groovybadbacther

[groovybadbacther]

Crrrrrraaaaaazy styyyyyllllluh!

[groovybadbacther]

Hello! Could I I possibly request something with Tech where his s/o gets hurt and has amnesia or bad memory problems with some angst and maybe a happy ending? 🙈💗 thank you! And only if you want to of course!

Nonny, I love you even more for requesting my main man Tech. OF COURSE I WANT TO DO THIS ONE! It's been a hot minute since I have written for just him alone. I absolutely adore this idea. Consider it done! (´▽`ʃ♡ƪ)

Clarity 🌤️

Pairing: Tech x GN!Reader Warnings: angst, fluff, hurt-comfort, TBI, blood, recovery from surgery, memory loss, amnesia, misunderstanding, yelling/arguing, a kiss Summary: After taking a rough tumble, things aren't what they seem.

Read on ao3 - 6.5k words

Tech x Reader Masterlist - TBB Masterlist   -   My kofi✨

“Tech, when you mentioned that this was an island world, I thought it meant we would get to soak up the surf and sun, not be trekking through the jungle like always.” Wrecker announces his annoyance while swatting vines out of his way.

“I merely stated the climate and environment to be expected upon arrival to Kothlis.” Tech discloses, continuing through the trail while guiding the group. You walk closely behind him, chuckling at the banter while exchanging entertained glances with Hunter, Echo and Crosshair. “I never made any such suggestion.”

“Yeah, well…” Wrecker cannot deny his claims, realizing he made the assumptions himself. “Just promise we get to have some time at the beach before we leave, okay?”

“What’s so special about a beach on this planet as opposed to any others?” Crosshair argues while adjusting the hold on his rifle. “This place smells like moldy cheese.”

“Lighten up, Crosshair.” Echo joins the conversation. “I’m pretty sure that’s just the inside of your helmet.”

Everyone erupts into laughter, including you, but it is quickly suppressed when Tech holds his right fist in the air, signaling the group to stop in their tracks and fall silent. “Activity on my scanner. Just ahead.”

Hunter listens closely, recognizing the slithered stomps of a viscous myntor. That venomous hiss announces its presence, letting your group know it is aware of your collective location. Its long snout creates a menacing silhouette around its face, the rest of its body hidden in a bush. “Tech, I see one.”

“I know.” Tech confirms, trading his scanner for one of his blaster pistols. “I spot it too.”

“What’s the plan?” Wrecker asks, needing instruction to handle what follows. “We charge at it?”

“Not if you want to get your limbs ripped off and die from cauterizing acidic saliva.” Tech sets his sights on the massive reptilian, aiming the blaster right at its head to avoid the chance of deflection. The intent is to bring one of these organisms back alive to delve into the biological properties that make its kind impervious to combustion as well as piercing projectiles. The components within its natural armor could one day be used to create synthetic trooper kits, enhancing the protective measures for all clones everywhere. You just need to catch one first. “I’m going to stun it from afar.”

“Are you sure that’s a good idea?” Echo cautions while eyeing up the distance away from this quadruped predator.

“Let me do it.” Crosshair volunteers with an antagonizing nudge of Tech’s pauldron, disrupting his vision. “My aim is better.”

“There’s a chance the blast won’t even touch it.” Hunter speculates, worried the foliage might get in the way, or worse, its back plating will serve the very purpose they’re here to investigate.

“If we can’t risk brawling with it, what are you waiting for?” Wrecker implores, wondering why Tech hasn’t executed action yet.

“I have to be precise…” Despite his efforts, he takes a few milliseconds too long, and it begins to rear back with the intent to lunge.

“Shoot it, Tech!” You cry out as the beast springs for him. You loyally shove Tech aside when it becomes clear his stun round completely missed its target, bearing the brunt of the impact as this weighty animal throws itself in your direction. Everyone takes a tumble, but you end up slamming your head against the broad trunk of a tree while the myntor scrambles to gain its footing. Its long and toothy maw hangs open as it growls loudly, droplets of its aforementioned acidic spittle falling onto your forehead and sizzling around your left eye.

Wrecker crawls towards it on all fours, pinning it in a headlock of sorts to give the rest of the boys enough time to fire as many stun rounds it takes right at the myntor’s soft underbelly. It falls limp in Wrecker’s arms, slumping when he drops his hold on him. Its scaly exterior is rough and as hard as steel, but it no longer poses a threat for now.

“Ah! Ooh! Ouch!” Wrecker hollers to himself, slapping the smoking sections of his under suit on his arm to stop it melting away from the residual venom spilled from the beast’s mouth.

“I regret putting the animal in distress.” Tech declares, his flawed focus being on the wrong thing right now.

“That’s not all you put in distress.” Crosshair announces, crouching over your motionless body still resting at the base of the large tree.

Tech practically leaps forward to reach you, mirroring the urgent motions of the myntor just now. He takes note of your absent condition, blood seeping from the back of your head with a sizzling scar spreading through your left eye. He breathes heavily, gasping when he pulls his hand away and sees his entire palm drenched and stained with crimson. He sits there in shock, simultaneously cursing himself for not acting sooner, the grave cost being your safety.

As he tends to you, Echo lets his next efforts be known. “I’m calling HQ for extraction! We have what we came for. We need to get out of here now.” 

You have been placed in a medically induced comatose stasis to improve the chances of a full recovery. The fracture to your skull was substantial and for a while, there was talk of the possibility you might lose your eye. While it was saved, your vision suffered and might be lost permanently. No one will know until you wake up. It’s been nearly three weeks since the incident and you’ve been asleep through it all. The med bay on Kamino is so cold, but there is a warmth on your shoulder that relaxes you. What is it? Who is it?”

While your life has been spared, your sight remains foggy and corrupted. The splitting headache spreading through your brain makes it difficult to focus. Such bright light everywhere, you squint and blink rapidly, trying to make out any little thing to identify your surroundings. 

Your head has been wrapped densely with gauze, extending far past your injured eye and over the majority of your face. There is a blatant lack of awareness, but one thing you are certain about, you want this presence far away from you this instant.

That warmth on your left shoulder is weighing you down. Instead of serving as an unbidden comfort, it strikes you as an obstruction, impeding your movements. You groan uneasily, trying to shake it off, but it leans into you even harder. The persistent bother strikes you with annoyance and you eventually shove it away completely. “Get off of me!”

Gaining a proper look at him, you see that it is a drowsy man, having fallen over from sitting in a chair beside your recovery bed. His expression tells you he’s frozen in astonishment, visibly offended by your forceful removal when he was doing nothing but relaxing, albeit using you as his personal pillow. He blinks at you repeatedly, squeezing his eyes tightly between each one while you hop onto the floor. Your stance falters and you brace yourself on the flat edge of the bed, keeping this large object as a barrier between you. “Who let you in my room?”

“I-I let myself in.” The reasoning this strange man tells you is a far cry from being sufficient and you shut him down with further inquiry

“And that’s just allowed?” Your voice elevates in anger, supporting yourself by leaning on the bed. “No one stopped you?”

“Why would they?” He raises his hands to the ceiling, palms facing you in surrender.

“Get out!” You startle him with a shrill scream, but he remains in place much to your displeasure. “Get out! Get out!

“Allow me to explain-” He tries to get a word in, but you will have none of it. Your blood boils. Your patience has disappeared. Why can’t he just make this easy and do what you say?

“I said get out!” You shout even louder at him, making your own ears ring when your voice bounces off the walls.

Another man walks in with a distinctly different appearance from the first in the form of a skeletal tattoo on half of his face, partially obscured by long sections of hair, but a trooper all the same. “What’s all the commotion?”

“Please! Just take him away!” You beg, invaded and frightened while on the cusp of a cry.

“Tech, what did you do to her?” This investigative trooper asks, saying it almost as if something of this sort is out of character for the man found in your room.

“Nothing!” Tech claims. “I woke up after she displaced me to the floor!”

“Find somewhere else to sleep, bozo!” You wave your fist at him, gaining enough strength from the flames of rage ignited in your belly.

“Woah!” The largest one with a webbed scar across his head stops you from falling over and busting your face on the edge of the bed, acting as a neutral barrier between you and this spectacled stranger. “Easy there!”

“Tech, you should probably leave.” Another trooper with a scomp for an arm joins the fold and begins to show him out while the pair of troopers with tattoos on their features linger to comfort you. Though, you now have at least one name for these perplexing faces. “Give them some space.”

“Listen, no one is going to hurt you. You’re safe. We are only here to help.” The one with long hair approaches you tentatively, lending you an ear while his silver-haired associate keeps his distance. “Walk me though what happened.”

“Thank you, sir.” You nod respectfully at him, carrying on with a formal inflection once you’ve caught your breath. “First of all, I woke up with this excruciating headache, I can’t see out of my left eye because of these bandages, and to make matters worse, that sleazeball was drooling all over me!”

“Sir?” The one with the reticle tattoo over his right eye mutters under his breath in reference to your unfamiliarity, exchanging glances with his brother in arms.

“Sleazeball?” His partner adds in response. You clearly watch this exchange, but you assume it is nothing more than modest banter.

“I am going to ask you a very important question, but I don’t want you to be alarmed.” His tumbling locks and deep brown eyes captivate you, and you’re confused as to why he’s talking to you in such a way. Is there something you’re missing?

“I’m already alarmed…” You distance yourself from them, backing into the nearest wall.

“Just… hear me out.” He continues, guiding you onto the bed. Both men support you in climbing atop it, settling you in beneath the covers. “Do you recognize either of us?”

“I’ve never met you before today.” The words you speak feel truthful to you. They are. They have to be. “I don’t even know your names.”

“Erm- well, I’m Hunter. And that right there is Crosshair.” He sounds off the monikers of everyone you have interacted with. “The big guy you saw is Wrecker and he left with Echo.”

“And… the name of the one that was in my room when I woke up?” You pull the sheet up to your collar, hiding behind the thin covering.

“That’s Tech.” He tells you reluctantly.

“He scared me.” You add, wringing the sheet.

“I know.” The pair give each other nuanced glances once more before readying themselves to depart. “We’ll make sure that won’t happen again.”

“I’m sorry if I shouted too loud.” The apology races to escape your lips, sensing a window of acknowledgement closing fast.

“That’s okay.” Hunter nods and smiles at you while Crosshair remains chewing the toothpick in his mouth while submerged in thought. “Stay here and rest, alright? We’ll send someone to change your dressing.”

“What was that all about?” Crosshair dumbfoundingly asks Hunter once they’ve exited.

“I don’t know, but we need to let Tech know what’s happening.” Hunter and Crosshair fast-walk through the halls in search of their brothers.

They reconvene, having located Tech, Echo and Wrecker a few doors down the hall in a monitoring studio where they can view surveillance footage of you in the patient bed. Hunter leads the discussion, recounting his side of things when he spoke with you. “I’m telling you; they have no clue who we are.” 

“How is that possible?” Echo ponders aloud.

“That would explain the outburst.” Crosshair discloses, flicking his toothpick into the nearest waste bin. “I’d be pretty startled too if I found some strange man sitting next to me when I woke up from a coma.”

Tech despondently lowers his head, distressed by the painful reality he’s forced to face. “Of course… There’s no other explanation.”

“Do you know what’s happening, Tech?” Wrecker takes a step forward, intrigued by the cause of your frantic episode.

“The traumatic brain injury they sustained is no doubt a direct correlation to the amnesia.” He adjusts his goggles in thought, gripping his chin to roughly stroke as he continues. 

“Am-a-what-a?” Wrecker asks, butting in when he wishes for Tech to define the word he does not recognize.

“Amnesia.” Tech clarifies. “Memory loss.”

“You mean they lost all their memories!?” Wrecker cannot comprehend the thought, picturing a computer getting wiped of all its files. 

“Thankfully, that’s not the case.” Tech prevents Wrecker from worrying any further, adding onto his statement. “They have a strong sense of identity, and were not alarmed when they awoke here, so they must be aware that they belong on Kamino in some sense, but more recent events and relationships formed are more difficult to recall.”

“Like us?” Hunter suggests woefully.

“Yes…” Tech lets his head sink again. “Like us.”

“They’ve only been part of the squad for the past six months.” Echo folds his arms over his chest and leans against the wall. “They’ve been dating Tech for barely two of those.”

“I’m not so sure that still applies as of now.” Tech mutters, staring at the floor.

“Ah, chin up, Tech.” Wrecker slaps him on the back a couple times before straightening his posture. “I’m sure they’ll fall in love with you all over again!”

“Yeah, why don’t we get a baseline of what they do know, then we can fill in the blanks with the rest?” Echo creates a game plan, one of which Tech was already considering.

“We must be careful not to impose expectations on them with how things were.” Tech announces the only caveat to this endeavor. “We must embrace how things are and how they want them to be.”

“You sure you’re gonna be able to practice what you preach?” Crosshair closes in, throwing an arm over Tech’s shoulder.

“I don’t believe I will have any issue in remaining professional.” Tech asserts irritably.

“Let’s go make a proper introduction then.” Hunter leads them out of the room and down the hall where you’re actively getting your head redressed by AZI. They stop and watch the process, eavesdropping slightly as you converse with him.

“Now, do let either me or any other officials know if the swelling persists or if your headaches worsen.” AZI hovers about, circling you closely as he secures the steel fasteners to your dressing. There lies a small pill cup and a canteen of water on the shelf space beside you, evidence of painkillers having been brought to you. “We’ll be changing this wrap every forty-eight hours.”

“Thanks a lot AZI.” They are surprised to hear you refer to him by name, beaming at him like he’s one of your closest friends. “You’re the best as always.”

“Nonsense.” He spins around once with a flair. “I’m only fulfilling my programmed directives.”

AZI directs his attention to the squad in the corner, all patiently waiting for him to be through with you. “It looks to me like you’ve got some company.”

“I’ll be okay, AZI.” You assure him with a smile and nod. “Send them in.”

“They are ready to see you now.” AZI announces, inviting the group closer while he makes for the door.

“Hey, uh… how ya feelin’?” Hunter breaks the ice, examining your fresh dressing while watching you fidget with it. “We all wanted to check on you. See how you’re holding up.”

“Better.” Your eyes dart from side to side when you spot those startling golden lenses looking you over from afar, timidly standing behind the rest. You don’t know what this group’s obsession is with you, curious to see them so concerned with your recovery. “What do you want from me?”

“Only to properly make your acquaintance.” Echo interjects, taking a step forward. “I can’t help but think we got off on the wrong foot.”

“It would have been the right one if he didn’t scare the living daylights out of me.” You begrudgingly point at Tech, crossing your arms and dishing him the biggest, most disapproving frown you can muster. He deflates and your heart softens at his visible culpability, but you’ll not let your guard down yet. 

“Well see, there is a valid reason he was in your room that day.” Hunter side steps, opening the view to allow Tech forward, but he takes a rough gulp in his dry throat, approaching with a shyness that’s almost charming. “Uhm… Tech? Care to explain?”

“Ahem, yes.” He navigates through the divide of his brothers, taking himself to the forefront as he pushes his goggles up the bridge of his nose. “It is standard protocol for members of the same squad to monitor the recovery of injured personnel. I meant no harm by it. I offer my sincerest apologies for frightening you so intensely.”

“Wait… so we’re in the same platoon?” You begin thinking, racking your mind for any hint of truth to his words, coming up short. “Why don’t I remember?”

“This injury.” Tech declares, pointing at your bandages with a soft movement of his hand. “Your skull was severely fractured and had to be fused back together. Would it be too strenuous for you to identify memories you can recall yourself?”

“Yeah, we can help you make sense of the rest!” Wrecker adds excitedly.

“I know my name. I know that I am on Kamino.” You rattle off like identifying items on a list and then it hits you; the list is awfully short. “I just got here, didn’t I? The last thing I remember is completing my training.”

“You’ve been with us for six months.” Echo shakes his head from side to side, sighing deeply when the reality of your condition finally sets in.

“Six months?!” It’s like a punch to the gut. How much of your life are you actually missing? How many days you’ve experienced are drawn completely blank? “That’s not true. You’re messing with me.”

As much as you don’t wish to believe it, their expressions tell you that their words are genuine. Why would they lie about something like this? There’s no point. It must be true. Tech rests one of his hands on the frame of your recovery bed, giving you a look like he’s struggling to formulate how he wants to proceed. 

“You were in an accident while on our latest mission. It happened about three weeks ago today.”

“Three weeks…” You gasp. “I’ve been sleeping for three weeks…”

“It went by a lot faster than you would think.” Tech offers you a placid smile, hoping to soothe your apprehension. “Your head was badly injured, but the surgery was a success, and you might even regain complete vision in your eye if not already lost.”

“That’s one way to put it.” Crosshair mutters, criticizing Tech’s bedside manner.

“What happened?” You ask, cowering at the thought of enduring a learning curve with only one functioning eye.

“It was my fault.” Tech is very adamant about this, and you’re wondering if there’s a correlation between his appearance in your room and this ambition being the root of all his guilt. “I take full responsibility.”

“It was no one’s fault.” Hunter cannot watch his brother martyr himself, taking the initiative to commandeer the lead on the conversation. “We were sent out to research a type of venomous reptile. It charged at us, but you happened to take the worst hit. Your head collided against the trunk of a tree and some of the reptile’s venom got on your face.”

Tech meekly shrinks at this passive scolding from Hunter but soon realizes that blaming himself is no use when you lack the context to understand his remorse. You touch the side of the bandages overlapping your eye. It’s numb. You can’t even feel yourself blink. Perhaps you’re not able to. “AZI neglected to provide that information for me.”

“He probably didn’t want to frighten you until he could see how it’s healing.” Echo reassures you. “Besides, we can always ask him about bionics for you later on if that’s a route you want to take.”

“Yeah, you’re probably right.” You aimlessly continue to stroke the gauze, the pads of your fingers tingling from the friction.

“Ah, don’t look so sad.” Wrecker reaches forward and gives you a gentle jab on your shoulder. “On the bright side, you’ll always have a cool scar, like me!”

“That’s a pretty good trade-off, isn’t it.” Your spirits are lifted at Wrecker’s idea, always wondering how cool it would be to have the precision of Crosshair’s sight coupled with advanced scanners at your disposal like Tech. “I like the way you think, Wrecker.”

You have been getting a tighter grip on your relationship with Clone Force 99, settling in almost like you were never in that accident. The streaks of humor have not been lost on you, and you are becoming more comfortable with them as each day passes. The time has arrived for your bandages to be removed so that the condition of your eye can be thoroughly assessed. Tech insists on taking you to the appointment himself, offering to be the one to remove them.

“Next, I am going to soak these last couple layers in a bit of saline solution to loosen their cling on your eye.” Tech squeezes a small dispenser and water flows over your face, soaking into the gauze with some excess droplets falling on your lap and soaking into your clothes. “If it starts to sting, do not hesitate to alert me.”

As Tech begins to lift the wrap from where it’s caked onto your face, you get the insatiable urge to startle him like he did to you back then. “OW!”

Tech jumps back at your loud vocalization, frightened that he caused you additional harm. When he sees you burst into laughter, gauze still dangling front your head, he dryly chuckles and resumes his operation. “Ha-ha. Humorous indeed. Now hold still so that I can finish this.”

“That was a good one and you know it.” You add, still snickering.

“Yes, it was.” Tech agrees with you, tugging on each section of the wrap as it is loosened from your eye. “You got me.”

Tech tosses the bundle of soiled gauze into the nearest bin, moving your head from side to side to inspect your sutures and scars. “It will take some time for your hair to grow back, but things look to be healing nicely.”

You keep both your eyes closed, nodding repeatedly to let Tech know you’re at least listening, but you’re unsure about how to move forward.

“Open your eyes.” Tech instructs you. “Slowly.”

“I know I just…” You squeeze your lids together, rolling your eyes around in your head to get used to the foreign absence in your left side. “Give me a sec.”

“Take all the time you need.” Tech rests his clean, warm, ungloved hand over your knee to let you know he’s not going anywhere. “I’m right here.”

Your right eye blinks open flawlessly, operating just as it was moments before. Though, there is a blatant fogginess in your left that is disorientating. No matter how many times you open and close it, it’s like something is stuck on your lens and you can’t clear it away. It’s dizzying. You place your hand over it to soothe it in darkness and Tech retracts his, giving you space to move.

“Anything?” He asks, having not gotten a glance before you placed your hand over it.

“Everything is blurry...” You explain, resisting the urge to rub your fist into it as hard as you can to alleviate the itch. “The scars around it are really itchy too.”

“Might I take a look?” Tech asks you politely and you don’t have it in you to deny him.

You lower your arm, allowing him to examine you. He leans in close, and the scent of his breath causes your stomach to sink. It’s minty as it wafts down your face, like he prepared to for this exchange. It is only at this moment you are made shamelessly aware of his proximity. His hands carry the temperature of his heart, a thundering pulse sending his life force through the very digits that cradle you now. 

As you obey Tech’s instruction, he uses his index finger and thumb to reveal a mesmerizing sight. Your eye has scarred over itself, fogged out with desaturated notes of its original color. His jaw hangs open, definitely astonished by your condition, but all this attention starts getting to you and you find yourself falling deep into the gravity well of his gaze.

“Fascinating…” He whispers. You’re helpless in his grasp, clutching the collar of your shirt to alleviate some of the nerve-wracked displacement. There is a familiarity in his motives. This doesn’t feel like it’s the first time you’ve been held by him; too intimate to be a coincidence. “Its motor functions are unaffected, but the retina has completely melted away. I can show you an assortment of cybernetics if you’re interested, but to alleviate the current strain, I can only offer this.”

Tech creates distance between you, plucking something from one of his many utility pockets. It is a leather eyepatch, crimson red with the titular skull insignia featured on each of the squad’s personal effects. You know it is all part of protocol, but he didn’t have to get this customized for you. A simple surgical eye patch would have sufficed, but perhaps he didn’t think that was enough for you.

Biting your tongue so hard you could chomp it off, you venture out of your comfort zone, posing a rather unconventional question for Tech to answer. “Have you ever dated anyone before?”

“I beg your pardon?” He is taken aback, puzzled by the inquiry.

“Don’t answer if you don’t want to. You just seem like that kind of guy.” You say, stretching the eyepatch over your head but struggling to adjust it comfortably over your eye. Tech assists you, pulling the strap down so that it rests right at the nape of your neck and not rolling up your cranium.

Tech stands in front of you and breathes in deep, wringing his hands in thought while you await his answer, sitting on the stiff medical bench. “There was one person actually.”

“Who?” 

“They were a prior member of our squad. They were strong and fierce in battle while reminding us to never take for granted the simple joys in life.” Tech describes this mystery member, and you drink up every word, intrigued by his perceived love life. “Everything just fell into place when they were here.”

“Where are they now?”

“They were called elsewhere and eventually we grew apart.” Tech discloses with a darkening of his expression. “It was not my place to get between their ambitions.”

“That’s silly.” You take his hand in yours, initiating the first steps of attraction towards him, hoping to the Maker you won’t get rejected. “If I were them, I wouldn’t move on from you.”

“You wouldn’t?” Tech cannot believe what he is hearing.

“Of course not.” You laugh at the notion of throwing him aside when he’s so… perfect. 

No words are spoken for a while. You sit there, Tech standing there with your hands in his. He circles his thumbs over your knuckles, vacillating between stoicism and acting on his urges. You’re magnetized to him, leaning forward hypnotizingly before tension directs him to a different path. 

“Shall we uhm-” Tech clears his throat, letting go of your hands to turn his back to you. “Shall we thumb through your cybernetic options?”

“Oh! Yeah, that uhh… that’s a good idea!” You accept, shoving the butterflies in your stomach down so that you can act with some sense of normalcy. “I was about to suggest that.”

Tech takes you through all the steps of deciding which implant would be best for you. Looking at countless models, only one amongst them catches your attention. It is completely encased in a sleek black plating, emitting a bright red glow from its iris that blinks and fades when going through stages of analysis. It is decorated with steel components that shine against the darkened frame. 

“This one.” You pluck it from the table of assorted options. “I choose this one.”

“A fine choice.” Tech commends you for your decision, taking the eye from your possession to hand off to AZI. The procedure is completed rather quickly. You even asked to keep your damaged eye preserved in a little jar of fluid once retrofitted with the replacement. It’s been difficult having to be in and out of the operating theatre for all these appointments and procedures but having Tech here with you through it all has made everything worth it. In fact, he knows when you’re annoyed, bored, angered and even happy. As of right now, you’re upset that you’re cooped up in the clinic still, dying to be cleared for active duty again. Though, Tech fortunately has a plan to cure you of your cabin fever.

Darkness falls on Kamino. You’re kept overnight once again so that the implant can be monitored in case your body starts to reject it. No such complications have occurred while you’re lying here in the dim silence praying for a reprieve.

“Pssst.” A noise makes itself known from the corner of the room where the doorway leads to the rest of the clinic halls. It’s Tech.

“What are you doing out of bed?” You whisper through giggles, excited to see him at this late hour. “You’re going to get in trouble!”

“I couldn’t sleep.” He passes the threshold, entering discreetly in his black undersuit, no loud armor to get himself noticed by clanking about. “I would venture to guess you’re caught in the same dilemma.”

“Please tell me you’re rescuing me before I die of boredom here.” You practically beg him, sitting up. 

“I have something in mind.” Tech alludes, helping you to your feet where you shuffle on your slippers. “I know just the place where we can test out your implant.”

Tech sneakily leads you down the sterile white halls of the facility, void of all life and light. He takes you to one of the only outlets in this area of the weaving map, opening the door to the nearest balcony overlooking the oceanic landscape. It looks like a thousand crystals scattered atop a rippling blanket of blue. There’s that spark of familiarity again, popping up in instances of his chivalry. As you step outside, the salty sea mist wafts into your face and you sense yourself recalling the first day you made it here. It was raining then, and the sky was far darker than this. The heavens did not hold the same beauty. As of now, it resembles a backlit canopy with millions of tiny holes punched throughout, allowing their shining rays to greet your longing sights. You stare in amazement, frozen in place when a slight nudge at the small of your back brings you back to reality. 

Tech leads you to the side of the balcony’s structure, stopping just short of the dome awning secured over the roof to protect the entrance from heavy downpours. He posts himself directly in front of you, his fingers interlocked like he wants to hoist you himself.

“What are you doing?” The message is unclear, and you demand some direction.

“I’ll help you up.” He shrugs, assuming you know just what he means.

“All the way up there?” You point at the large sloping crest that ascends up the structure from the awning. 

“How else are we going to get an unobstructed view of all three moons?” Tech’s deadpan delivery does more than energize you. It sparks you with a rapid haste that tosses all second-guessing to the briny wind. Tech gives you a nod and you ready yourself by putting both arms on his shoulders before taking a step on his interlocked hands with your dominant foot. He squeezes tightly, pushing you high over himself as he stands tall, assisting you in climbing atop the awning and waiting for him on the slope. Tech jumps once, clamping his hands on the awning’s rim before heaving his entire body weight over top of it. His dexterous abilities cause those once placid butterflies in your stomach to scatter, eyeing the muscles contoured by his undersuit. He scoots back to join you in a seated position, making it easier to ascend the crest and make it to the top. 

“This is much nicer than the clinic.” You spin your head around, taking it all in. “Do you come here a lot?”

“If I am completely honest, I only started coming here recently. I’d say the past couple months.”

“How did you think of climbing up?”

“It wasn’t my idea.” Tech refers to himself, tapping his chest a couple times. “I was shown by someone very special to me.”

“Oh, that’s right.” You grin at him, playfully shoving him with your fist to his shoulder. “The one that bailed on you.”

“They didn’t bail on me.” Tech corrects you, taking his eyes off the twinkling overhead for a second to study your new face. “They just… went away.”

“Do you think they’ll ever come back?” You scoot closer to him, intent on soaking up every bit of his warmth.

He does not push you away, instead registering the fact that you’re cold with a drape of his arm over your shoulder. “I hope so.”

You and Tech end up staying up conversing amongst yourselves until the wee hours of the morning. You watch the sky pan across in real time as each bracket of night passes, showing a different moon getting brighter and bigger no matter when you looked up. The roaring tides are a testament to the trifecta of tidal forces, giving you and Tech the perfect white noise to fall asleep to. You didn’t realize how comfortable steel plating could be until you slept on it, having gotten better rest than when you were in a coma. 

The brain is a fickle thing. It’s in this period of stasis that these deeply ingrained dreams come rushing back to play a poignant tune across your heartstrings the minute your sickness dissipates. Illusions take the stage as you watch through your mind’s eye, waking up with someone you feel you’ve gotten to know so closely. They’re yours and you are theirs. This belonging cannot be disputed.

 Your mind cannot clearly picture the person pulling you into his space, but the sunlight on their silhouette cuts through the hard shadows of him leaning into you. A soft press of his lips finds yours and it makes you believe it’s no fabrication. Is it really you conjuring these things? Or are they merely figments of your wanton imagination? You may never fully understand the visions you see after falling asleep.

You wake up to droplets sprinkling over you. The cloud cover is closing in fast, but there is still enough break in the sky to see the sun. You need to get inside. You don’t want anyone to come looking for you. “Tech? Get up. I think we overslept.”

Tech turns over and you notice something familiar in the way the glare from his goggles catches the rays of sun. It bears a striking resemblance to the silhouette you had just seen before you opened your eyes, except, it couldn’t be.

Tech blinks at you, rubbing each eye one at a time with a comfortable adjustment of his lenses. You fall stiff, trying to hide your nervous blushing. Why is your mind betraying you right now?

“Is something the matter?” Tech tilts his head at you and you spot it again, that glimmer of understanding. How does he know anything is wrong? Is it that obvious? You surmise it’s time to come clean.

“I feel strange.” You scratch the side of your head with the long and jagged scar where your sutures and staples once were.

“Strange how?” You are grateful for Tech’s patience, thinking on the spot for ways to word this.

“Like I’ve been here before.” You tap the roof of the dome structure, smoothing your fingers across the welded sections of steel. “I had this dream that we-”

Tech listens with a raise of his brow, waiting on every word but you sell yourself short by thinking he won’t understand. “Never mind. It’s too weird.”

“In your dream,” Tech takes in a sharp breath, realizing the mental bomb he’s about to drop on you. “We kissed, didn’t we?”

You scoff, violated like he took a gander right into your mind while you slept, but that would be impossible. “How the heck do you know that?” 

“It is my memory too.” Tech exhales a relieved sigh, rejoicing at the thought of your memories returning. You still have many blanks that need filling, but it’s all starting to become clear. He wasn’t lying when he explained the reasons he was resting on your shoulder that day. It made perfect sense that he was keeping a tally of time passed until you woke up. He’s been there since the beginning.

“So, the one that got away?” You start, referring to the person who “left” him when the puzzle pieces start to fit.

“It was you.” Tech discloses, caressing the webbed scar extending from your left eye, stroking it with his thumb. Your pupil shines, blinking its red light as a stream of tears gathers at your waterline. “I knew you’d come back to me.”

You fall deeper in love with each other, sealing your pact with a kiss. He throws himself at you, yanking you into his lap to coil his arms around your waist. His hands climb up your back, grasping the nape of your neck and threading into your hair, absorbing every bit of your essence that he has been craving. He is careful around your scars, petting them lovingly while you continue to mold your mouth to his. The sprinkling rain converts to a full-fledged downpour, but you couldn’t care less if you get soaked from head to toe. All you care about is catching up on all the love from Tech you’ve missed.

∆∆∆∆∆∆∆∆∆∆∆∆∆∆∆∆∆∆∆∆∆∆∆∆

Taglist: @captxin-rex @gospelofme @fangirl-goes-nova @romanoffs-gf @sstarwarsss @r2d2staser @nahoney22 @ashotofspotchka @eclec-tech @art-of-the-twistedstitcher @only-a-simp-deals-in-absolutes @justalittletomato @twiggoblin @xsherryberryx @kriffclone @sweetminx @deewithani @tinker-tech @megafrost4 @freesia-writes @boontaeveboba @ahoeformando @arctrooper69 @taz-107 @lizzowinkyface @chad-something @nobody-expects-the-inquisitorius @merkitty49 @nonsenseandm3mes @id-rather-be-a-druid @storm89 @techs-stitches @the-chains-are-the-easy-part @succulent-momma @virtualexpertanchor @padawancat97 @hurtbywhisperedmuses @misogirl828 @seriowan @plushymiku-blog @the-dathomirian-jedi @ladykatakuri @mysticalgalaxysalad @talesfrommedinastation @dukeoftheblackstar @littlecrowtime

[groovybadbacther]

I love them.

Soy muy flojo para redibujar las fotos pero ni modo.

And I clearly saw this and my neurons were activated;

[groovybadbacther]

Summer of Bad Batch 2025

@summer-of-bad-batch

Week #3

Main Prompt: “Give me your hand.”

Alternate Prompt: Brothers

Bonus Prompt #3: Pabu Culture

@lonewolflupe @eclec-tech @eobe @crosshairs-dumb-pimp-gf

[groovybadbacther]

BEHOLD! THE FINAL PRODUCT!!!

*sobs in corner* I actually did not terrible lighting for once in my meager artist life!! I feel so fulfilled!!! 😭😭😭😭

I was going to make this available for purchase as a print with my others, but due to stupid copyright issues, I no longer sell fan art on Etsy, I just do commissions. However, if you would like to purchase this or something similar in the future, I can either create a commission of it (LOOPHOLE!) or I will do my best to figure out a solution regarding prints of this and other fan art I've already done.🥲

[groovybadbacther]

Do you like making me cry

Liar Liar (Part 11/?)

Part 11 - No Going Back // <<< part 10

🫧 Pairings: Commander Fox X Female Reader

🫧 Chapter Summary: A strange run-in with Stone seems to settle some nerves and an accidental confession leaves Fox aching for more.

🫧 Warnings: more angst, accidental feeling confessions.

“I wish you’d cheer up.”

You blink, jerked from your thoughts. “Huh?”

Stone huffed. “See? You’re not even paying attention.”

You were half a step behind him as you both made your way down the corridor, arms full of reports you were delivering for some dull errand. Stone had been chatting nonstop. Something about Thorn, cafeteria food conspiracies, and maybe something involving an ill-fated training drill—but the words had just buzzed around your ears like background noise. You hadn’t heard a single thing. Your brain had been… elsewhere.

“Sorry,” you muttered, nudging his arm with your elbow. “Just got a lot on my mind.”

Stone gave you a long look, one brow slowly arching. You could practically hear the gears turning in his head—and then, of course, the sheepish smile followed.

“What?” you asked, suspicious.

“That ‘lot’ on your mind wouldn’t happen to be a 6 foot tall something, wears red, commands a battalion and acts allergic to feelings, would it?”

You stopped in your tracks, eyes narrowing. “No.”

He smirked like he’d won a lifetime supply of rations. “Sure. And I didn’t overhear you and Thire talking the other day.”

You groaned and covered your face with one hand. “About what, exactly?”

Stone made a vague gesture. “Y’know. You and Commander Doom ‘n Gloom’ .”

“Something did happen,” you admitted through gritted teeth, although you wish more of the guys would stop catching wind about it. “But I’m not going into it, so wipe that stupid grin off your face and let’s just drop it.”

“Alright, alright,” he said, raising both hands in surrender, but his grin didn’t budge. “Just saying. I think you two would actually make a good pair.”

“Stone.”

“I’m just saying.”

“Stone.”

“You’ve got that whole ‘irresistible tension’ thing going on. Very holodrama.”

You threw your head back and groaned as you resumed walking. “Kriff’s sake…”

But even as you tried to laugh it off, your chest still ached from your recent run-in with Fox.

The memory of it stung. Badly. It was the day after 79’s, a few days ago now, and he’d cornered you in a hallway, posture stiff, voice tense even through the filter of his helmet.

“The woman at the bar,” he’d said abruptly. “She was just a civvie. Thanking me. That’s all.”

You’d tried to keep your voice neutral, indifferent. “It’s none of my business, anyway.”

“But Hound said you—” he hesitated. “He said you were crying.”

You cursed Hound’s name internally.

You looked at Fox, bitterness pressing against your ribs. “Maybe I was. Maybe I had a right to be.”

His posture had wavered for a split second, and then he’d leaned in, voice low. “Can we talk? Just… privately. Please.”

Stars, how you wanted to say yes. But it was the part of you that still ached that answered. “I don’t think that’s a good idea, Commander.”

“Fox,” he corrected quietly.

You swallowed hard. “It doesn’t matter. I don’t want to go through this again.”

“I didn’t handle things right,” he said. “But if I could just—”

“You had plenty of time to explain,” you cut in, barely above a whisper.

He looked like he wanted to argue. But he didn’t. He just deflated a little, shoulders sagging.

“…Is this your final decision?”

You hadn’t answered. Couldn’t. You’d just looked away, whispered something about getting back to work, and left him standing there.

And now, days later, the conversation was still looping in your head like a broken holotape.

You and Stone finally reached the destination for your delivery. It was a quiet, empty records office and you had to refrain from grimacing because it smelt bad. Like, really bad.

“Huh,” you then murmured, scanning the room. “Wasn’t someone supposed to meet us here to sign off?”

Stone shrugged, already leaning against the nearest desk and lazily inspecting his blaster. “Maybe they forgot. Or maybe I’m too intimidating.”

You raised a brow. “You got chewed out yesterday for not cleaning your weapon properly.”

He huffed. “I’m working on it. ” He waves his blaster in his hand at you.

You rolled your eyes and dropped the reports onto the desk, glancing uneasily at the vents above. The hair on the back of your neck prickled. “I don’t like just leaving these out here. It feels… off.”

Stone waved it off. “Relax. I do this kind of thing all the time. Besides, what’s gonna happen? A paperwork bandit crawls out of the air ducts and steals the mission reports?”

As if summoned, a loud clang echoed above your heads.

Both of you froze.

“…Okay. If that’s the bandit, I take it back,” Stone said, already on his feet, blaster drawn.

“You heard that too?” you asked, stepping back.

“Affirmative. Get behind me.”

You did as he said, heart racing as Stone climbed onto a nearby crate to reach the vent. He glanced at you, holding up a hand for you to stay where you were, then opened the latch and flicked on his torch.

There was a long, tense moment as he leaned in.

“Stone?” you whispered. No answer.

Then—

PEW!

You flinched at the sharp sound of a stun blast. “Wh-What was it?!”

Stone didn’t respond at first. He shifted forward, grunting as he dragged something towards him. Then he jumped down and turned toward you, holding it by the legs like a wriggly, ugly prize.

You blinked. “Is that a… hawk-bat?”

He nodded. “Looks like a baby one. Underfed, too.”

You stepped closer, frowning. That’s what I’ve been hearing? That thing’s been crawling around the walls?

He held it out, watching it sway in its stunned state. “You wanna keep it? Call it something cute, like Gremlin?”

You chuckled. “I think Fox would be a better name.”

Stone returns the laugh, smirking. “Definitely looks like him too, he's been a mess lately.” And for some reason, that didn’t make you laugh like perhaps he thought it would.

“Is he?”

Stone nods. “Sure. Not sleeping, drinking an unhealthy amount of caf - worse than usual. That prisoner's disappearance has really done a number on him.” Stone says almost casually, lifting the creatures leathery like wings to take a look and then he looks at you. “And I suppose if you have broken his heart then add that to the list, too.”

“I haven’t broken his heart,” you roll your eyes but still frown at everything else, “we should take this somewhere, set it free once we know it’s healthy.”

Stone nods in agreement, saying that he knew where to take it.

So the two of you leave the office, hawk-bat in hand. But still, your eyes drifted back to the vents above. Something still didn’t sit right. And not just about hawk-bats.

⋅⋅ ───⊱༺  🦊 ༻⊰───⋅⋅

You and Stone were halfway back to your main station, still carrying the stunned hawk-bat when something made you slow down. Your eyes drifted across the corridor where you see tucked just out of plain sight, Fox and Thorn. Thorn’s arms were moving a lot, sharp gestures like he was making a point, while Fox stood still, head tipped forward slightly like the weight of it all was finally pressing down on him.

Stone noticed too. “That’s a serious-looking powwow.”

You didn’t answer. You were too focused on how different Fox looked. Slumped shoulders. Arms folded tight across his chest. Even from a distance, he looked worn down. Tired in a way caf couldn’t fix. Stone had been right, he did look a mess and so you forced yourself to look away.

Once back at your station, you handed off the hawk-bat to one of the medtechs with instructions to keep it warm and fed. At least that solved the weird banging noises you had been hearing.

As you settled into your desk, Thire suddenly called your name.

You looked over to see him nodding toward the corridor where Fox and Thorn had been standing. “What do you reckon that’s about?” he asked.

“I… don’t know,” you murmured, gaze flickering back toward them. “Something serious.”

You sat back down, fingers moving to the console but your thoughts weren’t on the reports. They were on Commander Fox. A strange guilt started bubbling low in your chest, but you shoved it aside and focused on your screen.

Until you felt a hand on your shoulder.

You stiffened and turned. Thorn stood behind you, visor locked on. “Come with me.”

You blinked, confused. “Uh, okay…?”

You followed him quietly, heart beginning to thrum faster the closer you got to the corner where Fox still stood. Thorn didn’t say a word, just guided you to stand directly in front of the pair of them. The air was thick with something heavy and Fox still wasn’t looking at you.

You looked between them both, brows furrowing after a moment too long of silence. “Am I in trouble?”

Thorn’s voice was level but pointed. “Are you going to tell her, or am I?”

Fox exhaled hard, clearly agitated. “You can do it.”

That tiny flare of nerves that had been simmering erupted into something worse. Panic.

Thorn didn’t waste time. “We’ve been tracking the system disruptions for a while now. The failures. The delays. It turns out that all of them… came from your station.”

You blinked, completely taken aback. “Wait, what? My station?”

“Your terminal’s been used as the access point for multiple data breaches,” Thorn said. “The logs line up. And the signature pattern matches your ID.”

“That’s not possible,” you said quickly, voice rising. “I—I haven’t done anything. I wouldn’t do anything like that.”

“We’re not accusing you. Not directly,” Thorn said evenly. “But this is serious. And it’s coming from your end.”

You looked at Fox. Desperate. “Commander, you know me. You know I wouldn’t do this.”

But he didn’t even speak.He didn’t even lift his head.

The silence from him was louder than any accusation Thorn could’ve thrown. Your breath hitched in your throat, something like betrayal creeping up your spine.

“…Fox?” you asked, quieter now. Pleading. “Please.”

His helmet shifted slightly, as if he wanted to say something but whatever it was, it died in his throat.

That was worse than shouting. Worse than suspicion. He didn’t believe you. Or maybe worse was that he did —but he didn’t trust himself enough to say it out loud.

You sucked in a breath, steeling yourself. “Am I fired?”

Your voice came out calmer than expected, and weirdly—there were no tears. Not yet. Maybe you’d cried them all out for the man who couldn’t even look at you now.

Thorn shifted uncomfortably, glancing at Fox and then back to you. “No. Fox convinced me not to terminate your position.”

Of course he did.

The silent executioner.

“But,” Thorn continued, “I have to escalate this. The breach came from your system, and until the investigation clears, you’ll be reassigned to another station.”

You let out a breathless, disbelieving laugh. “So let me get this straight—you think I’m too dangerous to be here, but I’m safe enough to just be dumped in another corner of the building? Sure. That tracks.”

Thorn hesitated, visibly uncomfortable. “I… didn’t say it like that.”

You turned to Fox then, who had finally raised his head. Not quite looking at you, but closer. “If you’re so worried about trust, Thorn,” you said coldly, “maybe take a good look at the man standing next to you.

Fox’s shoulders squared instantly like your words hit him physically. He stood up straighter, but you didn’t give him the satisfaction of your gaze. Not now.

You turned on your heel and stormed off, boots echoing with fury down the corridor until you slammed back into the station. Heads turned. Conversations dropped.

Stone raised an eyebrow as you marched to your desk, grabbing a crate. “Uh—what’s going on?”

“Moving,” you snapped.

“M-Moving where?” Thire blinked, hurrying over.

“A different station.” Your voice cracked a little from the sheer force of holding everything in. “Apparently I’m a security risk.”

Grizzer whimpered at your feet, sensing the tension, but you stepped over him as you shoved datapads and personal items into the crate. Hound blocked your path for a second before you brushed past him too.

“They think I can’t be trusted,” you muttered, teeth clenched. “Apparently every damn system breach came from my terminal.”

Stone shook his head, eyes wide. “That’s impossible. We would’ve noticed—”

“Yeah, well,” you scoffed bitterly, “apparently I’m real good at flying under the radar.”

“You need to talk to Fox,” Hound said, frowning. “He’ll fix this.”

You gave a sharp, mirthless laugh. “Oh, I did. Or tried to. But it turns out he’s good at being speechless when it matters.”

Hound opened his mouth again, but you cut him off, voice rising with each word. “He had plenty of chances. When he lied. When he said it didn’t mean anything. When he watched me get blamed for something I didn’t even do!”

Thire approached you gently, resting a hand on your shoulder. “Just calm down for a second, okay? We’ll figure it out.”

“Calm down?” You turned on him, eyes wide and blazing. “They’ve accused me of screwing up everything . You want me to calm down? Would you be calm if your name was dragged through the mud without even a shred of defense from the person who—”

You stopped yourself, swallowing hard as the floodgate cracked.

You dropped the next item into the crate harder than you meant to, rattling the others.

“And Fox?” You spat his name like venom. “I have never in my life met someone so disloyal. He lies for weeks, strings me along like I mean nothing. Then stands there mute when I need him most? Screw him.”

No one moved. Even Grizzer stayed perfectly still, ears back. The three clones stood in stunned silence, watching you as if you had grown an extra head.

You turned, ready to storm out only to freeze in place as he - the very topic of conversation - stood in the doorway, silent and unmoving. He must’ve heard every word. Good.

For a second, no one breathed. You stared at him, seething. “Oh, if it isn’t the bubble-brain himself,” you sneered, lifting the crate in your arms. “Come to lend a hand, or just here to make sure I don’t steal anything on the way out?”

Fox stared you down, visor locked onto you and only you. The boys behind you shifted awkwardly, the air thick with unspoken words. You huffed, throwing your hands up.

“Yes? No?” you bit out, answering the question for him.

Fox hesitated then sighed, stepping aside wordlessly to let you pass.

The silence that followed was almost heavier than the tension before it. Thorn shook his head, watching Fox retreat toward his desk.

“What the are you doing, Fox?” he demanded.

“What choice do I have?” Fox grunted, his armour clinking as he moved stiffly.

“Go after her!” Thire snapped, as if it were the most obvious thing in the world. “This is your last chance.”

Fox’s fists slammed down onto the desk, the crack echoing through the room and cutting them all off.

“You heard what she said!” he barked. His voice cracked through the modulator—frayed, exhausted, broken. He dropped his head into his hands for a moment before dragging them down his helmet with a long, heavy sigh. “It’s done. It’s been done.”

Then he lifted his gaze to Hound, sharp and bitter. “And you—you weren't doing me any favours filling my head with ideas that she still cared. She doesn't.”

“She’s angry ,” Hound said firmly, stepping forward. “Because you didn’t stand by her. Not because she doesn’t care.”

Fox’s jaw locked hard enough you could almost hear the grind of his teeth. His helmet tilted, staring at the door you had stormed through.

“I’m tired, Hound,” he muttered.

“So is she,” Stone said, quieter this time. “Tired of fighting battles you make her fight alone. Just apologise. Be the man she knows you are.”

Fox's hands balled into fists again. “How can I fix it when she thinks I’m the most disloyal bastard she’s ever met?”

The others went silent. No one had an answer for that.

Fox let out another sharp breath, shoving back from the console. His body was tense, his movements mechanical—but after a second of pacing like a caged animal, he cursed under his breath and made for the door at a near-run.

He searched every corridor, panic blooming tighter in his chest with each wrong turn. Fifth hallway down, he caught sight of you. Crate in your arms. Walking fast.

He called your name.

You slowed, just for a second, your head tilting back over your shoulder. But when you saw it was him, you immediately turned back around, quickening your pace.

Fox jogged after you, closing the distance fast. He skidded in front of you, blocking your path. You scowled. “Move.”

“Just give me a second.” His voice was rawer now. “Let’s talk. Properly.”

You hesitated. Sighed. Then took a step back, shifting the crate’s weight in your arms, your exhaustion written in every line of your body. “Fine. Talk.”

Fox stood there a beat too long, fidgeting like he was physically holding himself together. You noticed his hands shake slightly at his sides. The great Commander Fox, reduced to nerves in your presence.

"I..." His voice faltered before he swallowed hard and forced it out. "I tried. I know you’re not responsible for the leaks. Any of it. And I’m sorry I didn’t speak up sooner. I spent days convincing Thorn not to have you fired.”

You stared at him, dead-eyed. “Am I supposed to thank you for that?”

Fox bit his tongue, chest rising and falling heavily. “No. I just—I don’t want you thinking I don’t believe you.”

“You could’ve said something,” you muttered, shaking your head, shifting the crate again. “You’ve never been the type to shut up when it mattered. I’ve worked for you for years. I know you.”

"If that's all..." you added, voice rough, "I'll be on my way."

You went to move past him—but he caught your sleeve.

“I’m not done.”

Reluctantly, you turned back to him.

Fox’s shoulders stiffened. He scanned the hallway quickly, making sure no one was around before he spoke.

“I’m sorry,” he said again, quieter now. “About what I did to you. About… Whisky. About everything.” His hands fisted and flexed at his sides. “I don’t know why I made him up. Maybe I just wanted—needed—you to look at me the way you did that night.”

You swallowed hard.

“When you came to me at 79’s,” he continued, voice fraying at the edges, “I thought you knew it was me. And I just got caught up in a lie, second guessing myself of how you would have acted if you knew the truth. I wanted you to believe it was me. Because it was."

The silence between you was unbearable.

You shifted the crate higher in your arms, biting back a wave of emotion. “Let’s just forget it happened, Commander.”

“Fox,” he corrected immediately. “I told you. Call me Fox.”

You clenched your jaw, staring up at him through lashes thick with unshed tears.

“Let’s forget it happened, Fox ,” you corrected hollowly. “I’ve gotten over Whisky… and maybe moving stations is a good thing.” Your voice wavered, cracking right down the center. “Because now I can finally get over you too.”

Fox's eyes widened behind his helmet, it hit him like a punch to the gut.

“Get over me?” Fox repeated, stunned. He took an automatic step forward, towering over you. “What do you mean—?”

You dropped your gaze, heart pounding so hard you thought he could hear it.

“N-nothing. I need to go.” You tried to step past him again but this time he stopped you with a hand at your waist.

You froze. The heat of his touch burned right through the layers of cloth, igniting something you had tried so hard to bury. A shudder tore through you.

“Please…” he murmured, voice almost wrecked. “Tell me. Did you… did you ever feel something for me? As me?”

You looked down at his hand—then back up at him. “I guess I did,” you whispered, the confession leaving your lips like a wound torn open. The anger, the jealousy, the heartache, it was because of Fox. “But it’s all changed now.”

Fox sucked in a sharp breath, taking another step closer, his entire frame blotted out the corridor, your world reduced to his red armour and the familiar scent you had now realised to have missed so much.

“It doesn’t have to,” he rasped. “You can trust me. You can—"

You closed your eyes tightly, inhaling the scent that broke you all over again. It was the same one that had clung to you in the meadow, in the cab, on the nights you let yourself dream he was yours.

“That’s the thing, Fox,” you breathed, voice almost breaking. “I can’t. I look at you and I just think back to when I opened myself up to you. When I told you that trust was everything to me. But when I look at you… all I see is a liar. And I can’t do that to myself again.”

Fox doesn’t let you go, not yet. His touch lingers a moment more on your waist as if savouring the feel of you so close before he takes a step away, his hand slipping back to his side. “I respect your decision. I hope… I hope that you will be happier.”

“Yeah,” you sniff, moving past him for the last time, “me too.”

Tags:

@forcesavetheclones @littlefeatherr @kaitou2417 @eyecandyeoz @jesseeka @theroguesully @ladykatakuri @arctrooper69 @padawancat97 @staycalmandhugaclone @ko-neko-san @fiveshelmet @dangraccoon @plushymiku-blog @pb-jellybeans @nunanuggets @sleepycreativewriter @erellenora @zippingstars87 @ezras-left-thumb @the-rain-on-kamino @tentakelspektakel @stellarbit @tech-aficionado @therealnekomari @marvel-starwars-nerd @ladytano420 @ladyzirkonia @thesith @cw80831 @knightprincess @crosshairlovebot @the-bad-batch-baroness @dreamie411 @griffedeloup @501st104th212th99s @clonecyare88 @namechange-mykidfoundmyblog @mitth-eli-vanto @cloneflo99 @raethewargeneral

[groovybadbacther]

@nahoney22 pls pls pls read this tech one!!! 💓

Hi Stellar!! Congratulations again on 1000 followers!! 💜 You deserve it so much! You are one of the reasons why I started writing TBB fan fiction in the first place, so thank you for being one of my first inspirations to start writing.🥰

Kissing as a distraction/“You are my equal in every way.”: Tech kissing fem!reader as a distraction during a mission in a really bad part of town on some Outer Rim planet. He quickly realizes that he doesn’t want to stop and reader feels the same since they’ve both been circling around each other and their feelings for months. Reader is possibly feeling a bit insecure over not feeling like she’s interesting/smart enough to hold Tech’s attention/affection. You can make this SFW or NSFW, however you see fit! 💜

Ilysm and I’m so so excited to read everything you come up with! 💜💜💜

Avoid The Droid

Word Count: 1.5k Pairing: Tech x gn!reader Warnings: Kissing SFW Summary: While delivering intel to a client, you and Tech run into a patrol droid and it's coming you way.

“You’ll need to keep up if we are to get back to Cid’s by nightfall.” Tech nagged you over his shoulder.

Squeezing through two people you got within a hand’s reach of Tech. He led you through the slums of Ord Mantell City. The smell and crowd of the slums already had you on edge, Tech’s nagging only amplified that feeling.

Hunter, and by proxy Cid, sent the two of you to deliver intel to a client. Oddly enough, the intel at hand was a sound clip of a senator coughing. Apparently, there was an encrypted message within the recording, but one you’d failed to understand the meaning.

You ran your hand over the datarod tucked away in your jacket, making sure you’d not just squeezed past a pick pocketer. 

“And there’s seriously some message? Not just a cough?” You called, probably too loudly for the scene, over to Tech.

“I assure you there is. I isolated the signature myself.”

“What was the message?”

Abruptly, Tech stopped to look back at you. His lips were pulled to one side, clearly not impressed by your repetitive questioning. “Would you rather discuss this further in a crowd of unsavory companies or complete the mission and get out of this degenerative sector?”

In attempts to appear impatient rather than embarrassed by the chiding, you waved for him on. Before turning back, Tech gave you a once over, eyes momentarily locking on your hand resting on your chest. 

He took a quick inventory of the busy crowd around you as he urged you forward. Without warning he leaned in and pointed beyond you. 

“The rendezvous is 100 meters down. Lead the way and I’ll see that you don’t lose the objective to a common thief.”

At times it was hard to tell whether he was being caring or condescending. You always leaned towards caring but were never surprised if it was the latter. As easy as it would be to take offense to most things Tech said, you were quick to realize Tech expressed himself rarely and to a select few of which included you.

He humored your questions about his gadgets and took interest in your area of study. Before resorting to doing jobs for Cid, you’d been a Senate Advisor as an expert in Galactic history and civics. As it turned out, the Empire had little use for such a speciality. 

Once the governmental tides shifted you were faced with two options: stop spreading what the Empire deemed as propaganda or face unspecified ramifications. In the shadow of the Jedi Purge, you accepted the death of your career rather than the threat of literal one.

When you opened up about your past with the Batch, Tech’s interest was sparked and a cycle of info dumping began. It quickly became routine for you to perch next to him as he worked on the Marauder, prattling on about political intricacies from centuries past or your theories on current happenings. Similarly, Tech commonly regaled you with stories about past missions, space travel, or the detailed mechanics of his work.

Quietly, the two of you enjoyed your symbiosis. It was so nice yet you worried about its longevity. How long could an obsolete subject matter expert like you hold the attention of a man who was simultaneously a soldier, engineer, and living database?

Having fallen into that familiar anxiety, you were blind to the traffic around you. A speeder came up on your right side and nearly ran you over. It would have had Tech not pushed you forward and out of its way.

The technician kept his hand at your elbows, sternly guiding you through the crowd. He was silent, grip firm, until casually slipping you both into a narrow, grimy alley just off the street. He backed against the wall, pulling a datapad from his belt, fingers flying across the screen. 

He’s annoyed. 

"Why are we—"

"Don’t speak," he snapped quietly, eyes flicking upward. You followed his line of sight and caught a glimpse of a patrol drone hovering overhead, slowly sweeping the street. A quiet curse slipped under his breath when the screen flashed red.

“I am attempting to jam the drone’s biometric scanner—” he cut himself off with a sharp inhale. You didn’t fully understand what that meant, but the edge in his voice told you enough.

“Do something,” you hissed.

“I’m trying,” he bit back. “It’s scanning every exposed face and cross-referencing with archived Republic data. Possibly clone-associated personnel.”

“Are you on that list?”

“More than likely.”

Your stomach dropped. You stepped back to look.

“Don’t—” he hissed, reaching for you with one hand while the other kept working. “Just stay still—no, don’t talk—”

“I’m trying to understand what’s going on, Tech—”

“I said—”

You took another breath, ready to argue, but your voice, your movement, the crowd noise, the proximity—all of it was pressing down on him. His fingers stumbled on the datapad. His brain scrambled for solutions, prioritizing probabilities.

The drone beeped.

Too loud amongst the bustling crowd. Too close.

You turned toward it again.

And Tech snapped.

He shoved you back against the wall with one hand, braced the datapad with the other—and smashed his mouth against yours.

It wasn’t graceful. It wasn’t sweet. It was messy, rushed, and driven entirely by necessity and panic and you not shutting up.

Your gasp was swallowed instantly, lips crushed under his. His nose bumped yours awkwardly. His goggles pressed against your forehead. His free hand tangled in your jacket as he leaned into you like you were part of the wall.

And then—

Stillness.

The drone hovered a second longer. Then passed.

Tech didn’t move away, but some tension slipped away. You felt his breathing even out against your cheek, warm and fast. The pressure he pressed softened as he leaned away ever so slightly. It was just enough to look at you—eyes wide, lips parted, clearly realizing what he’d just done.

“I—” he started, then stopped, swallowed, and couldn’t speak before you closed the distance again.

You kept your eyes open to watch him a moment longer. His not moving was enough encouragement for you to move your lips against his. In turn, Tech softened and followed your motions. 

The sound of the crowd faded away, the worry of discovery drowned by the thrill of weeks of built tension breaking away. The discomfort of his goggles against your face and your back into the wall behind you turned electric—exciting.

When oxygen became a necessity you finally split. Both of your lips were red, swollen, and dampened with the taste of the other. There was a long beat of silence and Tech gradually disentangled himself from you.

Tech stared at you a moment longer, then said in a hoarse rush, “I couldn’t focus. You wouldn’t stop talking.”

You blinked, a brow arching. “Is that all there was?” Leaning your head against the wall you cleared your throat, asking, “Even after the droid was gone.”

Tech’s eyes darted beyond the threshold of your dark nook. The droid was indeed long gone. Tech raised his datapad, examining it but thinking of anything other than the data presented. He adjusted his goggles and avoided your eye.

“It wasn’t unpleasant.” He mumbled. “For some reason I feel relieved.”

Your heart jumped. It was a coded and vague way of saying it but it sounded like, “Like finally figuring something out?” You asked, blatant hope in your voice.

Tech stiffened at the suggestion, eyebrows breaching his goggles. “I wouldn’t disagree.” His eyes met yours, fell to your lips, and found your eyes again. “Enjoying intimacy with you was not my epiphany, contrary to what you are implying. Our time together made that obvious to me a long time ago.” He tucked his datapad away as his air of confident casualness returned.

The crimping of your brows told him you weren’t following his own implication. Uncomfortable with his prolonged vulnerability, Tech brought his datapad back to his face, the glow of the screen doing little to hide the slight upward turn of his lips.

“Perhaps your reciprocation just now made me realize it but…” On an inhale Tech glanced up over his screen, keeping your gaze as he firmly said. “You are my equal in every way.”

He gave you no time to respond as he abruptly turned back into the crowded street. “We need to deliver this intel before we run into another patrol droid.” He didn’t spare another glance backwards, still rambling about the droid’s presence as if you were at his heels.

All the weeks of worry were suddenly gone. You gently touched your still tingling lips as you stepped back into the crowd. His equal… Proud warmth rooted itself in your chest. You ran to catch up with him, shamefully hoping another droid would come along…

tags: @bruh-myguy-what @cyaretra @jetii @hshfsjzjsgj @zahmaddog @heidnspeak

[groovybadbacther]

Dume

[groovybadbacther]

the amount of cunt they served was astronomical

[groovybadbacther]

S1 and 2 Kanera are so touchy-feely and I love that for them

[groovybadbacther]

Congrats on the followers id yet again like to throw in another request please?

growing up I had difficult with reading or learning to read in general. I was wondering if you could come up with a slight angsty and fluffy fic of tech trying to teach reader (fem) to read? Maybe he’s not patient, makes a very tech-like comment that reader overhears that upsets her which sucks because she really likes tech? ❤️ thank u ☺️

🌊 Reading Between the Lines

🫧 Pairings: Tech X Female Reader

🫧 word count: 6.1k

🫧 Plot: When Tech finds out you’re unable to read, he makes it his job to teach you. But after a comment to Echo, you think maybe he’s not the teacher for you.

🫧 Warnings: Safe for work, fluff and angst. Female reader, reader is unable to read. Tech makes accidental inconsiderate comments, comfort, play fighting, omega playing match maker, idiots in love trope, first kiss, reconciliation.

🫧: authors note: thank you @forbiddenwaves for this request and the kind words. Thanks for messaging me so we can work on this togther too. Enjoy 🤍

“Now, attempt the next word.”

You stared down at the datapad, the symbols swimming on the screen under the shadow of Tech’s tall frame. The sun beat down on your shoulders, and you bit the inside of your cheek, determined not to get this one wrong.

“Erm…”

“That is incorrect,” he stated before you could even finish.

Your brows furrowed. “I haven’t given you an answer yet,” you muttered, sharper than you intended. “It’s… con… cot…”

“Corellia,” Omega suddenly answered cheerfully from your other side as she bounds over.

You slumped with a groan, just as Tech gave a frustrated exhale.

“Omega,” he said, tone reproachful, “if you provide the answer, she will not learn.”

Omega winced, looking between the two of you with a sheepish shrug. “Sorry,” she said, eyes softening as they met yours.

“It’s alright,” you sighed in defeat. “I think I’m done for today. Besides, we’ve got to help the locals soon. That is why we’re on this rock after all.”

Tech folded his arms across his chest, expression unreadable behind his goggles. “We’ve scarcely covered anything of substance.”

“It’s been almost two hours,” you pointed out, rising from the crate you’d been sitting on, legs stiff. You turned to face him, half your features obscured by the harsh sunlight. “I need a break.”

He didn’t argue, but the way he took the datapad back from your hands with just a bit too much stiffness told you he wasn’t thrilled. “Very well. We’ll resume this evening.” Then, turning to Omega: “And I would appreciate no further interruptions.”

She nodded silently.

As Tech strode toward the ship’s gangplank, Omega reached for your hand, giving it a small, reassuring squeeze. “Hey, you got the first two letters right. That’s progress!”

From halfway up the ramp, Tech’s voice floated back over his shoulder. “Technically, it is not. Especially considering we’ve made no discernible advancement in two full rotations. And the fact that we just returned from a mission on Corellia should have made that word obvious.”

Then he disappeared into the ship.

You didn’t say anything. You couldn’t. Not unless you wanted to cry out of embarrassment.

Tech didn’t mean to be cruel because that isn’t in his nature. But he didn’t realise how much weight his words carried and how easily they upset you.

Omega was still watching you, lips pressed into a tight, worried line. “You’ll get there,” she said gently. “It takes time, that’s all.”

You exhaled slowly, wiping the back of your neck, now sticky with sweat and heat. “Maybe. But right now… it’s not looking great.”

It had been Tech’s idea to take on the responsibility of teaching you like it was a personal mission ever since the squad had learned that reading Basic wasn’t just a struggle for you, but a near impossibility.

Though, Wrecker and Echo did tell you that they were impressed since it never hindered any mission and they never noticed it being an issue for you.

At first, you were excited. One being that you could finally be able to read a sentence clearly for once by being taught by a complete brain-whizz and two, getting to spend some one on one time with Tech. Because well… you liked him. A lot. You had welcomed the chance to be near him, maybe even impress him.

But now? Now you just felt like dead weight.

These lessons had been going on for a while now and every time you thought you were making progress, he corrected you. When you think you have gotten the hang of it, your hope is snapped like a thin wire. And even though his tone was rarely harsh, the impact landed just the same.

You weren’t sure how much more of it you could take before you self imploded.

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When a few hours had passed and you were covered in dried mud, scraped hands and aching shoulders. Just a small testament to the day’s work. The mudslide had hit the outskirts of the local settlement hard. Homes had caved in, supplies were lost. You, Hunter, Wrecker, and Omega had been on the ground all afternoon, helping wherever you could.

And for a little while, it had helped. Being useful. Doing something physical. Something that didn’t require datapads or deciphering Tech’s disappointment.

Wanting nothing more than to jump onto the Marauder to have a wash, as you climbed the Marauder’s gangplank with your limbs heavy and clothes still damp, the sound of your name halted you just short of the open doorway.

“She’s trying, Tech,” Echo said from inside, his voice low but firm. “I don’t think you realise how hard this is for her.”

“I am aware,” Tech replied curtly. “But effort without measurable progress doesn’t change the result. If she cannot fathom basic reading material after this long, I fail to see the point in continuing the same method.”

Echo exhaled, clearly trying to keep his patience.

There was a pause, and then Tech added:

“I don’t understand how someone who can’t read was cleared to be in this squad. It’s inefficient.”

You didn’t stay to hear more.

Your hands clenched into fists at your sides, your breath sharp in your throat. Before you could stop yourself, you reached out and grabbed a datapad left near the hatch—someone’s, anyone’s—and turned sharply on your heel, boots pounding against the ramp as you vanished.

Inside the Marauder, Echo’s head turned toward the hatch, catching the blur of movement just as it disappeared.

He frowned. “Was that—?”

“Likely Omega,” Tech said without looking up from his datapad.

Echo didn’t answer. He stared at the doorway a moment longer with a small sliver of doubt.

Then he reached over and plucked the datapad from Tech’s hands.

“There’s nothing wrong with the material,” Tech started, instinctively straightening. “It’s relevant—”

Echo held the pad up and squinted at the screen. “You gave her an economics summary on Corellia’s supply line recovery?”

Tech blinked. “It’s context-based learning. The vocabulary is advanced but rooted in familiar scenarios. Planet names, trade metrics…”

Echo cut him off, reading aloud in a dry tone:

‘Blah, blah, blah… Corellia’s industrial sectors yielded a net increase of 17.3% in hyperlane freight throughput.’

He looked at Tech. “You do remember she’s a beginner, right?”

Tech’s jaw twitched. “Comprehension improves when one is challenged. It’s a proven learning model.”

Echo just stared at him, then gave a slow, knowing smile. “Right. You’re not making it harder so you get more time alone with her or anything.”

Tech shot him a glance. “That’s not what this is.”

“Mm-hmm.” Echo folded his arms. “Just a coincidence you give her material most cadets wouldn’t see until advanced training. And you happen to offer to teach it… one-on-one.”

Tech didn’t answer. Didn’t rise to the bait. But he also didn’t correct him.

You wandered until the forest opened up into a small clearing just outside the village, where a fallen tree had settled along the edge like a broken bench. The air was still, heavy with the scent of wet ground and crushed foliage. You dropped onto the moss-covered trunk, the datapad still clutched in your hand.

For a moment, you just stared at it—its dull, lifeless screen reflecting your muddied reflection back at you. You pressed the activation switch, but the interface was already unlocked. Swiping clumsily, you tried to navigate to something, anything. Maybe one of those Corellian reports Tech was so convinced would teach you context. But the layout made no sense.

Your thumb hovered. You tapped wrong. Backed out. Tried again.

Nothing worked.

And with every failure, that old, tight feeling started rising in your throat like a scream.

Calm down. It’s just a datapad. It’s fine.

But your hands were shaking now, the letters blurring into meaningless shapes.

You grit your teeth, jabbed the screen once more and when it brought up another menu you didn’t know, you let out a rough breath and flung the datapad down into the grass with a thud.

Slumping off the log, you slid to the ground and pulled your knees up to your chest, resting your forehead against them. You didn’t cry. Not really. But your eyes stung. Your chest ached. You were so tired of trying. So tired of hoping and for what? To be called inefficient?

Minutes passed. Then, from somewhere beyond the trees, you heard your name being called.

Your stomach twisted. You knew that voice.

You inhaled slowly through your nose, forcing down the storm of frustration that still bubbled beneath your ribs. You didn’t want to talk to him but you figured that avoiding him now would only make things worse.

“I’m over here, Tech,” you called out, keeping your voice level.

He appeared between the trees moments later, his eyes scanned the clearing until they landed on you, standing now beside the log.

“You wandered off,” he observed plainly. “Omega was not certain where you’d gone.”

“I needed some air,” you said, trying to keep your tone casual.

He took a step closer. “Are you ready for your lesson?”

Your gaze dropped to the ground. “I’m… I don’t want to do another one today.”

Tech blinked, thumb pressing beneath his chin in that thoughtful way he always did when evaluating something... or someone. “Lack of practice results in insufficient performance.”

“Yeah, I get it.” You rubbed your arm, eyes narrowing slightly. “I’m not in the mood to do anything else today. I’m… tired.”

He studied you, his brow furrowing faintly. “I suppose that is reasonable. You were engaged in extensive manual labor for most of the day. Very well. We will resume tomorrow.”

He turned to go but you spoke up, “I don’t want to do it tomorrow either.”

He paused mid-step, looking over his shoulder at you, an eyebrow raised. “And why are you putting off your studies?”

You opened your mouth, then closed it again. You wanted to tell him. Wanted to throw his words back at him, cut him open like he’d done to you without even knowing. But what was the point?

“I just need a break,” you said instead, keeping your voice even as you play with your fingers.

“We have plenty of free time to continue—”

“I said I wanted a break, Tech,” you snapped, your arms folding tightly across your chest. Your shoulders stiffened as every nerve seemed to buzz.

He blinked again, head tilting slightly. “Your tone suggests there is something else bothering you.”

You looked away, lips tight. “Or someone,” you muttered under your breath.

“What was that?”

“I’m going for a wash,” you said instead, ducking down and snatching up the datapad you’d discarded. You moved to step over the fallen log and held it out to him without looking.

He took it from your hand, confusion still etched into his features. “Were you just using this?”

You let out a tired sigh. “Tried to.”

The next morning passed slowly, the heat thick and relentless even in the early hours. Yourself and the others helped out in the village again —carrying supplies, sorting debris, fetching water—but your heart wasn’t in it today. Your hands worked on muscle memory whilst your mind is elsewhere.

You’d been quiet. Too quiet, apparently because Omega had noticed.

You were sitting beneath a large tree at the edge of the village, the sun flickering through its canopy, offering shade as a gentle breeze stirred the leaves. You were tracing random patterns into the dust with the toe of your boot when Omega plopped down beside you.

She offered a bright smile, hugging her knees to her chest. “Feels nice to be helping people, huh?”

You nodded in reply, smiling faintly. “Yeah.”

She watched you for a moment, rocking slightly as she stared out at the village. “You seem kinda quiet today.”

You shrugged, trying to play it off. “Just tired.”

Omega leaned her shoulder into yours, playfully and soft. “You didn’t even complain when Wrecker gave you that heavy crate. That’s how I really knew something was up.”

That got a small chuckle out of you.

She tilted her head. “You and Tech didn’t do your lesson this morning.”

You grimaced before you could stop yourself. “I don’t want to do them anymore.”

Her brows knitted. “Why not? You were doing good yesterday. You almost had Corellia right!”

You stared down at your hands, fingers fiddling with a loose thread on your shirt. “I just… I don’t think I can learn from him.”

Omega blinked, surprised. “Did you tell him that?”

You gave a little shrug, not looking at her. “Not really.”

She fell silent for a moment, thinking. Then, in a hopeful voice, she offered, “Maybe I could help?”

You looked up at her, surprised. “You?”

She nodded eagerly. “Why not? You already got the first letters down before I ruined it yesterday.” She says, “And I bet I could make it more fun than Tech.”

You hesitated at first but truthfully, it was the first time since yesterday you didn’t feel like a complete failure. Omega’s eyes were wide with hope and something that felt a lot like belief.

You smiled, a little uncertain, but it reached your eyes. “Alright. Let’s try it.”

“Great! Stay here!” She shot to her feet before you could ask what she needed.

You expected her to run into the Marauder for a datapad but instead, she ducked underneath the ship’s hull and rummaged around in the loose red soil.

A moment later, she returned triumphantly holding a thick, crooked stick like it was a prized trophy.

“No screens today,” she grinned, “just dirt!”

She crouched low beside you, and with one sweep of her hand, cleared a wide patch of dust between you. Then, with careful, deliberate strokes, she began to write out the alphabet.

“You ready?” she asked, smiling up at you.

You nodded and leaned in beside her, cross-legged.

“Okay. Repeat after me.” She tapped each letter as she said it aloud, slow and clear:

“A… B… C…”

You followed, stumbling a few times, but she didn’t mind. She would just start the whole thing over, patient and gentle. You did it again. And again.

And again.

And again….

Then she covered some of the letters with her hand and pointed to a random one. “What’s this one?”

You hesitated. “Uh… F?”

She shook her head. “Try again.”

You frowned, staring at the rest of the row, mentally replaying her voice in your head. “...G?”

“Yes!” She beamed. “Now this one?”

You pointed. “P?”

She giggled. “That’s a Q. Close though!”

With every repetition, you felt something shift. Like you were actually getting the hang of it.

You started getting more right. You hesitated less. By the time you went through the whole alphabet again, she sat back with a triumphant smile.

“Alright,” she grinned, handing you the stick. “Your turn.”

You blinked. “Huh?”

“I want you to write my name.”

You laughed nervously. “Omega?”

“Yup! Easy, right?”

“Uh… sure.” You crouched again, stick poised awkwardly in your hand. “Okay… O.”

“Perfect!”

“...M.”

She paused. “Hmm…”

You glanced up as she was pulling a face, lips squished to the side with one eyebrow raised. A funny way to say ‘try again’ without being harsh.

You looked back at the row of letters, furrowing your brow. “Wait… no. That’s N. This is M.”

You corrected yourself and carved it into the dirt.

“Nice!” she beamed. “Keep going!”

It took a few minutes, a few wrong turns, but eventually, you finished all five letters.

“O-M-E-G-A.”

She stared at the letters in the dirt, then at you with wide-eyed glee.

“You did it!”

You couldn’t help the grin that spread across your face. Not forced. Not faked. Just real, honest pride.

“Yeah,” you whisper, sitting back. “Guess I did.”

Over the next few days, Tech noticed a pattern.

Every time he approached you about resuming your lessons, you deflected. A quick, polite excuse here. A firm “not today” there. Sometimes you didn’t even look at him when you said it.

At first, he chalked it up to fatigue. You’d been helping the villagers every day; moving debris, rebuilding homes, lifting spirits. But then he started noticing something else.

You were still learning. Just not with him.

From a distance, he saw you under the same wide tree where Omega first brought the stick and drew the letters in the dirt. She was sitting beside you, her arms moving in animated gestures as she pointed at something in the soil. You were watching her, laughing. Your smile was so bright it nearly startled him.

He tilted his head, hands folded behind his back as he watched the exchange from across the field. You used to smile during his lessons too. The first day, you’d grinned when you got your first word right.

He remembered it well.

In fact… he had the recording saved. Privately.

He’d downloaded the footage from his goggles later that night, under the guise of reviewing your reading pattern. But really, he’d wanted to see your smile again. The way your eyes lit up, the little wrinkle in your nose when you laughed.

But slowly, through each lesson, that smile faded. Replaced by hesitation. Then frustration. Then silence.

And now you were smiling again. Just not at him.

That afternoon, while you were away with Hunter and Echo, Tech approached Omega, who was fiddling with the stabiliser plate under the Marauder’s wing.

“May I speak with you for a moment?”

Omega blinked up at him, wiping a bit of grease from her cheek. “Sure!”

He adjusted his goggles. “It’s about her… reading progress. Has she been improving?”

Omega lit up. “Oh yeah! She’s doing so well. She even wrote my name in the dirt without help the other day!”

He nodded slowly, filing away the information. “I see. That is… impressive.”

Omega tilted her head then shrugged. “She said she might try reading a ration label next.”

Tech blinked. “Ration labels?”

“Yep! Said she wants to know what she’s eating before Wrecker makes her try it.” She giggled, then paused. “Why? You don’t think she can learn from me?”

“I did not say that,” he replied quickly, perhaps a bit too stiffly. “I merely did not know what… qualities you might offer that I lacked.”

Omega gave him a long look, then shrugged. “I guess I’m just more fun than you.”

Tech frowned. “Most likely.”

She smirked, but then the teasing faded, and she turned more serious. “She didn’t stop lessons with you because she doesn’t want to learn. She just… got upset.”

Tech’s brows drew together. “Upset? With me?”

Omega nodded, biting her lip. “She told me that she heard something. Well, she overheard you. You were on the ship talking to Echo about her.”

Tech’s mind reeled back. He’d said many things to Echo over the course of those conversations—some blunt, some logical, most private. “I did not say anything bad.”

Omega gave him a tight look. “You told me that she heard you say that it was ‘inefficient’ for her to be on the team because she couldn’t read.”

Tech opened his mouth, paused, then exhaled sharply.

“Ah,” he said at last. Perhaps that came out harsher than he intended.

He hadn’t yelled at you. He hadn’t scolded you. He never once implied you weren’t trying. But now, playing back through someone else’s voice, his words sounded callous.

Omega watched his face, seeing the moment it clicked.

“If it makes you feel better,” Omega started softly, “She doesn’t think you meant it, but it still hurt her. That’s why she’s been sad.”

Tech’s voice was quiet. “I see.”

Omega studied him for a beat. “You really didn’t mean it?”

He hesitated but only for a moment. “No,” he said sincerely. “I believe I was frustrated with myself. Not her. And the lesson was overly advanced. Echo pointed that out.”

Tech sighed through his nose, adjusting his gloves. “I believe I may have allowed my feelings to affect my judgment.”

Omega looks startled. “Your feelings?” She teased.

He looked away. “It is irrelevant.”

But Omega was already grinning. “You like her.”

He adjusted his goggles again, silent but not dismissive.

“I knew it.”

Tech rolled his eyes but then a thought clicked. “Did she inform you of anything else she heard? Possibly regarding my… feelings?”

Omega shook her head, “Nope, but maybe you should speak to her about that to her face.”

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You sat by the old log again, your knees tucked up loosely and your fingers picking at a loose thread on your pants. The sun had started to shift, casting longer shadows across the clearing. Omega was supposed to meet you soon and today's lesson would be under the trees for a change of scenery. Actually she was the one who suggested it, thinking you might like some quiet after spending so much time helping the villagers.

A twig snapped in the distance, and you smiled softly. "Omega?" you called, turning your head toward the sound.

But when the figure stepped through the trees, your breath caught in your throat.

It wasn’t Omega. It was Tech.

He moved towards you, eyes scanning the area until they landed on you. His expression was neutral and composed. Then, you swear that his gaze softened.

You scrambled to your feet, trying to act casual even as your stomach twisted. “Oh—uh, is Hunter looking for me? Do I need to head back to the village?”

Tech shook his head, stopping a few feet from you. “No. The situation there is under control. Echo and Wrecker are assisting, and Omega is occupied with another matter.”

You hesitated. “…So… you’re here instead of her?”

“Yes,” he said plainly. “I thought it appropriate that we talk, also.”

Your stomach sank a little, and you dropped your gaze to your boots, toeing the dirt. “I, um… I’m sorry I didn’t come and tell you I was dropping your lessons.”

“There is no need to apologise,” he replied, his voice measured but… gentler than you expected. “In retrospect, I recognise that my methods were poorly suited to your learning stage. I attempted to teach you material that was far too advanced, and for that, I take full responsibility.”

You looked up slowly, your throat a little tight. “I don’t think I’m ready now either,” you admitted, your voice low.

“That’s perfectly alright,” Tech said simply. “I did not come to resume formal instruction. I only wish to observe what Omega has already taught you.”

You tilted your head slightly, studying him. His shoulders weren’t tense, and there was no datapad in his hands. He looked reasonably patient which wasn’t what you had been used to.

You still hesitated. But then, he smiled and Maker, your knees almost crumbled beneath you. Curse him for being annoyingly adorable.

“S-sure,” you stammered eventually, barely managing a nod.

He stepped forward and sat beside the log without another word, resting his arms on his knees. You sat back down with him and instinctively held your hand out, ready to ask for the datapad, but Tech gently shook his head.

“Omega mentioned that using the ground has helped you more visually. I see no reason to change a method that has been working.”

You blinked at him, genuinely surprised. “You’re… being very lenient.”

“I’m being adaptable,” he corrected, though the corners of his mouth twitched like he was trying not to smile again.

You couldn’t help but return a small one of your own. “Alright… what would you like me to do?”

Tech reached into one of his belt pouches and pulled out a long, clean stick—clearly chosen specifically for this.

“Please write out the basic alphabet for me,” he said, offering it to you.

You took it and then you turned toward the dirt, drew a steadying breath, before lowering the stick.

Crouched beside the alphabet you'd just drawn in the dirt, Tech had his hands loosely clasped together. He said nothing as you finished the last letter, and though a part of you itched for his input, he simply observed in silence.

You weren’t sure if that was better or worse.

After a moment, he reached into one of his belt pouches again and carefully pulled out a folded stack of flimsi. “Omega prepared some simple quotes,” he explained. “Short phrases. Easier to process at this stage than full documents.”

He handed them over, and you took them carefully, the thin sheets a little crinkled at the edges from being carried around. You glanced down.

The first said: “Wrecker is loud.”

You gave a small huff through your nose.

The second: “Hunter smells like the forest.”

You smiled faintly. You could hear Omega’s voice in your head. As you read them out, slowly but surely, you see Tech nodding beside you with each word you get right.

The third said: “The moon is big.”

Tech, predictably, cleared his throat. “Technically, that is a misleading generalisation. There are thousands of celestial bodies classified as moons, and their size varies depending on the system. Some are smaller than a standard transport—”

You didn’t look up, but your smile widened all the same. You could practically feel the lecture coming.

You kept reading, fumbling only on a couple of the trickier words. The pace was slow, but steady. You were halfway through the last sheet when Tech said, quite suddenly:

“I’m impressed.”

You paused.

Your eyes stayed on the flimsi, but your expression changed. His voice had been gentle, even sincere—but for some reason… it didn’t land the way it used to. Not like before, when any praise from Tech would have lit you up inside.

You slowly lowered the flimsi. “You don’t have to lie to me,” you murmured.

Tech tilted his head slightly, brows drawing together. “I am not lying. I am genuinely impressed by how quickly you’ve picked up the basics. Your progress is tangible.”

But still, you didn’t look up. The compliment just didn’t feel real. Or maybe it felt too late.

There was a long pause before he spoke again.

“It has come to my attention,” he begins carefully, “that you may have overheard a conversation I had with Echo… a few days ago.”

You went still. Your grip on the flimsi tightened slightly. It was not something you wanted to talk about but supposedly getting it out in the open was better than letting it tear you up inside. And judging by Tech’s quieter approach, it was tearing him up too.

You gave a single nod, still not meeting his gaze. “I don’t want to be inefficient to you.”

Tech didn’t respond right away.

Instead, you felt the flimsi gently slip from your hand. He set them then shifted, turning his body slightly more toward you.

You let out a slight exhale when you felt his hand brush against your wrist. Just a light, uncertain touch that was enough to draw your attention.

You turned toward him slowly, sitting up straighter.

“Your strength,” he utters quietly, “has never been in what you already know… but in how determined you are to learn. That’s something even I struggle with.”

You stared at him, lips parted slightly. Your cheeks prickled with heat at the unexpected praise. He didn’t sound like he was saying it just to fix things, he genuinely meant it. “And I am sorry for what you heard. I often say things without thinking of the possible repercussions.

“…Thank you,” you reply softly, voice barely louder than the breeze through the trees.

Tech’s hand withdrew from your wrist, but his gaze lingered, as if searching your expression for more unspoken feelings. After a moment, he cleared his throat gently and adjusted his posture.

“Would you like to resume your lessons with me?” he asked.

You looked at him, your heart still thudding a little too hard. But this time, the words came easily, bright with something lighter than before.

“Yes,” you say quickly, with more eagerness than you meant to let on. “I—I’d like that.”

A flicker of something passed over Tech’s face. Maybe relief. He reached beside him and picked up the remaining flimsis from the small stack, selecting a fresh one before handing it over to you.

“Then let us continue,” he said, voice returning to that familiar cadence you knew; firm, but encouraging.

You straightened up and took the flimsi with both hands, your eyes scanning the first line.

“Wrecker… eats… all… the rations.”

Tech gave a soft snort. “That one may be based on an actual occurrence.”

You smiled and read on. The next was simple too, and the one after that. Occasionally, you stumbled. When you did, Tech didn’t chide—he simply leaned in, pointing softly to the word with a gloved fingertip, his voice low and patient.

“Try this syllable first—yes, exactly. Now the next.”

You did your best to focus on the letters but it was difficult. When he leaned that close, all cognitive thinking was out of the window. His shoulder brushed yours now and then and you could smell the faint metallic tang of his gear, mixed with the sharp scent of oil and a tinge of light sweat. However there was something else entirely him. Every time he moved nearer, your stomach fluttered like a startled flock of birds.

You were just getting into a good rhythm when you picked up the next flimsi from the pile. you could tell even before you started reading that this one was Omega’s doing.

Still, you gave it your best shot.

“Tech… has… fe-…”

You frowned, squinting at the next letters.

“Fe-el… fe-lin… no—”

Your voice trailed off as Tech suddenly reached forward and plucked the flimsi right from your hands, holding it out of view with alarmingly fast reflexes.

“That one,” he said stiffly, “was a mistake. Omega must have included it by error.”

You blinked at him. “I was just starting to get it. I saw both our names.”

He faltered. “Yes, well. She must have been… testing your recognition skills.”

Your frown deepened as you leaned slightly, trying to peer around his shoulder. “What did it say? I recognised ‘Tech’ and my name. But not the rest.”

He looked mildly horrified, holding the flimsi higher as if you might leap up and grab it. “It was… structurally inconsistent.”

“…With what?”

“With the lesson plan.”

You raised an eyebrow, slowly. “So it didn’t not say something?”

Tech cleared his throat, looking up at the sky as though he might find a convenient distraction there. “We should return to the prior reading. I believe you were progressing well.”

Your lips twitched. Despite the warm burn in your cheeks and the racing questions spinning in your head, a flicker of amusement bloomed in your chest. Because Tech was very clearly flustered.

And for once, you weren’t the only one stumbling over your words.

“I believe we should return to the lesson,” Tech resumes, voice slightly higher than usual as a flush creeps up his neck.

You bit your tongue on a grin, letting him have the diversion. For now.

“Fine. But I’ve been struggling with something.”

Tech adjusted his goggles, “Yes?”

“It’s the ‘oo’ sounds,” you said, fiddling with the stick in your hand. “Like… how do I know if it’s pronounced like in ‘book’ or ‘moon’? They look the same to me.”

“Ah,” Tech said, pleased to be back in familiar territory. “That is a very common challenge, even for native speakers of Basic. It is primarily about memorisation, but there are contextual cues…”

He gestured as he spoke, one hand drawing invisible words in the air, the other occasionally flicking toward the dusty alphabet he'd helped you draw earlier. His brow creased adorably in concentration, and it was then that you realised you’d stopped listening to the explanation. Completely.

You were watching him . Watching the way he talked, how his whole body became animated with his words.

It hit you all at once. That same warm flutter you’d felt during your very first lesson with him. When it was just you, and him, and a thousand ways he accidentally made your heart beat faster.

“Tech,” you cut in suddenly, blinking yourself back to focus. “What did Omega write?”

His hand froze mid-gesture. Slowly, his eyes widened behind his goggles. “I… do not believe that is relevant to the lesson.”

Your eyes narrowed with a teasing smirk. “That wasn’t a no.”

He shuffled slightly, edging away as if he was guilty of something.

That was all the confirmation you needed.

You lunged.

He yelped in a surprised sort of way as you dove over his lap, trying to reach the hidden flimsi. “This is not going to help with your literacy!” he protested, trying to fend you off with one arm as he reached behind him with the other.

“Oh, I think it might,” you laughed breathlessly, dodging his elbow and scrambling after the paper. “Consider it a very interactive learning experience!”

“I must protest—!” he began, but you’d already tangled yourself half across him, your fingers grazing the edge of the flimsi just before—

He rolled.

One quick movement and your world flipped, quite literally. Your back presses into the warm ground as he pinned you there. Tech hovered over you, one hand braced beside your head, the other knocking the flimsi just out of reach again.

You stilled.

He stilled.

Both of you froze in the silence that followed, hearts pounding. It wasn't from the mock wrestling, but from the fact that now Tech was so close. His goggles were slightly askew, and the wild fluster in his expression was undeniable.

Neither of you spoke. Not at first. Your hands were still tangled in the folds of his armour, his knee pressing into the dirt beside your hip, his weight above you holding you firmly in place.

“…This is also not helping with your literacy,” he said finally.

“I really didn’t mean to upset you,” he then speaks quietly, breath catching halfway through.

Your own voice was soft when you answered. “It’s okay. I’ve had two really good teachers.”

The wind picked up gently, brushing strands of hair across your face, and carrying with it the flimsis that had been scattered beside the log. You didn’t even notice them dancing away at first, neither of you willing to look anywhere else but at each other.

Your gaze broke from his however when a pale scrap fluttered to the ground just beside your hip, its scrawled ink catching your eye.

And you read it aloud before you could think twice.

“‘Tech has feelings… for…’” you read slowly, your breath catching, “f-for… y-you.”

Silence followed.

Tech didn’t speak.

Didn’t even correct your pronunciation.

Instead, his eyes dropped from yours, and you watched as the heat crept up his neck, blooming across his ears. He cleared his throat, the motion stiff and unconvincing. “That… appears to be the one Omega wrote.”

Your heart thudded. You didn’t know what to do at first or what to say. You had dreamed of hearing those words, but somehow reading them yourself felt like a different kind of victory.

Slowly, you reached for the hand he’d braced beside your head, your fingers brushing his. There was hesitation in your touch, and something in it made him glance up, brows drawn.

“I have feelings for you too,” you said softly, carried on a nervous breath.

He stared at you with those beautiful wide eyes, clearly stunned. “You… do?”

A warm laugh slipped out of you. “I do.”

And before you could say anything else, before you could even process the shift in his gaze, Tech slid an arm around your back and pulled you upright with unexpected, fluid strength.

You gasped as you landed squarely in his lap, eyes wide, your hands flying instinctively to his shoulders. “Tech!” you squeaked.

But his hands found your waist, firm but gentle, grounding you again.

He was impossibly close now. Goggles still a little wonky, breathing slightly elevated. “I believe,” he starts softly, “I no longer require you to read aloud whether I may kiss you.”

A grin tugged at your lips, heart hammering as your fingers brushed the curve of his cheek and then carefully fixing his goggles. “Well,” you murmured, barely more than a breath, “I don’t mind at all.”

The kiss met you halfway, tentative for a moment, then deepening with quiet certainty. His lips were soft, tasting of sunlight and stored-up longing, his hand moving to cradle the back of your neck like you were something rare, fragile and cherished.

And as the trees whispered overhead and a forgotten scrap of flimsi fluttered past your boots, all thoughts of lessons, of hesitation, of past hurt all melted away.

The lesson was over.

But something else had only just begun

Tags: @littlefeatherr @kaitou2417 @eyecandyeoz @jesseeka @theroguesully @ladykatakuri @arctrooper69 @padawancat97 @staycalmandhugaclone @ko-neko-san @echos-girlfriend @fiveshelmet @dangraccoon @plushymiku-blog @pb-jellybeans @nunanuggets @sleepycreativewriter @erellenora @zippingstars87 @ezras-left-thumb @the-rain-on-kamino @tentakelspektakel @stellarbit @tech-aficionado @grizabellasolo @therealnekomari @tech-depression-inventory @brynhildrmimi @greaser-wolf @kaminocasey @marvel-starwars-nerd @ladytano420 @ladyzirkonia @thesith @raevulsix @cw80831 @knightprincess @crosshairlovebot @imalovernotahater @sithstrings @whore4rex @imperialclaw801 @temple-elder @mysticalgalaxysalad @yunggoblin @photogirl894 @the-bad-batch-baroness @lulalovez

[groovybadbacther]

Tech art by Kyle Petchock for Star Wars Unlimited!

[groovybadbacther]

Liar Liar (Part 10/?)

Part 10 - Seeing Double // <<< Part 9

🫧 Pairings: Commander Fox X Female Reader

🫧Chapter Summary: When work is getting too much, you go to 79's to try blow off some steam. But, you find yourself living bitter memories and jealousy.

🫧Warnings: Angst, alcohol mention, light flirting, jealousy, arguing, awkward moments. Dancing, miscommunication, Drama drama dramaaaa (I’m convinced nobody reads these warnings)

The following week was exhausting.

Somehow—Force knows how—Thire and Hound had convinced you to stay.

It had taken hours of back-and-forth, of them wearing you down with reassurances and well-meaning arguments, but in the end, you let them win. Stone, however, remained blissfully unaware of the whole ordeal. Not for lack of trying, though. You’d bet a million credits that he had been pestering Thire and Hound at least a dozen times, demanding to know what was going on.

But, just as Fox had promised, he was too preoccupied with Coruscant’s safety to linger in the office. Not only was Rik Walder still at large, but riots and fires had been breaking out in the lower sectors of Coruscant so his work pile had doubled.

You saw very little of him, only ever catching traces of his presence in the form of an empty caf cup pile steadily accumulating on his desk. Yet somehow, even without seeing him, the weight of everything still lingered.

At least Pia had been keeping you distracted. She messaged every night, checking in, filling the empty space with something lighter. It helped. And with Fox nowhere in sight, the ache in your chest had started to dull.

Unfortunately, the ache in your head was another story.

The systems were a disaster. What you had initially assumed was a one-time mishap with reports and patrol logs had spiraled into an ongoing nightmare.

Errors crept in like clockwork, reports misfiled, schedules jumbled. No one could even work out how it was happening. Technicians were brought in, sifting through the logs for signs of hacking and slicing but nothing. Nada.

Everything was now even triple-checked before uploads, and yet, somehow, the mistakes kept slipping through. And Thorn -bless his soul- was barely holding it together.

He loomed over everyone’s desks like a vulture, giving reminders, breathing down necks. You liked Thorn as a Commander well enough, but if you heard “make sure it’s secure again” one more time, you might throw yourself out the window.

But at least now it was your lunch break. And you could get some peace and quiet. Almost.

“Plans for tonight?” You looked up from your tray in the cafeteria, spoon hovering mid-air, to see Hound and Stone standing in front of you.

“Sleep,” you muttered, eyeing the unrecognisable grey slop on your spoon. “Why?”

“We’re going to 79’s.” Stone rolled his eyes. “I need a break from all these kriffing error checks.”

Your stomach twisted. 79’s. “I don’t know…” You trailed off, letting the spoonful of slop fall back onto your tray with an unceremonious splat.

Hound shot you a knowing look, knowing full well why you didn’t want to go. But Stone, still in the dark, pressed on. “Come on,” he coaxed, grinning. “It’ll be fun. Thire’s going too, though let’s be honest, he’s only going to see your friend.” He waggled his brows.

Your ears perked up. “Pia’s working tonight?” Now that had your interest.

It had been over a week since you last saw her, and the last time you had, you were ugly crying into her arms while devouring an obscene amount of sweet treats. You needed a new memory that was less embarrassing.

You also wanted to know if the two of them ended up on a date, too.

Hound gave you a small nudge of encouragement. “What do ya say? You need a break. Just a few drinks, some bad music, and—” he smirked, “—watching Thire completely lose his cool over Pia.”

You exhaled through your nose, arms crossed. “I’ll think about it.”

“You don’t have to drink,” he added quickly. “Or stay long. But you do need to get out of this place before Thorn gives himself an aneurysm.”

Stone grinned. “You’re coming. I can see it in your face.”

You rolled your eyes, but the thought of a change of scenery and even of normalcy, even for a night was becoming harder to resist. You didn’t want to keep avoiding places just because he had been there. You weren’t about to let Fox ruin 79’s for you.

“Fine,” you muttered, “I’ll go.”

Stone clapped his hands together. “Good. Now you’re making smart choices.”

Hound shot you another look, quieter this time almost as if he was checking in, making sure you were really okay with this. You gave him a small nod. You’d be fine. One night wouldn’t hurt.

Right?

“Oh, and since you’re here—" You barely had time to react before Stone pulled a handful of data pucks from his belt, holding them out like an afterthought. "Can you drop these off with Officer Sinja? The new one?"

Before you could protest, he unceremoniously dumped them onto your tray—right on top of the unappetising slop—then bolted, Hound trailing behind him with a barely concealed grin.

Unbelievable.

Then again, running an errand was still preferable to forcing down whatever questionable meal the kitchen had concocted today. With a resigned sigh, you picked up the data pucks, abandoning your tray altogether.

At least it gave you something to do. Something that didn’t involve system errors, Thorn breathing down your neck, or—

No. You weren’t going to think about him .

Tucking the pucks securely into your belt pouch, you made your way through the corridors, weaving past troopers and officers alike. The station was as busy as ever, filled with the usual hum of voices, boots against durasteel, and the occasional curse from a frustrated officer and new prisoners being escorted to the cells in the lower levels.

It was all fine. Normal.

Until you passed that same vent.

It was shut . But you could have sworn that just for a second, you had seen it shift. Like it had just barely snapped back into place after being moved.

You swallowed, glancing around. The corridor was empty now. Too empty.

You're imagining things. You had to be. Between the stress, the lack of sleep, and the mess of emotions still tangled inside you, it was no surprise your mind was playing tricks. If anything was in the vents after all, it would have been set off in the security alerts.

With a tense inhale, you forced yourself to keep walking, quickening your pace. Maybe getting out tonight really was a good idea.

It isn’t long until you realised you had another problem on your hands that wasn’t the data pucks. The problem was that you had no idea who Officer Sinja actually was.

With a frown, you realised you’d left your datapad in the office, and the idea of trekking all the way back for it just to turn around again made you groan internally. But if your memory served you correctly, Sinja might’ve been that young officer you’d spoken to in the hangar once—back when you were looking for Whisky.

That was as good a place as any to start.

You reached the lift, hitting the button and waiting as the numbers flickered down. The doors slid open, and you stepped inside, selecting your floor. The red lights above blinked with each passing level, and you exhaled.

Then you noticed one light turn green. Someone else was about to join you.

You shuffled toward the side, hoping— praying —it wasn’t a horde of astromechs again. The last time that happened, you’d been wedged into the corner while seven droids piled in, then spent four hours trapped when the lift broke down.

With a small wince at the memory, you kept your gaze down as the doors opened, waiting for whoever was about to step in.

As the door opened, your gaze inadvertently travelled along the floor when you spoke a pair of white boots. And then as your gaze moved up, a deep red stripe along the knee plates.

Instantly, your head snapped up and your eyes lock onto the visor that was probably the last one you wanted to.

Your body stiffened, fingers curling at your sides. He froze, too, hovering at the threshold like he’d just walked into a battlefield unarmed. For a second, neither of you moved.

Then he shifted back a step. “I’ll get the next one.”

His voice was gruff, controlled. But he wasn’t looking at you. His helmet was tilted just slightly toward the floor, like if he didn’t see you, this wouldn’t be happening.

You weren’t sure why you did it. Your body moved before your mind could catch up, and suddenly, your hand shot out, stopping the door from sealing. “N-no, it’s okay,” you said, voice quieter than intended. “There’s enough room.”

Fox hesitated. You swore you felt the weight of his stare even though you couldn’t see his eyes. He glanced between your hand and your face, as if trying to decode something—why you’d stopped him, why you would let him in.

Stiffly, he nodded and stepped inside.

The air in the lift grew heavy the second the doors slid shut.

He reached forward to press his floor button, and you clasped your hands behind your back, hoping he couldn’t see the way your fingers trembled.

The silence that settled between you was thick, stretched taut like a wire about to snap.

The lift hummed. A steady, low vibration beneath your feet.

Then, after what felt like an eternity, he spoke. “How’s your hand?”

The question startled you. You blinked, glancing at your palm—the one you’d burned on scalding caf last week.

“Fine,” you managed, though it came out too high-pitched, too breathy. You cleared your throat. “Uh, the medic put some kind of gel—or spray—on it. I don’t know. But yeah, it’s fine.”

Fox shifted on his feet, rocking slightly on his heels. “Good,” he murmured. “That’s good.”

You nodded, unsure what else to say.

The tension wasn’t budging. It was thick, suffocating, like the walls were about to close in like a trash compactor.

You sucked in a slow breath, then blurted out, “How’s, uh… life?”

Really? That was the best you could come up with?

Fox exhaled, the sound somewhere between amusement and exhaustion. “Same old, same old.”

Except it wasn’t. You heard it in his voice—the weight of something unspoken.

Maybe small talk wasn’t the worst idea. Maybe if you could just talk to him, things would feel less… tangled. You risked a glance at him, but it only made your stomach tighten and heart sink.

“Any luck on that prisoner?”

This time, he did sigh, lifting a gloved hand to his helmet as if pinching the bridge of his nose beneath it. “No. Nothing yet.”

“Oh.” You shifted uncomfortably.

“Are you… worried?” He didn’t turn his head, but you caught the slight tilt of his helmet as he regarded you from the corner of his visor.

“Sure,” you admitted. “From his record, I don’t remember anything particularly pleasant. I just… hope you catch him.”

“Yeah,” Fox murmured. “Me too.”

Are we not there yet?

The silence stretched again.

“Haircut?”

This time you looked at him, raising a brow. “S-Sorry?”

“Your hair… looks different.”

Your hand moves to your hair as if it wasn’t you who had washed, brushed it and styled it this morning. “Uh, no.” You say almost sheepishly. “I’m just wearing it up today.”

“Oh, yeah. Obviously.” Fox swallows, looking away from you.

You inhaled slowly—then regretted it immediately.

He still smelled the same. That warm, familiar scent that clung to your memory, pulling you back to that night in the cab. To the way he’d drawn you close, arm slung over your shoulders, voice murmuring into your ear…

You swallowed hard.

“Any plans this evening?”

His voice snapped you back to the present, and you jolted. “Oh—uh. Yeah. Hound asked me to go to 79’s with him.”

Silence. A few seconds too long.

“He did?”

There was something odd in his tone. Strained.

You suddely realised how that might have sounded. “And Stone,” you clarified quickly. “They both invited me. Y-You could come too.”

Fox didn’t speak at first. Then, briskly, he nodded. “You deserve a break.” He settled.

Something about the way he said it made your chest tighten. You tried to smile, but it didn’t quite reach your eyes. “I guess. Though instead of actually taking a break, I’m running errands for Stone.”

Fox tilted his head—a familiar motion, one you now hated to admit looked adorable on him. “Why?”

You explained the data pucks, and even though you couldn’t see his face, you felt the eye-roll behind his visor. “Could he not do it himself?”

“Obviously not,” you muttered, sighing.

The lift still wasn’t there yet.

“Do you even know who Officer Sinja is?”

“Kind of.” You hesitated. “I think I met him in the hangar once.”

Fox let out a breath and nodded. “You did. That’s him.”

You resisted the urge to shift again. You remembered that conversation now. Sinja had been smooth-talking, arrogant in a way that could be charming or insufferable depending on the day. And you remembered something else, too:

Fox had been watching.

The lift finally dinged.

The doors hissed open, revealing your destination and Fox stepped aside giving you room to pass.

But for a moment, you didn’t move.

And you weren’t sure why.

The air felt different now. The weight of his presence behind you pressed against your skin, a silent question hovering in the air between you both.

Then, just as the door started to close, Fox stopped it with his foot.

His voice was quiet when he asked, “Is this where you want to be?”

The question wasn’t just about the floor. It wasn’t just about the lift.

It was about him .

Was this where you wanted to be? Standing on the edge of something unresolved, pretending it didn’t hurt?

Your breath hitched. Then, softly, you nodded.

“Yes.”

And you stepped out.

You walked ahead, not looking back but you felt his stare on you and you will yourself not to look back.

Although, you find yourself really wanting to.

⋅⋅───⊱༺  🦊 ༻⊰───⋅⋅

Getting ready for 79’s took longer than it should have.

You stood in front of your closet, arms crossed, debating over what to wear like it actually mattered. It didn’t, really. It was just a night out; a distraction. But something in your gut told you to put in the effort.

Your fingers skimmed over the fabric hanging before you, pausing when they brushed against something familiar. Soft material, deep red.

The dress.

You pulled it from the rack, letting it drape over your hands, the weight of it heavier than it should’ve been. It was the one you’d worn that night. The night with him . The one that never really got to happen.

A sigh escaped you as you ran a hand through your hair. You should have let Pia keep it when you left it at hers. Stars, maybe you should’ve burned it. But… you hadn’t.

And you weren’t sure what that said about you.

“Whatever,” you muttered, shoving it back and reaching for something else.

A top you hadn’t worn in a while. A skirt that felt a little daring (in your eyes, at least). Heels that deserved a night out, even if they’d make you regret it in the morning.

It wasn’t for anyone in particular. Just for you . That’s what you told yourself, anyway.

79’s was alive with its usual chaotic energy by the time you arrived.

Music thumped through the walls, a steady bassline that vibrated under your feet. The scent of cheap alcohol and something fried lingered in the air, mingling with the sharp tang of sweat and polished plastoid. Conversations overlapped, voices rising and falling, troopers crowded around tables, shouting over drinks, some even dancing, playing hologames. or just simply blowing off steam after another long shift.

You moved through the bodies, sidestepping a trooper who nearly sloshed his drink on you, and made your way to the bar. Settling onto a stool, you scanned for a familiar face. It didn’t take long as Pia was in the thick of it, handling a rush of orders.

When your eyes met, she practically lit up, waving so energetically you thought she might knock over the bottle she was reaching for. Instead, she managed to steady it at the last second, shooting you a quick ‘one sec’ before turning back to pour a round of shots.

“A beauty, isn’t she?” You turned to see Thire settling into the stool beside you, his eyes fixed on Pia with such open admiration it was almost laughable.

You grinned. “Always has been.”

Thire exhaled, like he was trying to play it cool but failing spectacularly. “We went out last night.”

“Oh?” You leaned in, thoroughly enjoying his smug expression. “And?”

He smirked, slow and self-satisfied. “It went great .”

Before you could pry for details, Pia finally made her way over, all confidence as she purred, “Hey, hot stuff.”

Thire barely suppressed a grin, straightening. “Hey, you—”

“I was talking to her,” Pia cut in smoothly, glancing your way with a mischievous smirk.

You snorted into your drink, and Thire’s face immediately fell, mouth snapping shut.

Pia, delighted with herself, laughed before leaning over the bar and pressing a kiss to Thire’s cheek. Just like that, his mood rebounded, his smirk returning in full force.

“Hey, you,” he murmured, clearly savouring the moment.

You rolled your eyes. “You two are cute. I hate it.”

Pia winked as she reached for a glass. “You love it.

She slid a drink across the bar toward you with a flourish. “On the house.”

You frowned. “Pia—”

“Nope.” She folded her arms. “As long as I’m working here, you don’t owe me a single credit.”

You sighed, eyeing the drink, then her. “Fine. But I’m buying you food later.”

She considered this, then gave a slow nod. “I’ll allow it.”

Shaking your head, you turned your attention back to Thire. “Stone and Hound here yet?”

Thire rolled his eyes. “They’re outside. One of the new shinies from the 212th had one too many shots and thought he could go round-for-round with a Corrie.”

You snorted. “Let me guess, thought he could hold his liquor?”

Thire smirked. “Poor bastard didn’t even make it past the third shot.”

The three of you fell into easy conversation, drinks flowing. Pia and Thire were perfect for each other, bounced off each other and you had to try and suppress a jealous feeling in your stomach.

Eventually, Thire finished off his drink and stood with a stretch. “Gonna go check in on the lads.”

Before he could step away, Pia grabbed his hand, tugging him back just enough to steal a quick kiss. “Don’t start any fights.”

Thire grins down at her. “No promises.” She swatted his arm, laughing as he disappeared into the crowd.

Alone now, Pia wiped down the bar as the onslaught of clones dwindled before leaning forward against the counter. There was a look on her face, hesitant but knowing, and you could already guess where this was going.

“You can ask if you want,” you muttered, swirling the ice in your glass.

Pia sighed. “How’s the thing with you and Fox?”

You exhaled slowly, staring into your drink. “There is no ‘ thing’ to begin with. I just… feel weird whenever I’m near him.”

Pia arched a brow. “Weird how?”

You hesitated, then told her about the lift; the tension, the awkward small talk, the way Fox had hesitated before stepping inside and how you let him in in the first place. How, for a brief moment, you’d both just stood there when the doors opened, neither of you moving.

Pia, for once, was quiet. You narrowed your eyes. “What?”

She bit her lip, choosing her words carefully. “Don’t hate me because I know how much this upset you… but do you think it’s worth possibly exploring something with him? As Fox?”

You stared at Pia, almost disgusted at the thought. “He lied to me, Pia”

She sighed, rubbing the bridge of her nose. “I know, I know. And I’m not saying what he did was right, because it wasn’t. But—”

“Oh, there’s a but now?” You huffed, crossing your arms.

Pia gave you a look, the kind that said don’t be difficult , but she pressed on anyway. “We know he didn’t do it to mess with you. He didn’t do it to get you fired. Or humiliate you. Or as some kind of stupid prank.” She shook her head, watching you closely. “He did it all on his own. No one put him up to it.”

You scoffed, looking away and back down at your drink. “Right. And that makes it better ?”

“I just think…” Pia hesitated, then continued carefully, “Maybe he really liked you.”

The words twisted something in your chest, but you forced a bitter laugh. “Doubt it.”

Your mind went back to that night in the refresher—the way you had cornered him, raw and desperate for the truth, asking if any of it had meant something, if anything he said was true. But he had just stood there. Silent. No answer. No confirmation. Not even a single damn word to give you peace of mind.

Pia studied you, but she must have seen the storm in your expression because she softened. “You should talk to him.”

You tensed. “No.”

“Just hear him out.”

“No.”

She groaned, throwing her hands up. “Oh, for kriff’s sake, will you just —”

“What ? ” You snapped, voice sharp enough to cut through the noise of the bar. “Let you and Thire push me into talking to him? Try and set us up again like you’re some kind of miracle workers? Just because your love life is suddenly peachy doesn’t mean I should forgive someone who deceived me and embarrassed me!”

Pia’s expression flickered with hurt and frustration. Then, with a shake of her head, she muttered, “I need to serve someone on the other side of the bar,” and walked away.

The moment she was gone, guilt sank its teeth into you.

You knew she only meant well. She always did. But she didn’t know what it felt like to build a connection with someone, to feel that pull toward them, only to find out it had all been a lie .

Nobody did.

You huffed, rubbing your temples and slouching forward on the bar. Everything inside you felt messy and tangled.

You felt sorry for yourself, sure, but you felt even worse for Pia. Her usual spark, that infectious joy that lit up every corner of a room, was gone. She moved mechanically behind the bar now, polite but muted, handing drinks over with a smile that didn’t quite reach her eyes.

Your gaze drifted across the room, zeroing in on the empty stool near the far end of the bar. That stool. The one Fox had sat at the first night you met ‘Whisky’. You stared at it like it might conjure him if you focused hard enough—but it didn’t. It just sat there. Vacant. And the longer you stared at it, the more your gut twisted with confusion.

Would you ignore him if he were there now? Would you walk up and demand answers? Or would you crumble under the weight of everything you still felt, despite how badly you wanted to be over it? Over him?

Frustrated, you let your head fall into your hands with a groan.

“Can I refill your drink?”

The voice came from behind, a little too smooth to be accidental. You blinked, lifting your head and glancing over your shoulder.

A clone stood there—handsome, of course. They always were. But this one was clearly a shiny. Stark white armour, no markings, no scuffs. Practically fresh out the vat. He gave you a charming smile, the kind that probably worked on half the people in here already tonight.

You lifted your glass, giving it a tiny shake before setting it back down. “I’m okay. Thank you, though.”

He moved to your side, still keeping a respectful distance, like he’d been trained well in the art of not being pushy. “No worries. Just saw you sitting here. Looked like you needed a bit of a pick-me-up.”

You snorted softly. “That obvious, huh?”

“Well,” he said with a playful shrug, “you’ve got that look.”

You arched a brow. “What look?”

He grinned. “The ‘I need someone to come over and distract me from whatever is eating me alive’ look.”

You let out a laugh “You might be onto something.”

He leaned a little closer, his tone lighter. “So… how about a dance? Just one. You look like you could use a little movement therapy.”

You hesitated, glancing down at your half-finished drink, then back toward the empty stool across the bar. The music was loud, the bass thrumming through your chest, and the lingering buzz from your drink made everything just a little warmer, a little fuzzier around the edges.

Screw it. What’s one dance?

“Okay,” you said, pointing a mock-stern finger at him. “But no funny business.”

“Cross my heart,” he said, miming the gesture with a grin.

You let him lead you to the center of the dance floor, bodies pulsing and swaying around you in time with the beat. The music was thunderous, the lights casting bright flashes across the room, and for once, you let yourself lean into it.

The liquid courage you had been served by Pia made your moves smooth, fluid even. As for the Clone, he danced like he knew exactly where the line was and kept it friendly, playful, respectful.

It was exactly what you needed. A distraction. A little freedom.

The clone spun you smoothly with a boyish grin, and as the beat picked up again, he leaned closer and asked with a playful lift of his brow, “Another?”

You hesitated for a breath, eyeing his outstretched hand. He looked so eager, so harmless in his own cheeky little way—and truthfully, the night had already gone off the rails emotionally. What was a little more harmless chaos?

“Screw it,” you muttered and took his hand.

He beamed and pulled you right back into the rhythm, both of you swaying to the beat. This time, though, he dared a little more—his hand found your waist, featherlight at first, just testing. Waiting for the pushback.

You didn’t give it.

His confidence kicked in. The grip on your hip firmed just a little, and his other hand stayed loosely linked with yours as he guided you through the crowd. His voice was warm and easygoing as he leaned in. “You dance pretty well for someone who looked like she was about to cry into her drink.”

You shot him a glare. “Wow. You always this smooth?”

“Only when it’s working.” His grin widened.

“You trying to pick me up, shiny?”

“That depends. Is it working?”

You snorted, tilting your head with faux-seriousness. “A little. But I’m still undecided.”

“Good. I like a challenge.” He winked.

The conversation was easy and natural. His flirting was cheeky enough to be fun without being suffocating. You were actually enjoying yourself—laughing even—as you both leaned in close to hear each other over the pounding bass, your bodies swaying in tandem.

And then you saw him.

Over the clone’s shoulder, you caught a glimpse of red armor moving past the crowd. Fox.

Just off to the side of the bar, leaning against it with his usual practiced stillness, arm braced as he reached for a drink offered by one of the droids. Pia was nowhere near him—and of course she wasn’t. You knew she wouldn’t serve him.

But your body froze.

The clone you were with was still talking but his words came through like static.

Because then she appeared.

A woman. Striking. Stunning.

She stepped up beside Fox with all the familiarity of someone who knew him well. You watch as her hand lands lightly on his forearm, leaning in to speak.

Your stomach twisted.

That sick, lurching ache started in your chest and crawled down your spine. It was a feeling you knew all too well—the same hollow punch you’d felt when you caught your ex sneaking around behind your back.

Except this wasn’t your ex. And he wasn’t yours.

“I’m Whisky, by the way.”

The voice snapped you back like a slap. You blinked, suddenly aware of the clone’s hand still on your waist, his face inches from yours, smiling.

“What?”

He tilted his head, confused by your expression. “My name,” he said, still smiling. “Whisky, ma’am.”

Your world spun.

You simply stare at the clone. Your voice had vanished, like your brain refused to make sense of what he’d just said.

“Is that a joke?” you manage, the words flat and shaky.

He shifts, confused. “Ma’am?”

Completely unaware of the war now erupting inside your head, he blinks at your sudden switch in emotion as you pull away from his touch.

“Did I say something wrong—?”

“I have to go,” you rasp, voice barely holding together. “I’m sorry.”

You didn’t wait for his response. Couldn’t. You turned and pushed through the crowd, shoulder brushing shoulders, limbs catching on others mid-dance. The music was suddenly thunderous, pounding through your chest like your heartbeat was syncing with the bass. Lights flashed, voices shouted, laughter echoed—but it all blurred into a wash of noise that had now swallowed you whole.

You felt like the walls were closing in. Your breath came short. Too many bodies. Too many faces. Too much everything.

You finally broke through the crush at the exit and staggered into the cold night. A gust of chilled air slammed into your lungs, and you gasped like someone who had been drowning.

Your hands trembled as you leaned against the nearest post near the cab bay, chest heaving like you’d just run a marathon. But it wasn’t exertion and it wasn’t the alcohol.

It was the cruel, gut-punch realisation of how fate had twisted the knife.

What were the odds?

Falling for a man who lied and called himself Whisky —only to later dance with the real one . A clone who was bright, kind, flirtatious… and had done absolutely nothing wrong except exist.

You let out a bitter laugh that barely made it past your lips. What’s joke.

But then your mind cruelly drifted to him again. Fox.

The flash of red armour, the drink in hand. The woman beside him. Her fingers brushing his forearm.

Pia’s voice echoed in your head, maddening and far too well-timed. "Maybe he really liked you."

You let out a breathless, humourless huff. “Yeah. Joke’s on me.”

“You alright?”

You flinched, spinning so fast on your heel you nearly toppled over. Luckily you were caught by a hand on your shoulder that belonged to Hound.

He steadied you with ease, his brow furrowed in concern as he took in your sickly expression, watery eyes, and unsteady stance.

“Too much to drink, eh?”

You tried to speak. Tried to wave it off, make a joke, anything . But nothing came.

Then he saw it, your eyes glassy with unshed tears.

“Wait, hey,” he said, voice dropping in concern. “Are you alright?”

You broke.

The emotion hit you like a crashing wave as you stumbled forward and sobbed into your hands, chest heaving under the weight of it all. “I feel so stupid , Hound,” you choked, the tears falling now, unrelenting, hot against your cheeks. “I—I don’t know what I’m doing. I don’t know why I feel so… so…”

But the words failed you. Because how could you even begin to explain it? The betrayal, the confusion, the jealousy, the aching longing for something that might never have been real in the first place?

Hound didn’t say anything. He didn’t try to offer clumsy comfort or tell you that everything would be okay. Instead, he stepped forward and wrapped his arms around you

One strong arm crossed your back, the other settling gently at your shoulder as he pulled you into his chest without hesitation. You collapsed into him, clinging to the warmth and stability he offered like it might keep you from falling apart entirely. His hand moved slowly in comforting circles across your back

You didn’t know how long you stood there like that, locked in a silent embrace under the hazy streetlight glow outside 79’s. But eventually, the storm inside you dulled just enough for you to pull away, still sniffling as you swiped your cheeks with trembling fingers.

You exhaled, shaky and uneven, and looked up into the night sky in a vain attempt to keep any more tears from spilling. “Sorry, Hound.”

“Nothing to be sorry for,” he said simply, folding his arms across his chest. “I don’t like seeing you like this. None of us do.”

You tried to smile, but it didn’t quite make it past your lips. “I don’t think Fox would care.”

But Hound just shook his head slowly, lips pursing in quiet disagreement. “He definitely would.”

You let out a bitter, disbelieving scoff—but nausea coiled in your stomach at the memory of Fox at the bar. The look on his face. The way the woman touched his arm. That stupid, stupid beautiful woman.

“I’d like to believe that,” you said hollowly, “but if he told me? I wouldn’t believe him.”

Hound didn’t push. He only nodded solemnly and raised a hand to signal a cab. “Get some rest, this thing you’re going through will pass.”

When one pulled up, you stepped toward it, but not before snapping a little too sharply: “I’m not going through anything.”

The silence that followed stung.

You closed your eyes, hating how your voice had cracked, how petty it sounded—even to you. “I’m sorry,” you muttered, quieter this time. “I didn’t mean that.”

“I know,” Hound said gently.

The cab hissed open, and just as you stepped forward, he pulled out a handful of credits and handed them to the driver before you could protest. You gave him a small, wordless nod and climbed in.

As the cab pulled away, taking you from a rather terrible evening.

As Hound turned, ready to rejoin Thire and Stone, he stills as he came face to face with Fox.

The commander was standing rigid, eyes locked on the departing cab, his jaw tense and unreadable. A heavy silence settled between them before Fox stepped forward, his tone sharp and bitter.

“That looked cosy.”

Ah. There it was.

Jealousy.

Hound’s face remained calm, but his mouth tightened ever so slightly. “Probably looked the same way you and that civvie looked. You know, the woman at the bar. Same one you were with in the same spot you first talked to her.”

Fox’s face twisted in frustration, already shaking his head. “It wasn’t like that. She was just thanking me. I pulled her out of that apartment fire in Sector Eight the other night.”

Hound raised a brow. “I believe you. She didn’t.”

Fox’s fists clenched tighter as he gave the ground a frustrated kick, scuffing his boot against the duracrete with a low growl that sounded far more dramatic than he intended. “How the kriff am I making things worse when I’m not even with her?”

Hound leaned lazily against the railing beside him, arms folded, watching traffic streak past on the levels below. “I thought you said you talked to her today?”

Fox groaned, dragging a hand over his face. “I tried. I think I said something about her hair.”

There was a pause. “…Her hair ?” Hound’s lips twitched, and Fox didn’t have to look to know he was holding back laughter.

“I panicked, alright?” Fox muttered. “It looked nice and I forgot how to be a person. My brain turned into soup.”

Hound finally let out a low chuckle, patting him condescendingly on the shoulder. “Smooth. Real smooth.”

Fox glared at him but didn’t deny it.

“I just—” he exhaled hard. “Is there even a point anymore? She was dancing with some shiny tonight, probably moved on. And then there was you ,” he added with a bitter edge, side-eyeing Hound. “She had her arms all over you.”

Hound didn’t even flinch. He just slapped Fox on the back of the head.

“ Ow. ”

“She was crying,” Hound said flatly. “She is not into me, she was just upset. And like I told you, she saw you with that civvie at the bar and her whole face changed. She looked like someone punched her in the gut.”

Fox instantly panicked when he heard you was crying, worried that you had been hurt Fox blinked. “Wait… you think she was jealous ?”

“Yeah,” Hound said, nodding. “I do. And you know what that means.”

“That she wants to feed me to a rancor?” Fox guessed.

“That she still cares , idiot.”

Fox went quiet, staring down at the passing speeders below. He chewed the inside of his cheek, thoughts tripping over each other. She cares. She was jealous. She danced with someone else but still cried about me. Okay. That’s good. Terrible. Confusing. But good. Kinda.

“…She’s still pissed at me, though.”

“Oh, that’s a given,” Hound said, clapping him on the back again. “But maybe that’s not a bad thing. Means she still gives a care. And before you ask, no, I am not speaking to her on your behalf.”

Fox sighed, leaning on the railing beside him. “So what do I do?”

Hound raised a brow. “Figure out what you want to say. Then actually say it before you combust.”

Fox nodded slowly, eyes narrowing in determination. “Okay,” he muttered, “but just to be clear… I’m never mentioning her hair again.”

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[groovybadbacther]

the scream I scrumpt

[groovybadbacther]

Andor Who Else Knows? | 2.11

[groovybadbacther]

Rambo-era Hunter, need I say more?

[groovybadbacther]

I'm not sure if it's canon that hunters face tattoo continues further down, but I came across @lornaka s take on hunters tattoos and really wanted to give it a try myself :3