any issue with it. I found the nickname rather appealing."

Your eyes trail up to meet his, and a soft laugh slips from your lips as you repeat, "Ace?"

"I think it suits me," Tech says with a shrug. "Besides…"

His words continue, shifting into comforting background noise as you do your job. At least Tech is comfortable with you; when you first met, he'd only ever correct you, or information dump on you. Now, you can hold a conversation, seeing as you managed to win him over after correcting him on a minor detail a few weeks into being stationed with the Batch.

The more Tech mutters, the more his form relaxes. His hands move from his lap to adjust his goggles, not that they probably need it, and you can't help but notice something in the corner of your eye.

In hindsight, this was your fault. You shouldn't have looked. You should have kept your focus on your work, and prevented your eyes from prying at Tech's crotch. He is, after all, a grown man sitting in his underwear, with a pretty Medic rubbing their hands along his bare thigh. Tech is a soldier, and it's a known fact that soldiers don't have much leisure time, let alone spare time to do… stuff.

Your lips fall apart, and every circuit in your brain fries within an instant. Your hands, wet and covered in plaster, come to a halt in the middle of a wrap, and all you can focus on is… that.

Tech, after adjusting his goggles, instantly falls silent as he notices that you've come to a halt. He calls out your name, and despite his exceptional mind, it takes him a few moments to realise what's caused you to stop like a deer in the headlights.

"Oh," Tech sheepishly sighs as he puts two and two together. "I…" he stutters, but words fail him. So, thinking on his feet (and fractured leg) he returns his hands to his lap, covering up the issue.

Only now do you realise that you're a karking idiot. Seriously, why did you have to stare?! Why couldn't you have turned away, blushed, and continued working?

You go to apologise, but Tech beats you to it. "I apologise… It's… It's not intentional-" he sputters.

You let out a soft sigh, and shake your head in an attempt to slap some sense into your dense brain. "Tech," you mumble his name, and after blinking heavily, you look up at him.

Tech, with cheeks so bright that they outshine the suns, fails to make eye contact. He's breathing deeply, and mentally questioning if it's possible for him to run away from his problems, even with a half-finished, wet cast around his thigh.

Instead, Tech defends himself even more, seeing as the first option isn't doable. "I have been attempting to control myself this entire time, but it seems my-"

"-Tech," you call out to him again.

Tech finally meets your gaze, but only for a moment. He can't maintain eye contact, he simply can't, that is, until you state something that has his mind spinning in confusion.

"You're huge."

"P-pardon?" Tech sputters, followed by coughing into the back of his hand. That is not what he was expecting to fall from your lips.

You wave your hands defensively, droplets of plaster falling onto the medical bed. "I mean, it's alright, you can't help it," you sputter. Now, you're the one struggling to maintain eye contact, your mind fogging up, clouded with one simple thought.

"Can't help what?" Tech questions. "My erection? Or my size?"

A timid laugh flows from your lips, "I meant your erection, but both, I guess…"

Tech laughs with you, although it's clear that he's nervous. Whatever this is - intimacy, of some form - is new. You're no stranger to light flirting with your boys, and often receiving it in return, but holy Maker. Tech is rock solid, and there is no denying that you're the cause of it; the evidence is right there!

"Well…" Tech's words fall flat, and after adjusting his goggles, he gears up again. Rather than sit in silence, mutually starstruck over the unit sitting in Tech's pants, Tech decides to ramble as much as humanly possible. "…I have chalked my size up as a side effect from my enhancements. There are multiple documented cases that the standard clones all share the same erection size. I am, however, beyond those standards."

"Wait-" you cut him short with a soft laugh. "-There are documented cases of what?"

Tech lets out a chuckle, and shakes his head in awe that he's having to bring this information to light. "It's no secret that we clones have had intimate relationships, and some partners like to… how should I say it? Discuss their experiences with others on the holonet."

You repeat Tech's motions, softly laughing and shaking your head, amazed over this new information. "You mean, people like to jump on the holonet and discuss which Troopers kriff the best?"

"That is one way of putting it, yes."

"Dank farrik," you laugh. You mean, the information that you've been curious about this entire time, has been on the holonet at your disposal? Idiot! Why didn't you simply search for it?

There's no denying that you're attracted to both your squad, and their regular brothers, and as always, curiosity wanders… At least some beings were smart enough to post their findings on the net, along with… whatever else might be on there. You make a mental note to check it out later!

"What were you doing on those sites?" you question, and decide to start working again, seeing as the plaster is slowly drying on your fingertips.

To your surprise, Tech's emotions remain calm as he mindlessly replies, "I was researching my… ahem, abnormality."

"I see…" you conclude. Curious for more, you take a gamble, and up your flirting game. "Has anybody started a thread for Clone Force 99?" you say with a soft purr, causing Tech's ears to perk up as blush begins to form across his cheeks.

"I…" Tech stutters. "Not that I am aware of, no," he says with a nervous chuckle.

Still with wet plaster on your hands, you put on a cheeky grin as you ask, "we could fill in the blank."

Your name comes stumbling out of Tech's mouth as all the heat in his body rises to his cheeks. "You cannot be serious!" He sweats, refusing to maintain eye contact. Nervous hands fiddle with the hemline of his shirt, wringing the fabric tightly in his bare palms, all whilst still attempting to cover up the topic in the room.

"I am," you say with a shrug. "I mean, I've just about seen yours," you gesture to his erection, hidden behind a thin layer of fabric, yet bold enough to make your imagination dance.

"M-Maker," Tech stutters once more. "Where are those pills?"

You laugh as Tech fumbles about with the pill bottle at his side, sliding another one out into the palm of his hand. He doesn't even bother swigging it down with water, dry swallowing the pill like an absolute mad man. "You do know those pills are to ease your pain, right?" you state whilst wrapping another layer around his leg.

"I am certainly in some form of pain. Although I am unsure of the exact type," he sighs, and finally takes a sip of water, correcting his prior mistake.

Biting back a laugh, you suggest, "painfully hard?"

Tech lets out a long and frustrated sigh, meeting your gaze as his shoulders drop in disappointment. "Hilarious," he sarcastically replies, pinching his brow in annoyance.

With a smirk on your lips, you boldly look down at his erection. "It sure seems like you are," you comment, then continue your focus on applying his cast, nearing the end. "You know, sexual pleasure can help ease the pain, and act as a good distraction," you hint, bringing the fact to light. If Tech wants more, then this is his opportunity to take it.

"As delightful as that sounds, penetration would be near impossible in my current state," he gestures to his leg, as if it couldn't be any more obvious.

"There are things that you can do besides penetration, Tech."

Whilst watching you apply the final layer, Tech moves a hand up, fingertips meeting his chin. His brows are furrowed, a sign that he's in deep thought. "You are correct," he hums, before crossing his arms across his chest. "Although I have to question if partaking in such an act will adjust our friendship, and our status within this squad."

"Only if you want it to," you respond, and begin cleaning up, allowing Tech's new cast to dry. "The way I see it, I'm just helping a friend out."

"Well, when you put it like that…" Tech ponders, shifting into deep thought.

Silence fills the air, and yet, you can practically hear Tech's brain ticking away. He's panning everything together, questioning every minor detail, move, motive. Sure, you are helping him out, but wouldn't this lead to other things? Would either of you catch feelings? Have you already caught feelings?

Tech's eyes flick between the pill bottle, and you. He studies you, letting out a soft hum as you tidy up, putting all your equipment away after washing your hands. "I can feel your gaze on me, Tech," you comment, not bothering to look up from your current task.

"Sorry," Tech exhales. "You do have a valid point. This… sexual favour would indeed assist in relieving my pain, yet I cannot accept such a gesture without reciprocating it."

"Let's say that you owe me one, and I can redeem it whenever I see fit," you suggest. You perch yourself on the edge of the medical bed, your form resting against Tech's undamaged thigh. Gently, you tap your fingertips on his cast, testing to see if the material has dried through. "You're all set. So, what do you say?" you offer with a raised brow.

Tech firmly shakes his head in agreement, "I accept your assistance."

"Great," you purr. Your hand comes to rest on his chest, instantly making the man beneath your palm nervous, and he doesn't bother to hide it. "But what do you want me to do, Tech?" you ask, drumming your fingertips against him.

Licking his lips, Tech's eyes wander down to where your hand is resting, before coming up to meet your alluring gaze. "Perhaps you… could possibly…"

"Spit it out," you tut.

"Just… touch me," Tech finally manages to spit his demands out, all whilst looking like he's about to faint. "Your hand alone will be more than suffice," he adds in an apologetic tone, as if he's embarrassed about what has just slipped from his lips.

Eager to see him burst, you ask, "do you want my mouth too?"

"Oh stars."

Tech, the most calm, calculated, and captivating man that you've ever met, is currently turning into putty beneath your fingertips. You've not even touched him, well, at least not in that way, and he looks like he's about to ejaculate at any moment! Maybe it's the pain relief pills that he's taken, or maybe it's because he has a secret crush on you. The answer, you'll never know. All you can do is work with what you've got - a whimpering mess of a man.

"You don't have to answer that yet. Let's just start with my hand," you answer for him. Tech watches through his thick lenses as the hand on his chest begins to trail south, over his lower ribs, across his soft stomach, and now meeting his hips.

Gently, you rest your hand atop of his erection, and Tech just about moans at the minor contact. "I apologise," he sputters, bringing a hand up to cover his mouth.

"Don't apologise, I want you to be vocal," you coo. "Well, maybe keep it down a bit, unless you want the others over-hearing?"

Tech shakes his head, then returns his eyes to watching the action. Your strokes are gentle, yet firm, the complete opposite of Tech's rising chest. Is he a virgin? Or has it been a while? Either way, you begin matching his pathetic state once his briefs are adjusted, and Tech's cock is finally free.

"Kriff," you whimper, eyeing up Tech in all his glory. Maker, you weren't expecting such a slender man to be packing so much heat! Sure, it looked rather large when hidden behind his briefs, but now it's here, throbbing in your hand.

You begin pumping his length, slow at first, until finding your rhythm. All the while, Tech is a panting mess, his gaze flicking between your expression, and what's happening between his legs. He all about caves when you slowly trail a blob of spit down onto his tip, lubricating his cock as you continue jerking it.

"This is going to be the death of me," Tech pants. His head rolls back to rest on the headboard, whilst his hands come up to hide his face. He groans into his palms, the odd muscle in his body twitching as pleasure washes through him. When Tech finally does remove his hands from his face, his goggles are on a slight tilt, and surprisingly, he doesn't bother fixing them.

"Oh?" you say with a quirked brow. "I can make things much worse."

"Do enlighten me," Tech suggests, gazing at you through half-lidded eyes.

"How about I show you instead?"

All Tech can do is nod eagerly, yet he fails to prepare himself for what's about to come. (Or who's about to come.)

It's an awkward position, but after readjusting yourself to lie on your side, you manage to make do. Tech's eyes widen as you move your mouth closer to his cock, soon introducing your tongue to the tip. He moans your name, followed by a painful wince.

"Stop putting pressure on your thigh," you look up at him, cock in hand. "That defeats the purpose of my assistance."

In hindsight, you should have propped a pillow beneath his ankle, but something was preventing you from thinking rationally!

Tech mumbles a, "sorry," whilst looking at you with pleading eyes. You know what he wants, and who are you to deny it? You continue introducing your tongue to his tip, his shoulders instantly relaxing at the minor contact.

You soon find yourself sucking the tip, your hand working magic on the rest of his shaft. Already, there's an ache in your jaw, and you silently question how you're going to make this fit… No matter, you'll do what you can, and all efforts seem to be highly appreciated by Tech, who is reaching the state of debauchery as every second passes.

Through the chaos of spit and slobber, a tender hand comes out to rest on the back of your head. The other one finds your free hand, and Tech makes an effort to entwining his fingers with yours. You vocalise your appreciation to his gentle gesture by humming, only that causes Tech to stir. The sensation of vibrations running along his cock earns you another series of pathetic whimpers, and you, being the mischievous devil that you are, decide to only make things harder for him.

Slipping his cock from your lips, you continue pumping the shaft whilst your mouth wanders south. You slip one of his balls in your mouth, gently sucking on it. Tech's mind quite literally explodes! The hand on the back of your head grabs a fistful of your hair, although he is careful as to not hurt you. His other hand, however, removes itself from your palm to grip on the edge of the bed, a desperate attempt at steadying himself.

"Easy boy," you coo, before focusing on his other testicle.

"I c-can't…" Tech sputters. "I cannot hold on any longer, please," he whimpers, begging for what?

"Tell me what you need," you instruct.

"T-To finish… inside your mouth, if you'd be s-so kind," Tech blurts out, his thigh muscles twitching with want. So much for helping ease his pain, hm?

Removing your mouth from him, you peer up to meet his gaze. Tech's hair is askew, loose strands hanging forwards against his flushed face. Desperation is clear in his eyes, although it's laced with warmth and admiration. Tech was right, you two aren't just going to be friends after this, and quite honestly, you're fine with that.

"How can I ever deny you?" you flirt, earning a sigh from Tech. That sigh shifts into a moan as you slip your lips over his tip, and work your mouth to its limit.

Your name is on repeat, drifting from Tech's lips like a prayer. In the back of his mind, he's thanking this strange turn of events. If he wasn't in that war chest, then none of this would have happened, and the pain is most definitely worth it.

A few pumps of Tech's shaft, and he loses himself in the warmth of your mouth. Tech has to remove his hand from your hair to bite his knuckles, a poor attempt of silencing his final moans. The Marauder does not have soundproof walls, so you two will need to come up with a story for when you finally decide to enter the medical wing, and regroup with the Batch.

"Thank you," Tech repeats, over and over, panting as if he's just run a marathon. He looks exhausted, yet you're the one doing all the hard work!

After removing your mouth from his tip, you swallow his load, which only causes Tech to fall even deeper into admiration. "How do you feel?" you ask whilst grabbing the glass of water, left forgotten on the workbench besides the medical bed.

"Euphoric," Tech responds without missing a beat. "The pain was worth it," he adds.

"Are you still in pain?" you ask, offering him what's left of the water.

He swiftly responds, "no," before downing the rest. "You seemed to have worked wonders on me," Tech comments.

You let out a soft chuckle, and rise to your feet, eager to get out of the awkward position. After wiping your mouth dry with a towel, you assist in cleaning Tech up, not that he needs it. It's his leg that's fractured, not his cock, but you're too sweet on the poor man. "You need rest," you comment as you tuck his cock away, putting his unit to bed within the confinement of his briefs.

Tech ponders, and only now does he straighten out his wonky goggles. "I have already asked so much of you, but I have one last request."

"Let's hear it?"

"I… require some assistance with getting to my bunk," Tech sheepishly asks, earning a laugh from you.

"Of course I'll help you with that!"

It's quite the task, seeing as Tech has the upper hand when it comes to height, but you manage to help him to his feet, swinging an arm across your neck for extra stability. You turn to leave the medical wing, until something crosses your mind. Gesturing to the pain relief pills, you state, "you'll probably be needing these."

A smug grin creeps over Tech's lips. "Oh, I don't think I will," he flirts. This time, you're the one blushing, yet you agree with his statement.

Hobbling down the Marauder, Tech's cabin soon comes to your reach, and before you know it, you're helping him into bed. Thank the Maker that the others have retired for the night, hopefully none of them heard that!

After removing Tech's shirt, a pillow is placed under his ankle, providing extra comfort throughout the night. You retrieve him a glass of water, re-entering his cabin to see that he's tucked himself under the covers, his goggles lying on the bedside table.

"Do you need anything else?" you offer, soon expecting to be in your own bunk. It has been a long day, and you're oh-so-eager for your own rest.

"Actually, I was thinking…" Tech trails off, which causes you to raise your brow. "Surely you should spend the night here with me? You know, in case I require support throughout the night-"

"-I know what you're hinting at, Tech," you say with a light laugh, shaking your head at him. "You don't need an excuse, but sure, we can use that when the others ask why I'm leaving your cabin tomorrow morning."

Tech chuckles, watching eagerly as you strip down into your underwear, soon joining him in bed. You're greeted by his stretched out arm, offering you a cuddle, which you gladly accept, all whilst keeping his injury in mind.

"Goodnight, Tech," you exhale, resting your hand on his chest as your head finds its place within the curve of his neck.

"Goodnight," Tech repeats, holding you tightly.

"And remember, I owe you…"

#tbbwriting #the bad batch #tbb #tbb tech #tbb tech x reader #smut #tbb tech x you #tech x reader #clone trooper tech x reader #gn!reader #gender neutral reader #bad batch #tbb fanfic #the bad batch fanfic

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cloned-eyes · 1 year

Text

Tattoos and other kinds of bonding

You really want a new tattoo and discover some unexpected skills of your favorite nerdy batcher

Paring: tattoed!Tech x gn! reader 4.6k

No mentions of Y/N nor any other body specifc traits other than that you're already heavily tatted

100% fluff, can be read as platonic

TW: needles, brief mentions of insecurities, getting a tattoo (i guess)

Tattooed Tech reference here

AN: This is completely self indulged after sadly not getting my belly tattoo done due to my tattoo artist catching a cold . All things happening in this fic are inspiered by my own expiernces of getting tattoed and after drawing the boys litterd in them aswell i really need to get this out of my system. This is my first fic and english isn't my first language. No Beta. Not proof read. Other than that enjoy!

As of late a certain feeling of commonplace had laid itself over your days. It was honestly something you hadn't had anticipated to say the least, giving that you technically still were on the run with a child and four clones gone rogue. But even in those hectic times of jumping from one dangerous job to another normalcy somehow snaked itself back into your life again. Maybe it was the fact that all of the obstacles encountered so far had made you indifferent to the every day madness or maybe it was the routine that came with working for the grumpy Trandoshan that made you feel somewhat normal, too normal again.

Something had to be done and you knew exactly what after you had looked down your body this morning. Brain still foggy from your previously enjoyed slumber, one hand had aimlessly scratched your belly while the other scrubbed your toothbrush over your teeth. Catching a glimpse of your soft, untouched skin it hit you like a ton of bricks. A new tattoo, that was what you wanted, needed right now. On your belly of course, not that you had that much space left anyway, whether it was your arms, legs, thighs or neck, every other inch of your skin seemed to had drowned in ink. Motives varying from meaningful ones like the cruel looking morning star plastered over the outside of your right thigh to less meaningful ones like the little cheese eating mouse on your left inner arm. You had always wanted a belly tattoo and even planed to get one before - well, before the empire decided to ruin shit for everyone including you. Getting you caught up in the middle of a crossfire, quite literally as the boys you called friends fled from Kamino. It wasn't like you wanted to go rogue in the first place, for makers sake you were – well are – a mechanic, not a a soldier. And mechanics do check ups on ships. You just happened to have the luck of working on the Marauder that day. The rest was history anyway.

Completely excited by your own idea of finally getting some ink etched into your skin again you nearly squealed. Making your way out of the refresher you didn't want to waste any more time on finding a fitting studio on Ord Mantell. Nearly bumping into to Tech, who was currently the only remaining Batcher with you at the Marauder. You simply gave him an apologetic look (or at least tried to since a grin had burned itself onto your face due to your immense anticipation) pushing past him and practically jumping into your bunk to get a hold on your holopad.

Tech had actually stopped in his steps for a moment, looking after you with a slightly puzzled look. He wasn't sure were the burst of energy you radiated had come from and for a moment he debated to actually go up to you and ask you but since you seemed to be in a hurry of some kind he had decided against it, continuing with what he had done prior but not with throwing one last glance over his shoulder to watch you disappear in your bunk.

He admired the dark lines adorning your body. The opportunity to look at them proposed itself quite often giving that you were a civvie, lacking any kind of armour and battle strategic habits. While he and his brothers were used to stay in their armour for days straight, fighting, walking and sleeping in it. You however, definitely preferred comfort over practicability. The only time you were sleeping in your day to day clothing was when they were out on a job, far away from the Marauder or when you had fallen asleep in one of the cockpits seats on accident. Otherwise you could only be spotted in boxer-shorts an oversized T-shirts as soon as night had fallen.

It had been strange for him at first. Seeing someone else walking around with that much exposed skin was something h wasn't accustomed to. But it was probably equally strange to you seeing them sleeping always still stuck in their armour. You had asked them one time, if it was uncomfortable, which it definitely looked like it would be. And he had to agree. Sleeping in the hard plastoid shells was never pleasant nor much relaxing but being a clone it was engraved into their beings to always sleep with one eye open, always having ones guard up. He envied you sometimes for your carefree mind. For your ability to be less rational than the rest of them and simply do what was the most comfortable and not the most strategically fitting.

Having fallen into full on expert level research mode you skimmed through the results of your holonet search. Browsing your options and comparing the different artists and their stiles you finally found someone you deemed perfect for the job. Your already racing heart picked up the pace even more once you saw free booking slots in the artists account description, ready to click on It you stopped at the last minute.

Credits. You needed credits.

A gut crushing wave of disappointment collapsed above you, tearing every ounce of joy and excitement out of your limbs. You were broke as hell and the spare credits left on you would hardly be enough for anything tattoo related really. Maybe a smiley on your pinky finger but no way in the galaxy would it be enough to fund the belly piece of your desires. You felt the overbearing urge to break out in tears right then it there. Was it overdramatic? Yes. Would you live one without a belly tattoo you had decided to get literally half an hour ago? Of course. Did the realisation of not getting one was still soul crushing. Oh yes, definitely.

Contemplating what to do and how to get the money to do it you said in your bunk for a view minutes, staring into the void and focusing hard. You always had a wild imagination if it came to things that you wanted but couldn't get for whatever reason and you you still could make it work in the end. A few ideas crossed your mind. Fake selling Echo as a droid again – right as if he would do that again. Straight up asking Hunter for cash, as if they hadn't other priorities right now that most certainly needed monetary attention far more then her. Killing the Trandoshan, taking her money and getting away with it. For a brief moment you thought the later might could be an actual option if you proposed the idea to Hunter in the right way but once your sanity was back online again you knew this idea was absurdly ridiculous, impossible to ever work.

Mourning your now lost again euphoria over something that you actually wanted you eventually dragged your butt out of your butt, got properly clothed and tried to distracted you from your still burning desires. Eyes landing on the main control panel of the ship as you walked into the cockpit with slumped down shoulders, you remembered how Tech had mentioned that the system was in desperate need of a fine tuning after their last, unpleasant encounter. One thing on a very long list of things that needed to get taking care of and the perfect distraction for sad little you. Getting your tools you got to work. Getting on your back and under the panel you opened the main maintenance lid to get excess to the wiring beneath. It was a bit tricky due to the many modifications done prior but nothing you couldn't manage.

Time flew by in a haze not that you were particularly paying attention to how much had passed. Steps echoed through the ship causing your ears to perk up but not bothering to leave you current position once you recognized the familiar pattern of steps. Catching the flicker of his shadow in the corner of your eye you made sure that it was indeed Tech who had entered the cockpit and not some stranger you had accidentally mistook for him you focused back on the wires above you. It was painstaking work but you almost had it.

Tech moved again and you presumed he was on his way back out but instead he cam to a halt next to your legs. Spending some more seconds in silence you subconsciously waited for him to say anything o you, not sure if he actually needed anything from you or if he just kn the panel above.

He said your name and you nearly hadn't caught it, already sunken back deep into the rewiring.

“Yeah what's up Tech?”, you responded. He watched the lower part of your body which hadn't submerged under the panel. Something was different, he had picked up on that rather quick. The excitement your body had formerly radiated hat vanished into thin air and he wondered what the cause of your sudden mood chances could have possibly been.

“I hope I don't overstep boundaries here, but I can't help but to notice your drastic changes of moods today. Is everything alright?”

Your limbs froze for a moment as your body stopped fully in motion, caught off guard by the unexpected question. You honestly wouldn't have thought that he would have noticed – well, notice maybe but not actually care about it enough to come towards you to address it. Sure you were friends, or at last friendly, but you hadn't really the impression that Tech was invested into you further than your skills as a mechanic. Nor was he exactly one to talk about anything interpersonal most of the time.

“Huh?oh. Yeah, 's fine. I'm good”, you answered, which wasn't a lie per se but you weren't sure if you wanted to spill your guts about your little priority problem to him. The clone however seemed unconvinced, not letting the subject down which honestly surprised you even more.

“Are you sure about it? Because by my observation it doesn't seem entirely like it”, he said and you knew that he knew that he had you cornered. A heavy sigh slipped past your lips as you pushed yourself out from under the panel to at least look at him. Techs eyes weren't glued to his holopad as hey usually would have been and instead focused on you. He clearly waited for a response.

“I'm just a bit down, I guess”, you said. Your eyes falling to your side, wandering over the tools that were scattered around you so didn't had to look at the clone.

“And why is that?”

“Because I had this idea this morning to treat myself with a little something. Unfortunately, that little something is quite expensive. But since I'm a grown, responsible adult I'll continue to live even without it”

snatching up a tool the conversation seemed rather over for you, so you laid back down under the panel to finish up your task. For Tech however this didn't seem to be over yet.

“And what was this little something ?”, he asked, not letting the topic go. You sighed again, this time slightly annoyed. Not necessary about him but over the fact that you felt the disappointment crawling back into your bones.

“i really wanted to get a new tattoo, you know”, you admitted, “One on my belly. I wanted one for a real long time, but than all this happened and since we're pretty short on credits I'll have to wait a little longer.”

there was no word coming from Tech for a view moments. No comment, no remark, no other response in any way shape or form. You felt your stomach drop. This had been a stupid thing to admit. You could've literally come up with anything else really, but no you had to whine about the lack of personal luxuries when the team didn't even know if the next job would bring enough credits to keep them afloat. You felt embarrassed. The feeling burning hot in your gut and slowly spreading up your spine. He probably judged you and he had every right too, they had bigger issues ahead of them.

“What would have been the motive of your choice? Do you have anything specific in mind?”, Tech suddenly asked. Voice completely void of any hint of judgement, but rather filled with interest. What? Had you heard him right there. Unbelieving of what honestly had to be your minds playing tricks on you, you came back from under the panel and shooting Tech a puzzled look. He added even more confusion to your brain when you found him looking at you with a rather excited expression. A look he usually only held when he had the chance to ramble on about a new project he was working on or whenever he found himself figuring out something especially tricky.

You eyed him up for a moment, admittedly a bit suspicious of his unusual behaviour towards you on a topic you thought he wouldn't be intend in. yet your mouth moved on its own, as words escape your throat to answer him.

“Yeah, I do”

“Do you have a draft of it?

You slowly nodded, still trying to figure out what he was up to. Pushing his googles up Tech seemed to carefully pick and choose the words he clearly wanted to say.

“I have a proporsition”, he stated, casuing you to reys a brow.

“If you feel comfortable enough with it, I could get this tattoo done on you”

What?

You found yourself to stunned to speak, simply staring at him. Clearly in disbelief. Of course Tech didn't miss that. Slightly straightening himself and lightly puffing his chest he spoke in his most convincing voice possible.

“I assure you that I'm fully aware of what I would be doing. After all, I was the one tattooing my brothers and myself for that matter. I'm fully capable of getting whatever you want done” he stated and adding a quick,”as long as it isn't realism or requires colour”

“I don't believe you”, you said, even though he sounded convincing you simply couldn't picture Tech as someone who knew how to tattoo or even had tattoos to say the least. “Stop kidding around”

he strongly shook his head. “I'm not trying to trick you. I mean it, I know how tattoo.”

your brow rose even higher as a somewhat mocking smile ghosted your lips. Leaning back onto your arms you eyed him up and down, searching for any sign that could indicate that he was lying to you. You couldn't find anything that could serve as evidence against his claims. Tech looked rather determined but you still couldn't bring yourself to fully believe him. Tattooing himself? That sounded rather out of picture.

“Got any references”, you asked. It was meant in a rather rhetorical way, the smugness in your voice should have been a clear indicater. Yet you found yourself more then surpirsd as Tech stripped himself of his chest armor way faster than you would have guessed is possible, lifting up his blacks underneath.

Nothing in the galaxy could have had prepaired you for this situation ever. Your head snapped to the sight on instinct, avoiding to look directly as his exposed torso. That was totally out of character for the clone and you really startd to questioning your sanity right now. Was this actually happening?

“As you can see my line work is exceptionally clean. No low outs and no scarring”, he stated, suddenly appearing right beside you on the ground, basically shoving his tattooed skin into your line of sight. Except that his tattoos were the last thing you could focus on right now. Your brain still desperately tried to wrap itself around the fact that you were currently seeing Techs partly exposed torso. During all the time you had spend with the batch you never had seen any of them so bare. If they weren't in armour their body was always covered in their black body gloves. The most skin you had seen on them was when you had met up with Cut and his wife Sue with Wrecker and Hunter going civvie mode for what, a day? Two maybe? The only skin exposed back then had been a pair of arms and even that had felt strange to witness.

Tech rambled on. Obviously not catching that your brain was still processing what happened right now. Eventually you got over the whole Tech-took-his-tiddies-out-part, even though it still felt absurd. He had a slim, toned torso. Multiple thin scars stretched themselves over his skin and you tried your best not to linger on any of them for to long. Eventually your eyes fell on his lean stomach, instantly focusing on the steady black lines adorning it. Your brain suddenly snapped back into a clear state, deciding that what you saw was a technical drawing of a Korlek-Core. Forgotten was any awkwardness you had felt before as you leaned forward to inspect the etched in motive closer. The line quality was top tier, very nice indeed. Especially since the stomach was a tricky place for a tattoo.

Wandering on their own your eyes caught the next lines and and the next, following them over his chest to his rip before the would disappear due to the curve of his body. You felt the urge to touch them but stopped yourself last minute, remembering what situation you currently found yourself in. clearing your throat you had exactly two thoughts. The first was 'what the fuck did just happened' and the second was 'I'm getting my belly tattoo'. Maybe it your sanity had indeed flew out of the metaphorical window but suddenly your brain only circled around the fact that Tech knew how to tattoo and that he offered to tattoo you, most importantly.

“Alright let's do this”

about half an hour later you laid on a makeshift tattoo chair – basically one of the seats in the cockpit was laid back to it's full extend. Tech hadn't promised to much, he knew what he was doing. While the set up was a bit rough it didn't lacked in any quality of one found in a professional studio. Maker knows why they exactly had tattooing equipment on the Marauder at of all things but you were happy that it all looked very trustworthy. Tech still lacked his chest armour, in fact he had gotten rid of his shoulder and arm pieces as well. Forearms exposed due to rolled up sleeves you had a rather nice view of the tattoo sleeves covering his left arm.

You stood still while Tech sketched out the motive you wanted onto your upper belly with a skin friendly marker. Free handing was really your only option but you weren't concerned one bit once you noticed how precise and steady Tech was in sketching everything out. Your motive was a sun. The design somewhat complex looking due to its etching-like style. It honestly impressed and calmed equally calmed you in what good hands you were, after all this wasn't your first tattoo. After littering your body in ink you knew what red and green flags were and Tech was greener than a jedis lightsaber. He was also talkative, chatting abut tattoos and telling you about his own and the ones of his brothers. How he became rather interested in them at a very early age and what motives he wore on his body. It was genuinely nice chatting with him. This was type of bonding was something you never had dreamed of experiencing with him but you were so thankful for it. Truth to be told, you felt lonely and out of place on the Marauder sometimes. More like a maintenance droid than an actually part of the team. The Batch was close to one another and you didn't want to disturb any dynamics. This however let a warm feeling spread through your body. You felt seen, like you belonged, like they- he actually wanted you around.

“And that's it”, he exclaimed, leaning away from your stomach to take another critical look at the draft of what was to be permanent art on your body, “take a look if you want to change anything”

quickly making your way into the 'fresher you took a look on the freestyled stencil. A wide grin spread on your face and you felt anticipation shooting into your veins like ecstasy. It was perfect- All giddy you walked back into the cockpit, hardly being able to contain your excitement as you laid down on the chair.

“And?”, Tech asked as he prepared the ink, some paper towels and everything else needed to get started. Watching him putting on some black latex glove you noted exactly.

“It's perfect!”

Tech gave you a small smile, certainly pleased by you being satisfied with his free-handed draft. Picking up and switching on his machine he gave you one last look.

“Ready?”

“Yes”

“Alright, I'll make a small line so you get a feeling of how the pain will be”, he said and shortly after you felt the tingling stitches of the needles. It hurt yes. A bit more than you had anticipated. It clearly felt more like the time you had parts of your neck tatted than when you got the ones on your arm but you could manage. Tech was highly attentive, constantly checking if you were alright as he etched the motive into your skin permanently. At some point you both fell silent, only the buzzing of the machine could be heard and the soft noises of Gonky who had joined you two at some point during your little session. Tech worked swiftly and precise. You watched his face to distracted you from the pain you endured. He was so focused on what he was doing, face softly frowning due to high concentration. He also was very considerate with you, making sure to make this experience as comfortable as it could be. You really appreciated that he wetted his paper towels more often than tattoo artists would usually do. The coldness was a blessing agaisnt your irritated, slightly burning skin. In your opinion the most painful part about getting a tattoo was the wiping, especially dry wiping.

You were holding up surprisingly good, not one whimper or whine escaped your throat during the whole time. No flinching either, and maker was he thankful for that. After his experience with Wrecker Tech might had been prepared for everything but he still preferred to work on a non-squeamish subject. Even though he hadn't done a tattoo in quite some time it felt like he never had done anything else. Lines as steady as his hands he worked his way along the draft. Your skin took the ink very well. It was irritated of course but it barley leaked any kind of wound secretion and the swelling also stayed at a minimum.

He occasionally felt your eyes on him. It didn't threw him off per se but it definitely gave him a reason to stay focused, determined to make this a piece of art you liked. Still, he couldn't help catching a few glimpses of your exposed torso. His eyes taking a special interest on the barbed wire tattoo placed on the centre of your chest. The lines were strong, definitely etched in by a thick needle and he couldn't help but to wonder what meaning it held to you. Was it for aesthetic reasons? Simply there because it looked cool or did the rather harsh motive and its placement hold a deeper meaning. The urge to ask you burned hot under his finger nails but he wouldn't overstep boundaries. There was a time and place he would get the opportunity to ask you about it, he was sure of it but right know he went back to focusing on perpetuating a sun on your upper belly.

“Last line”, Tech said eventually while doing one last draw with the machine, “and done”

Straightening his back he took a moment to take his work in and by the way he slightly smiled you knew he was satisfied with it. And if Tech was satisfied with something it meant it had been a full success. Draining your belly in an antibacterial solution and carefully wiping of any access maker and ink. Your belly hurt, skin slightly burning and hot but you felt amazing. Dopamine flooded your brain and you couldn't wait to get up and take a look at how it had turned out. Carefully wiping over your fresh tattoo one last time Tech nodded your way in a reassuring way.

“You held up very good. And your tattoo looks fantastic might I say so myself”, he stated and you noticed how excitedly his eyes always seem to fall back onto your new piece. You giggled slightly and Tech offered you another smile. Getting rid of his gloves he advised you to get up slowly keeping his eyes in you as you slowly said up. The movement hurt but you had expected that beforehand. Tech watched you carefully, only getting up once he was sure you were alright and able to sit on your own to get you some water and glucose. It was a very welcomed gesture. You took a few long sips and munched two glucose pills in between them. The light spinning you had felt faded rather quickly and after a few more minutes you were ready to get up and take a look at your new piece.

To say it was good was a clear understatement. The tattoo was marvellous and you couldn't help a joyful squeal escaping your throat. You absolutely loved it. The lines were so nicely done, the placement so wonderful. Maker you wouldn't get tired of looking at it.

“Are you satisfied?”, you heard Tech asked from the cockpit and you wasted no time to praise him for his skills.

“Its absolutely wonderful Tech! I love it so much. Thank you so much”, you shouted back excitedly. Taking another five minutes of admiring your piece and praising Tech for his work you made your way back to him. He put on some new gloves to wrap things up, putting a bacta patch on the freshly tattooed skin. Bacta patches did wonders for tattooed skin. It sped up the healing process by a lot. Two days with a patch own saved two weeks of healing. Once Tech was finally done with you and finished up putting his equipment away and cleaning up everything you gave him the biggest hug you had ever given a person.

Was it sudden and and a bit overly excited but also heartfelt and genuine. Tech, after tensing up at firt due to the unexpected touch, gently reciprocated the gesture.

“Thank you Tech”, you cooed happily, basically beaming at him, “I ow you big time”

letting go of him he fixed his googles and you swore he looked a bit flustered as a smile tugged on his lips.

“It's not a big deal, really. I'm glad that you're satisfied with the end result”, he stated and you couldn't help to give him another hug before you basically frolicked back into the refresher to admire your tattoo through the bacta patch yet again. Sticking your head out of the door you grinned at Tech.

“You know that you will be doing more for me from now on, right”

Tech chuckled, softly nodding his head.

“I'm looking towards it”

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