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incxpti0n · 11 days ago

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GAHHHHH 😭🫶😭🫶😭🫶

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

#tech x reader #tbb tech x reader #the bad batch #fic rec #TS MEANS SOMETHING TO ME #😭🫶😭🫶#love love love

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incxpti0n · 18 days ago

Text

OH MY GOSH THIS IS A FREAKING MASTERPIECE! I LOVE THIS SO SO SO MUCH H GFHDHFLDKD

MY HEARTTTT!!!! I ACTUALLY HAVE TEARS IN MY EYES THIS WAS SO SO SOOOOO BEAUTIFULLY WRITTEN OH MY GOSH I CANT EVEN REMEMBER HOW MANY TIMES I GOT BUTTERFLIES IN MY STOMACH READING THIS 😭🙏 OH TECH…. MY BELOVED UGHHH! I LOVE LOVE LOVEEE EVERYTHING ABOUT THIS, I WILL THINK ABOUT THIS FIC FOR A LONG LONG TIME 😭🫶

𝕨𝕖𝕚𝕣𝕕 𝕓𝕦𝕥 𝕗𝕦𝕔𝕜𝕚𝕟𝕘 𝕓𝕖𝕒𝕦𝕥𝕚𝕗𝕦𝕝 ⋆*･ﾟ 𝕔𝕝𝕠𝕟𝕖 𝕥𝕣𝕠𝕠𝕡𝕖𝕣 𝕥𝕖𝕔𝕙

➼ ᴘᴀɪʀɪɴɢ ☆ ᴛᴇᴄʜ x ꜰ!ʀᴇᴀᴅᴇʀ

➼ ꜱᴜᴍᴍᴀʀʏ ☆ ᴛᴇᴄʜ'ꜱ ᴀʟᴡᴀʏꜱ ꜱᴛʀᴜɢɢʟᴇᴅ ᴡɪᴛʜ ᴛʜᴇꜱᴇ ꜱᴏʀᴛ ᴏꜰ ᴛʜɪɴɢꜱ.

➼ ᴄᴏɴᴛᴇɴᴛ ☆ ꜰʟᴜꜰꜰ, ᴍɪɴᴏʀ ꜱʟᴏᴡ ʙᴜʀɴ, ᴛᴇᴄʜ ɪꜱ ᴀᴜᴛɪꜱᴛɪᴄ/ɴᴇᴜʀᴏᴅɪᴠᴇʀɢᴇɴᴛ ᴀɴᴅ ʙᴀᴅ ᴀᴛ ꜰᴇᴇʟɪɴɢꜱ, ᴅᴇᴠᴇʟᴏᴘɪɴɢ ʀᴇʟᴀᴛɪᴏɴꜱʜɪᴘ, ꜰᴇᴇʟɪɴɢꜱ ʀᴇᴀʟɪᴢᴀᴛɪᴏɴ, ᴅᴇɴɪᴀʟ ᴏꜰ ꜰᴇᴇʟɪɴɢꜱ, ʀᴇᴀᴅᴇʀ ɪꜱ ᴘᴀᴛɪᴇɴᴛ ᴀɴᴅ ᴜɴᴅᴇʀꜱᴛᴀɴᴅɪɴɢ, ᴘʜɪʟᴏꜱᴏᴘʜʏ, ꜰᴀᴛᴇ & ᴅᴇꜱᴛɪɴʏ, ꜱʟɪɢʜᴛ ᴍᴇᴀɴᴅᴇʀɪɴɢꜱ (ꜱᴏʀʀʏ), ꜰɪʀꜱᴛ ᴋɪꜱꜱ, ᴄʜᴀʀᴀᴄᴛᴇʀ ꜱᴛᴜᴅʏ ꜱᴏʀᴛ ᴏꜰ

➼ ᴡᴏʀᴅ ᴄᴏᴜɴᴛ ☆ 10ᴋ (ᴜʜʜʜʜʜʜ ᴏᴏᴘꜱ)

➼ ᴘᴏᴠ ☆ ꜱᴇᴄᴏɴᴅ ᴘᴇʀꜱᴏɴ

➼ ʀᴇꜰᴇʀᴇɴᴄᴇꜱ ☆ ᴅɪᴠɪɴᴇ ɪɴᴛᴇʀᴠᴇɴᴛɪᴏɴ ᴀʀᴛɪᴄʟᴇ ʟᴏᴏꜱᴇʟʏ ʙᴀꜱᴇᴅ ᴏɴ ᴛʜᴇ ꜱᴛᴏʀʏ ᴏꜰ ᴄᴀᴛ ꜱᴛᴇᴠᴇɴꜱ/ʏᴜꜱᴜꜰ ɪꜱʟᴀᴍ, ꜰᴀɪᴛʜ ꜰᴏʀ ᴀᴛʜᴇɪꜱᴛꜱ ᴀɴᴅ ᴀɢɴᴏꜱᴛɪᴄꜱ ʙʏ ᴡᴀʟʟᴀᴄᴇ ᴀ. ᴍᴜʀᴘʜᴇᴇ

➼ ꜱᴏᴜɴᴅᴛʀᴀᴄᴋ ☆ ꜱɴᴏᴡ ᴏɴ ᴛʜᴇ ʙᴇᴀᴄʜ - ᴛᴀʏʟᴏʀ ꜱᴡɪꜰᴛ ꜰᴛ ʟᴀɴᴀ ᴅᴇʟ ʀᴇʏ, ɪɴᴠɪꜱɪʙʟᴇ ꜱᴛʀɪɴɢ - ᴛᴀʏʟᴏʀ ꜱᴡɪꜰᴛ, ʙᴀɢꜱ - ᴄʟᴀɪʀᴏ, ᴀʙᴏᴜᴛ ʏᴏᴜ - ᴛʜᴇ 1975

⋆ ★ ᴡʀɪᴛᴛᴇɴ ꜰᴏʀ ᴛʜᴇ ꜱᴏɴɢꜰɪᴄ ᴛʜᴇᴍᴇᴅ @cloneficgiftexchange. ᴍʏ ɢɪꜰᴛᴇᴇ ᴡᴀꜱ @isaidonyourknees, ᴛʜᴇ ʟʏʀɪᴄꜱ ʙᴇɪɴɢ: "ʙᴜᴛ ɪᴛ ᴍɪɢʜᴛ ᴊᴜꜱᴛ ʜᴀᴠᴇ ʙᴇᴇɴ ʏᴏᴜ // ᴘᴀꜱꜱɪɴɢ ʙʏ ᴜɴʙᴇᴋɴᴏᴡɴꜱᴛ ᴛᴏ ᴍᴇ" (ꜱɴᴏᴡ ᴏɴ ᴛʜᴇ ʙᴇᴀᴄʜ ʙʏ ᴛᴀʏʟᴏʀ ꜱᴡɪꜰᴛ ꜰᴛ. ʟᴀɴᴀ ᴅᴇʟ ʀᴇʏ)

ɪ ᴇɴᴅᴇᴅ ᴜᴘ ᴘᴏᴜʀɪɴɢ ᴍʏ ʜᴇᴀʀᴛ ɪɴᴛᴏ ᴛʜɪꜱ ꜰɪᴄ; ᴀꜱ ᴀ ɴᴇᴜʀᴏᴅɪᴠᴇʀɢᴇɴᴛ, ɪ ꜱᴇᴇ ᴍʏꜱᴇʟꜰ ɪɴ ᴛᴇᴄʜ ᴀ ʟᴏᴛ, ᴀɴᴅ ᴀꜱ ɪ ʙᴇɢᴀɴ ᴛᴏ ᴇxᴘʟᴏʀᴇ ᴛʜᴀᴛ ꜱɪᴅᴇ ᴏꜰ ʜɪ�� ɪɴ ᴛʜɪꜱ ꜰɪᴄ, ɪ ᴇɴᴅᴇᴅ ᴜᴘ ᴘᴜᴛᴛɪɴɢ ᴀ ʟᴏᴛ ᴏꜰ ᴍʏꜱᴇʟꜰ ɪɴᴛᴏ ɪᴛ. ꜱᴏ ᴛʜɪꜱ ꜰɪᴄ ᴍᴇᴀɴꜱ ᴀ ʟᴏᴛ ᴛᴏ ᴍᴇ. ɪ ʜᴏᴘᴇ ʏᴏᴜ ᴇɴᴊᴏʏ :)

ᴀʟꜱᴏ ꜱʜᴏᴜᴛ ᴏᴜᴛ ᴛᴏ ᴛʜᴇ ʜᴏʟᴏᴄʜᴇꜱꜱ ᴘᴅꜰ ᴏꜰ ᴅᴇᴊᴀʀɪᴋ ᴡʜɪᴄʜ ɪ ʀᴇꜰᴇʀᴇɴᴄᴇᴅ ʀᴇʟɪɢɪᴏᴜꜱʟʏ (ʜᴇʜ) ᴡʜɪʟᴇ ᴡʀɪᴛɪɴɢ ᴛʜᴇ ᴅᴇᴊᴀʀɪᴋ ꜱᴄᴇɴᴇ.

⋆ ★ ʀᴇᴀᴅ ᴏɴ ᴀᴏ3 ⋆*･ﾟ ᴛᴀɢʟɪꜱᴛ ꜰᴏʀᴍ

Tech isn’t a believer in fate.

It’s hard to believe in something so ardently human when he was conjured out of something quite inhuman. Even then, he’s always been a man of science – facts and occurrences that could be proven without falter appeal to him the most.

The mere idea of fate comes from a natural need for most to believe in something higher than them – but Tech and his brothers had no reason to fall back on such a comforting blanket. It’s almost a shame, he could deduce, but now that he’s never depended on such a thing, Tech doesn’t know why he should ever seek it out.

Thinking of some invisible string, predestined outcome, interlinked paths and journeys leading to the same end doesn’t comfort him in the slightest. If anything, he thinks himself too intelligent to believe in such things. He won’t look down on others for having those philosophies tethered close to their chest, but no matter how hard he tries and makes himself believe, the simple, straightforward fundamentals of the universe are undeniable in his eyes.

It’s just the truth. It can’t be proven otherwise.

Now, Tech has grown significantly from the first years of the Clone Wars – despite his stubborn, know-it-all demeanor, Tech still strives to learn and adapt and evolve into his best self – and much has changed. His belief in fate remains the pillar of his mindset through even menial life, though sometimes he can feel slivers of his humanity slipping past that desperately beg him to believe.

Because on further recollection, the unfamiliar yet pleasant shiver that ran past him the day he properly met you felt far too destined to be the product of mathematical chance.

It’s like a fresh breeze against his skin after a lifetime in blistering heat, a breath taken right before plunging into oceanic depth, unexplored. Tech never considered himself a pioneer, but the first time he speaks to you, he feels like he’s treading frontiers never seen before. Though in reality, if he were to be brutally honest with himself, it only feels so new because Tech doesn’t normally like to indulge in such things.

Though, he doesn’t know this at an initial glance, of course. It takes him countless nights to come to these conclusions.

It starts simple, and begins with stiffness; you wave in his direction when he passes by your stall in the village market. The first few times, Tech doesn’t even acknowledge it, storing the action but deducing the wave isn’t meant for him. He doesn’t notice how your smile drops and your expression turns numbly neutral again when he doesn’t notice you.

Eventually, he finally realizes that your greetings are meant for him. If you had stopped greeting him in defeat, Tech may have never realized. But your insistence on getting him to acknowledge you isn’t in vain.

Tech watches you wave with a keen smile, and he turns around, expecting to see someone avidly waving back in your direction. When he doesn’t see anyone else and turns back again, your gaze still fixed on him, he blinks once–twice, thrice– and tucks his datapad into his pouch. Something almost smug crosses your face when he begins to walk to your stall.

“Hey there stranger,” you greet playfully.

Once Tech hears your voice properly, he begins to piece together moments of familiarity; that same voice speaking calmly to Hunter over the sound of patrons in Cid’s parlor, your eyes staring into his for a split second to exchange some nothing words about something Tech can’t recall. Based on everything else he can recall, you must’ve been in tangles (loathsome or not) with Cid, which can explain why you were speaking to them. But still, he can’t quite understand why a split moment like that would make you so comfortable to greet him like this.

“Hello,” Tech answers you politely, stiffly. You don’t seem to be bothered.

“How long have you and your brothers been on Ord Mantell this time around?” That’s your first question, palms pressing to your stall table to lean over. You still aren’t close enough to the point Tech would become uncomfortable and needs to pull away, but he takes note of your manner.

“We just arrived last night. But we’ll be staying for some time longer to restock.” Tech answers mathematically because it’s the only way he knows how to speak to someone like you– a stranger .

You hum. “No wonder it’s been a while since I’ve seen you around. Or Wrecker and Omega. They always stop by the Mantell Mix stand whenever you're here.”

Tech sneaks a glance to his left and realizes your seamster stand is situated right next to the stand selling Mantell Mix that the Omega and Wrecker always frequent.

That makes more sense.

“Omega’s currently resting, last I saw her,” Tech explains, though he wonders if an explanation is obligated in this situation.

“How is she doing?” You ask.

“She’s doing well.”

You smile. “I’m glad.”

Tech flips up his visor to get a better look at you. He tries not to stare for too long – from his understanding, it’s rude – but he still takes a hefty time taking you in. You’re your own person, just like everyone else in the world is; there’s no reason for him to be enraptured by anything more. Yet his eyes keep getting caught on the curve of your neck to your shoulder, how your hairline meets your ear, how you hold your jaw up.

It’s nothing out of the ordinary, yet that same juvenile feeling of destiny rushes through him again. A flush of red on his cheeks, a warm sense of typical affection.

You couldn’t be the cause, could you?

It’s something about you, isn’t it?

That can’t be right.

“I haven’t talked to you much.” Your next words snap Tech out of his trance but his mind still races through different ideas. He’s not accustomed to this feeling of distraction; his thoughts are usually so methodical and precise.

“I suppose we haven’t had the chance,” Tech finally settles on the answer, voice softening purposefully to seem less standoffish. The corner of your lips turns up at his reply.

“There’s no time like the present, right?” you respond, as peppy as ever. Though, perhaps you’re less peppy than he thinks, but just ten times livelier than him.

“What do you do when you’re not out saving the galaxy with your brothers?” You then ask, and Tech’s first instinct is to ask what led her to believe they were doing such a thing; a worry of that’s rude and dismissive overwhelms the initial thought, and he holds his tongue.

He thinks over the question, momentarily scrambling to think of an answer that doesn’t involve discussing the batch’s next move or tactical strategies.

“I… study. Research,” he answers vaguely, mentally berating himself for not preparing a better response.

Your jaw slacks, mouth forming a small ‘o.’

“That makes sense, considering you’re always on that datapad of yours.” Instinctively, almost defensively, Tech’s hand reaches for the pouch that carries his datapad, and then you’re smiling again. He isn’t lying when he speaks of studying and researching; in fact, more recently he has been studying the origins of faith and mythology. He recalls it again when he looks at you, ideas of the Maker’s beautiful handcraft. He’d like to believe in those beliefs, especially staring into your eyes now, that face so perfectly molded by a touch of godlike divinity or something else entirely–

Or perhaps he’s wishing he could believe in something so below him.

His mind shuts down any other thought, any other command, besides retreat.

“I should leave now,” he states matter-of-factly, trying not to look at how your face contorts with his change of mind.

“I enjoyed speaking with you,” he adds at the end to soften the blow. He’s unsure if it works.

You flash a smile, more bitter than before.

“So did I,” you say.

Tech turns on his heel and walks away. As he returns to Cid’s parlor, stomach flipping in ways he’s never felt before, Tech concludes stubbornly that you are no product of divinity, that the color of your eyes and etch of your smile aren’t utterly spectacular pigments of the Maker’s creation. A thought like that isn’t aligned with his previous beliefs, and he isn’t one to abandon something so fundamentally, provably true. Tech is a man of science, not a critic of artistic elegance.

Inconveniently, that isn’t the last time Tech speaks to you. Far from it.

Not only have you continued to wave his direction whenever he crosses your way – and he always waves back, no matter what, even if there’s no reason for him to familiarize himself with you – but you frequent Cid’s parlor more than he realizes. Perhaps he hadn’t taken notice of you before —just regarded you as another patron— but now he certainly has.

He sees you once again talking to Cid directly, voice hushed and chin tipped low while you speak to each other. Your expression is no more serious than what he’s seen before—it may suggest the conversation is entirely casual, but Tech knows better than to think there’s no ulterior scheming if you’re talking to Cid of all people.

Hunter’s voice cuts through like a knife, pulling him out of his previous trance.

“You’re looking at the civvy again,” he says.

Tech shakes his head adamantly, immediately.

“I’m not,” that’s how he replies to Hunter, but both of them know he’s incorrect.

“Hm,” Hunter mumbles, unbothered by Tech’s dishonesty. Instead, he moves on to the next topic. “Why don’t you talk to her?”

Tech tilts his head.

“She’s friendly,” Hunter then adds. “And I’m sure she won’t mind if you struck up a conversation.”

The idea of Tech walking up to an acquaintance, practically a stranger to drum up unnecessary conversation doesn’t sit right with him. It’s entirely unlikely. Not a viable outcome in the probability and spontaneity of the turmoil that is the galaxy.

“I’m sure she’d rather have a conversation with someone other than me. Someone as lively,” Tech says, attempting to keep an unaffected expression on his face. “Perhaps Wrecker, or Omega.”

Hunter purses his lips. And then he shrugs, which perplexes Tech.

“She talks to me and Echo just fine.”

Wrecker butts in, a level of energy above the rest as usual, and encourages him,

“Yeah! Make some friends, Tech!”

and his stomach twists, partly offended at the implication of their words, and partly discomforted by being pushed out of his comfort box out of his autonomy. Tech says something he truly feels, albeit cold, but he feels it's the only words that keep him safe and sane in his zone of stark,

“Who said I want to make friends?”

Just then, Hunter perks up, eyes darting away from Tech and looking behind him. Tech then turns before looking back again; he’s unsure why he wants to appear so casual–perhaps it’s you, though.

“Hello boys,” You greet them all with a little wave as you lean your body on the booth’s table, looking at everyone; Hunter, who waves and smiles small and quickly; Echo, who appears relieved by the intervention; Wrecker, prepared to say hello in a booming, friendly voice; and Tech, who tilts his chin down so he can’t see that face he worries might be celestial.

“Well hello to you too!” Wrecker smiles for you big and wide, attempting to make up for the lackluster welcome you receive from the rest of the batch. You smile wider, and Tech tightens his lips. The same feeling rushes down his spine, settling in his stomach. Twice now. Twice in your proximity. If it happens thrice, Tech won’t be able to dismiss it as a coincidence.

“Are you looking for Omega?” Hunter asks, debating your reason for approaching them. “She’s asleep already. I understand you wanted to teach her a bit of Dejarik strategy…”

You shake your head loosely with a shrug.

“Not necessarily, no,” you speak like you’re bargaining, Tech notices; as though you’re trying to sell a product, or charm your buyer. “I’d like to say hello to all of you.”

Echo smiles softly. “It’s nice to see you around,” he says. Perhaps you’ve been in closer proximity to the rest of his brothers more than Tech thought.

“Yeah, very nice!” Wrecker says, still so enthusiastic Tech almost cringes.

You shift your weight on the table, one hand leaning over to keep yourself upright while the rest of your body casually careens in their general direction.

“So…” She begins, smile turning coy and probing. “What brings a band of brothers like you–”

Before she can finish her sentence, a scaly hand clasps her shoulder, and she turns. Cid looms over the booth now, seemingly unamused by the interaction.

Though, when does Cid ever look amused? Tech things.

“Hey, bandana, goggles, the other ones,” she snubs. Tech scrunches his face. Cid gestures toward her backroom office. “Over here. I got something to discuss with you.”

She leaves it at that, and you slowly turn your gaze back to the boys, slightly squeamish. As though you shouldn’t be there. Wordlessly, you leave, and as the boys shuffle out of the booth, Tech can’t help but turn and catch a fleeting glimpse of you before disappearing into the room.

Business. That’s all Cid discusses with them. In her defense, they never exchange any other words besides those that regard business, but it still causes Tech to frown. Her interruption could’ve been saved until after you’d finished speaking; instead, Cid clapped your shoulder and dismissed you, your face painted with an expression of valid disregard, and Tech didn’t like it at all.

When the batch finishes discussing their next job with Cid, he exits the back room and is surprised to see you are still there. Instead of talking to anyone, you’re shuffling through a few credits at the bar table, nursing what looks like water. Who drinks liquor during the day, anyway?

The batch each returns to menial tasks; Hunter and Echo go to check on the ship and Omega, Wrecker finds some random patrons to play a round of darts with, and Tech’s feet find an indirect path back to you.

“Your question,” he begins monotonously. It seems his whole body moves at its own autonomy rather than his command because suddenly Tech can’t seem to recall how he got into this position.

You turn, surprise etched into your expression.

“Excuse me?”

Tech quickly debates his limited options. Now that you’ve acknowledged him, there’s simply no way he could back out now. At least, that’s what seems courteous.

“C-Cid interrupted you. So you never got to ask your question.”

Your mouth falls into a little ‘o’ shape, so delicately parted Tech’s entire expression softens ever so slightly.

“Thanks for asking,” you answer with genuine care for his consideration. “…I was just going to ask what brings a group like you to this parlor so often.” Tech hums, encouraging to continue even when you bite your lip. “We’re not exactly very accommodating for long, and…” He picks up on your choice of the words, we’re. “…unless Cid is using you as her lapdogs—“

A momentary pause in your sentence leaves enough space for Tech, now incredibly curious, to interrupt.

“Lapdogs?”

There’s no statistical way to predict how you’ll respond. But Tech considers his past experiences with you, how you’ve replied and reacted to his abrupt words before, and he awaits a response as peppy as you usually are. Instead, it’s radio silence. Deafening, discomforting, haunting silence.

Your gaze drifts down, tongue swiping over your bottom lip momentarily as you ponder your next words. Finally, you gaze up again, and Tech’s breath returns.

“Can you forget I said that?” Is your choice of words. It’s a strange choice, perhaps, at least in Tech’s eyes, but he lets it pass.

Only because… Only because…

“I’ll try,” Tech says.

You smile, warm and friendly and alien.

“I’ll see you, Tech.”

He does continue to see you around the parlor – quite often, actually. More often than not, you’re playing Dejarik with another patron. He’s unconsciously begun to catalog your different smiles– when you play, your smile is always smug, bordering on something nefarious. Tech has also noticed the same expression on your opponent's face every time you finish a game; the same disgruntled, disappointed look on them when they push themselves off the chair and grovel, leaving with fewer credits than they had entered with.

You seem to win so frequently and collect large wads of money, he begins to wonder if you make more money in your games of Dejarik than at your stall. However, he fears that he’ll look like a vermin invading in your business if he tries to calculate your earnings so adamantly.

Rather, you probe him yourself.

Tech is sitting on a barstool, absentmindedly reading another research paper he scoured the holonet for. This time, he’s reading up on the phenomenon of divine intervention. Near-death experiences when someone‘s pulled out of the water right before they take their last breath, that precipice of halting existence in the material plane before you’re brought right back in, by somethingmightier than you.

He’s grazed death many times before. It’s simply a part of existence as a Jango Fett clone. He deals with the risk of death every day he steps on a new planet, even after the war has ended. Nothing has ever felt like a pull out of the water before drowning, a gust of air rushing through his lungs mere seconds before he’s taken out of this world.

Though, perhaps divine intervention doesn’t just apply to moments right before death. As he reaches the counter-rebuttal section of the paper, your voice folds and floats over his skin like silk.

“What are you researching this time?”

Tech looks up from his datapad immediately, tucking it away, as he knows if he keeps it open, his instinct will want to retract back to his comfort zone.

“The phenomenon of divine intervention,” he says, feeling no need to lie. “Or rather, stories of those who believe they’ve experienced such a thing.”

You nod, keenly interested; he’s not used to someone caring to listen to any of his ramblings. You then place your elbows on the Dejarik table, almost teasing-like, leaning toward him in invitation.

“So you’re not a believer?” Your words aren’t insulted; they still wade in pools of curiosity, and those damn eyes trap him in again.

Again, he feels no need to lie to you. Not about this.

“In divine interventions? No,” Tech shakes his head.

You huff.

“That’s a shame,” you jest, opening your arms even further, just begging for him to crawl his way further. “I’d make a joke about how I’m a divine intervention right now.”

Tech raises an eyebrow. Your smile widens.

“I’m intervening oh-so-divinely to invite you for a game,” you gesture to the Dejarik board with a mousy scrunch of your nose.

You must be in his head. That’s it. There’s no other explanation for how you burrow into it so fast, know every thought that’s been plaguing his busied mind ever since he first properly spoke with you. Perhaps he should’ve, would’ve denied you a game another time, but in an instant Tech is pulling out the chair across from you and taking a seat to play.

Only because… Only because…

Why don’t I know?

You smile again, passing him a die to roll and turning on the holograms, each piece appearing unselected.

“Let’s play,” you say.

Tech nods stiffly.

“Let’s.”

Through the years, Tech has taken a liking to Dejarik. He enjoys the mathematical element, the perfect balance of strategy and luck that can’t be faked or excused by some higher entity. Though as much as he enjoys playing, he enjoys watching others play more. Trying to pick apart their thought process as they actively spell out their strategy onto the board, whether they emerge victorious or indebted. And even though he’s playing, he’s never been more fascinated watching another.

Each of you takes turns rolling a die and picking your pieces. You don’t hesitate with your choices, divisive when you place them on your side and Tech admires the confidence on your face. He isn’t

“Do you want to bet some credits?” Tech asks, assuming you’d want a gain out of a game. He’d never seen you play Dejarik for fun before.

You push your eyebrows together, a tiny grin gracing your face.

“I’m not trying to get money out of you. I’m playing just for fun.”

Tech shrugs.

“Just a few. Just for fun,” he shuffles through his pockets and places two credits on the table, raising an invitational eyebrow. The exhilaration that washes over your entire face is incredibly worth it.

The game begins after that. Not before you bet three credits yourself, of course.

Just as he expects from astute (neurotic) observation, you are mostly silent when you play, save for little quips as you’re deciding your next move. You move your pieces with precision, and instead of reaching him first, you let Tech’s pieces meet you in the middle.

“Fancy seeing you here,” you tease when his Houjix meets your Monnok. Tech bites the inside of his cheek, trying to avoid smiling like a fool.

Two full turns pass after that. Tech attempts to roll back with a witty remark, but he worries it comes out swell-headed. After all, he doesn’t want you put off of him entirely. Maybe just a little. Just so he isn’t irreligiously blessed with you far too much.

Besides that, Tech’s put you in an unfavorable position. One he hadn’t expected. He’s seen you play; you move and strategize with the grace and expertise of any master swindler. But here you are, your Monnok pinned between his Ghhhk and K’lor’slug. There’s little chance you’ll be able to defend; with a power piece like Monnok against a flanked defense, he’s

“You seem to have me cornered, Tech,” you say casually, unbothered. He frowns, puzzled.

“I do.”

“Well?” You lean back, hands neatly folded on your lap, ambivalent to your defeat. Waiting for his next move.

Tech attacks your piece. It’s killed with no buffer. When his eyes return to your gaze, he doesn’t expect you to remain so nonchalant about the loss. But you’re tipping your chin down in respect and pushing the credits to his side.

“Good game,” you say. “`Really got me there.”

Tech’s frown deepens, confused by your impartial feelings.

“You were winning up until that last turn,” he says, thinking out loud for a moment. “The only thing that got me back up was that counter-kill.”

You shrug.

“Beginner’s luck?” You bargain, but Tech doesn’t like that answer. Luck is plentifully part of the universe, but it’s far too abstract and all-encompassing to play a role in one Dejarik game. One dice roll.

Instead, Tech just returns the shrug. Perhaps some things don’t have to be over-analyzed, despite the discomfort it gives him to leave it at that.

You look at him with those unholy-holy eyes of yours again, and Tech tenses his jaw.

“Another game?”

Tech doesn’t answer verbally but rather picks up a die and begins to shake. You smile.

The air between the two of you doesn’t change, the same quips and expressions exchanged– Wrecker even notices and becomes your one-man crowd– but this time, Tech is humiliated. Immediately, he loses his Attack and Mobility pieces, realizing his flaw is his flow of movement on the board far too late in the game. He can’t save his pieces before you’ve killed all of them, three of your four remaining triumphant on the board.

His mind does it again. Contradicts his previous belief. Luck is the first thought that crosses his mind when he recalls the last two games. Deliberate luck. Something incomprehensible to those on his plane to understand intentionally changing the course. Something entirely false, entirely juxtaposing everything Tech knows to be true.

You’re then bringing the five credits over to your side, shuffling them around in your palm momentarily with a smile.

“Look at that. I’m rich,” you joke. Wrecker howls out a laugh, but your eyes are only focused on Tech when he returns you the softest grin.

You’ve played him. It’s a classic little hustle. But he knows that. You know that. You know that he knows that.

His first win isn’t beginner’s luck, and your totalitarian victory isn’t just the luck of the draw. It’s clear on your face.

Perhaps you’re not much of a believer in fate either.

Tech allows the moment to simmer. In the back of his mind, he’s still anxious to approach you on his own with seemingly no reason other than just wanting to. It doesn’t feel right to him. Far too out of his nature to do spontaneously.

He only allows himself to indulge in a conversation once the air has settled, and only if you initiate the conversation first.

You do. Well, technically. You wave him over to your stall, and he greets you with exactly what’s been going on in his mind.

“You flank with your offensive piece and reinforce with your defensive piece.”

You blink at him, then blink again, smile slowly turning more dumbly awestruck in your surprise. Nice work, Tech.

“I-It throws people off,” he finishes his thought. Can’t hurt to finish the blow, can it?

Your grin is all teeth and cheek, the crinkles in the corners of your eyes clear as day. Tech isn’t sure what feeling rushes through him when he notices it, but it certainly is pleasant.

“Oh?” That’s all you say. All you give Tech to work with.

He licks his lips with no aim.

“...Oh.”

You snicker, shoulders tensing, but your actions haven’t given a clear stay-away warning. He’s still in the clear.

“You open with your movement piece,” he recalls how you played last night, and the countless other times he’s watched you match against others. “In the first game, you moved your Molator twice, and in the second, you moved the K’lor’slug only once–” You nod in agreement, which gives Tech the green light to continue rambling. “–But you didn’t break the inner circle in the first turn for either game. You wait for your opponent to move inward before you break in.”

You shrug, still grinning all wide, and that rush of fate overtakes him again. This time, he doesn’t stuff it down with an adamant rejection but rather ignores it with little regard instead.

Only because… Only because…

“Can’t argue with that,” you say. “I skirt.”

“Some would say you’re attempting a classic round-table defense tactic. But I think you’re just a strategic attacker.”

“All attackers have to be strategic.”

“Sure. But you attack as though the game lasts twenty rounds. You attack for a long-run victory. One that takes multiple games to enact.” Tech gazes away, feeling himself getting caught up in his words again, pushing up the bridge of his goggles. “It’s– It’s a playing style most people don’t expect.”

Finally, Tech gets the common sense to stop explaining to you your own strategy and clears his throat, fingers locking in and out as he lays out his next words.

“...Or, at least I think. From what I observed.”

You huff, exasperated; or maybe amused.

“You observed correctly,” you say, and Tech’s shoulders heave oh-so-subtly as he sighs in relief.

“I’ve played plenty of Dejarik before. And watched others play,” he replies as smoothly as possible.

With a hum, you tilt your head, still so enraptured in the conversation. He wonders for a split second over what enchanted you. It’s uncharacteristic… yes.

“Is that how Omega got so good?” You then ask.

Tech considers your words, his half-shrug turning into a hand gesture.

“Not exactly,” he says. “She has a knack for those sorts of games on her own. But–but that’s not the point I was trying to make.”

Your eyebrows perk up.

“Well then, please continue, Tech.”

Oh, does he love the sound of his name on your lips. It’s far too–not perfect, no–it’s far too pretty to be wrapping around something, someoneso statically unmatched for you.

“I’ve read plenty on Dejarik tactics, variants, openers… you don’t play in a way that shows you know them. That you’ve ever read them. That the idea of tactic and strategy in Dejarik even exists .”

You tilt your head, urging him to continue. You have that same look of fierce curiosity in your eyes that Tech is beginning to adore.

“You might play those tactics and moves, but it’s not on purpose. It’s by chance. Because, of course, where do those strategies come from? Those who play first.” Tech gestures toward your figure again. “You play like you’re the first to ever do it. Like you made Dejarik yourself. Like the game is yours .”

For a split second, Tech seriously considers that he may have gone too far. But your contemplative face tells you otherwise. You’re still genuinely considering what he has to say.

You let out one more disbelieving breath, head dipping down with a bashful shake of your head.

“Well, I’m flattered you think of me that way,” you reply, biting your lip. “Though I’m afraid that’s too much to deduce from two games… don’t you think?”

“I’ve seen you play,” he says right after you finish. But it’s not long before he regrets it. He watches you tilt your head and he takes a deep breath. “...I, observed.”

You nod along, but Tech worries that you don’t believe him. But he wouldn’t believe him either.

“You’re clever,” Tech adds just to see that smile again. You give it to him, graciously.

“No one’s used that word to describe me,” you shrug. “After I beat someone, I usually get the typical pantheon of shallow insults.” Tech stares at you puzzled, and you shift your weight to ease the tension in your shoulders.

“‘Thieving bitch,’ ‘Conniving whore,’” You list examples with a mild expression of annoyance, “Sometimes just a simple ‘Fucker’ before they’re lunging over the table.”

Tech’s eyebrows push together.

“ Lunging? ”

You laugh teasingly, but not unkindly.

“Sometimes sore losers get aggressive,” you explain. “But Cid never lets that slide.”

“Are you in close contact with her?” Is his next question, though he’s unsure how you might respond. With a purse of your lips, you lean back, increasing the distance between the two of you.

“I guess you could say that,” is your response. “It’s… complicated.”

Tech feels it. How soft and undisturbed he feels in your presence. He’s suddenly no longer having a natural urge to overthink your words and conjure up the perfect response (even if it doesn’t prove successful). He can leave what you say just as it is.

Only because…

Only because what? What makes this special? What makes you special? He’d never once questioned his stance of faith. And he won’t let something like this change it either. So how can you even exist, live, and grace his world so effortlessly as though you know nothing of the way you disrupt his being?

It’s discomforting. It’s enticing. It’s foreign.

“That’s fair, I suppose,” he says. “I think I’d respond the same if you asked me that question.”

You grin, gentler than he’s ever seen it, and Tech is left to seriously debate the existence of material contradictions.

Without your own volition, you continue to occupy Tech’s mind, both in his dreams and in his wake. On missions when he isn’t forced to zero in on a threat, he’s found himself endlessly searching holonet scholars for something to justify his deviation from the objective truth.

There has to be a reason, Tech is sure of it. Why else would he look at you, someone as grounded as any other being, and feel something so divine? Something that feels almost destined?

He recalls certain stories of grand romance he’s read before. It’s like I knew you in a past life… Something drew me to you the moment we met… I looked and I just knew. It’s not an entirely inhuman idea, yet it’s so alien to Tech’s nature he can’t understand how anyone could experience that.

Faith is not something instinctual for Tech. He’s never needed it like others have. His moral compass exists without the need of a rulebook, or a punishment if he strays away from what’s correct.

Yet every time he sees you, his mind screams and grasps at the ideas like a lifeline. The only thing keeping him afloat when he’s in your presence.

Despite that, he does his best to keep these conflicting feelings at bay. You invite him for more games of Dejarik, though infrequent, and Tech eagerly anticipates them. Wrecker has taken a liking to watching the two of you play as well. When the two of you probe the answer as to why, Wrecker just shrugs and says “You two play well together.”

Tech would rather think of you as a scientific anomaly, he realizes; so he thinks of you as a magnet to his opposite, pulling him closer the moment your field meets his. The second you wave him over from your stall, he’s walking over with the smallest of content grins. He’s glued to your every minuscule movement, every twitch and glance. When you lean in, so does he. When you pull back, he follows the trail you leave.

Even through the discomfort, he allows himself to be pulled by your magnet.

Only because… Only because…

“Tech?”

Hunter’s voice interrupts Tech’s mental meandering. Tech looks over at him, pushing the bridge of his goggles up.

“Yes, Hunter? Is there something you need me for?”

Hunter squints, looking past Tech. He turns to look at where Hunter has fixed his gaze, which is, inconveniently, you. Tech turns back, and Hunter grins.

“Nothing, but I did want to ask about your little staring problem,” he says. When Tech stills, Hunter just purses his lips.

“Do you like her?” Tech huffs softly, unsure of how to answer. What a question that is.

“Of course,” he answers, still unsure of what's appropriate. “I have no reason to dislike her. She is a perfectly adequate person.” Before he can begin to overthink his choice of words, Hunter shakes his head and says,

“That’s not what I meant.”

Tech only has a slim idea of what he’s implying, and has no plan of assuming.

“I don’t understand.”

“Tech,” Hunter catches his gaze with a firm tone, and suddenly he can’t look away. “Do you have feelings for her?”

Again, what a question. Feelings are not Tech’s strong suit. He knows this. Hunter knows this. Being cornered with such a question isn’t going to receive the results Hunter wants.

“...What is the exact definition of feelings?” Tech rationalizes before trying to give a real answer. “Because I’m not sure my reflections regarding her match what you’re accusing me of.”

Hunter frowns. Tech half expects him to keep probing, but instead, he leaves it at that with a lazy shrug.

“Sure,” Hunter says, looking over at you again. “Are you going to speak to her, at least? Instead of watching from afar?”

Tech shakes his head adamantly. He isn’t exactly embarrassed to admit to his brother that he has no wish to initiate a conversation.

“Only if she approaches me first,” he says. “I don’t seem the need to otherwise.”

Hunter still has that same look on his face; puzzled with a hint of disappointment.

“If you say so. Just… Don’t limit yourself.”

Leave my comfort zone?

“I’m going to take Omega back to the ship for an early night,” he continues, patting Tech’s shoulder pad and passing by him. “Keep your comm on, just in case.”

Tech nods, but his gaze is far directed your way.

“Sounds good.”

For the most part, Tech finds himself sticking to that same mindset; he won’t approach you first. Unless there was a feeling festering in his chest, that same destined rush that he devoutly will deny, there’s no reason.

The night grows darker, the parlor becomes more crowded with inebriated patrons having their hand at games of Dejarik. He sits on a barstool, waiting for you to leave your booth and challenge an oblivious customer, but that time never comes. Your silhouette looms in the corner, dancing in the dim light, pulling at something deep within him. Each time he tries to focus on something else, gaze away, his eyes keep finding their way back to where you sit alone, an empty glass in front of you, your fingers splayed on the table tracing invisible patterns; lost in thought.

Tech’s mind neurotically considers his options. Could he even approach you without feeling like he was giving into what he’s been rejecting so fixedly? What would he even say? How would you react? Surely, you’re observant enough to realize how he never chooses to come to you first.

The uncertainty gnaws at him, twisting his stomach, but the pull towards you is stronger. He favors you as a magnet once again and takes a deep breath to steel himself before pushing off his seat and walking toward you.

You don’t even seem to realize he’s walking toward you, eyes still glossed over with a look of apathy. Tech clears his throat awkwardly before speaking, his voice quiet, but still loud enough to grab your attention.

“Hello,” is his opener.

Real smooth.

You blink in surprise, gazing up at him with the gentlest part of your lips. He gets the perfect view of your face, and that familiarity he once saw the first time he spoke to you return. Like an old friend, a smell that transports him to somewhere safe and warm. Somewhere he belongs and always will belong, since the beginning.

“Oh,” you speak, a soft breeze settling over his exposed skin when you talk to him. “Hi.” You gesture to the booth seat across from him, and Tech sits graciously, tipping his chin down courteously.

“How are you?” He then asks; it is the only thing he could decide upon that was the least risky.

Your expression tenses, eyebrows pushing together with a scrunch of your nose.

“I’m…” you begin, as though bargaining with yourself. “...I’m not doing great if I’m being honest. Thanks for asking.”

Tech takes a deep breath, chest heaving at your last sentence. Are you… Are you being sarcastic? Do you not appreciate his butting in? Should he–

“If you’d like me to leave, I can do so,” Tech thinks out loud, attempting to backtrack.

Your eyes widen and you reach over, preventing him from sitting up and leaving you.

“No, please, sit down with me.” Your expression is soft again, gentle with a lack of spirit that frankly makes Tech slightly uneasy. But he just nods and sits his bottom down again, clearing his throat awkwardly.

He lets the silence sit. It feels like the right thing to do. But then you start speaking again.

“Tech,” you say, blinking so rapidly he almost assumes you’re holding back tears, “you’re a scholar, right?”

Tech hums, considering your question. He’d almost forgotten what he’d first told you during your first-ever real conversation.

“Perhaps one could call me that,” he says, “though I’ve never published any research or thesis of my own…” he watches your expression intently, and when your lips curl up, his chest seizes again. He backtracks again. “...Unless you’re teasing me.”

You shake your head rapidly.

“Oh, I’m not,” you say. “I’m sorry if it came out that way.”

Tech holds back a frown. He’s always found conversations to be a puzzle, always methodically putting it together like a typical person, but always missing the final piece to match everyone else. Something missing. Something extra. Something different. He’s never been good at this. Conversations with you are far from an exception.

He settles to clarify, “I didn’t interpret it as that,” with a softened expression. “Other’s might, perhaps. But not me.”

You nod, rerouting back to your initial question.

“So you’ve read and researched plenty of topics, right?”

Tech hums.

“I have.”

You breathe shallowly but still deep enough to push out your next words.

“Do you think you can help me with a question that’s been on my mind lately?”

Tech blinks. Now, that’s a heavy request. But he’s looking at a face borderline paradoxical, a loose bolt in the machine; what’s the point of rejecting such beauty?

“I can try.”

You smile softly, but the content doesn’t reach your eyes. Tech begins to truly wonder what’s been bothering you. With a much deeper breath, you lean your elbows on the table and begin.

“All my life, I’ve been doing what I need to do. To survive. To get by.”

Tech sits there, embarrassingly dumbfounded at what to say besides giving a sympathetic response. You hold in such a high regard– he doesn’t want to lose that.

“Many people do.”

You fool.

But you don’t seem to notice.

“Sure, but it’s mixed in with actual desires. Things they want to do,” you continue, rationalizing your next statement. “But with me… it feels like all I ever do is what I need to do to survive. I can’t even think of a time when I’ve done something I truly wanted.”

This time, Tech takes his time to consider your words.

“That’s… Not an uncommon experience.”

You tilt your head, considering his words for yourself.

“Really?”

“Sure,” he pushes up the bridge of his goggles before he keeps talking, recalling any relevant example he could use. If he’d like to leave this conversation in any way, it’s with you feeling comforted. “I know that my brothers and I have focused most of our lives on simple survival rather than a true passion. And sometimes, doing what you want can only come after working for a space to survive.”

You nod in understanding and what he hopes is agreement, taking a few moments yourself before replying.

“That’s not incorrect,” you say before turning it around, “but I think my problem is that I’ve worked so hard to survive that I’ve forgotten what it’s like to fulfill my wants. Not out of selfishness, but just out of… scarcity, perhaps? Of free time. Of liberty. Between finding places to stay, running the stall, making money in Dejarik, ensuring my protection–”

That’s what intrigues Tech. He doesn’t want to interrupt, but he’s doing it before he even realizes it.

“Protection?”

You nod, rather than go silent like the last time he’d interrupted you so starkly to probe at your word choice.

“From Cid. That’s how we know each other,” you explain. “When I first came to Ord Mantell, it was at a peak of crime and murder. Cid saw me playing Dejarik and making good credit, and we struck up a deal; she provided me protection using her connections through the city, and I gave her 25% of my earnings.”

Tech nods along, processing your words with an attending gaze.

“That’s…” he begins, aimlessly, when in reality he should’ve been thinking more properly because then you’re interrupting him with a tinge of insecurity in your voice.

“Dumb?” you ask.

Tech shakes his head automatically.

“I don’t have the right to say that,” he says, and you exhale softly in relief. Though he isn’t sure why you’re concerned about what he might think. “…If anything, I see it as resourcefulness. As you said, you were just trying to survive.”

Then you’re grinning again, a wash of sweet calm on your face.

“I’m glad you think that.”

Then silence fills the room again. Tech seriously considers his next words. He could retract and simmer his words down, or he could take a risk. But it’s been established with you clearly; Tech won’t take many risks.

So he’s unsure what compels him.

“What’s something you’d like to do?” He asks. You perk up with a raised chin. Tech tenses. “Perhaps–perhaps we could try and complete it together, right now.”

Your eyebrows raise, and Tech can see your thinking, a slow smile beginning to spread across your face.

“If we’re talking right now…” You say coyly. “...I’d love to get out of this parlor.” A polite, yet genuine laugh erupts out of Tech, and you laugh along with him, body leaning down with the heaving of your shoulders when you giggle.

Tech regains his composure quickly, readjusting his goggles.

“Then let’s leave.”

You raise your eyebrows. Tech nods again.

“Where?” you ask. Then he purses his lips.

“I’m not sure.”

You sigh, but not in annoyance. Unexpectedly, you rise from your seat, gesturing for him to do so as well.

“C’mon,” you grin, “I know a place.”

With a leading stride, you tug on the fabric covering his wrist and swerve the two of you through the parlor. Tech half expects Cid to interrupt the two of you again, but he takes a moment to glance back and observe, relieved to see her nowhere in sight. For once, he actually can be alone with you, speak to you without such an overstimulating environment, and without the risk of being interrupted.

Once you exit the parlor, you let go of his fabric. Tech forlornly tucks it into a pocket and continues to follow you. Through backways of backways, up a winding staircase, through a hallway, then up another ladder leads him to your destination; atop a tall living complex overlooking the rest of the buildings down to the bustling life below. If Tech was a more spiritual man, he could swear he’d be able to reach up and hoist a star in the sky onto the next planet; they seemed to shine so close. He’s caught up in the view for a few moments before he remembers what he is here for; your company. But to his relief, you’re lost in the expanse as well.

“It’s quiet up here,” he comments, taking a step closer to you.

You nod, still not taking your gaze off the sky. Tech is pulled in again, unable to take his eyes off of you.

“As far as I know, this place is more isolated,” you say. “As you saw from the climb up, it’s kind of hard to spot unless you live in the living complex.”

“I see.”

Tech’s immediate urge is to ask if you live in this living complex, but the worry that he’s overstepping overtakes him. He settles on a different question.

“Do you come here often?” He asks, glancing up at the sky, but after long he’s compelled to look back at you.

You shrug, lament, as though disappointed in yourself.

“Not as much as I wish,” you sigh. “Like I said, I rarely do what I want.”

Then, you’re walking towards the end of the building, taking a seat on the edge, legs dangling over. Tech watches you and then follows behind, taking a wary look over. You don’t seem concerned at all by the risk. So he sits beside you. He reasons with where he sits, worried about overstepping a boundary, but still sits close enough that if either of you were to scoot, your shoulders could graze. That feels reasonable to him.

“Have– have you always lived like this?” Tech stammers, folding his hands over his lap.

“Lived like what?” You ask, seemingly confused by his question. He can feel your eyes on him, but he resists his want to look back; eye contact in a situation such as this might break him completely.

“...Just to survive,” he clarifies for you. You mutter a soft ‘oh,’, looking away again, eyes glossy while you recall past events.

“...No. Not my whole life,” you say. He makes the mistake of looking up, because suddenly you’re looking back at him, lips parted in consideration. He thinks of the first time he properly spoke to you, the familiarity he found in your face; as though he’d seen it before in a past life, or perhaps this one; but the latter couldn’t be correct. Tech would have remembered a face such as yours if it’s struck him so now.

You continue, unaffected by Tech’s neurotic mentation.

“Back in Nalvage, where I grew up, I did what I wanted. Survival wasn’t something I was thinking about.” You pause to take a deep breath, shoulders heaving. “I just… lived. With the pretense of survival already there for me.”

Tech thinks over your words, getting hooked onto one in particular.

“Nalvage.”

“Yeah,” you turn and tilt your head. “You know it?”

Tech holds back a snarky response. It’s you, after all.

“Of course,” he mutters, voice raising as he continues. “My first ever mission was on there. My brothers and I saved and escorted refugees out of a village the Separatists had been seizing.”

You nod, though it's more of a slight dip of your chin.

“Yeah.”

“That was almost four years ago,” he recalls. The clone wars had truly felt like an eternity, Tech realizes, despite in a vacuum, it only lasting a tenth of a tenth of a second. Living through it, fighting in it, growing up under the guise of war and bloodshed changes anyone.

He looks back again, and you seem to be lost in thought. Your eyes are downset, lip swiping over your lips. Then you gaze up again, eyebrows pushed together.

“Do you know how long I’ve lived on Ord Mantell, Tech?” You ask. Unsure of where you were heading in this conversation, take just shakes his head, awaiting you to fill the gaps.

“Three and a half years.”

Tech purses his lips, trying to connect the dots in his head. A flush of deeply rooted history between you two festers, but he pushes it down as he attempts to rationalize. Additionally, he’d rather you fill in the gaps for yourself than let him assume possibly incorrectly.

“Three and a half years,” he repeats to himself under his breath. You catch it and smile softly, breathlessly. “And you’re from Nalvage?”

You nod wordlessly, then provide him the clarity he’d been waiting for.

“The village you helped evacuate was mine, Tech.”

Tech’s never been good at conversations. When he can’t find a missing piece, little people make the effort to help him fill it in. He’s left just a tack behind the rest, inept and foolish for even trying when it comes to easy for others. But you take the time to fill it in for him. And as he looks at you, it’s like he’s been waiting for this along. Waiting for someone like you. Or… just you.

Now you’re looking at him with that same expression of familiarity. Perhaps it’s been there all along, and Tech was too lost in his monologue to realize. But it’s so prominent he begins to feel guilt pounding in his heart. You knew this whole time, yet didn’t share. He must’ve made you uncomfortable. He must’ve hurt your feelings when it seemed he didn’t recognize him.

“I–you–I apologize–” He stammers through, fingers starting to tremble. He combats it by taking a cold grip on his jean-clad thighs.

“No, it’s okay,” you say. “I was younger then. I looked much more alive back then compared to now.” Your tone is joking, but the playfulness doesn’t reach your eyes. “And you were saving so many people. I’m not surprised you don’t remember me.”

“It’s not that,” Tech denies with a firm shake of his head. “I couldn’t recognize you until now, but… I thought I knew your face.”

You tilt your head, intrigued. He’s pulled into your magnetic field again, just another opposite for you to latch with.

“Is that right?” You ask.

Tech nods.

“The first time we ever spoke properly, at your stall I believe,” he adds a tone of slight recollection so he doesn’t appear as enraptured by your every move and interaction as he absolutely is. “You looked so familiar, yet… distant. I suppose I couldn’t put my finger on it. But now I know.”

“All those years ago,” you say. Tech nods, but he’s already deep in thought again, digging his mind for any memory he can scrounge up of you. Your complexion against the lush green of Nalvage, then later smoke. That same scrunch of your eyebrows, your eyes wide, intensely focused on the task at hand, your voice…

“We spoke back then,” he mutters. In the corner of his eye, you nod.

“We did.”

“I asked you to take some children off my hands while I took down a group of clankers.”

“Single-handedly,” you add, and Tech just shrugs. You grin. “You had the same voice, same eyes, same goggles of yours. Just more… youthful,I guess.”

Tech agrees with a shy nod, still struggling to process that any of this is truly happening. “You certainly look much older now.”

You huff, only one side of your mouth tilting up.

“Well, that makes sense,” you remark blankly. Tech bites his lip, realizing the ill-intent you might’ve interpreted.

“Wait,” he begins, “I’m sorry if that–”

You shake your head before he can even finish. Then, you scoot closer. As Tech predicted, now your shoulders graze against each other.

“No, Tech. I wasn’t offended,” you say, your soft gaze set on him with an intent he can’t exactly pinpoint yet. “Don’t worry. If I was I’d tell you.”

Tech pauses, truly at a loss for a proper response.

“So you remember me?” He asks.

“Of course I do,” You say. Tech musters up enough courage in himself to look into your eyes, the first proper time this entire conversation. He wants to look away, out of fear of the sky falling on him if he stares for too long, but you’re tugging him closer again. “You and your brothers saved my life. You helped me get out. I mean… you’re probably the only reason I’m still alive.”

Tech slumps softened at your words. He’s keenly aware of the little, yet impactful effect he’s had on many people through the galaxy. Yet being told it directly… it’s a different feeling entirely.

Yet, he still feels foolish. Firstly, for being unable to make the connection between the two of you. Secondly, for succumbing to the paradox you wrap him in.

“I should’ve realized we were connected in that way,” he finally utters.

A soft noise comes from the back of your throat as you consider his words.

“Fate?” You ask, a teasing smile on your face. Something depravedly hoarse is choked out of his chest. Just how do you know what holds him up without truly understanding the turmoil it’s given him?

Tech just shakes his head.

“I don’t believe in fate.”

You shrug it off without a bother, and Tech’s chest constricts watching you do it so effortlessly.

“Coincidence, then.”

Tech shakes his head.

“That’s not quite it,” he mumbles to himself, but it’s still loud enough that you pick up on it. Tech still has that nasty habit of going off on tangents no one cares to hear, and it rears it’s head again as he begins talking. “My entire philosophy is based on facts and logic, what can be proved. Fate can’t be proved.” However, you’re nodding along, seemingly unbothered that he’s gone off. “Coincidence is just a facet of existence. One could think it's two lives intertwined, but that implies fate already. Something higher above us, controlling everything. And there’s no way for me to feasibly prove it, so… how am I meant to justify such a phenomenon in my mind?”

“What phenomenon?” You ask.

Tech takes a deep breath, and sighs, swearing under his breath with a coarse voice. Is he really going to admit to something he can’t come to terms with in his own head? Come clean to his own vulnerability, his own contradiction, and hypocrisy to the prettiest person he’s seen in his whole life?

“Why I feel meeting you is fate, despite everything.”

It appears so.

You look at him, as though you’re just as lost. Tech wishes you looked at him any other way, even if it meant you didn’t care. But the confusion doesn’t help his psyche.

“I’m not sure,” you answer him truthfully. The weight of the unspoken words between the two of you hangs heavy. If Tech were a more spiritual man, he’d consider the palpable feeling of divine intervention that mingles in the atmosphere. Rather, he thinks it’s kinetic energy. Heavy gravity. Deep-rooted insecurity in the back of your minds. Nothing more.

Tech takes his time to search your face, eyes darting over your features as if trying to decipher a code written in the lines of your expression. His gaze lingers on your cheekbones, your jaw, the wrinkles your smile leaves, and your soft lips before they flicker back to meet your eyes – a silent plea for understanding passing between you.

As the seconds tick by, the world alongside him holds its breath, caught in the suspended moment between what is and what could be. If only Tech was different, someone else, perhaps, and he could remedy everything holding him back.

Finally, you break the silence.

“I’d be willing to find out with you,” you say, voice barely over a whisper, “What all of it means.”

Tech raises his eyebrow. Now that… isn’t an outcome he could’ve ever feasibly predicted. Though, he hadn’t been considering any proper options when the silence settled. For once, he isn’t overthinking, re-thinking, analyzing and predicting.

Tech is still in slight disbelief looking at you, so repeats your words.

“You’d like to figure out… together?”

You nod.

“I’d like that a lot,” you explain, hands folding over your lap. They’d been fidgeting absentmindedly at your sides before, not too dissimilar from how he does. “If you’d like that, as well.”

Tech blinks, still stunned. Finally, is he able to acknowledge it in his mind; your eyes are beautiful, and so is your face. Everything about you is divine. And it’ll forever be true, whether or not it aligns with all he’s known previously.

“Then we shall.”

Both can exist.

You smile warmly, cheeks lifting in a gentle caress of joy.

“I like the way you think, Tech,” you say.

Tech hums with a purse of his lips.

“Most people don’t understand the way I think,” he says, and it’s true. Not many make the effort to understand him, let alone try to meet in the middle. “Or care to be patient when it takes me some time to understand others.”

You shrug, far too modest to regard yourself as such a person.

“I can’t speak for you, or how you feel,” you say, looking down to the fall below you. Your words are quiet, yet only hushed to the point that if anyone were around you, only Tech could hear. “But I hope I do understand you. And that I’m patient enough.”

You’re plenty patient, he wants to say, but his voice lodges in his throat. Instead, he gazes down like you do, taking a good look over the edge of the building. There’s less of a view for him down there, and certainly more of a view if he looked up at the sky, but truly, he’d rather admire the one right beside him.

”Tech?” You then say. Tech looks up at you to find you already looking at him.

“Yes?”

You take a deep breath, hand reaching up to scratch the back of your head with a nervous tremble in your voice.

“There’s one more thing I can think of right now that I want, that I think you can help with.”

Tech tilts his head.

“What is it?”

With a final gulp, the words are spilling out of you in a sweet increment that disguises the weight of your request.

“Would you kiss me?”

Tech blinks before he freezes completely. He repeats your words in his head, once, twice, and a third time for extra measure. You just asked him to kiss you. Press your lips to him. Nothing more and nothing less. And all he can do is just… stand there. Dumbly. Idiotically.

Despite that, he’s able to move ever so slightly, pulled closer to you by that same feeling of a field of magnetic energy around him.

Tech's heart thunders in his chest, echoing the chaos that reigns in his mind. The request hangs between you two like a delicate thread, shimmering with unspoken longing and anticipation. He searches your eyes for any sign of doubt or hesitation but finds only unwavering trust and a glimmer of hope. Without a word, Tech closes the distance between you, one hand on your knee and the other placed over one of yours as he leans in to press his lips against yours, almost featherlight at the first caress. He’s never been one for romantic lyricism, but truly, time does seem to stand still as it witnesses the sight in front of it.

You kiss back, reverent yet not greedy, and Tech hums into your mouth with relief that he’s not doing a bad job. You’re fidgeting slightly under his touch, one of your hands reaching to hold onto something and landing on his clad thigh. You don’t squeeze, nor grip, just let it rest there, letting it act like an anchor while you’re guided through the kiss.

His heart pounds in his chest, yet he isn’t compelled to abort the new situation. Rather, he’d want to lunge in headfirst. You hum into his mouth just as insistently, lips soft and touch tender, and Tech wonders if there’s anything else

But then he’s pulling away, licking his lip with a nervous gaze.

“Was that adequate?” He asks, bottom lip trembling in worry.

But then you flash that heavenly smile, and his body sedates under your warm gaze.

“It was exceptional.”

There it is. That sensation of divine fate. And then the feeling that rushes right after. It isn’t fear, no– rather wandering curiosity. Here you sit, lips mere centimeters away from his, a paradox to everything he’s ever believed, yet he has no wish to push you away in favor of the facts and logic he’s relied on to keep him company. He’d rather pull you in closer, tighter, and make you the exception– not even an exception, but a new addition to his philosophy.

No, Tech doesn’t believe in fate. But you’re his contrary.

#the bad batch #tech x reader #tbb tech x reader #no joke #so many butterflies #like no seriously #i love this sm ugh #I laid on my bed #stared at the ceiling #and let the happy tears #trail down my face #this is so beautiful #GAAAHHHHHHH #🫶🫶🫶

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incxpti0n · 20 days ago

Text

FAWWKKK 😩🫶🫶😭😭😭

𝗱𝗶𝗳𝗳𝗲𝗿𝗲𝗻𝘁 𝗸𝗶𝗻𝗱 𝗼𝗳 𝗸𝗶𝘀𝘀

You realise nobody’s ever gone down on Clark before and aim to change that. (Or, Clark gets spoiled.) fem, 3k

established relationship, oral sex, messy gentle blowjob, a helping hand, mildly inexperienced clark

˚‧꒰ა ❤︎ ໒꒱‧˚

Clark strokes the back of your neck gently. He has nice fingers. He’s tall, so his arms are long and his hands are wide, but they’re pretty, too, with trimmed cuticles and light hairs at the knuckles. You squint with an eye smushed close in his chest, daytime TV the only discernible sound beyond Clark’s breathing. You time your inhales to his, then your exhales. Clark probably hears it, but he doesn’t say anything. His touching grows softer still.

You shift in his hold some and wrap an arm around his waist. Under your arm, you can feel the bite of his denim jeans. They’re a good fit. They… accentuate things.

You try to pay attention. Clark put the cooking channel on because he knows that’s what you like. He is earnestly sweet, and likely heartily bored.

You let your hand fall to his thigh. His skin is warm even through the denim, heat seeping through your hand and his thigh, back and forth.

If your face were to fall a little further down, if his hand slipped higher, guiding your head…

You slide your hand up to his hip and feel at it accordingly. “Clark?” you ask, voice croaky with disuse.

“Mm?”

“Can I ask you somethin’?”

“Sure, baby. Ask me something.”

You could fall asleep like this if heat weren’t stirring in your stomach at even the idea. Clark calling you ‘baby’ with his Friday-night-tired voice doesn’t hurt the fantasy. Your knees hot against the hardwood, braced, Clark’s stuttering pleasure.

He must find a tell in your expression, going quiet and smiley. “What?” he asks.

“You don’t have to answer.”

“I doubt I’ll mind. I’d tell you anything.”

You let your thumb stray toward the inside of his thigh. Feel the muscles there twitching. “I know I’m not your first girlfriend, but you told me you aren’t… totally experienced.”

“Right. What, do you want to know what I meant?” he asks.

You know Clark’s fucked girls. Has gone down on girls, just not many. Clark has fucked and gone down on you, and he did it beautifully, but he’s never let you blow him: you’ve never asked. And it isn’t because you don’t want to, only, Clark seems to have a want to do things in his order and you’d been happy to follow his lead this whole time.

“Has anyone ever gone down on you?” you ask quietly.

Clark goes slightly stiff, despite best intentions. “No,” he answers, scratching at the nape of your neck. “No one’s ever gone down on me.”

“You don’t want to try?”

“No one’s ever offered, and I guess I’ve never wanted to ask.”

“How come?” you ask, to gauge where he is with it.

“It’s different, to ask. Girls– women are expected to do certain things, but I’ve never expected anything of you. I still don’t. I figure if you want to, you’ll ask me, and if you don’t want to, it’ll never hurt anyone that you don’t.”

He’s so, so sweet. The thought of him being too shy or too unwilling to be that guy makes you want to do it more. There is an expectation in contemporary culture, but it doesn’t mean the act itself between you and Clark has to have that connotation.

“Can I blow you?”

Clark huffs a quiet laugh. “You don’t have to, honey.”

“Please?”

Clark can’t hide the heat of his skin under your hands, but he’s putting up a convincing front otherwise. His hair has fallen into his eyes again, sweet knocked curls kissing a pale forehead. “I don’t wanna hurt you,” he says.

“It doesn’t have to hurt anyone,” you say. You’ve both fallen into the quiet voices you use before you fuck, and he’s wearing an expression you’d find mirrored if you could see your own face, like he’s waiting for the next move, and then the next. “Okay? It’s not rough. Not unless you want it that way.”

“Uh– I–” And while you’d like to say there’s something in him turned on at the notion, you genuinely believe that Clark Kent is astonished at the idea of hurting you on purpose.

“You can tell me exactly what to do, or I could,” —you let your hand rest at his belt buckle— “do what I think you’d like. I can make you feel good, Clark.”

Clark’s eyes fill with knowing. You’re seducing him and he’s being pulled in, but going willingly doesn’t mean he’s unaware. “Is that what you want? You wanna make me feel good?” he asks, teasing and testing.

“Will you return the favour?”

“I can lay you out right here,” he promises simply. Which is why getting on your knees in front of him is easy work. The eagerness on his face turns to worry, “Hey, you don’t have to kneel down there, we can move.”

“It’s easier like this. Can see everything.”

“Oh.” His mouth tightens.

“Not so easy, being seen up close,” you murmur. “But I know you’re pretty, Clark.”

He’s hardening in his jeans. You readjust your position and use your weight to spread his thighs some, which helps to send a little more blood to his cock. You watch the fabric tighten a touch, watch Clark’s cheek dimple as he bites the inside of his mouth.

“You okay?” you ask.

“Hey,” he says, taking your elbows into his hands, “I’m fine, just trying to act like a gentleman.”

Straightforward when he isn’t telling the flimsiest lies ever. You rally at his eagerness, holding his arms in tandem, fingers spread over curved biceps.

“You really are something,” you mumble, letting your fingers trail down his arms.

“Should I– can I take my belt off?”

“Yeah, honey, open it up. Or I can?”

He nods tightly.

You slip the leather of his belt from the buckle, heat pooling in your abdomen at the clink it makes, and the quiet shush as you free it from a belt loop on either side. Your fingers are steady as you unbutton him, as you take the zipper between your fingers and pull it down. His legs widen to let you in, and you slide into the space as well as you can. His thighs are muscled, solid around you, squeezing you gently as you push his shirt up his stomach.

“Lay back a li’l,” you murmur.

Clark lays back.

The erotica of his open jeans and his trimmed, dark tummy hair makes your eyes warm. Standing, you could rap your knuckles against his waist and hear it like stone, but there’s a new softness to his stomach when he slouches.

You work your hand up to his bulge.

“Are we done?” Clark asks, tipping his head back with a groan. There’s redness climbing his neck. “Fuck, let’s– let me take you to bed.”

He’s mostly kidding. Careful, you slip your hand up his cock and back down again, marvelling the rigidity of it already, saliva pooling right behind your teeth. “Can I move these outta the way?”

“Honey, don’t,” he says. Which means Honey, don’t tease.

“Baby,” you say, he’d felt it coming, but he still drags his head up to stare at you like you’re a dream, “do you want this?”

“Yes,” he says.

“Can I kiss you?”

He’s not so pale in the face now. “Yeah,” he says, “please.”

You take the length of his cock into a tentative hand and lean downwards. Clark makes a noise before you’ve so much as breathed on it, the red head of his cock dry but so full of blood it looks bruised as your fingers close at the shaft. You look up at him, and you feel his weight in your hand, angling yourself down to touch his cock to your cheek. Then you turn your face to brush it over your lips, and any cool Clark held swiftly dissipates.

It’s slow to begin with, just kissing a mouthing at the length of his cock, feeling it twitch on your tongue, the heat of his blood in your palm as you drag it up and down. With enough kissing the skin is slick, and stripping it makes a sound that’s almost as lewd as his shudder when you take the head against your tongue for the first time. He smells so fucking good, he smells clean, and he smells like his skin and that sweat scent before it has time to sour, like he’s overheating under your hands, and he smells like precum as it begins to dribble from his slit. You press your nose to his cock, drinking up the gasp he makes, his thighs tensing under your touch. And it’s perfect, but he needs to relax.

“Baby, take your pants off,” you say, drawing back from his cock, spit wet on your bottom lip.

“What?”

“I can’t kiss all of you–”

“I don’t think–”

“Clark, I’m not going to break your trust, baby,” you say, giggling lightly, not gonna kiss anywhere he doesn’t what, “just– just get undressed. I can– I can be naked, too.”

He’s better convinced. Clark shimmies his jeans off, then his shirt when you laugh. You strip out of your shirt and reach back for your bra, but Clark clasps your wrist and insists that the jeans be the first thing to go.

“Idiot,” you murmur without heat, standing off your achy knees to unbutton your jeans. You roll them down your hips.

Clark’s once over isn’t half as salacious as it could be. “Beautiful,” he says.

“Thank you. You like the set?” you ask, turning to the side to show him your blue underwear. The panties have see-through lace squares at the sides and the bra’s slightly too tight at the band, but his gaze doesn’t linger anyplace. He finds your face.

His eyes flicker to your panties and then back again. “Beautiful,” he says again. “Come and sit up here with me, sweet girl. Can’t do that to your knees anymore.”

“It’s easier–”

“I can move, but you can’t sit down there anymore.”

You love when Clark uses his voice like that. It’s like it’s not him anymore. It’s not, totally. Threads of his other half wrap you up, have you crawling onto the couch next to him to set yourself down across his thighs, left arm and shoulder leaning on his legs, right arm guiding the head of his cock back into your mouth.

“Guide my head,” you murmur around him.

He gives his sharpest pant yet. “What?”

You grab his hand and press it to your neck. “Move me onto it.”

“I don’t want to choke you.”

“Then be gentle,” you advise softly. “I won’t let you choke me, babe, I just need help finding a rhythm.”

For some reason, that’s what gets him most. Clark dissolves back into the cushions with his hand grasping your neck, guiding your head as you take his cock into your mouth. It’s all hot and humid and his crotch is quickly wetted, spit under your nose and on your chin, eyes misty as he brushes the back of your mouth with his cock. You refuse to choke and scare him off, so whenever he guides you down too close, you pull away.

You hold the swell of him rather sweetly, rubbing a thumb over them each time you pull off his cock. He’s eager to fuck against your warm tongue, just a little too much, and you’re staring up at him with your mouth full and your nose wet when his eyes go silver.

“That’s perfect,” he says, his pelvis flexing, “just like that– just– you’re perfect, I swear–”

“Love you,” you say, sniffing the heat that’s gathered in your nose away gently.

“I love you.” He grabs your cheek in his hand. “I love you more, honey, you look insane like this, I didn’t realise…”

“This is why people like it so much.”

He adores the hint of shyness he hears in your voice, you can see it in his smile. You can almost see his teeth. But behind his smile there’s a need there, something anxious, so you lean your face against his hip and begin pumping his cock in a slick hand. “Let me make you cum,” you say softly.

Clark doesn’t answer. He gives you this besotted leap-of-faith kiss pressed to top of your head and nudges your mouth back toward his cock. “Kiss, please,” he begs.

You press tens of little kisses into his cock, letting precum bead up and drip onto the tip of your tongue.

“Clark,” you say, licking the salt from your lips as his breath starts to stagger, “you can cum, honey, do you want to? You can cum in my mouth.”

He shakes his head vehemently and covers your hand where it’d been pumping his cock. For a second, things are stopped, but then he drops his head back against the cushions and uses your hand under his to jerk his full length, sticky heat pressed into each finger, the pressure of each strip like a lick until he’s suddenly over the edge. He brings your hand up and tugs at the tip of his cock, cum dripping down your knuckles in fat rivulets.

You give an experimental pull.

“Fucking–” He moans your name like an afterthought. “Ah, baby, baby–”

“Sorry,” you say.

Clark catches his breath for so long you worry you’ve permanently maimed him. He’s still holding your sticky hand to his cock, letting it drip down his front and his hip the longer he leaves it alone, but who are you to judge? You force him to free your hand in search of a discarded t-shirt.

When you’ve managed to clean off your hands and Clark’s abdomen, he lifts his head from the couch to deliver a suspicious glare. “What the hell, babe?”

You startle. “What?”

“How’m I ever supposed to get off by myself now? I think you just ruined me forever.”

“I’m sure you’ll be okay. Idiot.”

He wipes his hands again and before he takes your face into both hands. “Kiss, okay?” he asks, pulling you forward.

“Mm,” you affirm against his lips. A kiss is sorely needed.

It’s an unashamed kiss that spans a half-second too long, like he’s forgotten you need to breathe to survive, but he says sorry with a chaste peck pressed to the very corner of your eye and one of his great groaning sighs as he gets an arm around you and manhandles you into his lap.

“Watch your dick, baby,” you mumble, ready for the quiet, dizzy afterparty that comes whenever you both fuck.

Clark just laughs under his breath. “It’ll be fine. Now let me see these,” he says, tipping you back enough to bring his free hand to your thighs. His thumb brushes the bump of your cunt. “I don’t think you can take these off. That’s, like, not even federal at that point. It’s international.”

“Crime to undress me?” you ask, not bothering to click into the conversation fully. Clark’s barely any better, all mumbly and sluggish as he brushes a hair off of your cheek.

“Mm, no, I don’t think so. That wouldn’t bode well for me, would it, beautiful?”

You wrap your arms around his neck to nuzzle under his jaw.

And Clark? He lets his head fall back again, sighing with the same dizzying pleasure he’d shown with his cock pressed to the roof of your mouth, as though he finds your affection just as heavenly.

“I owe you a debt,” he says to the ceiling.

You kiss his Adam’s apple, unhurried. As far as you’re concerned, he’s paid it forward greatly,

˚‧꒰ა ❤︎ ໒꒱‧˚

#clark kent x reader #clark kent #he’s such a gentleman #😩😩😩#🫶🫶🫶

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incxpti0n · 24 days ago

Text

😭🫶

Imagine Me And You

Pairing: Peter Parker x Reader

Synopsis: you and Peter have feelings for each other but can’t act on them since he’s your friends ex-boyfriend

Masterlist

“Is it weird to date your ex’s friend?” Peter typed into his laptop and waited for the results to come up. He was so engrossed in reading the responses that he didn’t hear you and Ned come up to the table he was sitting at.

“What are you looking at?” You asked as you plopped down beside him. Peter quickly slammed his laptop shut and hopped you hadn’t seen his screen.

“Oh, uh. I was just taking an “Am I Gay?” Quiz.” He lied with a causal shrug.

“Aw. Did you pass?” You asked with a teasing smile.

“Aced it.” Peter said with a click on his tongue.

“I knew you would. That’s my boy.” You laughed and patted his back.

“I love when you call me your boy.” Peter said jokingly.

“So no one cares that I’m here?” Ned asked when no one had acknowledged his presence yet.

“Do you? Then maybe I should call you that more often.“ You replied and leaned towards Peter. A blush painted Peter’s cheeks while Ned rolled his eyes to the ceiling.

“Maybe you should. But I’d like anything you called me.” Peter answered.

“Oh yeah? Even when I called you fart ass boy the entire bus ride home from DC?” You asked him.

“Okay. I didn’t love that.” He admitted, making you both laugh.

“You did it to yourself, mister.” You shrugged. “Should’ve waiting until you were alone to rip ass.”

“I thought it would be silent.”

“Aw. We all think things.” You said and teasingly patted his back again. You stared into each other’s eyes for a moment because no one wanted to be the first to look away.

“Can you guys stop?” Ned complained. “I feel like I’m watching straight American Heartstopper. And it sucks.”

You and Peter exchanged a look before scooting away from each other. There was always an awkwardness that followed when the unspoken feelings between you and Peter were spoken about. It’s not that neither of you wanted it enough to make the move. It was the boundary that neither of you knew if it was okay to cross.

Luckily, MJ came to the table and broke up the uncomfortable silence Ned had created. She sat down with a smile on her face but it slowly dropped when she sensed the tension among the three of you.

“Real weird vibe here guys.” MJ said out of the corner of her mouth.

“Sorry. That was my fault.” Ned said with a raise of his hand.

“Usually is.” MJ shrugged. “Anyway, a friend of mine is having an art show this Friday and they need more bodies in the room. Would you guys want to come?”

“Sure. I’ll go.” You told her.

“We’ll come. As long as there is some kind of greasy food or ice cream happening after.” Ned answered for him and Peter.

“Cool. I’ll tell her the five of us are coming.” MJ said as she pulled out her phone to text her friend.

“Five?” Peter asked.

“Oh, yeah. I forgot to mention that I invited Liz. Sorry, Peter.” MJ replied, making everyone look at Peter. The only one Peter cared to look back at was you. His face flushed an embarrassed pink as he shrugged his shoulders.

“I have no problem with it.” He said. “We’re cool now. And we’re all friends. It’s fine that she’s invited.”

“Yeah, but we haven’t hung out as a fivesome since you guys broke up.” Ned pointed out. “This would be the first.”

“Don’t say fivesome.” MJ said warningly.

“The breakup was almost a year ago.” Peter shrugged. “I’m sure it will be fine if she comes.”

“Okay. Five of us it is then. No one better bail on me this time. I don’t want a repeat of that time everyone ditched and I had to see Lego Batman by myself with Ned.”

“I haven’t cried that hard in a movie theater before I saw it and I haven’t cried that hard since.” Ned shook his head as he blew out a breath.

You were hardly listening as you stared off into the distance, the reminder of the reason you and Peter couldn’t be together causing you to check out of the conversation. Peter looked over at you and tried to catch your eye but failed. It twisted your stomach in knots every time you thought about what having feelings for Peter would do to your friendship with Liz. As much as you liked him, you could never betray her. So instead, you pushed it down and didn’t dare to meet his eye.

On Friday night, you and Peter stood outside the art studio, both on the phone. You were anxiously waiting for someone else to show up so you didn’t have to be alone with him any longer.

“You’re not coming?” You asked in disbelief.

“I know. I hate to miss the show.” MJ groaned. “But I’m having an allergic reaction.”

“You are? From what?”

“Not sure.” MJ said quietly, making you roll your eyes to the sky.

“You got that damn crab Rangoon from that place on the corner again, didn’t you?” You asked angrily.

“I cannot resist it. I am only human.”

“A human with a shellfish allergy.” You reminded her.

“Those are optional.” She insisted.

“They’re not. I’m coming to your dorm to take care of you.” You sighed and went to hang up.

“Don’t worry about me. Liz is here.” MJ informed you, making your freeze.

“Hey. I’m taking care of her tonight.” Liz called loud enough for you to hear. You looked over your shoulder at Peter before returning to the phone call.

“Do you need any help? Last time MJ ate those things, she puked so much I almost called the Coast Guard out of fear.”

“I think I’ll be okay. Besides, taking care of her is good practice for the NCLEX.” Liz replied.

“The what?”

“Nursing exam.” She chuckled. “Don’t worry. I got her. And don’t worry about me either, okay? I want you guys to have fun tonight.”

The kindness in Liz’s voice when she said the last part made you want to ask her exactly what she meant by that. You didn’t have time to ask before you heard MJ retching and quickly hung up the phone. You thought about what Liz had said before walking back to Peter.

“MJ bailed.” You told him.

“What?” Peter laughed in surprise. “This is her friend’s show. Did she say why?”

“You know why.” You sighed.

“That damn crab Rangoon.” He huffed and stamped his foot.

“She can’t stay away.” You shrugged. “What about Ned? Is he on his way?”

“He’s not coming either.”

“What? Why not?”

“He said he remembered that he didn’t want to and is playing The Sims instead.”

“Of course he is.” You grumbled and shoved your hands in your pockets. Peter recognized that you were cold and unzipped his jacket. He went to place it around your shoulders but then hesitated. You’d been distant during the week and he wasn’t sure his jacket was something you’d want.

“Is Liz almost here?” He asked as he slipped his arms back through his coat.

“No. She’s taking care of MJ. We’re really lucky to have a friend who’s becoming a nurse. One of us is always getting sick from something stupid.” You replied, making Peter smile. He and Liz really were cool now, but he much preferred having an evening alone with you.

“Oh. Cool. Just us tonight, then.” Peter said as a blush painted his cheeks. You looked up at him sadly and shook your head.

“I think we should go home, Peter.”

“What? Why?”

“Because.” You whined. “We can’t hang out just you and me.”

“We can’t?” He asked as his heart started to sink.

“No.” You insisted. “If it’s just the two of us, then it’s like a date.”

“Oh. And you wouldn’t want to be on a date with me.” He nodded his head and looked at the ground so you wouldn’t see how much that stung him.

“It’s not that I don’t want to…” You trailed off, making him look up at you with curiosity. You looked into his eyes and smiled sadly.

“We can’t. You know that.” You said quietly.

Peter knew that you were thinking about Liz. It’s not that he didn’t care if he hurt Liz by going out with you, it’s that he felt like he knew her well enough to know she’d be okay with it.

“So then let’s not make this a date.” Peter said to break the silence. “Because I don’t see any reason why the two of us can’t hang out alone. Let’s ditch this art show and go do something no two people on a date would ever do.”

“Like what? Take the LIRR to Long Island?” You asked him.

“Absolutely not.” Peter said in disgust. “I was thinking we could get some non-date food and then do a non-date activity.”

“I wouldn’t say no to a pizza right now.” You said coyly, starting to warm up to his idea. Peter smiled happily before holding out his arm. You hesitated for a moment and then took it, allowing him to lead you to the closest pizza shop.

It was tiny, dimly lit, and hardly the scene of a date, making it the perfect spot. You and Peter ordered and when he reached for his wallet, you put your hand over his.

“I got this, baby girl. Your money isn’t good here.” You told him before paying the man behind the register.

“Smart. Because if this was a date, I’d pay.” He said and tapped the side of his head. You laughed at him before getting your pizza. The two of you sat down across the table from one another in the back of the restaurant. The only other patron was shirtless and eating a calzone with two hands, so you had your privacy.

“So. What would two people not on a date talk about?” Peter asked between bites of his pizza.

“Hm. I don’t know.” You thought. “Shit from a butt?”

“Hmm. That’s a really good option.” He nodded his head. “But let’s keep thinking.”

You playfully rolled your eyes at him and took a bite of your food. You had initially panicked over it just being the two of you tonight but that quickly fell away when you remembered how easy it was to be around Peter. As long as it stayed a non-date, your guilt would be at bay.

“We haven’t hung out just us in a long time.” Peter said, as if reading your mind.

“Yeah. It’s been over a year, I think.” You realized. “We went to that arcade that also sold purses and knives.”

“And hot dogs.” He added. “Remember I tried one and got a terrible nose bleed?”

“I remember that.” You chuckled. “I was so scared you were gonna bleed out in front of me. I think I gave you a tampon to put up your nose.”

“You did. And it was surprisingly very comfortable up there.”

“That was a fun night. We were out so late too. I had an early morning class the next day but I didn’t care. I didn’t want the night to end.” You said without thinking.

“Neither did I. That’s kinda how I’m feeling now. I didn’t realize how much I missed spending time with you one on one.”

“Aw, Pete.” You smiled and put your hand on top of his. “I missed it too.”

“You guys are a cute couple. Reminds me of me and my boyfriend.” The other man in the restaurant smiled at the two of you as he got up to leave. His comment brought the two of you back to reality and you quickly moved your hand. You looked to the side as Peter pretended to be busy with his napkin. Your reminiscing had landed you in date territory and you needed to pivot out of it quickly.

“The pizza is good.” Peter said to break the awkward silence that had settled.

“Yeah. I can feel a pimple forming on my chin and I haven’t even finished it yet but it’s pretty good.” You agreed without meeting his eyes. You finished your slices with small talk between bites before leaving the shop.

“Want to walk around a little? I need some movement to digest that thing.” Peter offered as he patted his stomach.

“Sure. Just, leave enough room for Jesus, okay?” You laughed awkwardly as the two of you started to walk down the sidewalk.

“Sure.” Peter chuckled and kept an appropriate amount of space between the two of you as you walked. The other sidewalk users that you had to maneuver around eventually caused you to get closer. Your hand bumped Peter’s a few times too many before you folded your arms and rubbed them up and down.

“Are you cold?” He asked you.

“A little. This damn Shein jacket is probably made out of candy wrappers and recycled Build-A-Bear skin. The wind goes right through it.” You grumbled and pulled the fake leather jacket tighter around your body.

“What an odd combination the seamstress chose.” He chuckled. “But it looks good on you.”

“Thanks.” You turned your head to give him a shy smile. Peter only let you walk a few more paces before placing his jacket over your shoulders. You gave him a grateful smile before slipping your arms through the sleeves. You knew Peter tended to run hot so you didn’t have to worry about him getting cold.

“I was going to give it to you back at the art show but I wasn’t sure if you’d want it.” He confessed to you.

“Why wouldn’t I?” You played dumb.

“I don’t know. You’ve been a little distant this week. And a little jumpy tonight. Is everything okay?”

“Yeah. I’m fine.” You replied in a tone that convinced no one. Peter stopped walking so you did too. He took a step towards you and put his hand on your shoulder.

“You know you could tell me anything, right?” He said in a tone so gentle your knees almost collapsed. You looked down at his hand and then into his eyes. You wanted to tell him that you liked him and that it was killing you to not be able to be with him the way you wanted, but the words didn’t come out.

“I’m okay.” You said instead. “Let’s just keep walking. It keeps me warm to stay moving.”

Peters wasn’t fully satisfied but he knew you got cagey when you were pushed so he let it go. You ended up walking to the pier of the Long Island Sound and stopped to looked at the water.

“Wow. It’s actually kinda pretty at night. You can’t see how brown it is.” You commented as you stared at the rippling waves. Peter was too busy looking at you to see what you were talking about.

“Yeah. Very pretty.” He said in a soft voice as he watched the setting sun illuminate your side profile. You both stayed like that for a moment in comfortable silence.

“The sun is going down. You want to watch?” Peter offered. You were about to say yes when a heavy feeling hit your chest.

“Watching the sunset is a date activity.” You said quietly.

“I know. That’s why you’re gonna watch the sunset and I’m gonna go over there and watch those pigeons fighting over an Elf bar.” Peter pointed to a bench a few feet behind you to let you know where he’d be.

“Okay.” You laughed. “Don’t have too much fun.”

“No promises.” He called back as he walked to where the pigeons were. You watched him over your shoulder as he sat down on the bench and felt your heart ache. He gave you a little wave before pointing at the sky, making you turn around. You longed to go over and sit next to him and watch the sunset together, but you couldn’t do that. If he had dated anyone else but your friend, you could. But everything was complicated so you stayed where you were.

“How was it?” Peter asked as he joined you on the pier once the sun had fully dipped under the horizon.

“It was beautiful. You would’ve liked it.” You told him. “It was one of those nights when the sun looks really red and the sky is orange. I know you like those.”

“I do. But don’t worry, I secretly watched from behind you.” He admitted. “But it doesn’t count as watching it together because we were socially distancing.”

“Good. I wouldn’t want you to miss it.” You said as you stared into his eyes. He stared back and raised his hand to tuck a piece of hair behind your cheek, but quickly put it down. You gave him a tight smile before tossing something into the water.

“What was that?” He wondered.

“My pizza crust. I was throwing it to the whales.” You replied. Peter looked back and forth between you and the water for a few times to see if you were serious.

“There are no whales in this water.” He said finally.

“Then what have I been throwing bread crumbs at for the past ten minutes?”

“I have no idea since whales don’t eat breadcrumbs in the first place.”

“Well something was popping out of the water to eat the crumbs.” You pointed out.

“In the Long Island Sound? It was probably the Babadook or something. Let’s go before it comes out and gets us.” He said and put his hand on the small of your back to lead you away. Your face went hot at the contact and you had to give him a look. He rolled his eyes slightly and dropped his hand.

“I know, I know.” Peter said sarcastically. “I dated your friend for three months almost a year ago so you and I cannot do anything that would suggest there was a romance between us. But I put my hand on Neds back too, by the way.”

“I know. That’s why you passed that “Am I Gay?” quiz this week.” You teased him. Peter laughed lightly but you could tell he was upset about something.

“What’s wrong?” You asked him, making him stop in his tracks. He looked at you with his big brown eyes and you felt that old familiar ache in your heart.

“It’s not the I regret dating Liz. She’s a great girl.” He began.

“I know.” You nodded, shocked that you were actually talking about this forbidden subject out loud.

“I cannot tell you how much I regret dating a friend of yours.” He continued, making butteries erupt in your stomach.

“Oh.” You said quietly. He looked to the side but you continued to stare at his face. He looked upset and had his usually blush splashed across his face.

“Peter.” You said softly and went to put your hand on his face. He quickly snapped out of his mood and threw a smile on.

“You know what I’ve been thinking about lately?” He asked.

“What?” You wondered, confused by the sudden change in emotion.

“Those little squishy oatmeal cookies with the cream in the middle. You know what I’m talking about?”

“Not the answer I was expecting, but okay. Oatmeal creme pies?”

“Yes!” He exclaimed. “Those were so good. They’ve been on my mind all week.”

“Let’s stop in and get some. I’m sure they have them.” You laughed and pulled him into the nearest corner store.

“Really? You want one?” He asked excitedly as you walked through the door together.

“No, but I can’t think of anything less romantic than watching you down one of them right now.”

“Oh, baby, you’re about to watch me down three of them right now.” Peter held up three fingers as he practically skipped to the snack aisle. You laughed and followed him to help him look. He didn’t find them in that aisle so he went around the corner to check the next one.

“How much do you think this is?” He asked as he came back to the aisle you were in with an orange cat in his arms.

“Put him down.” You ordered. “That’s the manager.”

“Fine.” Peter sighed and gently let the cat go. “Now I kinda want one of these giant protein cookies.”

“No way. Those taste like straight up sand and butt.” You warned him.

“At the same time?” He wondered. “Or is it like very sand forward with a butt aftertaste?”

“You think you’re so funny, don’t you?” You playfully narrowed your eyes as you turned to him.

“I do actually, yes. Thank you for noticing.” He replied and took a step closer to you.

“The only thing I noticed is that eyelash that’s been sitting on your cheek all night. I want it.” You said and reached up to take it off his face. He gently caught your wrist and moved it away, bringing you closer to him in the process.

“Get away from me.” He laughed. “That’s my wish. Not yours.”

“Come here. Please, let me get it off your face. It’s been bothering me since the pizza place. I’ll do anything. I’ll buy you all the sand cookies you want.” You offered as you tried with your other hand to hold his face still. Peter had wrapped his arm around your waist now to better maneuver you away from his face as you struggled to get the eyelash.

“That is not what I want.” He said in response to your cookie offer.

“Hey guys.” A voice came from down the aisle, making you both freeze before untangling yourselves from each other.

“Liz.” You smiled in surprise and hastily fixed yourself. “What are you doing here?”

Peter gave her a small wave but said nothing. Her face was calm and if anything, delighted to see the both of you. Meanwhile, your heart was pounding in your chest and you felt guilt like never before.

“I’m just getting some Pepto for MJ. She only has the cherry kind and she said it-“

“Reminds her too much of her ex.” You finished her sentence. “I know. Is she okay?”

“She’s doing better. I think she’s learned her lesson this time. She’s not gonna eat them again.” Liz answered. You all were silent for a moment before bursting out laughing.

“That was a good one, Liz.” You said once your laughter died down.

“Thank you.” She smiled. “So, how was the art show?”

“Oh, we didn’t end up going. We got food instead.” Peter replied. Your heart started to pound again in fear of how that sounded to Liz.

“Oh yeah? Where?” She wondered.

“Just some random little pizza place. The pizza was like $2 and it tasted like the price. I bought my own, by the way. I mean, I bought his too, but only because I already had a five dollar bill out.” You quickly explained. Liz laughed at how you stumbled over yourself but didn’t make any sign of being upset with either of you.

“Wow. Thank you for all the details.” She said teasingly.

You felt about ready to explode by that point. Liz appeared calm and happy, the exact opposite of how you were feeling inside. You felt like you were betraying your friend right in front of her eyes and you didn’t understand why she wasn’t calling you out for being a bad friend yet.

“Peter, can you go get me a clear Gatorade?” You asked Peter.

“Oh, yeah, sure. Bye Liz.” He waved again before leaving the aisle.

“I don’t think they make a clear Gatorade.” Liz said once you were alone.

“They don’t. I just wanted to get rid of him.” You told her.

“Oh, smart.” She chuckled. “So, did you guys have fun tonight?”

“It was okay. It was a pretty uneventful hang out with a friend.” You said with extra emphasis on the “friend” part.

“Really? It seemed like you were having fun when I saw you guys.” She said with surprise. She didn’t sound angry which didn’t make sense to you.

“Fun? With Peter? No way. We’re only hanging out because everyone else bailed. I’d never hang out with him alone otherwise. And I never will again, just so we’re clear.” You assured her. Liz looked at you for a while before smiling softly.

“Hey, you know that red sweater you let me borrow last semester?” She asked you.

“Oh, yeah. The one with the big buttons.” You recalled.

“You know how after I wore it a few times, you told me to keep it?” She continued.

“Well, yeah. I thought it was cute but it never looked right on me. But it looked great on you. I wanted you to have it.”

Liz smiled when you said exactly what she was hoping. She put her hands on your shoulders to make you look at her.

“You can keep my sweater. It looks much better on you. And it was never mine to begin with.” She said in a soft tone. You caught on to what she was saying and looked over at the drink section where Peter was still searching for the nonexistent drink.

“Liz. I can’t.” You shook your head and looked down at the ground.

“If you don’t like him and I’m reading all the signs wrong, then l’ll drop it. But if you’re holding yourself back from being with him because of me, then both of you need to cut it out. Because it’s fine with me.”

“It is?”

“Of course it is.” She insisted. “Peter and I barely dated. And we broke up for a reason. We didn’t work as a couple and that’s okay. It doesn’t mean he’s off limits from you or any other girl. I think you should go for it.”

“But he’s your ex-boyfriend.”

“And you’re my best friend. I want you to be happy.“ She said with a friendly squeeze of your shoulders. You gave her a sad smile and then pulled her into a hug. She hugged you back tightly as Peter watched curiously from a distance.

“I appreciate you caring about my feelings. But it’s not necessary.Now, go get him.” Liz said once you pulled out of the hug. Peter came back and joined you in the aisle with a smile.

“Here you go.” Peter said as he handed you the bottle of clear Gatorade.

“What the hell?” You whispered in disbelief at his find.

“I better get back to MJ. But call me if you guys get sick from that pizza.” Liz waved goodbye and left to make her purchase.

“What were you guys talking about?” Peter asked once the two of you left the store with your items.

“My old red sweater.” You told him to put it lightly.

“The one with the big buttons? I remember it. You always looked pretty in it. How come you don’t wear it anymore?” Peter wondered. For once, you allowed yourself to enjoy the compliment from him without feeling guilty. You stopped walking and Peter followed suit and stopped with you.

“Because it was never mine to begin with.” You smiled fondly at him and slipped your hand into his. Peter smiled back at the unexpected gesture but his smile slowly faded when he realized he didn’t know what you were talking about.

“Am… am I supposed to know what that means?”

“I think you know what it means.” You said as you took a step closer to him. Peter looked to the side and in confusion and still had no idea what you were talking about.

“I’m confused. Did you steal it or some-“

You cut Peter off by grabbing his shirt to pull him into a kiss. Once Peter’s initial surprise wore off, he put his hands on your face to kiss you back. You wrapped your arms around his neck and pressed yourself into him, kissing him until you ran out of breath. When you pulled away, Peter had a shy smile on his face as he pressed his forehead against yours.

“What made you change your mind about us?” He asked you in a timid voice. “And don’t say the red sweater because I still don’t understand what that meant.”

“I just realized we’re a good fit. And I didn’t want to hold myself back anymore.”

“So does this mean I can take you on a real date sometime? One where I buy your pizza and watch the sunset next to you?” Peter asked hopefully.

“It does. I’d really like that.” You answered coyly, making him smile.

“Does this also mean if you and I break up, I’m allowed to date Ned?” Peter asked jokingly.

“Don’t push it, mister.” You warned him.

“I won’t.” He held his hands up in defense. You started walking down the street again, this time hand in hand.

“Oatmeal creme pie?” Peter offered as he leaned the box of Oatmeal cookies towards you.

“Why thank you.” You said and took one. “Clear Gatorade?”

Peter accepted your offer and took a large sip of the Gatorade you’d been drinking. He winced at the flavor and looked at the bottle.

“What’s wrong?” You asked him.

“Ugh. This Gaterade is gross.” He grimaced. “Oh my God. This isn’t Gatorade. This is magnesium citrate.”

“What’s that?”

“It’s the stuff you drink before a colonoscopy to, you know, clear yourself out.” Peter said with obvious discomfort.

“What?” You exclaimed and grabbed the bottle to read it for yourself. Sure enough, the neatly empty bottle was what Peter said it was.

“If you think about it, this is kinda the perfect way to end our non-date.” Peter said to try to make you feel better. You gave him a look before pulling out your phone.

“Hey Liz.” You said into the phone. “Funny story.”

Taglist 🏷️

@thebookwormlife @imanativeofswlondondahling

@whatareyouhidingpeter @takenbyheartstrings

@imyourliquor-youremypoison @andreasworlsboring101

@peterparkoure

@justcallmehitgirl @jackiehollanderr

@emmamarshmellow @unbelievableholland

@sovereignparker @every-marveler-ever @undiadeestos @eridanuswave

@solarxmoonchild @canyouevencauseicant

@quaksonhehe @lovelessdagger

@thesuitelifeofafangirl @marshxx @nooneinvitedfascistbarbie

@maybemona

@alexxcorona113 @lethal-wisdom

@pandaxnienke

@officialsimppage @itsemohours

@freakofmusic25 @tomholland85

@olixerwxxd @leilanixx

@whereismytelephone @so-very-asleep

@spideyspeaches @hihiweezing

@mathletemadison

@dhtomholland @insomniac-nerd-posts-things @prancerrparkerr

@hallecarey1 @adayasgeorgia @blackwidowisthebest @imawhoreforu

@ciarahollands

@nellabellaa @pinklxmonade @boogywoogywoogy @wordsarelife

@starboyshoyo

#peter parker #peter parker x reader #fic rec

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incxpti0n · 28 days ago

Text

groupie

summary: he’s your punkrocker. your star. but sometimes you wonder if you’re just a groupie, if he sees you the same

pairing: clark kent x female reader

word count: 6.5k

warnings: um an asshole on a date who kinda gets touchy pressures reader? and words like bitch, nothing else really, just fluffy two idiots pining for each other and being goofy. and yearninggg

a/n: y'all have to go to tiktok and listen to Leonie Biney's "Groupie" cause that was the inspiration for this fic. literally such a beautiful song and I pray she releases it! and pls! do not interpret this as Lois slander or hate cause no no no she is my fave and I do not want this fandom doing to her what the MCU fandom did to Sharon...okie luv ya

fic playlist

masterlist | send requests

“And I was like ‘Sarah, I’m sorry but you know I don’t wanna be tied down right now…” You tried to listen as Jimmy enthralled you with his latest dating escapades. Unfortunately, if he dared to give you a pop quiz after, you’d likely fail.

Your fingers tapped fervently against your keyboard, filling the search bar with gibberish. You slouched into your seat, pulling your feet up onto the faded leather and hugging your knees. It’s not that you were ignoring Jimmy, but it was hard to focus when the seat across from you was empty.

Clark had been gone for about an hour now, leaving the office in a rush. While everyone else figured he’d be off on an interview, looking at photos for his next article, or even taking a break, you knew better. As soon as you saw his brows furrow while gripping his phone, you knew he’d be leaving. With a tight-lipped smile and a squeeze of your hand from across the desks, he was gone.

It always scared you, watching him bolt out the door to throw himself into the closest danger he could find. You knew it was a bit ridiculous to worry, he was a 6’4” all-powerful alien being— and he wasn’t even yours, just your best friend.

He never intended to tell you about his little side job, not for a lack of trust or anything. But from a place of desire to protect you. Placing that knowledge in you would open you up to many opportunities that could put you in danger, just from knowing him. He wouldn’t risk your life like that. But shit happens.

He didn’t want to end up at your place, but he was being cornered and knew he wouldn’t get out to his fortress in time without being followed. He ducked away to an alley to shed his suit before escaping to your apartment, the only place he felt safe. When he showed up at your door black and blue, he knew he needed to come clean. You’d never tell a soul, taking the secret to the grave to keep him safe. Since then, you became the only person he had to truly confide in when it came to being Superman.

“Y/n, are you even listening?” Jimmy said, snapping you out of your daze. Your eyes shot up from your keyboard to see the young man staring at you with a confused look. “Where were you just now?”

“I don’t know, Jim,” you said, leaning back in your chair with a sigh. “But if I'm being honest, your ‘lady stories’ are getting to be a lot.” You let out a joking giggle as he spun away on his swivel chair, turning back to his work and leaving you be. As you began to return to your work, finally deciding to be responsible and finish editing images for your next article, the familiar sound of Lois’ boots echoed behind you.

“Hey there, shutterbug,” she said as she rounded the corner of your desk, pulling Clark’s empty chair up to sit. You rolled your eyes at the name, giving her a playful scoff.

“You know, if I had a ridiculous nickname that I called you all the time, you would lose it,” you said, continuing to adjust the vibrance on your shot.

“Yeah, but that’s why it’s so fun, y/n, you never get upset,” she said as she sipped her, what you’d like to call, coffee. You’d seen her pour half a sugar container into a cup of tea before and complain it was too bland. “Besides, it’s not ridiculous. It’s fitting.”

Your eyes keep glancing over to the door, wondering if Clark would zip through any moment and slip back into his hunched and sly persona. It was strange at first, adjusting to knowing both sides of Clark Kent. You thought that the awkward and introverted man you met on your first day at the Daily Planet was him, until Superman became just as much a part of your life. The real Clark was somewhere between the two, a man who was shy in large groups but lit up your face when alone. A man who pretended to be very reserved yet could be the wittiest person you’d ever met. What was the strangest to adjust to was the confidence, something that you assumed was the real him, hidden from the world of Clark Kent, but reserved for Superman and you.

“Y/n? Y/n?” Lois asked, leaning in as she tried to get your attention.

“Oh, sorry, what were you saying?” you asked, pulling your gaze from the door. She gave you a knowing smirk and rolled her eyes.

“Waiting on Wonderboy?”

“No, no, I was just…”

Lois rose from her spot, walking past you with a giggle. Before she could say something, the door opened, and in a frazzled hurry, Clark rushed through. His arms were full of papers, his bag half zipped with the latest issue hanging out, and an iced coffee crunched between his calloused hands. You swore your cloud of frantic energy and lost focus disappeared at the sight of him.

Once he reached your desk, he placed the coffee next to your mouse, followed by a quick peck to the top of your head. Blush burst across your cheeks, and you pulled your lip between your teeth. He said nothing following the act, just shuffling his paper and slipping back into his seat. You turned to Lois to see her smirk and trace a heart with her fingers before walking back to her desk.

You glanced down at the iced coffee, the condensation dripping from the plastic cup and leaving a soft ring on the wood. Every time Clark left work to handle a situation, you could expect your favorite coffee when he returned. You knew not to read into it; it was clearly a cover for why he was gone. But that didn’t stop a part of you from hoping it was more.

You leaned across the desks and tapped his arm. A flustered Clark snapped his attention to you, shocked out of his focus but still gave you a soft smile.

“Hey,” you said.

"Hey, darling," he said.

Your hand moved to the cuff of his shirt. Below, you could see a sliver of the blue suit peaking out. Without another word, you took his large hand in yours, gently sliding the fabric back up under the crisp linen of his mundane clothes.

His kind eyes relaxed as he watched your hands work. He couldn't help the smile that crept onto his face as your hands brushed his. As much as he hated leaving, having every minute with you cut short, these were his favorite moments. The soft and intimate seconds where everything was calm and just the two of you.

You finished, leaning back in your chair with a wink. His lips mouthed a thank you before turning back to his computer. As you finished your work, you sipped at the watered-down coffee, occasionally glancing at your best friend and trying not to get further distracted.

What was Perry thinking when he put your desks together?

ᥫ᭡.ִֶָ𓂃

The sun had been down for a while now, taking away the warm light that coated Metropolis as you sat on your fire escape. The nightlife of the city began to crawl out, with the drunk laughter of college kids and the bumping music of a club on your street that always seemed to play the worst hits.

Your hand nursed a glass of cheap Moscato, poured into a regular water cup with ice cubes. While you would’ve loved a long-stemmed drink, Clark accidentally shattered the last of your collection last week.

The glass you thought would last long enough for him to finish his nightly patrol of the city turned into two. It wasn’t every night, but more often than not, you’d find yourself waiting up for your caped friend. Your apartment was always the last stop of his nightly duties before returning to his place for the night. He’d slip into the dark alley or the roof before shedding his suit and coming to yours in whatever random clothes he happened to have stashed. You noticed he’d do this, placing a change of clothes around your building for when he reached you. After a while, he started to notice whatever he stashed was folded neatly in plastic bags with a crudely drawn pink heart on the outside.

Your fingers tapped against the glass as you waited. The thoughts of your chat with Lois kept creeping back in, grabbing hold of your insecurities and refusing to let go. Was it that obvious that you were waiting for him? That the thought of him so fully consumed you?

It wasn’t your intention to develop feelings for him; you never liked to mix work or friendships with anything more. But you couldn’t help it. Not when your desk neighbor started bringing you coffees, when he was picking up your copies from the machine and delivering them to you, pre-stapled, or when he would pull his seat around to you and lean on your desk just to watch and sit near you. It wasn’t easy to avoid feelings when the kindest and most genuine man you’d met would stake out in his costume on your apartment roof on the days you were sick, to make sure you would be protected. And it certainly wasn’t easy when you noticed how much you’d long for his return when he’d leave.

You always tried to hide it, to keep things as they’d always been. But the two of you were closer, closer than any normal friends would be. It wasn’t crazy to imagine things changing one day. Yet you never saw a sign.

Somewhere between getting up for a sweater for the cold breeze and finishing your second glass, you saw a blur of red and blue zipping towards your building. With a smirk, you raised your glass to him, only to be met with a wink and a nod towards your place. You slipped back through your window and headed to the kitchen, leaving your drink in the sink and digging through the fridge for one of Clark’s favorite beers. One of the perks of your loud and young leaning neighborhood was the local grocery store that had a create your own 6-pack section in the back. You always saved that sixth spot for Clark’s favorite.

You heard the soft knock at the door as you headed over to the window, resuming your place with water and beer in hand. A moment after getting cozy, you heard the thud of Clark’s bag behind you as he settled into the spot next to you on the small iron platform.

“Busy night?” you asked, passing him the beer. He took the cold drink in his large hand, popping the sealed cap off with a flick of his finger. You did your best to choke down the fluttering feelings starting to rise.

“Not really, I just ended the night by helping a woman up to her apartment with some grocery bags that were too darn heavy for her,” he said, taking a swig of the drink. “Took longer than I thought. She insisted I have tea and cookies.” You couldn’t control the laughter that escaped your lips. You almost choked on your water.

“What?!” He asked, exasperated but amused.

“What kind did she make?” You tried to reel in the laughter, but it was too cute to imagine. Big Clark hunched at a kitchen table with a little elderly woman eating cookies and tea in his Superman suit.

“Snickerdoodle,” he deadpanned.

“Aw, poor Clark,” you knew he hated snickerdoodles, but being the man he was, there was no doubt in your mind that he ate at least three to make the woman happy. “Well, I’m glad your date was nice!”

He scoffed and set his drink down before quickly grabbing you and pulling you into him. His arms held him tight to you and kept you trapped. As you jokingly cried out to be released, his hand messed with your hair. Your laughs echoed off the iron of the fire escape and down onto the streets. By the time he let you go, you were trying to catch your breath.

“Speaking of dates,” you started. “I have one this Saturday…?”

Clark’s ears perked. You were no superhuman, but you swore you saw his jaw tighten briefly.

“Y-yeah?” he asked, turning to look at you.

You debated even telling him. It wasn’t even of your own volition. Just a setup your friends stuck you with; some guy they knew through friends of friends.

“It’s nothing, just a friend set up. But…yeah,” if you were being honest, the only reason you said yes was the slightest chance they could make your feelings for Clark lessen.

He was silent for a moment, just a moment, before that smile you loved so much came back. Yet it was different. You didn’t want to read into anything. But was it possibly forced?

“That’s…that’s great, y/n,” he said.

ᥫ᭡.ִֶָ𓂃

Thursday came quicker than expected; it was always your favorite day of the week. Friday always felt sluggish and like anxious waiting for the clock to hit five. Wednesday reminded you that the week was only halfway done. But Thursday, Thursday was perfect. So close to the end, bringing a giddy energy and drive to finish the week strong.

You strolled into the office, a large Diet Coke and a pastry in hand. While you loved coffee, sometimes you needed a fizzy boost of energy that tasted like chemicals and caffeine. On the way in, you happened to pass the local donut shop near your neighborhood. It was nothing special to you, but it was Clark’s favorite. Did he even like donuts? No, of course not, he hated them. Yet you knew him well enough to know that he thought the best apple turnovers in the city were there. Leave it to Clark to go to a donut spot specifically for the only pastry that wasn’t a donut.

Walking past the shop, you decided to grab him one, something to make up for those snickerdoodles he suffered through a few nights ago. It wasn’t anything special, just something to make him smile. But once you reached your desk, yours began to slip.

Lois was sitting on the edge of his desk while he sat and fiddled with his pen. They were close, you couldn’t deny it. That wasn’t what got you, though — that was his laughing. Maybe it was your insecurities, maybe you were distorting it all in your head. You swore it sounded louder and more carefree than with you. You could be wrong, but…

As you approach, Clark eyes you and flashes a quick smile. You try to pull yours back up, to show him the pastry bag, but before you could even lift your arm, he was back to his conversation. Your heart began to constrict as you tried to just shake it off.

Settling into your desk, their chat began to drift into your ears. Some quips from Lois and feigned shyness by Clark before something caught your attention. It’s a date, see you tomorrow.

You froze. So caught up in your thoughts, you didn’t notice as Lois squeezed your shoulder and that ever-welcoming ‘hi’ she always reserved for you in the mornings.

Clark may have started talking to you, but you didn’t notice. How could you?

“Hey, you okay?” he asked, leaning in across the desk. You snapped out of your haze long enough to catch his eyes. They were ever kind, ever dedicated to you, like always. As if the conversation you had just witnessed didn’t happen.

You said nothing, just giving him a tight-lipped smile as you slid the pastry bag over to his desk before slipping on your headphones and clocking in.

ᥫ᭡.ִֶָ𓂃

“I should just show up in dirty sweats!” you said, tossing another dress on your bed.

“Come on, y/n, you look great in anything,” Clark said. You’d been on the phone with him for an hour and a half by now, pacing the mess you’d made in your apartment as you frantically tried to find an outfit for your date.

Clark’s apartment was uncanny and tranquil for a Saturday night. Most weeks, the sounds of your combined laughter would fill the space. Playful arguments over what to order for dinner, then a bit of calm shared over what always seemed to be Chinese or pizza, before bickering over a movie. It was comfortable, it was consistent, it was you and him.

He sat on his couch, antsy as his hands wrung together in his lap, the phone on speaker as an attempt to not snap it in half. He couldn’t control it, couldn’t handle it. The thought of you spending the evening with some other guy, some man who could never treat you how he could. Who wouldn’t respect, hold, or love you the way- wait, did he say love?

“You know, there’s still time to cancel….you could come over,” you said, desperately wanting him to tell you not to go.

Of course, he didn’t want you to go. Your offer was all he wanted. The idea of you choosing him over this man was like a drug. He should’ve said something right there, should’ve told you. But would that be selfish? Surely you didn’t have feelings for him the way he did for you, how could you? This was just pre-date jitters and the want for something familiar, for your best friend.

Nothing more. No, no, he couldn’t be selfish ...— never when it came to you.

“No… no, go, you’ll have fun,” he said, running a hand over his face.

“...I’d rather hang with you…” You were being bold, pushing, and hoping he’d get the hint.

No, he had to take himself off the table. If he didn’t, you’d never choose yourself, always him.

“I…I can’t, and…I don’t really want to. I need some alone time,” he said. A lie. Clark never lied, well, rarely, and certainly not with you.

The phone was silent on your end; all he could hear was the pounding of his heart in his ears. He regretted it immediately. So why couldn’t he take it back?

“Okay… yeah, no, you’re right,” you said. Your voice was smaller, more reserved, and tame. That wasn’t you, never with him. “Well, I’ll let you go, I don’t wanna take up more of your time.”

No no no nonononono

You never could do that. Never. His time wasn’t even his; it was all yours. Every bit he could spare was yours. He couldn’t even admit it to himself yet, but if he was torn between a city threat and saving you, he’d be terrified that the city would perish.

He bolted from the couch, tearing the phone off the table and stumbling to keep it in his grip. The sides of the sleek smartphone began to bend under his fingers. He messed up, he made a mistake. But he couldn’t speak. If he did, he would tell you everything.

“I hope you had fun on your date with Lois yesterday,” you said.

“No, y/n, wait-” The phone went dead, the line ended, and the screen flashed back to your contact page.

Fuck

ᥫ᭡.ִֶָ𓂃

The date was bad, bad to say the least. You seemed to forget, having spent all your time with Clark, just how demeaning and violating men could be. Everything was going fine, a little dull, but nothing terrible. Well, maybe it was terrible. Maybe it was awful. He didn’t ask you anything about yourself. Hell, he forgot your name halfway through and had to ask again. And come to think of it, he tried to dictate your order. Said a woman should not be drinking a beer and pushed you towards a red wine or a Cosmopolitan.

By the time you finally got out of the restaurant, which you thought meant you were home free, he was all over you. A hand on the back, down your arm. Moving to your waist and trying to go lower. He took your hand and led you towards his car. You jolted away, not only uninterested in him but having no interest in spending an evening with him after having just met.

You slipped your hand from his grasp, taking a few steps back, thanking him for the evening and dinner; anything you could do to get away. That’s when the flood of names came: bitch, slut, tease. The asshole managed to slip one more comment in about how you owed him after he paid for your dinner before slamming his door in your face and leaving you on the sidewalk.

You began the walk home, your arms wrapping around yourself in an attempt at staying warm. You never should’ve gone out. You should’ve stayed in. You wanted Clark, wanted to be in his arms, to feel his thick hands pushing back your hair and the steady breaths from his chest all evening.

With shaking hands, you pulled out your phone. You sent a few texts before caving to a call.

hey are you there?

i’m sorry i shouldn’t have snapped.

are you home? i really need to see you, please?

Your call rang through before the sound of his awkward answering machine played. Well, that could mean he missed the call. Or he was asleep. Maybe his phone was dead. If it was sent after a few rings, that would mean he chose to ignore you. There was some hope.

You didn’t want to be a burden or invade his alone time. But this was Clark. The same Clark who always said his home was yours, that the locks on his deadbolt didn’t apply to you. Clark, who would drop everything the minute he saw the very chance of a tear or frown on your face. He always said if you were lost or scared or hurt, come find him. As much as it hurt, as pathetic as it felt, you changed directions and hopped on the subway to his place.

His neighborhood was quiet and small, much less chaotic and lively than the trendy area of Metropolis, where you happened to snag a rent-controlled place. As you walked up the street to his building, the familiar diner on the corner caught your eye. The one you’d spend every Monday evening with him. A start of the week tradition where you’d squeeze into the same side of the booth and down coffees and sodas til you were falling asleep on his shoulder.

The warm orange light of the retro diner spilled out onto the street, calling you over. But by the time you reached it, the calming energy it once provided you faded into something crushing. In the front booth pressed against the glass, you saw Jimmy, Lois, and Clark at a table full of coffees and probably lukewarm fries. He said he wanted to be alone, and didn'twanna spend time with you because he wanted to spend the evening alone. Now you realize that wasn’t the truth. He just didn’t want to spend time with you.

Before you could back away and rush back to the safety of your neighborhood, Lois noticed you by the streetlight. She reached over the booth, waving at you through the window and motioning for you to come join them. The action caused Clark to turn, catching your eyes full of hurt and embarrassment. The two of you were in sync, as soon as he rose from the booth and raced out the door, you had bolted for the subway.

He missed you, reaching the steps just after you had disappeared into the evening. He stood there alone, a deep sting in his chest and a fullness in his lungs that stopped his breathing. He fucked up. He fucked up so bad.

ᥫ᭡.ִֶָ𓂃

The last few days were slow, agonizing. The Daily Planet had become the location of your hide-and-seek game with Clark. One that only you seemed to be playing. You withdrew, spending far more time in the dark room and more time out on site catching shots; anything that would help you avoid the metahuman you had become far too attached to.

It all hit you at once, just how embarrassingly, head-over-heels, and completely in love you had fallen. How much you had allowed him to consume you, how totally devoted you became to him. It was pathetic, of course, he didn’t feel the same.

Things became painfully awkward fast. Each time your eyes met, each time he crossed your purposefully Clark exclusive path, it was like time stopped. It was a game of chicken, who would cave first, usually you. He’d freeze and give you those kind eyes, laced with a sadness you rarely saw, before taking a cautious step in your direction. He only ever got one in before you dashed like a baby deer. He never took a second step.

Today was a day you didn’t need to pack running shoes. Clark’s desk sat empty from morning to evening. You knew nothing was happening in the city, and the streets seemed to be remarkably serene. He must’ve had enough of your antics, needed to get away from the anxiety you brought, that clouded your desk. That had to be it.

What confused you, though, was the note. Coming back from your lunch, you saw it tucked by your computer with your coffee order and your favorite, a Boston creme donut, wrapped in the bag of Clark’s favorite donut shop. Looking around, he wasn’t in the building. Jimmy or Lois hadn’t seen him all day. The note was messy, the kind of handwriting you assumed was scratched out mid-flight in a blue and red suit.

Can we talk, please? Are we okay?

Were you okay? It had never been like this. Never could you have imagined how bad things would get. You always assumed that if your friendship with Clark crumbled, it would be from revealing your harboured feelings. Turns out that wasn’t even necessary.

“You look cute today,” Lois’s voice caught your attention. She came up behind you, leaning a hand on your desk and peeking at the note. “Is that from Boy Genius?”

“Yeah, um… I don't know what’s going on with us,” you said.

“Is that why you didn’t come join us Saturday?” she asked as she sat on the corner of your desk.

“No, we… we were fine before that, I think, but,” you sighed. If things were shit with Clark, maybe you could be honest with someone. “I think my feelings messed everything up. I think he meant more to me than I did to him.”

“You’re joking, right?” Lois’ tone wasn’t meant to be harsh, but maybe it was what you needed. Her face didn’t exactly hide her exasperation. “Y/n, I always thought you two were idiots with how obnoxious you were with refusing to get together. But if you can’t see how painfully devoted that man is to you, then I can’t help you.”

You didn’t know what to say, your fingers just stayed brushing against the rough pulp of his note, bumping over the indents from his pen.

Lois was honest to a fault and blunt. Surely she took no pleasure in playing you for a fool. But what about her date with him?

“Y/n, that man spent all of Friday evening gushing about you to me. ‘Oh, that reminds me of y/n’, ‘did you know y/n puts this in her coffee?’, ‘well that’s not how y/n sets her margins’, blah blah blah!” she said, rolling her eyes. “I had to actually ban your name from our conversation to get any work done.”

That confused you. Work?

“Work? I thought, I thought it was a date,” you said. Lois’ eyes went wide, and her mouth released an amused and somewhat shocked oh. Her face showed just how oblivious she thought you were.

“Really, you actually thought he’d entertain anything with me when you live and breathe on this planet?” she said with a sigh. “Clark is so not my type. No, we needed to meet up to go over a Superman interview he promised he’d get for me.”

She continued to mutter under her breath about how ‘he always hogged the hero’s media statements,’ but you began to tune out. Was she telling the truth? Did Clark really feel that way?

ᥫ᭡.ִֶָ𓂃

Your walk home was shrouded in panicked thoughts. Of your relationship and how royally you had burned it to ash. All because you were too stupid to just say something.

The lights of the city glowed as the sun had long disappeared. Your habit of staying late in the dark room came with downsides, like the walk home alone. Whenever this would happen, Clark would insist on staying, or at the very least, he’d wait for a text from you when you were ready, upon which he’d rush back to walk to your place. That hadn’t been the case the last week. He was nowhere to be seen.

Another part of your poor planning was the rain. You left your umbrella at home. Your jacket was pulled tight over your head, trying to no avail to salvage any of your dignity as the rain covered you. Your dress and shoes were drenched as a hot summer rain flooded the streets and soaked your hair. Any work that was done that day must’ve been ruined as your bag became three pounds heavier with rain.

The leather of your loafers squeaked as rain puddled against your socks. It seemed like everything could only get worse. And of course it did.

You couldn’t escape the feeling of being followed, that someone was lurking behind, always watching your next move. Finally mustering up enough courage, you peeked your head around. No one, the street was solely yours.

You stopped, turning and checking around, but kept being met with the empty lights of Metropolis. That was until you looked up.

Clark hovered just out of sight, staying tucked near the tops of the short buildings of your neighborhood. Clad in his suit, you had nothing to say. You sighed, giving him a resigned and tight-lipped smirk.

“You’re following me?” You asked.

“I know you don’t want me around, I just needed to know you’d get home safe this week,” he said.

He lowered himself to you, landing next to you with an ease you always admired. It had been a while since he was so close to you; it was like seeing him again for the first time. It always left you stunned by how massive his height was.

Without a word, he lifted his cape, pulling it tight and creating a tent over your head. You never broke eye contact, but he was cautious, as if giving you a chance to leave. You don’t.

The walk to your apartment is silent. Except for the sounds of the city that never dulled and the pattering of the rain. Once you reached your place, he stopped. Without a word, you turned and nodded to the alley that led to the back door of your building. He watched you slip through the door and latch it behind you before he rushed through the back.

You barely reached your door before he was coming up behind you from the escape stairwell. You fumbled with your keys before letting the two of you into your place. He walked in, heading into your living room, but you stalled at the door, leaning back and leaving the keys in the lock.

“Clark,” you said.

“What’s going on with us?” he asked, coming closer. He refused to look away, leaving you to duck your eyes.

“I don’t know,” you said.

That wasn’t totally true. You knew what was wrong, you loved him — he didn’t feel the same.

“About Saturday,” he started. You pushed yourself away from the door and set your bag down on your table.

“We don’t have to-” You tried to stop him, but he refused to let miscommunication make this worse.

“No, no. I need to explain,” he said. “Y/n, Jimmy and Lois were in the neighborhood and asked me to come. Well, more like dragged me. They knew I was having a rough night.”

You furrowed your brows.

“If that’s the case, why didn’t you tell me? Why did you say you needed to be alone? You always come to me when something’s wrong,” you began to strip your soaked shoes and shook some rain from your hair.

It didn’t matter how tense the room was, he refused to let you be uncomfortable. Clark rushed to the bathroom, leaving you confused. Only to return with a towel and come close, wrapping you tight. Once you took the terry cloth and held it in place, you expected him to back up. He didn’t.

“Y/n, I couldn’t, that’s the problem. You were the problem,” he said. You tried not to show your hurt, but failed. He shook his head, taking your shoulders and keeping your attention. “You didn’t do anything…I just. Your date. I couldn’t handle it.”

“You never said…” You looked down. “I didn’t even want to go, I told you I wanted to see you.”

“I know, I know, darling, I-” his hands moved to hold your face, and he stepped closer. “I just thought, I thought you wouldn’t ever find someone with me around. I thought my feelings would be holding you back… That’s why I said what I said, why I lied.”

You were quiet as he spoke. No matter how the butterflies in your stomach rampaged, you couldn’t deny the euphoria of his large hands on you.

“I always want you around, y/n,” he started. “You have no idea how badly I wanted you at mine.”

It was silent for just a moment. Without his ramblings, you could see how close he really was. With a shaky breath, you spoke.

“I only went on the date to try to get over you,” you said. That got his attention. You swore you could feel the slightest tightening of his grip on you. You tried to finish, but nothing came up.

All you could think about was what Lois said. Was she right? Were you really just reading everything wrong? Was this metahuman who stood before you, a man pleading and desperate, really in love with you?

You met his eyes again.

“I was scared I was ruining everything, that I was clingy and suffocating, and that you were tired of me so-”

“No, no no, hey,” his hands moved to slip through your hair, coming to rest at the nape of your neck. He ducked his head to get closer. Even so, he still towered over you. Engulfing you in nothing but him. “Please, please don’t say that.”

“I let my feelings get to be too much, and I knew you didn’t feel the same,” you said. “When my friends set up the date, I figured it was time to back off of you and try something else. That went to shit, cause no one is you.”

You could see the tension in his neck release at your words. His jaw twitched, and you watched the muscles flinch. One of his hands moved to cup your face and tilt your head back to reach him where he bent to you. He leaned in, hovering just above your lips and stopping. His eyes met yours, and he waited.

You nodded, giving him everything he sought, “Please.”

That was all he needed. He kissed you like a man starved, like he was terrified that the moment he pulled away, he’d wake up and this would all be over. His calloused hands held you in place as his lips met yours, slipping his tongue gently between your lips.

It was intoxicating, addictive, and nothing like you could have imagined it to be. Nothing in your head ever would have met the moment of having Clark.

He pulled back entirely too soon, resting his forehead to yours as he caught his breath. Words began to tumble out as if he only had one chance to tell you everything.

“I never wanted to ruin this, to lose you. I’ve loved you for so, so long,” his thumbs stroked your cheeks as he spoke. “It’s only ever been you, I’ve always been yours.”

“Why…why didn’t you say anything?” you asked. He cocked his head, and there it was, that smile that turned your world technicolor.

“I could ask you the same thing,” he said with the playful tone you missed so much. You tried to hide your blush and duck your head; he didn’t let you, taking your chin and lifting your gaze back to his. He shook his head at your shyness and bit his lip. “I thought it would be selfish. You deserve a man who can give you everything, one you don’t have to share with the world.”

Your hands moved, letting the towel slip to the ground, to cup his face.

“I just want you,” you said.

He paused, as if convincing himself of his next move, “If you’ll have me, I’m yours. I’ve always been yours, darling. I always will be.”

You moved your hand to card through the thick curls at his neck. You leaned in, taking a moment to memorize each line and curve of his face. After only a week without him, you never wanted to forget his face for even a second. You pulled his head down and placed a kiss on his forehead. His shaky breaths at the feeling of your lips on him didn’t escape you.

“Lois is right, we’re fucking idiots,” you said as you pulled back. He let out a soft laugh as his smile brightened. His hand at your neck pulled you closer, bringing you back into another kiss.

This one was slower, more intimate. As if to make up for all the mixed signals, missed opportunities, and miscommunications. When you pulled back, his lips were red and raw.

“I love you, Clark,” you said. His smile beamed as his arms pulled you flush to his chest, wrapping you in him.

His shaking breaths calmed, releasing in a soft sigh that ruffled the hair at the top of your head, “Thank god.”

---

she's long but I hope you enjoyyyyed

#clark kent #clark kent x reader #fic rec #HELL YEAH 😭🙏#SO SO GOOD

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incxpti0n · 29 days ago

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OH MOTHER OF PEARL 😩😩😩🙏🙏🙏😭😭😭🙏🙏🙏

─ ✮⋆˙ 𝑯𝑰𝑻 𝑴𝑬 𝑯𝑨𝑹𝑫 𝑨𝑵𝑫 𝑺𝑶𝑭𝑻 || 𝑪𝑳𝑨𝑹𝑲 𝑲𝑬𝑵𝑻

MINI NAT’S NOTE: i haven’t stopping thinking about this loser kansas failure man since friday. i literally got out of bed to write this because i can’t sleep. hope y’all love it, mwah!

CW: 18+ SMUT MDNI, fem!reader, rough sex, service top clark, he whimpers cause i said so, sexy uses of x-ray vision, clark kent can FUCK, super stamina yes god, hyperspermia, superman’s super huge dick, belly bulging, porn w.o plot, no use of y/n.

"Clark, please—"

Your voice breaks on his name, swallowed by the sound of the headboard slamming into the way again and again and again.

Your thighs are shaking, pinned wide open by Clark’s hands, his grip near desperate as he ruts into you with a punishing force. It’s not as hard as he could go, you know that he must be biting through his lip trying to control himself. You wish he could go harder, that he could really give it to you.

He deserves it. He works so hard, he deserves a nice warm hole to pound into after saving the world for the hundredth time—or after turning in another perfect front page piece to Perry.

You’ve brought it up a few times, when Clark was too drunk off the feeling of your lips against his own and the taste of your tongue on his to shy away from the conversation.

You could take it, you’d take anything he gives you with open arms and spread legs and a smile on your face.

Clark’s far too sweet to ever pin you down and just take. He’s a gentleman through and through, he was taught to treat ladies with respect. Superman isn’t an exception to those good farm boy manners of course, no matter how many times you’ve daydreamed about him flying through your window and tossing you on the mattress and using you.

God, you really do love him like this though.

“Sorry,” he pants, forehead pressed to yours, dark curls mussed. “I’m sorry, I can’t—I can’t stop. You feel too good, baby, you’re so good.”

Clark’s voice breaks on the last word like he’s begging you to understand, but the thrust of his hips says otherwise. There's nothing apologetic about the way he’s fucking you—like it’s the last thing he’ll ever do. Like his survival depends on it. The bed’s screaming under the weight of his body, your body, his strength.

Your spine arches off the bed as his hips slap against yours hard enough to sting, wet and relentless. “Clark,” you gasp, nails raking down his back uselessly. “Don’t stop. Please—don’t stop.”

His cock splits you open again and again, thick and flushed and incessant, pistoning deep and hard and needy. It’s too much. It always is. Too thick, too long, the fat head of him kissing up against something so deep inside you it shouldn’t be physically possible.

The room smells like sex. Sweat and musk and Clark—rain, ozone, sunlight. The sound of your bodies coming together bounces off the walls, the wet slap of skin on skin. The filthy, slick noises of your pussy sucking his cock deeper makes your ears burn.

You’ve lost count of how many times you’ve come. Clark hasn’t. Of course he hasn’t.

“Five,” he groans, burying his face in the sweaty expanse of your neck. “You’re so sensitive now, baby, I know—I can hear it, your heartbeat skips every time I do this—” he pulls out, just halfway, then slams forward and stays there, his cock so deep your stomach distends a little. “Gosh, look at that.”

You’re soaked, ruined, you know it. You’ve been trembling under him for five rounds, but you love it. Every ragged thrust, every strangled apology he can’t stop moaning, every load he pumps into you like his body has to. You wrap your legs tighter around his waist, drag him even deeper, and Clark whines.

“I’m—fuck—I’m gonna come again—please, baby, let me—please—”

He’s come three times already. You can feel the wet, hot mess he’s made of you, dripping down your thighs, soaking the sheets. You’re already so full. You feel full.

The last time he came inside you he barely gave you a minute before he was hard again, aching and apologizing even as he buried himself back in your cunt. His come is still dripping out of you in thick, creamy ropes, and he still hasn’t stopped chasing it. He can’t.

"Yes." Your legs wrap tighter around his waist. You want it. You need it. “Give it to me, Clark.”

That's all it takes for him to lose it again.

His body locks up—hips jerking, mouth falling open with a loud, broken moan.

You cry out as you feel him twitch deep inside you, and then it happens again—hot, endless, thick spurts of come painting your insides, filling you up so full it hurts. Clark’s gasping, his mouth falling open against your shoulder, his whole body trembling.

His cock doesn’t go soft, it never does. Not when he’s buried in you like this. Not when you keep fluttering around him, squeezing down like you want to milk every last drop from his body.

“Shit, I didn’t mean—‘m sorry—I keep—” His hips stutter and then roll again, like he’s addicted to how you feel around him, like stopping would kill him. “It’s too much—I know, baby—I just—you make me so messy—”

There’s even more come leaking down your thighs in thin streams of white, soaking the sheets, slicking his cock every time he pulls out just to slam back in. You can feel how slippery everything is now, how swollen you are, how stretched. And still—he doesn’t stop.

“You—shit, you take it so good,” he moans. “My good girl—my pretty girl—look at you, look at how much I gave you.”

Clark looks down, a soft groan rips out from somewhere deep in his chest at the sight of his cock punching up inside of you. His eyes go, glassy and unfocused for a moment. That’s the only warning you get before he tilts his hips ever so slightly, and you’re crying out when he hits that spot up inside you perfectly on the next thrust.

That’s a definite perk of dating a metahuman, x-ray vision. You know that even without any special powers he could take you apart until you were a crying, shaking mess. That being said, the MRI eyes help.

Clark has spent hours learning each and every part of your body, inside and out. He’s made a home between your legs and watched your nervous system light up more times than you can count.

He’s watched the way your dopamine levels spike when he mouths at your clit just right, the way your pulse lights up when his fingers slide deep and curl at just the right angle. He’s studied you like scripture, like a blueprint.

You cry out, screwing your eyes shut as your hands slide down his back. You revel in the feel of him on top of you, the muscles of his back rolling and working under your greedy touch. You’re going to come again, you know you are. The spring inside of you starts coiling tighter and tighter with each thrust.

“Please,” Clark gasps, nearly sobbing it. “Let me—one more time, I promise—please—I know you’re full, baby, I know—just one more.”

“You’re gonna break the bed again,” you gasp, too dumb and lost for words to say anything else.

Clark doesn’t respond—maybe he can’t. Maybe he’s already too far gone to hear anything but the desperate squelch of his own come leaking out of your ruined pussy and down the hard length of his cock.

“I love you—I love you so much," he mutters incoherently, his thumbs rubbing soothing circles over the meat of your hips as his cock carves a place for itself inside you. "You feel too good—god, you were made for me.”

The mattress jerks violently beneath you with every thrust—you can feel the wood frame groaning, splintering. Not the first time. Probably won’t be the last.

It’ll be worth it.

MINI NAT'S NOTE: anyway this movie changed my life. i started rewatching 70s superman the second i got home. james gunn thank you for making superhero movies with love and whimsy again.

thank you so much for reading, love you!

#clark kent #clark kent x reader #HNGGHHH #I need to go for a walk #OH MY GOSH #🧎‍♀️🧎‍♀️🧎‍♀️

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incxpti0n · 1 month ago

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OH…. MY GOSH???

THIS WAS ABSOLUTELY AMAZING HOLY SHIT 😭😭😭🙏🙏🙏

Three Words

Summary: You and Tech spend some alone time together and some words are said. Requested by Anonymous, written for the prompts: Accidental I Love You's During Sex and Nuzzling The Others Neck and Breathing In Their Scent.

Pairing: Tech x fem!reader

Word Count: 6,399

Warnings: 18+, NSFW, Explicit

Authors Note: Finishing off the February Fluff Requests with a Tech-is-alive-and-gets-the-happy-ending-he-deserved-AU. I hope this one turned out ok, Tech might just be the clone I find hardest to write! Thank you so much to everyone who sent in a request during February! I had so much fun writing all of them and I hope you enjoyed reading :)

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A happy sigh escaped you as you stretched, your joints popping, a satisfying pull in your muscles as you moved. You smiled softly to yourself, revelling in the feeling of the sun warming your still-wet skin for your earlier swim in the ocean. The rock beneath you was hot from the mid-afternoon sun, soothing the mild soreness in your muscles. You kept your eyes closed as you bathed in the sunlight, listening to the soft sounds of the ocean waves and the nearby laughter of Omega and Lyana as they played in the surf.

Another gentle sigh escaped you as the feeling of complete contentedness washed over you. After years of fighting and being on the run life on Pabu was something straight out of a dream. It was still hard for you to believe that such a peaceful and beautiful place existed, especially when it seemed like the rest of the galaxy had fallen to terror and ruin. There were still times when the fear that The Empire would return would creep back in, but on afternoons like this one, it was easier to push those thoughts from your mind. You were fairly certain that you could spend the rest of your life on this particular rock and be happy. The gentle breeze, the warm sun, the feeling of the salt water drying against your skin, it was all very quickly lulling you into a state somewhere between sleep and wake.

You were moments away from sleep when a shadow suddenly cast across your face, darkening your vision and causing you to frown. There hadn’t been a single cloud in the sky when you had laid down so the sudden interruption was unusual. Reluctantly, you peeped one eye open to look for the source of the disturbance. The disturbance, it turned out, was a welcome one and took the form of a tall, handsome clone. Your frown instantly vanished, replaced with a soft smile, both eyes opening as you gazed up at Tech. One of the very few people who could disturb you from a sunshine nap without consequences. He was still a few feet away but his height had effectively cast a shadow on most of your upper body. You peeled yourself up from the rock slightly, resting on your elbows as you took in the sight of him.

“Hi,” You greeted softly, your heart rate picking up at the sight of him, just as it always did.

His goggled gaze was intense as he took another few steps closer to you. His eyes trailing over the lines of your body left fire in their wake and you felt your face heat at the attention. You were wearing your usual swimming attire: a pair of repurposed athletic shorts and a bandeau bra, which he’d seen before but judging by the soft flush on his face it was having some sort of effect on him today. You took a moment to look at him in return, life on Pabu had been kind to him, his skin glowed with a deep warm tan from days spent out in the sun, and his hair was longer than you’d ever seen it, still short but beginning to curl at the ends, and the simple shirt and pants he wore highlighted just how lean and fit he was. Your face flushed further as your heart seemed to stutter in your chest. Some days it was still hard for you to believe how lucky you were to still have him in your life.

After a long moment, he cleared his throat, shaking his head lightly before taking another step towards you, “I-I am in need of your assistance.”

You sat up fully, frowning slightly as worry suddenly bubbled up inside of you. Your eyes scanned him closely, he didn’t look unwell. In fact, he looked the exact opposite but you were concerned nonetheless, “Are you ok?”

“Oh,” Tech replied, sounding somewhat startled by your question, “Yes, I - of course. Nothing is the matter.”

You weren’t entirely convinced but you accepted the hand he had outstretched to you without complaint. It had taken Tech the better part of a year to recover from the injuries he sustained on Eriadu, and even still there were some residuals. Stiffness in the way he carried himself, an occasional stutter or jumbled word, lapses in a once flawless memory, and a near-complete loss of verbal filter. He was still irrevocably Tech though, still the man you loved with every single piece of your heart.

“Are you sure?” You asked again as you watched him stoop down to retrieve the loose linen shirt you had worn as a cover-up down to the beach that morning.

Even before he’d been injured he had always downplayed when something was wrong and that had not changed. Perhaps you were overly cautious, a likely byproduct of watching him be on the brink of death for weeks, but you also knew he didn’t want to worry anyone else when something was bothering him. If anything, that reluctance had only gotten worse since his injury. So you continued to ask, at the very least to soothe your own worries.

There was a gentle smile on his face when he straightened back up. He had looked somewhat nervous when he’d first approached you, but now all traces of that were gone, “I am certain. I am currently functioning at an optimal performance level.”

You chuckled softly at his words as he held out your shirt, gesturing for you to lift your arms. With a smile you slipped in, face continuing to flush as he helped you re-dress. Your skin tingled as his warm hands brushed against your thighs as he straightened out your hem. You smiled up at him as his one hand moved around the small of your back, bringing you in closer to him with a gentle nudge of his hand, the other lifted to brush a stray strand of hair back from your face. Your skin tingled at the contact and you could feel the beginnings of desire starting to pool in your stomach despite the innocent nature of his touch.

“I am sorry to have disturbed you, you looked very peaceful,” He said softly, his gaze was warm as he traced the lines of your face.

Your smile widened as you shook your head gently, “You’re never a disturbance, Tech.”

He soft chuckle escaped him, one corner of his mouth crooking up in a slight grin, “Well, apologies nonetheless.”

Before you could say anything else he turned his head to look at where his sister and her friend were still splashing about near the shore.

“Lyana, Omega!” Tech called out to them, “Shep would like you up at his domicile within a standard half hour. He requires your assistance with a task.”

“You got it Tech!” Omega called, throwing a quick thumbs up at him before turning her attention back to Lyana. The three of you often spent your free afternoons either down by the beach or out on a boat. You all loved the water, the clones on the other hand were more reluctant. It seemed a lifetime of living in rainy conditions had made them slightly hydrophobic.

You turned your attention back to Tech, looking up at him with a raised eyebrow, “It seems like everybody needs assistance today…”

“It would seem so,” He replied casually, but the way he avoided your gaze had you feeling both amused and suspicious. Usually, Tech was incredibly upfront and to the point about everything, so his vague request for your assistance was unusual. Your eyes narrowed as you looked at him, a question on the tip of your tongue but before you could ask he was speaking again.

“I will explain once we are home,” He said as he grasped your hand in his own, “Come, cyar’ika.”

You flushed at the term, squeezing his hand tighter and following along behind him willingly as he turned and headed towards the stairs leading up to the top of the island.

The walk up to the home you shared with the rest of The Bad Batch was peaceful, occasionally the two of you would stop to say hello to a familiar face but for the most part, you went undisturbed. Every once and a while Tech would look over at you, a flush high up on his cheekbones and such warmth in his eyes that you found your curiosity growing by the moment. You gave yourself a mental pat on the back for refraining from asking any more questions as you reached the door of your small home.

You paused as soon as you passed through the threshold, noticing immediately how quiet it was. Usually, there was one if not multiple people in the house at one time. You knew exactly where Omega was but at this time of day, the absence of his brothers was out of the ordinary. You wracked your brain, trying to remember if they’d mentioned their plans when you’d all sat down for breakfast that morning but you were drawing a blank.

“Where is everyone?” You asked as you shut the door behind you.

Tech turned around to face you, the same, almost mischievous smile from earlier still on his face, “Hunter, Wrecker, and Crosshair are currently out helping harvest crustacean traps. They will be gone until this evening.”

��Oh,” You responded automatically before the reality of his statement sunk in. You were alone. And in a small house with 6 people living in it, alone time was very hard to come by, “Oh.”

Tech chuckled, reeling you closer until your body was pressed up against his own, "Our time alone has been insufficient as of late. I thought perhaps we could spend the afternoon together.”

You chuckled, shaking your head fondly at the secrecy he had been maintaining the entire walk, “You could have just told me that.”

Tech smiled, his face flushing even more, “I believed the surprise would be more… romantic.”

“I suppose you are correct,” You replied with a quick laugh before you were standing up on your tip-toes, pressing a kiss to his lips. He lifted his hands to cup your jaw, head tilting down as he hummed against your lips. He was so warm and solid against you that your body immediately ached at the simplest of touches.

He pulled away after a moment with a sigh, one hand trailing down to grasp your own once more. He gave your hand another gentle tug before he turned, heading towards the stairs that led to the second floor where your bedroom was located.

The house was tiny, a gift from Shep after they’d returned from Mount Tantiss, but it was yours and you loved it so completely. You and Tech shared one room, across the hall from where Hunter and Wrecker bunked together, Omega was further down the hall, while Crosshair claimed the one room on the main floor. After having nothing for so long, the brothers had come to love having their own space.

You paused as you passed through the threshold to your room, the sight that greeted you causing your eyes to widen in surprise. Normally, your room tended to look more like a workspace. Bits and pieces of whatever project Tech was currently working on scattered about the place, sometimes even finding their way into the bed. You had lost count of the number of mornings you’d tripped over something or gotten a limb tangled in wire. Now though, the room was completely spotless, everything in its proper place, his projects neatly confined to the desk over in the corner. There was even a vase of freshly picked flowers sitting on one of the nightstands. The window shade had been pulled down, blocking out some but not all of the afternoon sun, bathing the room in a warm, dim glow. Small lights, that looked like spare parts from one of his projects, were a new addition strung around the room.

You couldn’t contain the soft smile on your face as you looked between him and the lights, eyebrows raised questioningly.

“Ah, yes,” He replied, catching your gaze as he adjusted his goggles, “I conducted some research this morning, however, candles are impractical and an incendiary hazard so I hope these will suffice.”

You couldn’t help but laugh lightly at his adherence to fire safety but your heart felt as if it was swelling inside your chest. Just when you didn’t think you could love him anymore, he would go and prove you wrong, “Wow, you’re really pulling out all the stops.”

“Well, yes, of course,” He replied earnestly as he toed the door close behind you before he returned to your side. His touch was gentle as he grasped your forearms, his expression achingly soft as he looked at you, “You deserve nothing less.”

You felt yourself flush at the intensity of his look as you took a step closer to him, resting your hands against his waist. You noticed the slight flush had returned to his own face as he lifted a hand to rest against the junction of your shoulder and neck, his thumb gently tracing against your pulse point and sending a shiver down your spine. Your heart was thundering in your chest, desire pooling in your core as he gazed at you.

You both moved at the same time, his hand sliding up to cup your jaw while your hands slid beneath his shirt to his back, pulling him in flush against you as your lips met. You moaned softly as his nose brushed against your own, his lips were so soft, almost hesitant at first before he deepened the kiss. His free hand moved to the small of your back, pulling you in even closer with a gentle nudge. Your body became completely alive under his touch, every nerve ending singing from the sensation of his skin on yours.

You nipped gently at his lower lip, pulling a deep moan from his chest. The sound was thrilling, this part of your relationship was still relatively new, so every new discovery you made about him made your heart race. Normally, Tech was always so unflappable, calm, and collected in every situation, so being the one to make him come undone was an incredible feeling.

Your relationship had progressed slowly, mostly out of circumstance, not because of any lack of feeling. It had only been a few weeks after the two of you had finally admitted to having feelings for one another that Tech had been injured. Afterward, he’d been so unwell for so long that a relationship had been the absolute last thing on your mind. Now though, being able to explore this phase of your relationship together was the best thing in the galaxy.

Tech’s thumb brushed gently against your jaw for a moment before he was moving, placing gentle kisses down the column of your throat. Your head tilted back on instinct, your body arching forward into his, your skin on fire beneath his lips. He nipped gently at the skin over your pulse point causing you to shudder in his arms, desire flaring in your lower belly.

Suddenly the fabric separating the two of you was too much. You needed to feel his skin on your own, needed to feel how warm, how alive he was. You moved your hands already beneath his shirt until you were tugging up his hem. Tech caught on quickly, lifting his arms up over his head so you could slide off his shirt. You took a half step back as you tossed it somewhere in the room, eyes raking over him. He may have no longer been a soldier but he was still built like one, all lean muscle beneath golden brown skin. Scars littered his chest and stomach, some much newer than others, some a reminder of what had happened, of what he’d survived. By now you knew every single one and had kissed every inch of his skin, but the desire to do so each time you saw him was still as overwhelming as the first.

You barely had the time to enjoy the sight of him before he stepped into your space again, the heat of his body radiating through the thin linen shirt you were still wearing. A squeak of surprise escaped you as he suddenly moved, his hands wrapping around the back of your thighs and lifting you up. Your legs wrapped around his waist on instinct, your arms wrapping around his shoulders as he placed another soft kiss on your neck. He took a few steps back towards the bed until his knees hit the edge, lowering you both down until you were straddling him. Everything inside of you ached as he held you flush against him. You ground your hips against him, seeking the friction you so desperately craved and causing a soft moan to escape him.

A gentle hand on your hip stilled you for a moment before it traveled down and then beneath your shirt, pulling it up and off of you swiftly, your bra following closely after. You shivered, the feeling of being skin-to-skin with him was nearly overwhelming and had you grinding against him once more as heat rushed through you.

“Cyar’ika,” The word came out choked before he kissed you again, mapping a line from your shoulder to your collarbone, to your neck, to your jaw. Your fingers dug lightly into his shoulders at the feeling of his mouth and tongue on you, it was electric. It was both too much and not nearly enough. You wanted him so desperately you felt as if you might simply combust as he finally kissed your lips again, pulling your lower lip gently with his teeth as your hands wound into his hair. He groaned softly as you tugged gently on his curls before he tangled his tongue with your own. Everywhere your skin touched his ached, your pulse was racing beneath your skin as you deepened the kiss, nose brushing up against his own, the edges of his goggles pressing into your face.

He pulled away after a moment and you had to bite your lip to keep in the whine at the loss of contact that threatened to escape you. He frowned before he lifted a hand and pulled off his goggles, tossing them haphazardly towards the nightstand beside the bed. They landed with a suspicious clunk but you were too busy looking at him to check on their wellbeing. You saw Tech without his goggles daily, he slept without them, but there was something different about seeing him without them in these types of moments. You didn’t mind but you knew he didn’t like the way they would sometimes press into your skin as you kissed and the slight distance they caused between the two of you.

You lifted a hand to gently trace the lines of his cheekbone where his goggles normally sat, tracing the indent before moving down his face. Your hand paused momentarily, touch featherlight, as you reached the large scar beneath his left eye where his previous pair had cut into him. The wound had been terrible, so much so that even bacta hadn’t been able to fully repair the skin. Now it served as a faint, silvery reminder of everything he’d survived. Of how strong he was.

“How did I get so lucky?” You asked softly as your thumb traced across his cheek. He closed his eyes for a moment at the sensation before meeting your gaze once more, the look in his warm brown eyes so soft it made your heart feel as though it were constricting in your chest. Before you had met him you had never believed it possible to love another person so much. He just really loved to prove you wrong.

“Technically,” He started, a slight smirk appearing on his face, “the concept of luck is illogical-”

“Oh, no,” You laughed, shaking your head, “Not this again,” Before he could continue the speech you’d heard many times before you were kissing him again, effectively silencing him.

He hummed against your lips once more, one hand reaching back up to cup your jaw as he tilted his hips up into yours, increasing the friction you had been desiring earlier. He was achingly hard against you and the feeling of him pressing against your core had you gasping softly against his lips. He lifted his free hand to trail up your side, touch ghosting against your skin as he made his way up until he gently palmed your breast. Your nipple pebbled against his calloused hand, your own fingers digging further into his shoulders at the overwhelming sensations.

“Tech…” You groaned, head tilting back as he kissed his way down your neck to the hollow of your throat, both hands moving to wrap around your waist as he continued to kiss his way down your body. His lips were scorching against your skin, every nerve ending on fire as he pressed a kiss to the swell of your breast before taking you into his mouth. You moaned again, hips automatically grinding into his as everything inside of you turned molten, lost in the feeling of his tongue on you. He moaned against you as you continued to seek out friction, rocking your hips into his own.

Suddenly he was moving, lifting you up and turning before placing you down gently, your back resting against the pillows at the head of the bed. His hand trailed down your body, fingers hooking beneath the waistband of your shorts. Catching on you lifted your hips to allow him to remove your shorts in one smooth motion. You mourned the loss of contact as he pulled away from you, your body aching with desire for him. You propped yourself up on your elbows to watch him better as he removed his own pants. He was so beautiful. Golden skin flushed with desire, hair mussed where your fingers had run through it, chest heaving slightly, warm brown eyes wide as he looked at you. It was thrilling to know you had done that to him. You wanted him just as badly.

You smiled softly at him, cheeks flushing as you held out your hand to him. He immediately grabbed it, lacing your fingers together as he moved, kneeling on the bed until he was straddling you, long body hovering over your own. The heat of him was intoxicating and you squeezed your thighs together, able to feel where you were already slick and ready for him.

“Beautiful…” he whispered before he bent his head to capture your lips with his own once more. You arched up into him, arms wrapping around his back, pulling him in close until your chests were touching once more. You shivered as his hand slipped between the two of you and paved a slow, torturous path down your body. You moaned, arching further into him as his hand found its way between your thighs. He hummed with pleasure at the wetness he found there, his thumb rubbing gently against your clit and sending all coherent thoughts from your mind.

Normally, you loved his hands on you, he was an expert when it came to getting you off with those long, gentle fingers, but right now you wanted nothing more than to feel him inside of you. You reached up to grasp the back of his neck, forcing him to look at you as you squirmed beneath him, your thighs shaking with desire as you clamped around him.

“Please Tech,” You whined causing him to pause his ministrations, “I need you.”

His eyes widened, his face flushing a deeper shade of red, as though your words had unmoored him. He moved his free hand to rest against your jaw, his thumb stroking at your cheek for a moment. His voice was full of emotion when he spoke again, his forehead tipping down to rest against your own, “Of course ner kar’ta. I’m yours.”

You tilted your chin up to capture his lips with your own as he moved the hand between your legs to grasp the back of your thigh. He lifted your leg up and over his hip, giving him the space to slot between your thighs. He was painfully hard, the head of his cock gliding through your glistening folds as he rocked against you a few times. You gasped as he brushed against your clit, pleasure building to a nearly tortuous level inside of you. His breath was shaky between kisses, hair that was beginning to dampen with sweat falling across his forehead. He groaned as you nipped lightly at his lower lip, bringing it to your mouth. You canted your hips up just slightly, crying out with pleasure as he slid inside of you, filling you up so completely.

The stretch of him was exquisite, it was a pure, blinding pleasure as he remained still for the moment, letting you adjust. His breathing was ragged, the lines of his body taut as he hovered over you. He let out another soft groan, his nose pressing against your own before he slowly started to move inside of you.

“Gods, Tech,” You moaned as he found his rhythm. You felt as if you were on fire, your skin hot and flushed. Every touch from him made you shiver, your body becoming a squirming mess beneath him. He kept one hand on your thigh, keeping your leg up as he set a slow, even pace. The other went to the hollow of your throat, his thumb resting gently against your pulse point. The pressure inside of you was building at a blinding pace as he moved to kiss you again.

It wasn’t enough to tip you over the edge of the orgasm that you were teetering on, you needed more. Sensing your desperation his pace increased as you locked your leg around his hip, bringing him in closer to you so that every thrust has him rubbing deliciously against your clit. You moaned, tilting your head back into the pillows as you canted your hips even further, meeting his thrusts. At that angle, he was hitting that perfect spot inside of you with each thrust. It only took a few more thrusts for you to go toppling head-first into ecstasy.

You cried out his name as your orgasm washed over you, clenching tightly around him, holding him close as pleasure rippled through your body. His pace faltered for a moment and he nipped lightly at your neck, tongue soothing over the spot a moment later as he let you ride out the tail end of your pleasure. Every nerve ending inside of you felt electric, blind pleasure making you feel loose and wonderful in all the right places.

Finally, as you came back into yourself you lifted a hand to thread through his hair, holding him close as he continued to kiss your neck, your shoulder, down to your breasts. He started moving slowly again once your breathing evened out. The same slow, even pace from before, but you could feel the tightness in his body, feel the control he was trying to maintain as his own breaths were ragged, sweat glistening against his skin.

“Wait,” You whispered after a moment as a new desire suddenly filled your mind.

Tech paused instantly, pulling all the way out of you and looking at you questioningly. You used his momentary stillness and your own momentum to your advantage, tangling your legs with his own and wrapping your arms around his shoulders. With strength that surprised even yourself you turned you both, pinning him beneath you on the mattress, your legs on either side of him. You smiled down at him victoriously as you braced your hands on his chest. He looked completely surprised, his face flushing red as he looked up at you with wide eyes that were swimming with desire.

“My turn,” You replied cheekily, leaning down to kiss him deeply before you moved your hips and sunk down onto him.

A choked groan escaped him, his hands flying to your hips as you took him to the hilt. You took a deep breath, head tilting back as you adjusted to the overwhelming sensation of being filled by him in this position. Slowly you rose, finding a steady pace, your fingers digging into the muscles of his chest as you rode him. Within moments Tech was squirming beneath you, his grip on your hips wonderfully tight as he began to meet you thrust for thrust. His skin was incredibly flushed as you placed a kiss on the column of his throat, his breathing even more ragged than before as you slowly began to increase your pace.

He let out a soft swear, which had your own eyes widening in surprise, Tech never swore. You faltered slightly, wondering if maybe it was too much but his grip only tightened, his voice a raspy croak when he spoke, “Please, cyar’ika, do not stop.”

It felt as if your heart skipped a beat, your own desire increasing rapidly as you watched him come undone beneath you. You resumed the same pace as before, leaning in closer to him to kiss along his jawline, nipping and lathing at his skin in equal measure as whispered swears and terms of endearment continued to slip out of him.

In this position you were rapidly building towards another orgasm, your body clenching around him with each thrust, the exact right amount of pressure rubbing up against your clit. Tech leaned up to place a kiss against your collarbone as one hand moved from your hip to around your waist, keeping you close as you continued to ride him. A shaky exhale of air left him as he swore softly once more. His thrusts up into you become more frantic.

The next words out of his mouth were so quiet you barely heard them, “Gods, I love you.”

Your rhythm faltered momentarily as your brain caught up with the words he’d just said. Had he actually said that or had you just imagined it?

Tech had suddenly stilled beneath you, a choked moan escaping his throat as your body clenched tightly around him. When you pulled your head back slightly to look at him his eyes were wide, his cheeks and the tips of his ears red. Clearly, you hadn’t misheard and he had just realized what he had said.

You tried to ignore it, tried to find your rhythm again, but your thoughts were completely jumbled. The orgasm you had been building towards was now just a whisper of desire in your stomach. He’d never said that to you before. You knew that in his own unique Tech way he cared for you deeply, he called you just about every term of endearment in Mando’a, but the love word had never come up. You knew that it was just said in the heat of the moment, that you shouldn’t look into it too much but now that your brain had caught on to the thought it couldn’t seem to stop.

A firm squeeze to your hip had you stilling completely. When you met Tech’s gaze he looked embarrassed, his face redder than you’d ever seen it. Your heart felt as if it was bottoming out inside of you at the expression on his face.

“I-I apologize,” His voice trembled with emotion as he spoke, "I did not intend to make such an admission.”

“Oh,” You managed to squeak out, which was impressive considering the emotions that were welling within you suddenly were completely overwhelming. It was ok, you tried to tell yourself, he didn’t love you yet but maybe one day he would. This was enough, what you had was good, and you could live with this.

“I have upset you,” He stated matter of factly, drawing your attention back to him. With impressive strength he pulled himself up against the head of the bed into a seated position, bringing you along with him. You moved off of him but remained straddling his lap while your heart pounded painfully in your chest.

“No, no Tech it’s fine,” You replied, and it was fine. Everything was fine.

“No, I misspoke,” Tech insisted, his voice taking on its typical clinical and straightforward quality.

You lifted a hand to rest against his face, trying to reassure him as much as you were trying to reassure yourself, “It’s ok, I understand. The heat of the moment and all that…”

Tech’s eyes widened and he shook his head, he lifted a hand to grasp the one you had on his face, pulling it into his own, “That is not what I meant,” He started softly, his eyes suddenly warm with emotion, “I had intended to make that admission in a more… romantic setting. Not during an amorous encounter.”

“Oh,” You started before the weight of his words fully sunk in, “OH.”

Tech chuckled softly as you looked at him in surprise, your voice a high-pitched squeak when you spoke again, “You love me?”

“Well yes, of course,” He stated matter-of-factly as he lifted his free hand to push some loose hair away from your face. His expression turned serious as he continued, “Though I do not find that one word sufficient enough to explain the depth of my feelings for you.”

For a moment you thought that maybe you had died, or maybe that it was all just a dream but then he was kissing you again with such passion that you knew it was real. He loved you.

You hummed with pleasure against his lips, hands moving to wrap around his shoulders as his own arm banded across your waist, pulling you flush against him once more. You felt as if you were floating, your heart hammering in your chest as desire flared in your core once more. He loved you.

You both moaned as he entered you again, heat pooled in your stomach as you met his thrusts, your fingers digging into his shoulders as you found a rhythm together once more. He moved his lips to your shoulder, kissing a line back up to your throat as he thrust up into you. The spark of desire in you had turned into an inferno, rapidly hurtling towards another orgasm as you increased your pace, taking him all the way into you before nearly rising all the way off. The pull of him against you, the way he filled you so completely was completely overwhelming. You ground against him with each thrust, your clit rubbing against the base of him, you were so close that it was nearly painful.

Tech placed a kiss beneath your ear before pulling away just slightly, his lips ghosting against the shell of your ear as he spoke again, “I love you,” His free hand slipped between your bodies, and his words combined with the soft pressure of his hand against your clit had you tumbling over the edge once more. You cried out again as your orgasm washed over you, your fingers digging even tighter into his shoulders as your head tilted to rest against his own. You squeezed your eyes shut tight as you allowed the sensations coursing through your body to completely take over you. You felt his pace falter, his entire body went ridged for a moment as his hips jerked against your own. He moaned loudly, burying his face into your neck as his own orgasm followed.

You were both quiet for a long moment, heads resting together as you both tried to regain some control over your breathing. You felt as if you might just completely melt against him, satiated in a way that made your limbs feel completely loose.

His hold on you was still tight as your breathing began to even out, he moved his head slightly, brushing his nose against you before pressing a gentle kiss to your cheek. You sighed in contentment, there was really nothing more that you wanted than to spend the rest of your days in his arms.

Eventually, he moved, rolling you both until you were lying side by side in the bed. You curled into him, your head resting on his chest as he pulled a thin sheet up to cover you both, the sweat on your skin was rapidly drying and leaving you with a slight chill. He made a content noise as you nuzzled further into him, pressing your face into the crook of his neck and breathing in his scent as he trailed a lazy hand up your spine.

You pulled your head back just slightly to watch him as he reached for his goggles, putting them back into place before he turned to look at you once more. His expression was achingly soft as your gazes met. It made your heart twist in your chest, a soft smile forming on your face as you continued to look at him. You stretched your head forward to place a soft kiss against his cheek before you settled back down against his chest. It was quiet for a long moment, his hand continuing to rub gently against your back as you listened to the steady beat of his heart.

“Tech,” you said softly after a while, causing his hand to pause, “I love you too.”

You tilted your head back up to look at him, meeting his wide-eyed gaze. He looked surprised by your admission which only made you chuckle softly.

He shook his head after a moment, a small smile appearing on his face, “Perhaps, I am the lucky one, after all.”

Your eyes narrowed playfully at him but you were unable to keep a smile off your face, “You said you don’t believe in luck…”

“Yes, well, I may be convinced otherwise if provided with enough concrete evidence,” He said as he lifted his hand to cup your jaw, “And you being in love with me is very convincing.”

You laughed softly, heart soaring in your chest as you leaned up to kiss him once more. Of that, you were completely certain, despite all the odds you were together, you were happy, and both lucky in love.

#tech x reader #the bad batch #star wars #fic rec #this was so sweet and so so hot #🧎‍♀️🧎‍♀️🧎‍♀️#woah… just woah…#CLUTCHING MY CHEST RN

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incxpti0n · 1 month ago

Text

Perfectly Plucked

🫧 Pairings: Tech X Female!Reader

🫧 word count: 3.2k

Plot: Omega mentions to Tech that you love flowers, and luckily enough for him, you love him also.

Warnings: Fluff, safe for work, female reader (she/her), idiots in love, first kiss, nervous Tech.

A/N: it’s been a while since I wrote something cute with my darling, Tech 🩵

“So, what’s the plan?”

Omega’s voice is filled with mischief as she sways from side to side in the co-pilot’s seat, her eyes locked on Tech.

Tech doesn’t immediately respond. His fingers tapped lightly over the datapad, scanning through the incoming reports. But when Omega’s voice cut through the steady hum of the Marauder, his eyes lifted briefly, landing on her as she swayed back and forth in the co-pilot's seat. “Meaning?”

Omega leans forward, her grin widening as she tilts her head toward the viewport, pointing with her chin toward the object of their conversation. “You know... her,” she says in a teasing tone, her eyes sparkling with barely contained excitement. “Are you going to ask her out?”

Tech’s expression faltered for a split second—his eyes widened, just enough to give him away—before he quickly averted his gaze, pretending to focus on the datapad once more. “I’m not sure what you mean.”

“Oh, you definitely do. We’ve alll seen how you look at her. It’s pretty obvious.” Omega replies, rolling her eyes dramatically before jumping to her feet.

“I do not ‘look’ at her.” Tech mutters, his tone defensive. “I simply observe. That is all.”

Omega arches an eyebrow, a knowing smirk tugging at her lips. “Sure, ‘observe.’”

She pauses, tapping her chin thoughtfully as she begins to pace the cockpit.. “You could always make her something. You know, something nice and romantic! A gadget of some kind.” Then she frowns. “Although that doesn’t scream romantic.”

Tech looks up with a sigh. “Of course they are not. They are tools for beneficial use. And I do not believe she requires anything like that.”

Omega halts, then leans against the control panel, “Okay, maybe not gadgets,” she says, “But flowers might work. People give flowers all the time as romantic gestures.”

Tech blinks, his mind racing as he processes the suggestion. “Flowers?” His voice carries a hint of skepticism. “Why would she need flowers? They have no functional use. I would know if she had an interest in... what was it she said, ‘botanical remedies’?” He gives a small, self-assured smirk, as though this topic was already discussed between the two of them. “She tends to consult me on those matters.”

Omega rolls her eyes once but grins, “It’s not about the practical use, Tech. It’s about the gesture. Besides, she loves flowers.”

Tech’s brow furrows in thought. He glances over at you through the viewport, seeing you sitting outside the Marauder and methodically cleaning and refurbishing your armour.

His mind memorises Omega’s point, you were interested in flowers or any fauna.

Omega watches his expression change, a gleam of victory in her eyes. “You should really pay attention when she watches those holo-romcoms. You’d see how much she likes the idea of flowers.”

Tech’s fingers tap thoughtfully against his datapad, but his attention has clearly shifted. “I suppose that is true,” he murmurs, as though the idea of flowers suddenly isn’t so far-fetched after all.

Omega, sensing her triumph, beams. “So you’ll do it then? You’ll get her flowers?”

“No,” Tech answers quickly, looking back at his datapad with feigned disinterest. “I do not appreciate your attempts to manipulate me into admitting feelings. Again.”

She chuckles, remembering the long conversation she had chewed his ear off about flying being a ‘feeling’.

“So you do admit it?”

Tech shoots her a pointed look, his tone sharpening just a little. “Omega.”

She raises her hands in mock surrender, backing away with exaggerated slowness. “Alright, alright,” she sings. “But I know she would appreciate it. You just have to admit it.”

Tech huffs, his lips pressing into a thin line. He watches you for a moment longer, his mind still running through the possibility, before he mutters under his breath, “I’ll consider it.”

Omega’s eyes twinkle, her work clearly done. “Perfect.”

The warm, refreshing breeze threaded through your hair as you leaned back against the crate, letting yourself savor the simple pleasure of open air. Sure, it wasn’t exactly a luxurious beach chair on a pristine coast like you had been craving, instead it was a beat-up crate on an overgrown forest floor. Though after days cooped up inside the Marauder, it felt like paradise. Even if the company inside was great. More than great, really.

Your mind wandered, inevitably drawn to a certain member of the squad. You caught yourself smiling, and immediately cringed, pressing a hand over your face.

"Why do feelings suck?" you muttered under your breath, shaking your head at yourself.

After a few minutes, you sat up and surveyed your armour with a satisfied smile. You had to admit, you were really good at keeping it looking brand new. Gathering the pieces in your arms, you headed back toward the ship, still riding the lazy warmth of the afternoon.

You were halfway up the gangplank, not paying attention, when you collided with something - someone - solid. You grunted, stumbling back as a few pieces of your armour clattered to the floor.

“Oh stars, sorry, Tech!” you blurted out as you realised what happened, rubbing your forehead where you'd bumped it against him.

"Not to worry, I was not looking where I was going either," he said smoothly, though there was a softness to his voice that made your cheeks warm. Stars, he really got to you.

You quickly crouch to gather up the pieces of your armour, and Tech mirrors your movements without hesitation. His gloves brush against your fingers as you both reach for the same piece, and for a heartbeat, neither of you move. The slightest spark shoots up your arm, and judging by the way Tech’s hand stiffens just a fraction, you pondered wishfully if he felt it too.

True to form however, neither of you say anything about it. You clear your throat and pull your hand back, allowing him to pick up the last piece.

Once everything’s collected, Tech takes it and puts your armour in the Marauder. You move to step around him, but Tech moves at the same time. You both shuffle right. Then both to the left. You stifle a laugh, glancing up at him helplessly as you try again — and again — failing miserably to find your way past.

“We look ridiculous,” you mutter, half-laughing as you impulsively reach out and grab his shoulders to steady him and yourself.

His body goes stiff beneath your touch, as though uncertain what to do, and his adorable wide eyes blink down at you behind his goggles.

“Hold still,” you say through a grin, guiding him gently aside. He lets you manoeuvre him into place without a word, though you hear him clear his throat a little.

You finally step through the doorway into the ship, peeking back at him. “What were you up to, anyway?” you ask casually, hands on your hips

Normally, Tech would answer any question with straightforward precision, but today... today he falters. “I, ah... was merely seeking... additional reference material. For research purposes.” His voice, usually so confident and clipped, wavers strangely. It’s so unlike him that you tilt your head in suspicion, narrowing your eyes in a playful squint.

“Oh?” you say slowly, intrigued. “What kind of research?”

His mouth opens — and then promptly shuts again. He adjusts his goggles unnecessarily, his hands fidgeting at the edges of his belt. Definitely suspicious.

Your curiosity only grows. “Well, if you need help,” you offer lightly, “I’d be happy to join you. I wouldn’t mind stretching my legs.” But then you realise, “Actually, I don’t want to leave Omega on her own-”

You barely finish speaking when a voice pipes up right behind you, startling you.

“I can look after myself, you know,” Omega says, clearly having been eavesdropping the entire time. She crosses her arms proudly. “I’m not a little kid anymore.”

You and Tech both turn toward her. “Not going to start the ship up and fly away without us, right?” You tease.

“Well I can’t promise that” Omega teases, looking between the two of you. “But I’ll do my best to resist.”

“Alright then,” You nod, allowing her to stay behind but then look to Tech to get his verdict.

“I suppose we will not be long.”

“Great!” Omega chimes, “You two can enjoy your date - uh, I mean…”

You stare at her, wide-eyed and mortified at her slip (if it even was) of her tongue.

Tech’s ears burn under his goggles, shooting her a look that you don’t see. He straightens his posture, clearing his throat.

Soon after giving Omega one last warning not to do anything disastrous on your outing, you fall into step beside Tech as he leads the way off the ship.

He doesn't say much at first and you don't push about why he was oddly quiet. You’re quite content for a moment to simply walk through the warm, open air and the forest ahead looks inviting. And being with Tech was such an added bonus.

“So, what exactly are we doing?” you ask after a short while, glancing over at him. “You never did tell me what kind of research this was.”

He pushes his goggles up his nose, fingers twitching on a small device in his hand. “It is a standard environmental survey,” he says quickly, “Nothing particularly noteworthy.”

You squint at him, reading him like a book. “You’re a terrible liar, Tech.”

“I am not lying,” he says, his tone stiff. “I am merely withholding certain specifics for operational efficiency.”

You bite back a smirk but let it go, following him deeper into the trees.

The forest itself hums with quiet life around you. The soft chirping from unseen creatures and the faint trickle of a nearby stream was tranquil. The trees tower overhead, their bark a deep reddish-brown, had wide canopies of green and gold leaves that flutter gently in the breeze.

If Pabu didn’t exist, you would actually consider having a home here.

After a few more minutes of walking, you watch as Tech slows and veers off the beaten path. He stopped at the edge of a rocky clearing and looked over a bed of wildflowers that had tiny blossoms in vivid colours that sway.

He activates the device in his grasp with a quiet beep and starts scanning the flowers.

You lean against a large boulder nearby, resting your chin on your arms as you watch him work. His brows are knitted in focused concentration, a tiny crease forming above his nose.

Honestly? Adorable.

“You’re really invested in this ‘environmental survey,’ huh?” you tease lightly, smiling.

He doesn’t glance up. Instead, he carefully kneels and inspects a cluster of bright yellow blooms. He selects one, pulls a small pair of pliers from his utility belt, and snips the stem.

“What’s that one?” you ask whilst he holds the flower delicately between his gloved fingers.

He looks up at you, and there's something almost shy in the way he offers the information. “It is a part of the aurelia family, a plant known for its versatile healing properties," he explains. "It is particularly effective in creating salves for minor abrasions, something you once mentioned a preference for, if I recall correctly.”

You blink, caught off-guard by the thoughtfulness that he remembered a conversation you had with him quite a while ago now.

Before you can find the right words, he steps closer and offers the flower to you. “I would like you to look after it,” he says simply, placing it carefully into your hand quite quickly and looking away.

You cradle the delicate bloom as if it were made of glass. “I’ll guard it with my life,” you say with a mock-seriousness, but your heart thumps a little faster all the same.

Tech merely nods, satisfied, and turns to continue walking. You follow behind, hand still clutching the bright flower like it was something far more precious than just a plant. Well, to you it was anyway. You loved flowers.

You walk in easy silence for a while, the forest thickening around you as the path narrows.

You're still cradling the yellow flower carefully in your hand when you notice Tech slow again, his scanner flickering softly. He kneels by another patch of blooms — this time a cluster of small, delicate flowers in a soft shade of your favorite colour. You watch as Tech examines them, but instead of scanning them like before, he hesitates. His hand hovers for a moment before he plucks one gently between his fingers, standing up and turning toward you.

Without a word, he steps close, the flower dangling loosely in his grasp. His expression is unreadable behind his goggles, but there’s something almost... tentative about his posture.

You tilt your head, curious. “What’s that one?” you ask, smiling.

Tech visibly stiffens. His mouth opens, but whatever explanation he had seems to falter halfway through forming. “It does not possess any notable medicinal properties,” he admits, adjusting his grip on the flower. “It is... actually scientifically insignificant.”

You blink at him, confused. “Then why did you want me to hold it?”

For a second you swear you see Tech’s composure crack. He shifts awkwardly, looking anywhere but at you. “I considered it might be useful for... cross-referencing petal structure... for research purposes,” he says, far too quickly and far too technically to the point it sounded weird.

You narrow your eyes in mock suspicion, catching on that there’s definitely more he’s not saying. “Uh-huh. Sure,” you say, voice light but you can’t ignore that your heart beats a little faster. Did he want to give it to you… because he wanted to?

He seems to be silently warring with himself. His fingers twitch like he’s about to hand you the flower after all but at the last second, he stops.

Without another word, Tech then turns and — in a move so uncharacteristically flustered it makes you bite back a laugh — he tosses the little flower into the underbrush as he walks away.

You stare after him, baffled and amused in equal measur. Definitely suspicious.

Tech continues gathering flowers as you both wander through the forest, stopping here and there to snip a stem or examine a petal with meticulous care. You gave up asking about each one after the third or fourth as it became obvious he was just handing them to you without much explanation.

Instead, you quietly let him do it, your arms gradually filling with an array of blossoms: soft yellows, rich blues, gentle lilacs, vivid reds. The bundle was chaotic and beautiful.

After a while, Tech finally straightens and looks around the clearing with a satisfied nod. “This will suffice,” he announces.

You stop beside him, brushing your fingertips over the petals lightly, inhaling the gentle, sweet scent. “You picked a really pretty bunch for your research,” you admit softly, smiling over the bouquet at him.

Tech adjusts his goggles with a slight nervous twitch to the motion. “Yes, well...” he starts, voice a little stiffer than usual. “In truth, I would prefer you to keep them.”

You blink, surprised, lowering the flowers slightly to peer at him more clearly. “Keep them?”

He shifts on his feet, clearly uncomfortable but forcing himself to explain. “Omega mentioned that you appreciated flowers. She also suggested that they were considered a... romantic gesture. More appropriate than, say, a customised multitool.” He clears his throat, rapidly gaining momentum as he continues rambling.

“You wanted to get me flowers?” you interrupt softly, the words slipping out before you can stop them.

Tech freezes mid-sentence of his tangent. His mouth opens and closes once — then he nods, sharply, as if resigning himself to it. “Yes. That was the intended outcome.”

Your cheeks burn so hot you swear Tech could probably feel it. You hug the messy bouquet a little tighter to your chest, heart thudding so hard it drowns out the hum of the forest around you.

Tech, seemingly unaware of just how much he’s affecting you, blunders on, still trying to justify himself as if he really needed to. “Initially, Omega suggested a handcrafted gadget. However, after observing flora within the holo-romcoms you frequently view, I concluded that a floral gift might have a statistically higher probability of being well-received, despite its lack of practicality—”

You’re barely listening anymore. You’re too busy staring at the ridiculous, wonderful bouquet in your hands, and the man who meticulously gathered every single stem just to give them to you.

“So... there was no research,” you say, your voice catching slightly.

Tech hesitates, then tilts his head slightly, almost sheepish. “No, not exactly,” he admits.

You bite your lip, trying and failing to hide the grin spreading across your face.

Thinking for a split second, you pull a small flower from the messy bundle — a delicate little thing with soft pink petals — and step toward him. Tech watches you with a sort of curious stillness, almost like he’s bracing for whatever strange human interaction he’s about to experience for the first time. A soft tenderness he yearned for you.

Carefully, you tuck the flower into the side of his goggle band, the bright bloom resting just above his ear. You step back to admire your handiwork, smiling. “There,” you say lightly, “now you look even cuter.”

Tech blinks, his hand automatically coming up to touch the flower like he’s not sure it’s really there. He tilts his head, studying you as a small, almost hesitant smile curling at the edges of his mouth.

“That would suggest that you found me ‘cute’ beforehand.” He exhales through a deep breath he didn’t know he was holding.

You meet his gaze, feeling daring. “Maybe,” you say coyly with a shrug, the word slipping out in a playful lilt.

Something shifts between you. Tech’s smile lingers, but it’s gentler now. His hand drops back to his side, but he takes a small step closer, close enough that you can smell the faint, clean scent of him — old leather, warm metal and tools, and something sharper underneath, something just him.

Your heart thuds painfully against your ribs.

Neither of you speaks. The forest seems to go quiet, the golden leaves above stilling like even the world around you doesn’t want to interrupt.

Slowly, carefully, Tech raises his hand, fingertips brushing against your arm like a silent question. You don’t pull away. If anything, you lean closer, your bouquet pressed tight to your chest like it’s the only thing keeping you anchored.

“Would it... be acceptable,” he says, voice almost a whisper now, “if I—?”

You don’t even let him finish. You nod, once, fast and certain.

The distance closes naturally. His gloved hand slides up, cupping your cheek with a reverence that makes your breath hitch. You tilt into him instinctively, and when he finally, finally leans in, his kiss is as careful and deliberate as everything else he does. A featherlight brush of lips at first, testing the waters, before deepening ever so slightly as he feels you melt against him.

It’s sweet, and a little clumsy, and absolutely perfect.

When you finally pull away, you’re both smiling genuine smiles that don’t need words to explain.

The flower you tucked behind his goggles is a little crooked now, and somehow, that just makes it even better.

🫧 Masterlist

Tags: @tech-aficionado @grizabellasolo @therealnekomari @tech-depression-inventory @brynhildrmimi @greaser-wolf @kaminocasey @marvel-starwars-nerd @ladytano420 @ladyzirkonia @thesith @raevulsix @cw80831 @knightprincess @crosshairlovebot t @littlefeatherr @kaitou2417 @eyecandyeoz z @jesseeka @theroguesully @ladykatakuri @arctrooper69 @padawancat97 @staycalmandhugaclone @ko-neko-san @echos-girlfriend @fiveshelmet @dangraccoon @plushymiku-blog @pb-jellybeans @nunanuggets @sleepycreativewriter @erellenora @zippingstars87 7 @ezras-left-thumb @the-rain-on-kamino @tentakelspektakel l @stellarbit @imalovernotahater @sithstrings @whore4rex @imperialclaw801 @temple-elder @the-bad-batch-baroness @mysticalgalaxysalad @yunggoblin @photogirl894 @lulalovez

#tech x reader #the bad batch #star wars #fic rec #SO SO SWEET AND CUTE #😭🫶

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incxpti0n · 1 month ago

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OH MY GOSHH THIS WAS SO SO CUTEEEE I LOVE THIS SM 😭🫶🫶🫶

How you get the girl

Tech x f!reader

Word count: 8k

Summary: The five times Tech tried to ask you out, and the one time he did. Wanting to express his feelings for you and to discover if you return said feelings, Tech conducts a series of experiments to determine your feelings for him, documenting it all in a scientific report.

Warnings: a few mentions of sex but nothing explicit. Probably not a very accurate example of a scientific report either. No Y/n.

A/N: Wow this fic is over a year in the making!! Some parts I really love, others… not so much but I’m just so happy that it’s finally done! I’m also pretty sure that this is the biggest fic I have ever written which is pretty cool. I’m not entirely sure if there’s still any interest in bad batch fan fics (I’m so sad that I haven’t seen many lately 😭) but even if there isn’t it doesn’t matter because I enjoyed writing this - even though it took forever. Anyway,,,, enjoy! 💕

PLEASE ENTER PASSWORD

******

WELCOME. ACCESSING JOURNAL

ENTRY LOG (1)

Title: How To Ask Someone Out - a scientific report.

For the past few months as I have gotten to know our current team medic, I have noticed changes in how I interact with her. I experienced heat flushes, an accelerated heartbeat, sweaty palms, and a shortness of breath when around her. Further examination showed that I desired to seek out her company, to touch her hair and hold her hand, to talk and listen to her - no matter the subject.

Extensive research on these symptoms has lead me to believe that I have developed romantic feelings for her.

Aim: To express my amorous interest for our team medic through romantic gestures. My aim in recording these endeavours is to learn what she likes and dislikes should she return my feelings, with the eventual goal of asking her on a date.

Hypothesis: Through chivalrous and romantic gestures I may help our team medic develop her own romantic feelings for myself.

Risk Assessment: I have given it much thought, and the only risk I can see developing from this experiment is some minor damage to my emotions and potentially my ego should she not return my affections. I do not see this as having any lasting effects and would be considered only a minor consequence.

Method: My first display of affection will be through the act of giving flowers. This is seen as a romantic gesture on several star systems throughout the galaxy. This is also partly due to the language of flowers. The right combination of flowers will tell her of my feelings for her.

My bouquet starts off simple with six red roses, symbolising infatuation and desire. I will use forget-me-nots to surround the bouquet to show my feelings of love, and in the centre of the arrangement I shall place a single sunflower. While it does not match the rest of the bouquet, in both colour scheme and flower language, it is her favourite flower and therefore the most important.

The method is quite simple once the flower arrangement is assembled. I just have to give it to her.

END ENTRY

•~•~•

He finds you on the small balcony, watching the sunset. He takes a moment to simply watch you, admiring the way you look soaking up the final warm sun rays. Warmth spreads through his chest, a feeling he’s still trying to get used to. The colours of the sunset give your skin a lovely glow and his breath catches in his throat.

Doubt seeps into his thoughts. What is he doing? What is he thinking? There is no way someone like you would ever entertain the thought of being with someone like him. You are leagues above him. He will go back to his room and mark this experiment as incomplete. Then, he’ll lock it away somewhere so that he will hopefully forget about it, somewhere it won’t haunt him.

He’s made up his mind. He admires you for a moment more. Unconsciously, his fingers tighten slightly around the bouquet in his hands, crinkling the paper he had wrapped around it. The noise is small, but in the quiet you catch it. Startled, you turn away from the setting sun. Your frown disappears when you realise it’s just him. You give him a warm smile and it is absolutely breathtaking. Tech decides he is way out of his depth. But he has been caught. He cannot back out now.

“Care to join me?” You ask, half turning back towards the view behind you. Silently, he steps out onto the little balcony, leaning on the railing beside you. He wants to say something but he doesn’t know what. That has never happened to him before. It is something he will have to add to his notes later on.

“You know I thought I would grow tired of this view, yet here I am, still in awe of it just like the very first time I saw it” you comment, eyes returning to the sunset and the homes of Pabu that begin to light up. Tech knows that the sight of you is one he will never grow tired of.

“Well it is a marvellous sight” he finally regains his voice. He can see you turn to face him out of the corner of his eye, so he turns to look at you as well.

“What, no lecture on how it is just a natural phenomena?” The quirk of your lip tells him that you’re merely teasing.

“It may be a naturally occurring event, but there is still beauty and wonder in it.”

Your face softens and something flashes in your eyes, but he has no idea what. He hates not knowing. He remembers the flowers in his hands.

“Take these flowers for example,” he continues, “they are a common type of flora that can be found on just about every single planet in the galaxy. Despite their abundance, their beauty continue to charm people on a daily basis.”

He hesitates for a small moment before he holds the bundle of flowers out towards you. Shock covers your face.

“For me?” You question, making no move to take them.

“For you” he confirms. You accept the flowers and a small thrill shoots through Tech when your fingers lightly brush his.

He studies your face as you study the flowers in the dying light. You hold them slightly away from your body and you don’t touch the flowers as you take them in. Do you not like them?

“They are gorgeous Tech. Thank you,” you smile shyly. “What have I done to receive this lovely gift?”

This is the part where he is meant to express his feelings for you, but he hesitates. While your words are encouraging, you are holding the flowers at an arms length - literally. You are clearly trying to make it look casual by resting your arms on the balcony, but he can still tell that you are trying to keep the flowers away from you. Your nose even wrinkles slightly. You do not like them and are merely trying to be polite. Something sinks in his chest.

“I remember you mentioning that sunflowers were your favourite flower and saw these. I thought you might appreciate them as a reminder of your home world.” He tries to sound as casual as possible. To come across as a friendly gesture rather than a romantic one. Your smile flickers for a second and what looks like a flash of disappointment crosses your face. But it’s gone just as quickly as it arrives and Tech shakes the thought from his head. Wishful thinking.

“I must go. I told Crosshair I would help him with something” Tech rushes out before he turns and leaves, needing to get off this balcony and away from you and the flowers you do not like.

•~•~•

You try to ignore the itchiness growing behind your eyes as you admire the flowers from where they lay on the balcony ledge beside you. They really are beautiful. A fuzzy feeling settles in your chest at the gesture. No one has ever given you flowers before. He had taken note of which flowers were your favourite, which only made the gesture so much sweeter.

But the real reason you could feel excitement and happiness bubbling through you is the fact that it was Tech who had been the one to make the gesture. You felt like you were floating!

Doubt and disappointment hovered in the back of your mind, however. He had been quick to brush the gesture off, dismissing it before disappearing. You brush these feelings away for now though, wanting to enjoy the warmth of hope. Hope that maybe he returned your feelings.

You sneeze, tearing you from your thoughts. Your eyes are really starting to water now and you know they are probably red as well. You have to get rid of these flowers, but you also don’t want to toss away such a sweet gift.

You grab them and head into the kitchen, turning on a light before you start digging through the cupboards, looking for a vase. Perhaps you could leave them on the outside table or the little table at the end of the hall away from your own room. You sneeze again and start rubbing at your eyes, unable to ignore the itch anymore. You are starting to sniffle when you finally find a vase.

You turn to the sink and are startled when you see Echo sitting at the bench.

“Whoa! I didn’t hear you come in!” You exclaim. He chuckles.

“Sorry. It wasn’t on purpose I promise. Just habit” he apologises. You just hum before you’re sneezing again.

“Everything alright?” Echo questions once you’ve calmed down.

“Fine. Just these flowers. I’m mildly allergic to them.” You’re starting to sound nasally. You start to fill the vase up with water.

“But you’re keeping them?” Echo asks.

“Of course I’m keeping them! They were a gift.”

“A gift huh?” Echo prompts, a small smile playing on his lips. You unwrap the flowers and plop them into the vase.

“That’s what I said” you respond, not giving in to his digging. You sneeze again and groan with annoyance.

“Here,” Echo says as he slides out of his chair, holding his hands out for the vase. “Do you have any ideas on where you want to put them?”

“Somewhere away from me. But somewhere nice.” He nods his understanding and starts moving towards the lounge room. You follow behind him. He places the flowers on the windowsill of the farthest window. It’s the perfect spot.

“This way we can still enjoy them, but they are out of your way” Echo says. You smile.

“Thank you Ech-“ a sneeze interrupts you. “Sorry. I’m going to get some medication. Goodnight.”

•~•~•

“The flowers were a good idea,” Echo says, entering Tech’s room. Tech looks up from where he is sitting at his workbench.

“What flowers?” Tech asks, playing dumb. He doesn’t want Echos pity. Echos smile grows.

“She wouldn’t have kept them if anyone else had given them to her” Echo replies.

“She kept them?” Tech asks, perking up a little. He didn’t think you liked them. Echo nods.

“Of course she did! She loves them” Echo exclaims. Perhaps Tech had simply read you wrong.

“But,” Tech feels his stomach drop. “Next time you should do some research.” Tech frowns at this.

“I did research. I had already catalogued her favourite flower but I researched flower language and which flowers are best suited for Pabu’s humid environment and-“ Tech starts but Echo stops him.

“You researched flowers.”

“Yes?” Tech is confused. What is Echo trying to say?

“Next time do some research on the recipient. She’s allergic to flowers.” Echo leaves without saying anything else.

Tech sits in silence for a moment. He had not considered that you could be allergic to the flowers, but it makes sense.

Despite your allergy, you had accepted the flowers and even, according to Echo, kept them. Perhaps you did reciprocate his feelings.

Tech feels his heart race.

•~•~•

ENTRY LOG (2)

EDIT - Risk Assessment: a mild allergic reaction occurred due to the pollen in the flowers. Flowers will not be a reoccurring gift.

Results: despite this method having some setbacks, I would overall consider it a success. Her acceptance of the flowers despite her allergies display that she cares about my feelings and she did display joy at receiving the gift. I am encouraged to continue my pursuit for her affections.

END ENTRY

•~•~•

ENTRY LOG (3)

Method: For my second attempt, I shall ask her to dance with me at tonight’s summer solstice festival. The festival includes multiple aspects but research has shown me that dancing is quite common.

Dancing provides many benefits. A chance to have a moment between just the two of us, which will provide us with a small amount of privacy to give me a chance to confess my feelings. Dancing with a partner also increases levels of serotonin.

Selfishly, dancing also gives me a chance to simply be close to her both emotionally, and well, physically. A chance to feel her hand in mine.

END ENTRY

•~•~•

The night was progressing wondrously. Everyone had put in a lot of effort and energy and it was all so worth it. Crosshair and Omega had spent the day baking cookies and cakes. Wrecker and Hunter had worked to build stalls, stages, and platforms. You had helped out with decorations while Tech was tasked to help out with setting up the light and sound systems. Finally it was time to sit back and enjoy the fruits of the days labour.

Tech had always thought that he kept a level head and knew how to remain calm in any situation. Yet here he was, unable to truly focus on the splendid night. His thoughts were nothing but a jumbled mess of nervous thoughts. What was the best way to approach this? Should he ask directly or hint at what he wants? What if you say no?

It was hard to keep a level head when his entire relationship with you was at stake. He desperately wanted it to progress to something more but he also did not want to risk what he already had with you.

“Have you heard anything from Echo?” Your voice brought Tech out from his thoughts. He turned to find you had situated yourself beside him.

“Nothing yet. But do not worry. He is helping Rex with a stealth mission so no news is good news.” Tech isn’t entirely confident with his assessment, but he tries not to show this to you.

“In my experience stealth missions don’t stay stealth missions for very long,” you state. Tech can’t help but smile.

“Well your experience is limited to missions with us and, as you know, we have a habit of disobeying orders,” Tech rebuts. He is pleased to hear you laugh, and at something he said! He feels a smile once again tugging at his lips.

He turns his attention back to the crowds enjoying the celebrations. Crosshair is in a quiet conversation with Shep. Tech is glad to see his brother engaging in the event. Wrecker is dancing with the baker girl he is dating, the two of them laughing as they twirl around. Hunter and Omega are also dancing, Omega standing on Hunter’s feet as he leads her around the space. Omega chatters away as they dance and Hunter smiles as he listens.

“I’m glad we found our way here” you say softly. Tech looks at you again, finding you watching his siblings just as he had.

“Me too.” You turn to meet Tech’s gaze and you smile sweetly up at him. Tech appreciates the moment for a minute.

“Would you care to join them?”

A flash of confusion crosses your face before quickly being replaced by panic.

“Tech I am a terrible dancer,” you warn. He is relieved to know that the look of panic was not because it was him offering.

“That is ok. My dance knowledge is limited to what I have researched but I have not yet put it into practice. We can take it slow and learn together.” He makes the suggestion gently, letting you know that it is alright if you decline again. He watches as you think it over before you give him a hesitant nod.

Tech’s heart leaps in his chest, threatening to beat right out as you gently take his hand in your own. All thoughts fly out of Tech’s head for a moment as he feels your skin against his. It isn’t until you’re face to face with him, your hand resting on his shoulder, nervously staring up at him that he returns to his own body.

Something strikes him in that moment. The trusting way you look up at him. He already knew you trusted him, after countless missions and battles with him you had both put your lives in the other’s hands, and you would again if it ever came to it. But this was different. More subtle. In this moment, you trusted him with your life in a different way. It wasn’t about keeping you from dying. It was about making sure you lived.

He places his other hand on your waist and begins to gently sway the two of you to the music, keeping it simple. You smile nervously at him when you stumble and he squeezes your waist in reassurance.

You step on his feet quite a few times, apologising every time.

“There’s no need to apologise, cyar’ika. Mistakes are a natural part of learning. Some may even define them as a requirement to learning,” Tech says attempting to reassure you and encourage you to keep trying. Your attention turns away from your bumbling feet to focus on Tech.

“I’ve never heard that word before” you comment. Tech frowns.

“What word?” He asks, unsure what you mean. He was talking about making mistakes. Nothing he said was unusual, was it?

“I think you pronounced it ‘shareeka’?”

Tech freezes. Did he call you cyar’ika? He must have let it slip. He’d been so careful to avoid it. He doesn’t get much time to think it through though. With his sudden stop, your next step gets caught around his ankle and you lose your balance, falling away from him.

Tech’s reflexes are quick though after so many years of training. His hand still in yours he tugs you up towards his chest, his other arm tightening around your waist to pull you to him. You collide with his chest.

He holds you against him for a moment just to stabilise the both of you. Then for a moment more to feel what it’s like to have you in his embrace. He finally comes to his senses and moves to pull away from you, but as he does your grip tightens on him and you let out a small cry of pain. Panic pierces through him.

“Are you alright? What’s wrong?” He asks quickly, moving to support you again.

“I’m alright. It’s just my ankle. I think I’ve sprained it” you inform him.

“Come here.” He helps you move over to a nearby bench. Once he has you sat he kneels down in front of you, taking your injured foot and inspecting it. “Definitely sprained. We should get you back home and get it treated so no further injury will occur.”

The journey back to the batch’s shared home is a slow one as he helps you hobble along. Eventually he has you settled in bed, your foot propped up by a pillow with some ice held on it.

“I’m sorry for cutting your night short” Tech says from where he sits at the end of your bed.

“Were you not telling me earlier that mistakes are apart of the learning process?” You tease him.

“You are correct. But I am sorry nonetheless.”

“Thank you Tech. But next time let me know if you plan on stopping suddenly.”

“Next time?” He blurts out. You want to dance with him again?

“Of course! We have to continue our lessons together.”

•~•~•

Unable to sleep, you stare up at the ceiling, a smile still tugging at your lips as you replay the night.

Some would have considered it a failure. After all you had embarrassed yourself with your attempt at dancing. Then you had made it worse by injuring yourself.

You were never one for dancing. Every time you had tried had always ended unsuccessfully.

But Tech had made your night by asking you to dance. You could not believe it. He was encouraging and reassuring. He was everything you loved about him.

But the thing that truly had you melting for him was the way he had looked after you. After he had got you safely back to your room, he had stayed to keep you company, ensuring you did not feel like you were missing out on the festivities.

You would take a quiet evening with Tech over any festival.

You might not be much of a dancer, but you would gladly agree to any future offers if they came from Tech.

•~•~•

ENTRY LOG (4)

EDIT - Risk Assessment: Dancing is easier when both parties know how to do it. However the injury was mild and she will make a full recovery. My main note is to pay more attention - and don’t let any terms of endearments out, in any language. Not yet.

Results: Other than the minor injury, dancing was a positive experience. I found great enjoyment in holding and being near her and I believe she felt the same. However I am concerned about my last two attempts having caused her injury.

This has lead me to an idea for my third attempt.

END LOG

•~•~•

ENTRY LOG (5)

Method: My last attempt has left her injured and resting. I believe the best course of action from here is to make her a breakfast that I shall bring to her in bed. This gives her a chance to just relax and rest and focus on healing. This action will also display my care for her, that I will look after her.

Risk Assessment: Learning from the incident with the flowers, I will research for any food allergies and/or dietary requirements she may have.

END LOG

•~•~•

Things were not going as planned. It was a very rare occurrence for Tech.

The scrambled eggs turned out dry and clumpy. His pancake batter was lumpy and the end result was oddly tough and hard. His juice definitely had pips in it.

But he was out of time. You would be up and about sooner than later.

He neatly plated it up onto a tray nonetheless, decorating the meal with the one thing that had come out correctly - the fresh fruit he had sliced earlier.

And for the final touch he carefully placed the paper flower he spent the previous night perfecting on the corner of the tray. An allergy free flower for you.

He stepped back and looked over his work before he sighed. There was no way he could serve this to you.

“Tech!” Wrecker called, before he bounded into the room. “One of your projects is smoking I think. Something smells like it’s burning.”

Tech jumped. The toast! He dashed across to the toaster and popped it up. The bread was black and rock hard. The toast was meant to be the easiest part.

“This is not working how it was meant to” Tech sighed in disappointment.

“It’s alright Tech!” Wrecker consoles. “It took me a lot of practice too.”

“She’s waking up!” Omega says, running into the room. Tech rushes to put the burnt toast on the plate. It’ll just have to do. He picks up the plate and heads to your room.

“Not even I would eat that!” Wrecker whispers to Omega. Tech hears the comment anyway. He tries to shake it off, however he does hesitate before he knocks on your door. He cannot expect you to eat this. Before he can run back to the kitchen and toss all the food away the door opens.

“Oh! Good morning Tech” you say. Techs eyes widen but there’s no going back now.

“Good morning. I made you breakfast in bed. Although you are no longer in bed. So I guess I just made you breakfast.”

“Well that’s an easy fix!” You reply with a smile. You turn and lead him back into your room where you sit down on your bed and gesture for him to do the same.

“Thank you Tech. I must say this is unexpected, but not unappreciated.”

“After your injury last night I felt this was fitting.”

“Oh you didn’t have to do this! Thank you!” You reach out and try a bit of the pancake. Tech studies you closely, looking for your reaction but you give none, simply reaching down and eating some more. Your eyes crease ever so slightly as you take a mouthful of the eggs and Tech panics. His hands shoot out, grabbing the tray and pulling it away from you.

“I’m sorry. You don’t have to eat this. It is not good at all and I ran out of time. But I can fix it and-“ he rambles but you gently interrupt him.

“Tech. It’s alright. It’s not as bad as you think. Besides I wouldn’t have expected you to be an outstanding chef on your first attempt! You’ve mostly lived off ration bars your whole life! I’ll help you practice if you’d like? I could even taste test some of your cooking if you’d like!” You suggest.

Tech feels the tension leave him. You don’t hate it. And you don’t hate him for making you eat it. Tech picks up the paper flower and offers it to you.

“I made this for you last night when I clearly should have been researching proper cooking techniques. I figured this is a nice alternative for actual flowers.”

“Oh Tech!” Your voice is a little strained and Tech feels a bolt of panic race through him. Did he do something wrong?

“This is the sweetest thing anyone has ever done for me. Thank you.” You lean forward and place a quick kiss on his cheek. Tech can’t help but freeze, his mind losing all thought and function.

You kissed him.

He thinks his heart may have skipped a beat. Which is not possible, but it’s the only way to describe the way he is currently feeling.

And now he doesn’t know what to do. Should he tell you how he feels now? Should he kiss you back? Should he -

“Get back to me about those cooking lessons. I think I’d like to be the one to teach you something for once!” You joke, breaking the slightly extended silence.

“I would like that,” Tech responds. He winces internally at the way he sounds a little breathless. Way to play it cool.

“Come on,” you say as you stand up. “We can learn some of the basics now. Starting with how to set the timer on the toaster.”

•~•~•

That afternoon you sat at the table, your paper flower in hand. You could not stop admiring the craftsmanship of the little plant. You could tell that Tech had put a great deal of effort into it. You can’t wipe the smile from your face.

The chair next to you scraps as it’s pulled back before Wrecker plops himself onto it.

“I never thought I’d say this, but I’m still full from the breakfast that you cooked this morning” Wrecker says.

“That Tech and I cooked” you correct. You had spent most of the morning teaching him how to make all sorts of food. Toast, pancakes, waffles, porridge, bacon, eggs, and more. Unsurprisingly he picked it all up quickly. Wrecker, Omega, Hunter, and Crosshair were also happy to eat everything the two of you cooked up.

“Well it was certainly an improvement from his first dish of the day!”

“Oh, it wasn’t as bad as it looked” you reassure. A look of horror crosses over Wreckers face.

“You actually ate that?” He asks in complete disbelief. “I’ll eat almost anything, you know that, but even I wouldn’t have touched what Tech made this morning.”

“Of course I ate it! Well some of it. He did his best. Besides, it was a sweet gesture” you shrug.

“Wow you must really like him if you ate that. He’s my brother and I wouldn’t have eaten that if he had made it for me.”

You open and close your mouth like a fish as you flounder at what Wrecker just said.

“I - no… - I don’t -it’s not like that-“

“Oh so you’re not interested in him?” Wrecker looks a bit crestfallen. “Because you’re really special to him and I thought you two would be a great couple.”

You have no way to respond to that. Because you do like Tech. So much. But you can’t help but replay his reaction after you had kissed him. You hadn’t been thinking and you just did it. But the way he tensed up afterwards couldn’t be a good thing.

Wrecker doesn’t seem to mind your lack of response. He just pats your shoulder before heading off again, leaving you with your little paper flower.

•~•~•

ENTRY LOG (6)

Results: This part of the experiment had its initial hiccups. The breakfast did not come out at all how I had intended it to. But it lead to a pleasant morning together as she taught me some tips and tricks to cooking. It was quite enjoyable and I enjoyed spending the time with her. She quite enjoyed the flower I made for her. Perhaps I could focus on something similar for a future experiment.

END LOG

•~•~•

It was midmorning and you were out shopping in the markets when you heard the news.

Hunter came sprinting through the streets, almost knocking you over upon his arrival.

“We’ve been searching for you!” Hunter huffs.

“I didn’t bring my comm. I didn’t think I would need it. What’s wrong?” You ask, something is clearly very wrong. He doesn’t respond right away, instead pulling out his comm and letting his brothers know that he’s found you and to head back to your shared little house.

“Hunter! What’s wrong?” You push. The worry was really creeping in now.

“I’ve received news from Rex.”

Oh stars. News from Rex. Not from Echo himself. Nothing good is going to come from this. You realise you’re not going to get anything else from Hunter at the moment. Not with the state he’s in. So you follow him, running from the markets and through the streets back to the house. Crosshair, Wrecker, and Tech are already there.

“What’s happened?” Wrecker questions as soon as the two of you arrive.

“Rex’s message was brief. Echo has been injured and he needs an immediate pick up” Hunter announces to the room.

“What are his injuries?” Tech asks.

“I don’t know, hence the urgency. We’re not needed in the fight. We just have to get Echo and get him back here to heal.”

“Well let’s go then!” You say trying to urge them back out the door towards the ship. Hunter holds up a hand, effectively stopping you.

“We can’t all go. We just go in, get Echo, and get out. We can’t draw attention to ourselves or the other clones there. Sorry Wrecker but you’re going to sit this one out.”

“Awwww” Wrecker groans in disappointment.

“Omega is still at school. She doesn’t know what’s happened yet, so I’m going to stay here with her.” Hunter looks to you. “She’ll need you too.” You nod your understanding. Hunter looks to Tech and Crosshair.

“That leaves you two. Crosshair you’re the best at stealth and Tech you have medical knowledge so you two are best suited. You’ll be gone a couple days, so grab anything you may need and we will take you down to the ship.”

A lump forms in your throat. None of you really knew what this mission would look like. You didn’t want to sit and wait while Tech was sent into danger. Your heart rate increased as panic started to settle over you.

“I don’t like this. I’m going to grab Omega so she can come see them off,” Wrecker says. Hunter nods his approval before Wrecker disappears through the door and down the street. Tech and Crosshair begin to rush around the house, grabbing any essentials they may need. Hunter places a hand on your shoulder.

“Breathe. He’ll be alright.” You know he’s not talking about Echo. You nod and do your best to pull yourself together. Break down after they leave, not before.

You and Hunter help Tech and Crosshair carry their things down to the caves where the marauder sits. You realise halfway to the ship that you’re carrying the case that contains Tech’s armour. You pray it will do its job and keep him alive and unharmed. That it’ll bring him back home to you.

The four of you have just finished loading up the ship when Wrecker and Omega arrive. Omega rushes up to her brothers and hugs them tightly.

“Look after him. And yourselves,” she says to them.

“Of course we will” Tech reassures her, tussling her hair slightly.

“Don’t worry yourself, we will be back before you know it,” Crosshair says, hugging her back.

Wrecker then scoops both of them into a hug, to disgruntled grunts from his brothers. You give Crosshair a hug as Hunter pats Tech on the back before your standing in front of Tech.

You simply stare at him, taking all of him in before you hug him. He wraps his arms around your waist and hugs you back just as tightly. You don’t know what to say. So, for a moment you just hold him close to you. When you finally go to pull away, his grip tightens around you for a moment before he lets you go.

“Stay safe out there,” Hunter says. Tech and Crosshair nod. Crosshair starts to board the marauder and Tech turns as well but you reach for him, grabbing his wrist gently. He turns to you again.

“Come back to me, Tech” you whisper.

He pulls his hand out of your grip, bringing both his hands up to cradle your face before he places a sweet, lingering kiss on your forehead. You close your eyes, memorising the feel of his lips on your skin, the feel of him here against you.

“I promise” he murmurs into your skin.

All too soon he’s on the ship and in the air.

Then, he’s gone.

•~•~•

It took a small scuffle with the Empire, but Tech and Crosshair had successfully rescued Echo and had him on the Marauder flying through hyperspace back towards Pabu.

Tech was currently studying Echo’s injuries, Crosshair sitting nearby.

“I told you, other than a few scrapes and bruises, I’m fine” Echo insists with an eye roll. Tech doesn’t remove his scanner.

“And I told you that your prosthetics were connected to your spine. There is a high chance that their removal has injured you,” Tech responds, not easing up on his examination. Echo huffs.

“I only needed a pick up because we were out in the middle of no where with no resources to replace my legs.”

“You were caught in a blast. A blast close enough to you that it was able to rip through your prosthetics. I think a check up is more than warranted.”

“Just give him this Echo,” Crosshair finally speaks up from behind Tech. “He’s pent up.”

Tech feels his annoyance starting to rise. Shutting off the scanner he turns to face Crosshair.

“And what’s that supposed to mean?” Tech snaps at his brother. Crosshair smirks.

“Ah still no luck with your girl then?” Echo asks and Tech turns back on him to find Echo also smiling teasingly.

“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” Tech grumbles, but his brothers ignore him, talking as if he’s not even there.

“Last I saw he gave her flowers but didn’t realise she is allergic to them” Echo chuckles.

“You’ll like this then,” Crosshair starts and Tech drops his head into his hands, feeling embarrassment of all things - a feeling he’s not entirely sure he’s actually felt before.

“As we left for you he kissed her.” Echo sits up sharply and starts patting Tech on the back. Tech looks up to see a wide smile on his face. Crosshair just laughs. “Don’t congratulate him yet. It was only a forehead kiss.”

“What!” Echo exclaims. “Stars Tech that was probably the best opportunity you had!”

“Well of course I wasn’t just going to kiss her. She might not have wanted me to,” Tech says in his defence. Echo groans.

“Tech have you seriously not put it together yet. She likes you too.”

“I cannot be sure of that,” Tech responds.

“I can. So can Echo. And Hunter. Omega. Even Wrecker. I’m fairly sure that most of the locals already think you two are together. Tech you two are the only two people who don’t see it,” Crosshair says. “You just need to make the move. Confess to her. Kiss her. Sleep with her. Just do something. I’m sick of the pining.”

Tech splutters, his face heating up at Crosshairs words. At the thought of sleeping with you. Crosshair laughs at his loss of words but Echo seems to take pity on him.

“Tech, treat it like an experiment. Next time you’re with her look at her objectively. Get out of your head a bit and try to see what we see when she’s with you,” he suggests.

Tech nods absentmindedly, his thoughts starting to race. His best option to study your reaction to him would be to present you with another gift. Similar to the flowers but something without the negative consequences. Perhaps he could make you something. A gadget or trinket. Upon giving it to you he could really study your reaction. Echo is right. This started out as an experiment with his emotions to the side, but at some point he had started to focus more on his feelings for you than on the actually goal at hand - learning if you had feelings for him.

“His got his thinking face on. He’s plotting something,” Echo says to Crosshair. Crosshair grins.

“As long as it finally gets him laid.”

•~•~•

ENTRY LOG (7)

Results: Both the conversation with my brothers and the small kiss I gave her have refocused myself. I need to take a step back and watch her objectively to get a better idea of how she views me. I should study her heart rate, breathing, pupil dilation to name a few. The kiss I gave her should work as motivation. If all goes well and according to plan I shall hopefully be able to share a proper kiss with her.

END LOG

•~•~•

ENTRY LOG (8)

If all goes well this should be my last experiment. And if it does not go well it will also be my last experiment.

Method: For this attempt I have begun constructing a bracelet to gift her. Once it is complete, I shall present it to her so I may study her reactions to help me determine if she reciprocates my feelings for her. If signs indicate that she does I will express my feelings for her.

END LOG

•~•~•

“Hey Tech! What are you working on?” Omegas voice comes from behind Tech.

“A project. It is almost complete,” Tech responds without taking his attention away from the piece of jewellery in front of him.

“A project? Is it a secret?” Omega asks.

“Not necessarily. It is a gift for someone.”

“Really? What is it? Who is it for?” Omegas voice raising slightly with her curiosity and excitement. Tech is silent for a moment as he focuses on attaching the clasp, before he straightens and finally turns to face his sister.

“You can come have a look if you would like,” Tech says, and Omega hurries over.

“Wow!” She exclaims when she sees the bracelet on the workbench. Her eyes study the piece carefully, taking in the intricate details and the colourings.

“What do you think?” Tech questions softly, a little self consciously.

“It’s so pretty!! I think she will really like it!” Omega declares with a smile.

“I have not shared who the recipient of this gift is,” says Tech.

“You didn’t have to,” Omega responds with a giggle.

“You are very mischievous,” Tech says with a smile, which only causes Omega to laugh again.

“Is it finished?” She asks. Tech nods. “Good! You can give it to her now! She’s sitting outside.”

Omega starts tugging on her brother’s arm, pulling him out of his chair. A look of panic flashes across Techs face but he wipes it away quickly. This is good. The sooner he does this the quicker he can put himself out of his misery. He grabs the bracelet quickly before Omega is tugging him through the house towards the back door.

The door opens before they can get there and you step inside. Omega stops suddenly at your entrance, but Tech can’t slow himself down fast enough. He stumbles into Omega and the bracelet slips from his hand as he tries to stabilise both his and Omegas balance.

There’s a small clatter when it hits the ground and he can see a crack now running through it.

“Oh no!” Omega cries. “Tech I’m so sorry!”

“It is alright Omega. Accidents happen. Are you alright?” Tech asks, looking at her with concern. She nods, but she continues to look at the broken piece of jewellery with wide eyes.

You reach down and pick up the bracelet and offering it back to Tech. He takes it back from you, taking a moment to assess the damage.

“Don’t worry Omega, we both know how good Tech is at fixing things. He’ll get your bracelet fixed in no time I’m sure” you say in reassurance. Omega turns to Tech.

“Actually the bracelet is a gift for you,” he says, lifting his eyes from the cracked bracelet to meet your eyes. Despite the disappointment of presenting you with a broken gift, Tech turns his focus to studying your reactions. Your eyes widen and he can hear your breath hitch.

“Really?” You ask. Tech nods.

“I made it. I recycled some of my armour and melded it in with the metal then styled it into the weaving pattern,” he explained.

“Can- can I have a look?” You ask softly. Tech offers his hand with the item out to you and you take it from him gently, carefully examining the piece. Your eyes are wide and filled with sincerity when they turn to meet his again.

“This is beautiful Tech!”

“I can take it back and fix the crack for you-“ Tech starts but you hurry to interrupt him.

“You don’t have to! I quite like it like this,” you declare.

There’s a moment of silence where you both just look at the other, taking each other in. Tech steps closer to you.

“Would you like me to…” he begins, gesturing towards the bracelet still resting in your hand. You nod fervently. Tech takes the bracket back from you. You hold your hand out for him. You are both keenly aware of every brush of his fingers over your skin as he brings the bracelet around your wrist and secures the clasp.

His hand remains on yours as he studies you. Your pupils are dilated, your breathing slightly uneven, your body leaning into his, your pulse underneath his fingers erratic. Your eyes are also studying him before they dip to momentarily focus on his lips.

Tech can feel his own heartbeat speed up as you begin to slowly lean further toward him. He begins to move towards you as well, determined to finally feel your lips against his own. His nose brushes yours.

“Omega did you find Tech for me?” Hunter’s voice is loud in the quiet of the room. You jolt away from him.

So. Close.

“Yeah he’s here,” Omega grumbles. Hunter studies the three occupants of the room and a smirk creeps across his face.

“I’m sorry to interrupt whatever was happening but Echo is having problems with his new legs. Says they’re stiff,” Hunter says.

“Oh. Right. Let me grab my tool box and I’ll come have a look,” Tech says, but he can’t quite help the small amount of annoyance that sneaks into his voice.

Omega and Hunter move to head out, Tech starting behind them.

“Tech!” You call. He turns back to you. “Thank you for my gift. I love it.”

He gives you a warm smile. “I’m glad.”

•~•~•

ENTRY LOG (9)

Results: The bracelet was a massive success. Almost. I can now conclude that she does return my feelings to some extent. The only hinderance being an untimely interruption from my brother. I was so close to finally kissing her. I will ensure my next attempt will have no interferences from anyone.

END LOG

•~•~•

The next day Tech is sitting at his desk brainstorming ideas for another last attempt to confess his feelings when a knock sounds at his door.

“Come in,” he calls, not looking away from his datapad.

“Tech?” You say, capturing his attention. In a panic he fumbles to try and turn off his datapad to hide what was on the screen. Instead he manages to knock it off of his desk. You pick it up before he can get to it.

He watches you carefully as your eye catches what is on his screen. Your jaw drops when you realise just how extensive his little project is. You don’t read it, just take note of how many attempts he has made before you place the device back on his desk beside him.

“That looks like it took a lot of planning and effort,” you comment. Tech can’t tell what you’re feeling. You keep your voice very neutral. Tech sucks in a shaky breath.

“Well it is all for you. It needed to be perfect. Unfortunately not all of it went to plan obviously so umph-“ Tech starts his explanation but you stop him before he can get any further.

By pressing your lips to his.

You’re kissing him.

He breaks out of his shock, placing his hands on your waist and drawing you closer to him, returning your kiss.

He puts everything into the kiss. All the pent up months. All the failed attempts. All the almosts. He has waited for this moment for so long, he wanted to make sure you knew just how much you meant to him.

You pull away first to catch your breath. You take him in for a moment before you start laughing. It’s a giddy, joyful sound and Tech cannot help but join in.

“I’m so glad I finally got to do that!” You announce.

“You are?”

“Yes Tech! I’ve been thinking of nothing but this moment for months. There were a few times where I thought I might, but I always got too nervous. But yesterday we almost kissed and I couldn’t wait for the next almost. I needed to make it happen,” you confess. “And all your planning! I can’t believe you did all that Tech!” You kiss him again.

“I never thought you’d return my feelings. But I have felt this way for much too long to ignore it any longer. I needed to do something. This experiment seemed the best way to determine if you did return my feelings,” Tech explained. You laugh again.

“I most definitely do. If the kiss didn’t give it away,” you tell him. He smiles brightly.

“You know, you could have always just used a pick up line. Probably would have saved you a lot of trouble,” you tease. He thinks over your words for a moment.

“What about this: if you were words on a page you would be fine print,” he attempts.

“So you mean small, tricky, and hard to read?” You say seriously. Tech splutters, words stumbling as he tried to correct himself. You break into a smile. “I’m just teasing you Tech!” He huffs.

“Well that’s not very nice,” he pouts. You smirk.

“How can I make it up to you?”

“Let me take you out for dinner?”

“I think I can manage that.”

He leans in to kiss you again.

•~•~•

ENTRY LOG (10)

Conclusion: my overall experiment was a success. I confessed my feelings for her and discovered that she returned them and we are now dating. While this process might have been a little long winded it turned out to be a lot of fun for both of us. However looking back, if I could do it again, I would simply just tell her I love her. Because I do.

END LOG

SIGNING OUT

#tech x reader #the bad batch #star wars #fic rec #MY HEARTTT 😭🫶

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incxpti0n · 1 month ago

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Size Kink with Clark Kent

A/N: I can’t get him out of my head.

Clark who is so big you gasp when you first see his hard cock. He only smiles, slightly goofily, at your shocked expression. You shouldn’t be surprised really. He was a big guy in general - tall, broad, large hands, wide shoulders, biceps bigger than your head… it only made sense that his dick would accompany all of that in its size. You just hadn’t expected it to be so large.

Luckily Clark is big on foreplay, loving nothing more than making out until you’re a writhing mess begging for him to take the next step. He is also a big fan of making you come at least twice before he even considers taking off his own clothes. Because of his overall large state, it means his fingers fill you pretty well. So that usually comes first, him pumping his thick digits in you until you whine his name. Then he cleans up the mess you’ve made with his tongue, getting drunk on the taste of you and making you come again. Only then does he consider himself.

It still catches you slightly off guard every time you see it, just how big he truly is. You love it though. Staring at him and thinking about how he couldn’t possibly fit all of that inside you but knowing that he’ll find a way. And most guys are cocky about their size, usually offering you a patronising “you can take it” but Clark is different. Clark will whisper sweet nothings in your ear to relax you, maybe offer a pet name or two to make you feel good. Then he’ll ease into you, willing to stop and prep you some more with his hands or tongue if he notices you’re not quite ready yet. You’ll insist you’re fine, willing to be absolutely wrecked by him. But Clark won’t take that, he prefers if your pussy is as slick and pliant as possible. He likes having that effect on you.

But he finally sinks into you, bottoming out to the hilt, he finds it hard to hold back. You feel so good around him after all, squeezing every inch of him. And boy, are there a lot of inches. His large hands will grip tightly at your waist, your hips, your thighs, your tits, anything he can reach and engulf the plains of your skin. His strength means he can bounce you up and down on his cock easily, either to help you ride him, to make you rock back and forth when you’re on all fours, or to slide up and down the bed. The force of his thrusts always make the bed shake, the headboard hitting the wall repeatedly, no matter what.

Never does he cover your mouth when you start making the noises he loves to hear. He lets them echo around the room as he continues to pound into you. You’re so easy to move around, he could have you in any position he wanted. But he doesn’t care about that, his main focus is your pleasure and what you want. He isn’t ignorant to the fact that you love how big he is, in every aspect. So he makes a point of it. He wraps an arm around your neck if he’s hitting from behind so you can feel his bicep flex against your throat. He crowds himself over you so your vision is obstructed by the width of his shoulders. He’ll tap his cock against your wet pussy and show you how deep he goes into you by resting it against your tummy. He loves the way your eyes practically bulge out of your skull at the sight of that.

And due to his stamina, he won’t stop until you’ve orgasmed multiple times. Only then does he give you a break before tempting you into another round a little while later by showcasing the sheer size of himself to you. You’re always happy to jump right back on him after that.

#clark kent x reader #clark kent #fic rec #OH FAWKKK YEAH #🙏🙏🙏

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incxpti0n · 1 month ago

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I LOVE THISSSSS

Omg girlie can you imagine bob adjusting to having super strength after the serum? I'm thinking of the classic marvel scenes of wolverine and spiderman breaking the sinks bc they don't realise their own strength yet

ty for requesting :D — the one where bob reynolds has a way of ruining everything but you (established relationship, post-thunderbolts, cw smut 18+!! | 1.5k)

Robert Reynolds is the strongest Avenger known to man. He’s also the clumsiest one, too.

It’s a running theory among the Thunderbolts that his newfound powers didn’t relieve him of his gracelessness, but rather amplified it along with his strength. His perpetual awkward disposition would be endearing if it weren’t the absolute worst trait a superhero with otherworldly capabilities could possess.

Of all things to be known for, Bob is notorious for breaking things around the tower — not because he’s angry or because he ever means to, but because he’s happy and totally unaware of his strength, like some kind of large-breed puppy.

But, by all accounts, Bob Reynolds is completely and utterly harmless.

Most of the time.

He’s the last to wake and join the lot of you by the poolside, where the team scarfs down their breakfast by the water. Ava forks down her omelet and meanders aimlessly on a pool float, while Alexei belly flops into the water until his tattooed torso is glowing red. “Lena, look,” he calls to his daughter with a grin every time. “Watch me, Lena.” (He’s got no idea Yelena’s fallen asleep behind her sunglasses.)

Alexei hits the water harder this time and inadvertently splashes Ava from the opposite end of the pool. She glares with her mostly unscathed omelette in hand. “Do it again, fat man,” she threatens callously enough to make the aging super soldier cower.

“Hey,” Walker scolds instinctively from where he sunbathes in a lounge chair. “Play nice.”

Bob enters then like a total ray of sunshine — a giddy, golden thing in a white tank top and a pair of tropical-patterned trunks. He glows with the distant understanding that this will likely be the first time in years he’s gotten to have fun. The ‘totally sober, free from experimentation, no obligation to fight crime’ fun.

He’s got a smile on his face that someone could see from a mile away. The kind that shows the dimple in his left cheek and makes his eyes squint at the edges. The kind that you’ve learned often means trouble. “Bob, slow down—” you just manage to caution from where you kick your feet in the shallow end with Bucky.

But by then, it’s already too late.

Bob’s already slammed the door shut behind him — a simple flick of his wrist that’s got a world of inadvertent power behind it. Everyone flinches, bracing themselves for the inevitable impact. The thick glass of the sliding door cracks and shatters until you can’t see through it anymore.

Bob just freezes, cheeks burning red, like staying still enough will make him invisible.

“Nice going, Bobby,” Ava chides with her mouthful.

“I’ll fix it,” he squeaks out.

Walker laughs. “How?”

Bob falters. “I’ll… I’m sure I’ll figure it out,” he shrugs with a wavering smile, much too pretty to argue with.

It stays broken for two days after that, which is how long it takes Valentina to send someone up to fix it.

Typically, when Bob breaks one thing, he breaks several others in quick succession. None of you is totally sure why that is — you only know that a few of you have made quite a bit of money betting on what he’ll break next. (You once made a pretty penny in one night after correctly assuming that Bob would break the dining table before dinner after he’d shattered one of the chairs at breakfast that morning.)

So, you feel pretty confident now betting that Bob will end up shattering the newly installed glass door.

Of all the other guesses from the remaining Thunderbolts, Alexei’s is the most horrid. “The bed’s next. I know it,” he guesses in a low Russian drawl, then scoffs at the screwed look of disgust on your face. “I share a wall with you, you know? I hear these things—”

When Bob follows you into the bathroom later that night, half-asleep and insistent on keeping you company while you shower, you wonder silently what’s in there for him to break — the sink, the towel rod, the mirror maybe (if he’s being particularly reckless, which would then mean you’d owe Yelena fifty dollars).

You can’t help but worry as he trudges in behind you, visibly weighed down by sleep.

“You don’t have to wait for me, Bob,” you giggle from behind the foggy, translucent curtain. He can just barely make out the pretty sound of it beneath the thundering water cascading over you in steamy droplets. “You know that, right?”

Bob rubs a fist over his swollen eyes, wearing the need for slumber all over — in his wild chestnut curls and the glazed-over look in his dark ocean eyes. “I want to, though…” he murmurs in tired slurs. “I missed you.”

“Well, if you were asleep, you wouldn’t be able to miss me.”

“I always miss you when you’re not around,” Bob scoffs, wrapping his fingers around the counter’s edge as he angles himself to sit on top of it.

You open your mouth to respond, but the words dissolve on the tip of your tongue at the dull crack that fills the bathroom. Bob freezes, eyes wide and breath hitching in his throat. The feeling of the marble counter shifting underneath him sobers him from sleep almost instantly.

Your hand slides the shower curtain back, just enough to reveal your flushed features and dripping hair. “…Did you break just something?” you wonder aloud when you don’t find anything obvious out of the ordinary.

Bob swallows hard and shakes his head, despite the split marble slowly pinching his sweatpant-clad thigh. “No,” he answers in a voice an octave higher than usual.

He shifts uncomfortably, and your eyes narrow into the thin slits. “You broke the counter, didn’t you?”

“I’ll fix it,” he blurts, just like he always does.

Because he always has the best intentions, never means to ruin anything — he just wishes he had the ability to put things back together after he’s broken them. He’d want that power over being some stupid invicible schmuch any day. At least then he’d feel actually deserving of all the praise he gets from the public, if he could make things better instead of destroying them.

As far as Bob’s concerned, the only thing he knows how to do properly is make you feel good. You’re the only thing he’s touched that he hasn’t totally ruined. Despite everything he’s hurt with his hands and his body and his mind, he uses those things to bring you to heaven and back too.

He fucks you within an inch of your life into the mattress, propped on his arms above you with his hands balling the pillow into his fists. His core burns with the intensity of his merciless thrusts, which punch so many pretty whines out of you.

“That the spot, baby?” he pants when your mouth parts in a silent moan, head thrown back and eyes squeezed shut. “That the spot? Huh?”

You nod wordlessly, unable to form the words, as your body grows taut underneath him. The stimulation is constant and ruthless — your sensitive nipples caged beneath his chest, your swollen clit rutting against the coarse thatch of hair above his cock, your velvet walls gushing around his piercing thrusts.

The pleasure is all-consuming. You couldn’t run from it if you tried.

Bob watches with lidded, attentive eyes as your orgasm racks suddenly through your body. Your nails dig crescent shapes into his shoulders in a desperate attempt to tether yourself when your limbs start to tremble underneath him. Your cunt pulses around his twitching cock, and his own orgasm swells in the pit of his stomach along with his pride.

“There you go…” Bob pants into your neck, hiding his face there while he chases his high with rapid and erratic thrusts. His fingertips threaten to dig bruises into your skin from where he holds so ardently to your hips. “Take it, baby,” he whimpers. “Take it…”

Your body feels lighter than air as you come down. You exhale deeply and rake your fingers through his curls, coaxing him softly as his cock begins to jerk within your pulsating confines. “Cum for me,” you beg in quiet slurs. “Need it so bad, baby, please cum for me—”

A pained sort of groan sounds deep in his throat. He punches into you once — hard — and suddenly a dull and hearty crack sounds from underneath you. You blink, and suddenly you’re lying halfway crooked on a lopsided bedframe.

If Bob notices the damage to the wooden thing, he doesn’t show it. He just keeps exhaling pretty little whines into your skin as his cock spits deep inside you. It takes several long moments for the haze to pass, for his cock to soften, and for Bob to realize how both of you are leaning ever so lightly askew.

“…I broke the bed, huh?” he pants against your neck, face still hidden, as his body weight rests wholly on top of you.

You nod, still breathless. “I think so.”

“I’ll fix it,” he promises.

You know he won’t, but you can’t bring yourself to care.

All you can think about now is that you owe Alexei fifty dollars.

#bob reynolds #robert reynolds #bob reynolds x reader #robert reynolds x reader #fic rec #giggling and kicking my legs #hngghhh

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incxpti0n · 1 month ago

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“ or maybe better, depending how you look at it.”

OH ITS BETTER ALRIGHT 🫦🫶

“, his mouth all hot and wet, stringy saliva already dripping from the corner before his lips even leave yours. thick, filthy strands of it stretching when he pulls back, panting against your mouth like he can’t stand to be away from you for even a second.” OH MY OGOSSHHHHH let me take a deep breath FAWWKKKK.

“but it’s so obvious how much it turns him on.”

I need to sit in time out. Oh my gosh

“he whines. actually whines, his hips stuttering, head falling forward, strands of hair sticking to his damp, flushed face.” THIS IS LIFE CHANGING FAWWKKKK

i need like superrrr smutty spit kink w bob

genuinely disgusting in a way that makes your stomach twist and your thighs clench, and he’s so messy about it,always has been. it started with the way his mouth would hang open when he was zoned out, spit gathering at the corner of his lips, trailing down his chin without him even noticing. and now it’s worse, or maybe better, depending how you look at it.

he kisses like he’s starving for it. like he needs the taste of you on his tongue just to stay grounded, messy and desperate, his mouth all hot and wet, stringy saliva already dripping from the corner before his lips even leave yours. thick, filthy strands of it stretching when he pulls back, panting against your mouth like he can’t stand to be away from you for even a second.

“fuck, fuck, ‘m sorry, didnt mean to—” he’ll gasp when he realizes he’s drooled all over your chin, down your neck, sticky trails on your chest. but it’s so obvious how much it turns him on. his cock twitching inside you, pupils blown wide, cheeks pink and slick with spit. and then it gets worse, because the more fucked out he gets, the less control he has.

he’ll be fucking into you, slow and deep, and it’s like he can’t help it — the drool spills out over his lips, thick and shiny as it falls onto your face, onto your tongue when you stick it out for him, needy and greedy for the taste of him. and he whines. actually whines, his hips stuttering, head falling forward, strands of hair sticking to his damp, flushed face.

and you make it worse on purpose. grabbing his jaw, making him watch it, the way it strings between your lips when you kiss him again, how you swallow around it and moan like it’s the best thing you’ve ever tasted.

it gets to the point where it’s a problem — you’ll catch him doing it when he’s working, zoned out with his hand down his pants and spit dribbling past his lips because he’s thinking about it. about you. about how it felt the last time you let him drool in your mouth while you rode him, fingers shoved down your own throat to feel what he feels, to choke a little on him, so messy you could hardly breathe.

#robert reynolds #robert reynolds x reader #fic rec #🧎‍♀️🧎‍♀️🧎‍♀️#I AM ON MY KNEEEEEES #woah… just woah…#🫦🫦🫦

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incxpti0n · 1 month ago

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Firstly… CONGRATULATIONS!!! I legit gasped so hard and squealed when I saw this notif tysm for tagging me I feel so honored 😭🫶 AHHH I LOVE LOVE LOVEEEE BE ALL SO MUCHHHH!!! IT LIVES RENT FREE IN MY MIND, AND IM SO HAPPY MORE PEOPLE ARE ENJOYING IT TOO!!! What I wouldn’t GIVE to read it all for the first time again 😭🙏 I LOVE YOUR BRAIN AHHH another banger, YET AGAIN 😩🙏 This is everything omfggggg 🧎‍♀️🧎‍♀️🧎‍♀️ I love how you just put so much thought into everything and the thorough research you do is so SO amazing! I enjoyed this sm, THANK YOU SO MUCH FOR THIS! You deserve the world! Wishing you so much love, happiness, good health, wealth and peace 🫶🫶🫶

A Be-All And Endor NSFW Alphabet

(and my eternal gratitude)

So, that crying you hear is me because the week before last, Be-All And Endor exceeded 2,000 kudos on AO3! 😭😭

I’ve been nowhere near emotionally stable enough over the past two weeks to adequately express how this made me feel. When it ticked past 2k, I was four days into what turned out to be a ten-day-straight stint of working between 9 and 16 hours a day (literally illegal), had a birthday approaching (an unwelcome event past the age of 39), and a mandatory visit to the loony bin (AKA family home) on the cards. I was f-r-a-g-i-l-e.

And I also wasn’t ready. I hadn’t prepared something fun to offer in return for all the kindness my readers have shown. I wanted to do something special, like write you a bonus scene or something, but I had nothing to offer. Okay, sure, I’ll be posting a brand new fic as soon as the editing’s done, but this is a Be-All milestone, so I wanted to do something related to that fic.

So, I scoured the resources I’d put together when writing Be-All, and in a subfolder I hadn’t looked at in ages, I stumbled across the beginnings of an NSFW Alphabet I was going to write for Din. I had actually forgotten all about it!

But I had only written one letter: A.

Okay, my tired brain thought, I can write a few more letters in between the work and family shitstorms. So I did. And I think it’s what kept me from completely breaking down beneath the weight of the stresses. This fandom, the people here, the symbiotic acts of producing stories that bring happiness to others and being rewarded with kudos, then passing the appreciation onto others… they’re what keep me going when times are tough, and you have no idea how thankful I am for that.

So, I hereby offer you my undying gratitude in the form of six letters extracted from the still-under-construction Be-All And Endor NSFW Alphabet:

T, H, A, N, K and S.

Be-All And Endor NSFW Alphabet (excerpt): The Gratitude

Rating: Explicit (18+) Pairing: Din Djarin x OC!Reader Word count: 5,460 Tags/warnings: A young and very naïve version of Din; mentions of prostitution, sex toys, masturbation, anal (fingering, pegging, P in A sex), P in V sex, creampie, cum play, taste kink, mention of extra-marital sex/partner sharing, hickeys, exhibitionist urges, mention of bondage and breath play, cockwarming, somnophilia (bordering on non-con but not really bc they just fell asleep in the middle)… did I miss anything? Author’s Note: If you haven’t read Be-All, this will spoil a few things for you. The original fic is written entirely from Reader’s POV, and this bonus is intended to be read at the end to offer some insights into the origins of Din’s adorable sexual naïveté, as well as what and how he was thinking during particular (sexy) events that occurred before, throughout, and after the fic.

T = Toy

Do they own toys? Do they use them? On a partner or themselves?

Din’s apprentice journeys took him to many shadowed corners of the Outer Rim. After all, he had to learn how to fight in uncontrolled conditions. But it wasn’t until he ventured out into the galaxy alone, chasing credits and quarry, that he discovered the seedier side of the underworld, and with that came the revelation of sex toys.

Sure, he’d been to red light sectors and leisure zones before. He knew the basics of sex and was aware that many beings throughout the galaxy treated it as a commodity. His teacher had even dragged him through a brothel on a mission, though all Din saw were scantily clad dancers and the polished gleam of a well-stocked bar.

He’d also passed countless shop window displays during his travels – endless rows of imitation genitals, slick lubricants, and bizarre contraptions lit up behind transparisteel. But without context, and with his teacher hurrying him forward... well, you couldn’t fault a naïve kid like him for assuming such places were pleasure droid repair shops. Just another unseemly trade flourishing in those morally bankrupt districts.

It wasn’t until later that he learned most of those items were toys for living beings to use at home on themselves and each other. Mortification crashed through him at his innocent mistake, instantly crystallising into a disdain for sexual aids. Not that anyone ever uncovered his childlike ignorance on the topic, but Din was always his own harshest critic.

He convinced himself such things were superfluous. Vulgar. Pointless. He could bring himself to climax without artificial assistance, and surely, the heat of living flesh would surpass anything synthetic. So why resort to using substitutes? Despite his sexual inexperience, he was adamant that anyone skilled at sex wouldn’t need to augment their performance.

He was still stubbornly clinging to this belief when he met his soulmate on Endor’s forest moon. Once they became intimate, he found subtle ways to convey his opinion to her, one such chance arising after her mid-session plea for him to fill her with anything – even her hairbrush handle. He swallowed his fierce objection and gently dismissed her idea, telling her that whatever she’d used before he came along had no place in their relationship. It delighted him that she instantly backtracked, promising she’d only tried it once, and it found it lacking.

Excellent – his cyar’ika shared his disdain for such artifice.

Or so he believed.

Attitudes shifted when they began exploring anal play. Din knew it was something that intrigued him, having figured out as a teenager that a carefully positioned finger in his own ass could intensify his orgasms. But he’d learned the hard way that saliva was a poor lubricant, hurting himself more than once, so he rarely risked it. When he discovered the self-lubricating miracle of the vagina, he was somewhat envious. However, he remained adamant that he didn’t need artificial assistance. He wasn’t that desperate.

Being with a sexual partner he trusted finally gave him the chance to push boundaries, but he didn’t know how to raise the topic of anal play. Questions were difficult for him anyway, unpractised as he was at courtship, so he found ways to hint at his interest.

He started with brief caresses, testing how slick he could make her back there using her own arousal. Then, when the opportunity arose, he cautiously slipped his thumb partway into her tight little hole. She was clearly shy about it – though so was he – but her willingness to explore further both relieved and delighted him. When she suggested she return the favour, joy blazed through his chest.

He hadn’t realised she’d purchased lube on Tatooine. En route back to Endor, she suggested it was his turn, and he leapt at the chance. He didn’t consider how until he emerged from his shower to find her waiting with the bottle at the ready. She must have ventured into Mos Eisley’s leisure zone and bought it from some sex toy vendor, which he wouldn’t have approved of had he known. But with the prospect of pleasure so close, his appetite outweighed his aversion.

The next half hour shattered his preconceptions. With her fingers working magic in his ass, he shot the biggest wad of cum of his life down her throat and decided that lube was a welcome addition. Okay, so it wasn’t a natural substance, but it wasn’t a toy.

And so, Din adjusted his bias.

But as determined as she was with her fingers, it wasn’t long before he began wondering how something larger might feel. The thought invaded his dreams, where it evolved into a fantasy. Soon, he found himself imagining an impossible alternate reality in which his riduur possessed both the soft warmth of a cunt and the firm length of a cock.

Eventually, after a session where he’d demanded she press deeper despite knowing the limits of her fingers’ reach, she suggested a toy. She prefaced her proposal by addressing his dislike of them, promising to consider his specific needs and tastes when selecting something.

Once again, appetite outweighed aversion. Din agreed, and she visited Glavis Ringworld’s red light sector before they departed. Since his Darksaber injury prevented him from escorting her, he insisted she arm herself to the teeth in case of trouble.

When she unveiled her choice weeks later, he was thunderstruck. He hadn’t thought it possible to love this woman more than he already did, but somehow, she’d plucked his deepest, most outrageous fantasy from his mind and given it perfect form. The realistic dildo strapped to her even matched her skin tone, its synthetic flesh warm and inviting.

Suddenly, his historic contempt for sex toys seemed so ignorant.

And as he climbed over her and slowly lowered himself onto the firm yet silky cock – lubed up and warmed by her body – his baseless prejudice dissolved entirely. Finally, he understood that sex toys weren’t just substitutes for deficient sexual skills but gateways to entirely new realms of pleasure.

He hasn’t looked back since.

H = Hair

How well-groomed are they? Does the carpet match the drapes?

Personal grooming remained a mystery to Din until tragically late in his adolescence. Once foundlings swear the Creed, they’re encouraged to keep their hair short enough to stay hidden beneath their helmets. For the young boy from Aq Vetina, however, things weren’t that simple.

Most Mandalorian children and adopted foundlings have families they can remove their helmets around, who guide them through proper self-care methods. Din was ten when rescued – already two years beyond the age at which training begins. That meant instant enrolment in the Fighting Corps, bypassing the adoption process that the younger foundlings underwent. All children aged eight to thirteen were trained within the Fighting Corps, spending three nights of the week in the barracks and the remaining two nights with their families. Din was the only foundling raised in the Fighting Corps, spending all five nights of the week in his narrow bunk.

His lessons focused on combat and survival, covering everything from physical prowess to tactical thinking, as well as practical skills and knowledge. But whilst his training emphasised excellent hygiene (since scent could betray one’s position to enemies), personal grooming was not part of the curriculum.

When his dark hair grew long enough to escape his helmet’s confines, he hacked at it with a vibroblade. The concept of facial shaving simply didn’t occur to him, having never witnessed those around him perform such maintenance. But awareness slowly dawned as he went on his journeys with his teacher. Observing human males throughout the galaxy gave him pause, stirring buried memories of his father’s neatly trimmed beard. He soon concluded he ought to do something about the patchy whiskers framing his face.

After badly slicing his chin with his vibroblade, he approached his teacher for guidance. The older man was genuinely surprised to hear a seventeen-year-old ask about shaving. He’d never considered that his apprentice lacked anyone to instruct him in such basic self-care. Their next journey included a market stop, and Din returned to Concordia’s barracks with his very own electric grooming device.

He used the groomer on his scalp for a while, too, having decided that efficiency was the key to good grooming. It only took him a couple of months to realise that he preferred the cushioning effect of more hair inside his helmet. Frustrated, he let it grow out again. On his next market trip, he acquired some proper scissors, then spent weeks working out how to trim what he couldn’t see. Wearing a thick leather glove to protect his fingers worked wonders, and he took genuine pride in this self-taught skill.

He didn’t consider trimming his pubic region until years later, when a cruel comment from Xi’an made him self-conscious enough to wonder if other men maintained their hair down there.

The instant he declined her request for a repeat fuck, she transformed from flirtatious to furious. Hurling every insult she could conjure, her tirade was so loud that it drew the crew’s attention. Once the vindictive Twi’lek realised she had an audience, her attacks turned personal, attempting to ‘expose’ whatever she could about Din’s hidden appearance.

Most of it was patently false – he was pretty sure his cock wasn’t tiny – but when she sneered, “And he doesn’t shave at all – his pubes are like a kriffing Salsola bush!” it struck deep because the first part rang true. He didn’t shave down there. He had no idea what a Salsola bush was, but he was suddenly self-conscious. If Xi’an was able to feel his lack of grooming without even catching a glimpse, things must be bad.

Din needed guidance, but he’d grown distant from his Tribe, only returning when he could sneak away with his cut of the credits Ran’s crew were making from mercenary jobs. His teacher now had a new apprentice, and this wasn’t the sort of topic he could raise with the older man anyway. His options seemed limited to brothels or holoporn, and he reasoned he’d get a more authentic perspective from live observation. So, when the crew next visited the local leisure zone, he tagged along, found a place with live shows, and checked out some dicks.

His quest for answers proved educational. He really needed to utilise his groomer. On the plus side, he also confirmed that he was rather well-endowed, judging by the premium prices charged for performers with cocks of his size. That was a relief, at least.

Since Mandalorians don’t engage prostitutes, while his crewmates chose their preferred performers and got laid, Din returned to the privacy of his ship. With ground security protocols engaged, he fucked his (apparently very lucky) fist to relieve the massive hard-on all his fact-finding had triggered, then located his electric groomer.

Copying what he’d seen, he shaved it all off that first time. Within a day, the itching was worse than a blaster wound, and his balls were on fire. He knew he’d made a mistake. Just like with his beard, it appeared that a close shave was unwise. He wondered how other men achieved smoothly shaven skin without the burning sensation, but since he wouldn’t learn about balms and lotions for another decade, he simply did what worked best for him. A quick pass over his face every few days, and the same for his groin every couple of weeks when he trimmed his hair. It was a simple routine, and once again, he was proud that he solved the problem himself.

After meeting his gorgeous salvager on Endor, it was a while before he felt confident being naked around her. Xi’an’s cruel words still echoed in his mind, and he was nervous. But his cyar’ika looked at him with such unfettered desire and devotion that his fears steadily lessened.

Later, when he tried to adjust his grooming routine to suit what he assumed she’d prefer, she asked him to simply stick to what he wanted. He wondered if she understood how healing that acceptance was. He briefly told her of his slow induction into personal haircare, but he never mentioned Xian’s poisonous comment.

To this day, her steadfast acceptance of the choices Din makes for his physical appearance remains a source of confidence in his heart.

A = Aftercare

What are they like after sex?

Din never had to worry too much about aftercare during his past encounters, perfunctory as they were.

His preference was to pull out and come on his partner’s ass or lower back, though he would always wipe them off with his cloak. They tended to excuse themselves to the refresher at that point. He didn’t like to linger, so he would take his leave then, slipping away to the Razor Crest and tossing his cloak straight into the washer. A simple equation with a predictable outcome.

But when it became clear that things would get intimate with the bright spark of a woman he met on Endor, anxiety suddenly struck.

He wanted to come inside her – the first time he’d ever had such an urge – but that would alter his established routine, and he wasn’t quite sure how to adapt. How was he supposed to clean up his cum if he didn’t have easy access to it? Even he baulked at the idea of wiping her intimate area with the tail end of his cloak, so he would need a more hygienic solution. Should he prepare a cloth in advance?

And was it appropriate to dive right into the cleanup, or was he supposed to dote on her a little first? He didn’t want to seem desperate to erase the evidence of what they’d shared. Plus, the thought of his seed slowly dripping from her was a serious turn-on.

He actually had no idea how fast it would escape, having never climaxed inside anyone before. Sure, he’d caught glimpses in the seedier brothels. A freshly fucked whore with spread legs, scooping cum from her cunt to spread across her breasts or tongue. Although maybe it wasn’t cum… he’d had little time to watch, after all. He rarely visited such places except to hunt, and curiosity wasn’t enough to distract him from his primary means of making credits. He had no clue whether a woman could control how swiftly it exited her.

He realised this was all moot if his cyar’ika didn’t have an implant, a little miffed that those arousing thoughts might not become manifest. Nonetheless, he resolved to buy seals, despite finding them uncomfortable. His curiosity wasn’t worth the risk.

When the moment arrived, he was overjoyed to learn she had an implant after all. She also seemed entirely unconcerned about cleanup, and he was so sated by their coupling that he mostly forgot to worry. Coming inside her felt fucking glorious – and she’d even asked him to.

The atmosphere was so natural and relaxed, and he stayed buried in her warmth longer than planned, revelling in their connection while whispering how much he loved her. It was heady and blissful. Still, he had to withdraw when she squeezed his oversensitive cock, and he felt the wetness escaping as he slid out.

Panic flickered through him, making him sit up sharply, ready to leap up and find a cloth... but the sight before him stopped him in his tracks. There wasn’t much yet, but some of his cum had leaked from her pussy as he’d withdrawn. Small pearls of it glistened on her swollen folds.

It was his first proper look at her down there – his first close-up look at anyone, in fact. Whilst he already considered her utterly beautiful, somehow the sight of her cunt glazed with his seed grabbed at his very soul, stirring something… possessive. Euphoric. Profoundly rewarding.

Din couldn’t help himself. He reached out, running his fingers through the evidence, exploring the possibilities planted in his mind by those brief glimpses in brothels, painting her thighs and pussy with his claim.

She made her reaction to his intrigue clear, spreading her legs wider and smiling beneath her blindfold, so he let himself indulge completely. He soon learned to avoid oversensitive areas, focusing instead on gentle strokes to coax more beads of fluid to escape, which he eagerly collected and spread along her thighs.

He was learning the answer to his question about how much control she had. Clearly some, but not total, and it was time-limited. He suspected it would make its way out regardless of how hard she clenched those exquisite inner muscles. Still, he was thoroughly enjoying helping her relax and let his cum slide out easily – paint for the masterpiece he was creating on the canvas of her thighs. Combined with her own copious fluids, it was thinner than usual, making it all the more likely to escape.

The indulgence almost slipped into loss of control when he scooped up the evidence of their first coupling and brought it to his tongue. It was a split-second decision that unleashed something entirely new deep within him. Kriff, he was learning so much about himself from this single encounter.

He’d tasted himself before. Curiosity had overwhelmed him as a teenager when he’d developed a crush on his sparring partner. He had reasoned he should know what it tasted like in case things ever progressed that far with Orilan, although they never did. When he’d later discovered his preference for women, the idea of eating cum became a vague and infrequent thought – a sporadic fantasy on the few occasions when an attractive man caught his eye.

Until that first fingerful of his own from her cunt. The notion of swallowing the results of their mutual pleasure just felt… special. Worshipful. Devoted.

And forbidden. And that made it even more appealing.

She talked to him after – a carefree conversation while he was wordlessly urging her to relax her muscles and allow his cum to escape. Her placid demeanour and his new intrigue were enough to distract him from his former concerns. In fact, it all felt so natural that a suitable moment to stand and fetch a damp cloth from the refresher presented itself without conscious thought. He had no doubt that it was his duty to clean up the mess he’d created on her thighs. It was the courteous thing to do, and she seemed grateful.

He learned so much that first time with his beautiful salvager, and every time since, he’s done whatever he can to ensure her comfort, never fretting over or rushing the process. He knows she’s content for him to move at a languid pace, and she doesn’t expect his aftercare. But he also knows she’s grateful when it comes, and so he’s happy to provide it.

After all, Din is nothing if not a giver.

N = No

What wouldn’t they do? Any turn-offs?

There’s little Din wouldn’t do for his riduur if she asked. Sometimes, he thinks she could convince him the galaxy spins backwards, and not just because of her uncanny aptitude for logical debate.

She’s never asked for anything extreme – sexual or otherwise. Every request has either fallen well within his comfort zone or proved to be a worthwhile gamble despite any initial misgivings.

There was one occasion, though, when he was forced to confront a scenario that he instantly dismissed as out of the question.

They were on Tatooine, having received a summons to the palace. There was news of a potential lead in Din’s search for his covert. In exchange for using his status as Daimyo and his extensive underworld contact list to track down Mando sightings, they had promised Boba Fett a favour. A small one if those efforts bore no fruit, a large one if they yielded results.

The old man was claiming he’d uncovered a promising clue, which was exciting news and worth the trip halfway across the galaxy. The downside was that the cost would be steep.

Outrage flooded Din’s entire being when Fett calmly requested “a night with your beautiful wife”, and he was instantly reaching for the Darksaber.

He was acutely aware of his jealous streak – it had caused friction early in their relationship – but this was utterly non-negotiable, not to mention a grievous insult to his honour. Mandalorians weren’t supposed to covet what legally belonged to their brothers. Technically, Fett could issue an archaic challenge to initiate shuk’la riduurok, though it required consent from all parties. If that were to happen, he would fight to his dying breath for his riduur, but bargaining to share her for a single night was cowardly and decidedly not the Way.

Darksaber in hand (unlit for now), he explained his position through gritted teeth to the smirking Daimyo lounging on his stolen throne.

But before Fett could respond, Din’s clever wife stepped forward and deployed her logical debate skills to dramatic effect.

She reasoned that a night with her could never constitute payment for what they sought because other cultural mandates took precedence. Din could not agree without Fett issuing a formal challenge and combat occurring. Setting aside her fierce objections to that, it would create an entirely separate set of proceedings beyond the ‘favour-for-info’ deal they were currently brokering. Any victory or defeat would represent the outcome of the challenge, and regardless of the result, they would still need to decide upon the original favour.

Fett looked doubly impressed at her argument, grinning broadly, but Fennec fortunately intervened with another suggestion. It seemed they were in some trouble with the Pyke Syndicate. Despite the high risk and uncertain timeline, if Din was willing, they could use his assistance as extra muscle in what they suspected may be upcoming hostilities.

With the favour agreed, Din left Grogu at the palace’s crèche for the staff’s children, then calmly escorted his riduur to their opulent suite. The second the door slid closed, he fucked her hard against it – a blazingly passionate pounding that had her screaming his name at full volume. She knew exactly what he needed, declaring she belonged to him, that he was the only one to ever satisfy her, that she could never be with anyone else.

He worried afterward that he’d let emotion drive him to act without seeking her perspective first. She was quick to reassure him, though – she had no desire to be shared and was just as keen as he was to broadcast that fact. Double-checking the door’s lock, she lifted his helmet away and kissed him gently, then guided his mouth to her throat, inviting him to mark his claim for all to see.

It was evident at dinner that their hosts had heard their performance. Fett said nothing but offered him an impressed smirk and a respectful nod. Fennec’s lustful gaze was shockingly blatant, not to mention unwelcome, but his riduur glared at her until the former assassin received the message.

Neither Din nor his wife would share with others what they had vowed to share only with one another.

K = Kink

What less-standard acts turn them on?

Din never considered himself kinky until his fateful encounter with destiny on Endor. However, safe within their rapidly forged bond of trust, his cyar’ika opened his eyes to the fact that he did, in fact, have a few fledgling kinks he was eager to explore.

His first discovery was taste – particularly in an exhibitionist context – although it took him a while to figure out why.

It wasn’t until a much later discussion with his riduur that he learned kinks often root themselves in childhood feelings of shame. As a foundling, he’d been taught not to eat or drink in front of others. It was an act he’d brazenly performed in full view of multiple people for ten years on Aq Vetina, the memory of which first became shameful, then later thrilling.

Grateful for his rescue but angry at his losses, during his initial years of training, Din embraced its violence while failing to respect its restrictions. He would constantly commit tiny acts of defiance, such as sneaking food under his training helmet in front of others. Since he hadn’t yet sworn the Creed, his elders lectured rather than punished him, but they warned that unless he observed the Way of the Mand’alor with greater piety, he would never rise from foundling to apprentice. Those who did not respect the Creed were not permitted to take it.

His desire to become the best warrior soon outweighed his defiant impulses, and he committed himself to the Way, coming to believe in its tenets once he did so. But as his body grew stronger and his fighting skills improved, he found himself longing for the thrill those tiny rebellious acts sparked.

Perhaps that explained his choice to support the Tribe by venturing out into the galaxy to earn credits. Away from their scrutiny, he was able to perform his minor acts of defiance. He never went so far as to break his now-beloved creed, but he always found excitement in the risk of slipping food beneath his helmet in another’s presence.

He had no idea that innocent thrill formed the basis of a kink until he began pushing boundaries with his cyar’ika.

From the moment he lifted his helmet to kiss her, he knew that he would become obsessed with using his mouth on her. He revelled in it every chance he got – licking, sucking, and especially tasting. Still, he didn’t understand the full extent of his obsession until he was laid out on the grass of the Anantaparan atoll’s northernmost isle, worshipping her while she rode his tongue.

She was drenching him with copious amounts of her own slick as well as the cum he’d just shot inside her pussy, and he was already in paradise. But if the twin thrills of using his mouth on her and tasting the unique flavour of their combined pleasure weren’t enough, the moment her eyes locked with his, his cock was hard as beskar again – mere minutes after his previous climax.

She was watching him feast on her, and the exhibitionism he’d flirted with as an unruly child was well and truly fulfilled. Din Djarin – forbidden from letting anything pass his lips around others – was not only swallowing their combined cum, but he was doing it in full view of another.

His taste kink had reached its peak.

That wasn’t the only boundary they crossed together that day. It was their first foray into anal play, too, though it certainly wasn’t their last. He didn’t consider it a kinky act, but he was aware some found it taboo, and his cautious approach paid off, earning her trust.

They’ve both since come to enjoy the delights of anal penetration, especially once his opinion on sex toys evolved. Given the size of his dick, she probably wouldn’t have been able to take him back there without the expanding plug he bought for her. That was a truly worthwhile investment.

Another kink that he assumes is fairly standard involves restraint. His binders have always been a welcome addition to their sessions. He’ll often hold her down somehow, too, either through his weight or with a careful hand around her throat or wrists. Though neither of them gets off on pain, they do enjoy it rough, which often involves the idea of pain. He knows she finds pleasure in a little light choking on occasion, and he loves that she enjoys it.

Then there’s their mutual penchant for fucking while one of them is asleep. Right from the start, they both enjoyed the intimacy of cockwarming, and he often remained nestled inside her pussy for as long as possible.

It was during their honeymoon that they stumbled upon the most exquisite discovery. While spooning in bed, exhaustion overtook them both as he slowly fucked her from behind, and they fell fast asleep.

When he awoke, his cock was hard and still buried inside her. He knew several hours had passed, and he couldn’t have maintained an erection that long. Based on the evidence, he concluded that he was just large enough, and her inner muscles were just tight enough to ensure he hadn’t slipped out while they slept.

He suspected it would be painful for them both if he simply started pounding away without preparing her, so he wet his fingers and gently teased her nipples. When that earned him sleepy sighs and gentle flutters along his shaft, he began tentative thrusts. Finally, when he felt she was slick enough, he steadily increased his efforts, wondering if her dreams were reflecting his actions.

Feeling her waking up right as her cunt pulsed a profound climax around his cock… dank farrik. It wasn’t something he could enjoy just once, and she agreed. After that, they attempted to recreate the magic whenever possible, and he was beyond pleased when he was the one waking up mid-orgasm after similar efforts on her part.

Though sex while asleep is not so much a kink as an act of absolute trust and consent, Din suspects few couples have perfected this technique. Because of that, he certainly considers it a less standard fixation, unique to them. Just another thing about his riduur that makes her perfect for him.

And if either of them has any other latent kinks, he looks forward to exploring them together.

S = Stamina

How many rounds can they go for? How long can they last?

For much of his life, Din considered his sex drive to be fairly low. Sure, he had needs, and he took care of them whenever necessary, but a single climax always seemed sufficient. He was also able to attune his focus to whatever tasks he had to perform, and sexual urges rarely distracted him.

All that changed when he met his gorgeous salvager on Endor. Just one speeder ride with her, and suddenly, all manner of sinful thoughts flooded his mind. When he found himself in a storage closet, fucking his fist to those fantasies, he hoped he could expel the urges alongside his cum and get back to his hunt.

By the following day, when he was lying in a ventilation shaft two metres above her, pressing his rigid cock against the metal every time she sighed, he knew he was in serious trouble. For some reason, this woman had ignited something deep inside him. He’d never felt such a profound need for anyone before.

It soon became apparent that his strangely amplified libido was distracting him from the hunt. He couldn’t let that happen, so with extreme effort, he resolved to wait until he’d captured his bounty before indulging his uncommon urges. The challenge seemed insurmountable until he surrendered to the suspicion that lurked in the back of his mind. He was falling in love. Focusing on that helped him contain the desire he felt for her, and it also explained its potency. He’d never been in love before, so he’d never endured the desperate ache that came with it.

Finally getting to fuck her unleashed a compulsion, a constant hunger of such immense magnitude that he struggled to comprehend it. He couldn’t seem to sate it. They would fuck, and then before long, he would crave her again. Thankfully, the restraint he’d taught himself at the beginning let him control it, but his desire burned bright and strong.

He was glad to discover that his cyar’ika was equally hungry for him, always eager for multiple rounds. When they secured themselves several days of complete privacy during their honeymoon, they certainly made the most of that time together. It was then that he discovered his refractory period was far shorter than he thought.

At his age, he’d assumed his dick needed a rest after shooting its load, given that it softened soon after, so their sessions would conclude once he’d climaxed. It wasn’t until he gave into his post-orgasmic urge to taste his new riduur and had her sit on his face that he felt himself growing hard again.

That revelation led to all kinds of others. Multiple sessions without even leaving the warmth of her delicious pussy were now possible. It became a guilty pleasure of his to see how much cum she could contain before it began squelching out around his cock.

His stamina hasn’t diminished with age, but Din has always been wary of overindulgence, mindful that it has a downside. Right from the start, he routinely checked in, ensuring she wasn’t becoming too sore from their frequent fucking. He’d received a complaint about that once – his partner urging him to climax soon or she’d end up chafing – so he understood the need for a careful balance in session length. He didn’t want his own equipment to chafe, either.

Thankfully, though, his riduur has never struggled to reach orgasm with him and tends to encourage his own climax when she needs a rest. They’ve always been able to read each other perfectly, a connection that extends to their carnal pursuits, ensuring each session is the perfect length to satisfy them both.

At least until the next round.

TRANSLATIONS:

cyar’ika – sweetheart/darling (lit. ‘little love’)

riduur – partner/spouse

shuk’la riduurok – divorce (lit. ‘broken bond’)

COMMENTS:

I want to reiterate what I said in the notes for chapter 2 of Be-All, in that I do not consider Din a himbo. He’s incredibly smart. The definition of a himbo is someone who is good-looking but unintelligent. Given his skill set, he doesn’t fit that definition at all. But his sheltered upbringing alongside the factors I described in Be-All (wasn’t adopted, so had no family; was two years older than those he trained with and full of angst and anger, so made no friends) meant that he was socially isolated. That led to him being a combination of whip-smart about things like combat, languages, engineering, calculations, negotiations, etc, but adorably naïve about more personal things like sex and grooming. Din is a complex character, and I love that he can be both well-informed and clueless about different things.

We all like to think of Din as a fair-minded and accepting paragon of virtue, but the reality is, it took him a while to get there. This is the guy who blindly believed lies he was told as a child, because of which, he accused Bo-Katan of stealing her armour and refused to accept she was Mandalorian, huffily flying off without hearing what she had to say. If she hadn’t persevered, he would have abandoned his only lead on finding a Jedi because of his stubbornness and his unfounded prejudice. As mentioned above, he is also adorably naïve about certain aspects of the world (despite his intelligence), and readers of Be-All will be aware that I’ve centred that naïveté around sexual inexperience. I think when you combine those character traits, the idea that he had an unfounded prejudice against sex toys that was rooted in his stubbornness and a childish mistake seems to fit a young Din perfectly.

If you missed the pegging scene that I partially wrote back in February, here it is. I promise I’ll write the smutty part eventually!

Salsola bushes aren’t Canon; I did try to look up a suitable bush for Xi’an to compare Din’s untamed pubes to, but it seems the SWU doesn’t currently feature tumbleweeds (odd, given much of Star Wars is based on the Western genre), so I used the real-world genus of the Russian thistle, which is what most tumbleweeds in the US are – Salsola tragus. Honestly, I think Xi’an was just exaggerating and Din’s situation was never quite that… bushy, but it certainly got him worried enough to trim. I also based it a little on my ex-husband, who had never been intimate with anyone before we met aged 17 and had no concept of pubic grooming at the beginning. It wasn’t so much an overwhelming amount of hair as it was a surprising level of… springiness!

If you recall, in the last chapter of Be-All, I set it up so that Din asked Boba to try to uncover a lead for where he could find his covert. This means I’m playing with the Canon timeline slightly. While Din and Reader go back to Endor to wait for a tip, the covert is regrouping on Glavis (when he would’ve gone there himself in the show). Boba hears from his Ishi Tib contact on Glavis that she’s seen some Mandos there, so he summons Din to Tatooine. The whole business with the Pyke Syndicate goes down, Din gets a scorpenek droid pincer to the leg, and by the time he’s healed up and they get over to Glavis, the covert has moved on. But they left coordinates, so one unnecessary Darksaber injury later, he’s healed up again, and they track them to the new planet. The topic of the Darksaber doesn’t come up straight away because he’s recovered by the time they arrive, so there’s no challenge by Paz until much later, and they get to hang out there a little while before the whole ‘apostate’ shitstorm occurs. That means Reader gets her helmet forged, Grogu gets his chainmail, and Din and Reader’s marriage is formalised.

I genuinely believe Din has had phases of rebelliousness throughout his life, mainly because even when he’s being dutiful, he’s always depicted in the show as slightly different to the rest of the Children of the Watch. He’s the only one who leaves the covert at the beginning – he dutifully brings credits and beskar back to the Tribe, yet Paz and the others are jealous of his new armour and annoyed that he gets to leave and live on his ship while they’re stuck in the sewer “like rats”, so they gang up on him and call him a coward (the worst insult). Plus, Din willingly lifts his helmet to drink his soup next to Grogu, despite telling Bo-Katan later that you have to go somewhere you can safely remove your helmet – he could’ve waited until the kid was asleep! And he’s the only Child of the Watch (that we know of) who has broken the Creed and removed his helmet. We know he hung out with Ran’s crew for a while when he was younger, so I think he’s always been a little troublemaker. It also gives credence to his desperate need to redeem himself in season 3, since it’s often the case that people don’t appreciate their main support structure until they’ve inadvertently sabotaged it.

A little hint in the last section that Din is bordering on demisexual, having only had a passing interest in sex before meeting Reader, and only fucking others out of curiosity, social experimentation, or convenience. It also explains why he wasn’t that fussed about exploring ways he could improve his masturbatory techniques before he met her, and why his fantasies were rare and fleeting. He simply wasn’t that affected by sex before she came into his life. When discussing their sexual histories in chapter 32 of Be-All, he tells her, “But when I met you […] I knew it was different… real.” The original fic depicts them as essentially falling in love at first sight, so he’s immediately faced with an overwhelming desire for her, the likes of which he’s never felt before, and once they cross the line of sexual intimacy, he never looks back. These two are very much in love, and so their sex life is very much alive.

Definitions: We saw a leisure zone in Andor s1e1, featuring various brothels, and in Legends, there are entire red light sectors on certain planets. Canon doesn’t overtly mention pleasure droids, but the BD-3000 is clearly meant to be a sexbot; Legends is a little more blatant, with BD-3000s used as ‘escorts’, a mention of a ‘sex droid’ in the Legends novel, Planet of Twilight, and a sentient hologram in the now defunct MMORPG, Star Wars: The Old Republic, declaring she’s “no mere pleasure droid”… so they exist, we just don’t see much of them. A reminder that Din does indeed say he was raised in the Fighting Corps. A further reminder that a Standard week in the SWU is only five days long. A groomer is a device from Legends for haircare; there is literally no such thing as a shaving razor in the SWU, despite many things being named after it, but fortunately, Legends gives us scissors, at least. Imagine my surprise when I found a nice long article about holoporn on the Wook! 😳

I’m so deliriously grateful to have reached this milestone, I think you all deserve a sexy Din gif to express my appreciation, so here you go – the Dorito-shaped man himself says it best…

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