powertechmove

[powertechmove]

I would like a request which is heavy. I checked your do and don’t list and didn’t see this here so I thought I’d request. Please ignore if you don’t want to do this at all.

I was wondering if you could do something with tech and a female reader where reader gets attacked and experiences attempted SA (it does not have to be detailed) and he finds her after. I do not want it romanticised in any way, I’m just curious how he would react. It’s important topic for me and many and I feel like you of all people will do it justice. Thank you if you consider to do this. I’m also going to PM you about it ❤️

Heavy Rain

Pairings: Tech X FemaleReader

word count:

Sensitive content -please read with caution.

Plot: When Tech receives a transmission for him to help you alone, he did not expect what he would stumble upon.

Warnings: Trigger content ahead. This is your warning. ⚠️ Heavily implied attempts of sexual assault, descriptions of blood, scratching and bruising. Platonic relationship. Care and comfort. There is no romanticism in this fic.

The rain was falling harder now. A steady, unrelenting downpour against the durasteel walls of Ord Mantell’s alleyways and freight zones.

Tech didn’t notice it at first, his time taken up by being wedged beneath a control panel, coaxing frayed wiring back into order with practiced focus.

Then came the comm ping. At first he didn’t think much of it but then noticed that it was private and from you. Usually, you would access the shared comm channel and he was not typically your first point of call.

You had recently just gone out, maybe thirty minutes or so to ‘stretch your legs’ as you recalled to Echo. And despite your better judgement after Echo told you it was to rain soon, you still went out.

“This is Tech,” he answered automatically, pressing the switch at the side of his helmet.

There was static. Then a voice. Small and what sounds like shaking. “…Tech… I need… assistance.”

He didn’t look away from the panel. “I am a little preoccupied at this moment. May I pass this on to someone else—”

“No!”

Your voice cracked, the panic bleeding through even with poor signal. The single word halted him mid-sentence.

“J-just… follow my coordinates. Come alone. Please.”

That made him pause.

He pulled himself out from his task and sat up fully, eyes narrowing at the screen as your location pinged across his datapad. The map showed you just outside the freight district, not far from where the Marauder was docked.

“Do you require medical assistance?” he asked.

There was nothing but then , barely audible:

“…Yeah. D-don’t tell the others.”

Tech exhaled slowly through his nose. He didn’t like keeping things from the squad — especially not things that clearly involved distress, injury, or anything that altered plans. But something in your voice was off. He couldn’t parse it logically, but it felt wrong.

“Very well,” he said at last, grabbing his datapad. He stops by the gangplank, seeing the heavy rain and acknowledges that might need something warm and so grabbed a cloak that belonged to wrecker. “I am on my way.”

The walk turned into a jog the moment he stepped out into the rain.

It was heavier than expected, water soaking into his boots and gloves as he followed the tracker. The city around him was unusually quiet, the usual hustle muted by weather and late hour.

Tech’s eyes stayed glued to the scanner. The ping grew stronger.

He turned a corner, slowing to a halt as the signal chimed its proximity. The scanner indicated you were directly in front of him… but he didn’t see you.

Nothing but crates, a flickering streetlamp, and rain.

Then—

“Tech,” your voice croaked.

He turned sharply. You were behind a crate. Tucked away between two stacked shipping containers, your legs drawn to your chest, soaked through. Your body shrouded in the shadows.

He moved instantly, closing the distance in three long strides before crouching down to your level.

“Your nose is bleeding,” he observed, scanning your face, his tone neither panicked nor passive. Just focused. “And your lip appears swollen. Have you fallen over?”

You didn’t answer. Just closed your eyes as the rain poured down around both of you.

He leaned in, angling your shoulder forward to check for a head injury. No visible signs of concussion, though you were trembling. Your fingers dug into your sleeves. He didn’t miss the way your breathing skipped unevenly in your chest.

“Have you sustained a head wound?” he asked again, a little more gently now.

You shook your head.

Tech hesitated.

“Then I require clarification,” he said carefully. “You called for assistance. You are injured, visibly distressed. I need you to explain to me what has happened.”

Your breath hitched.

Then came the sob — sudden, strangled — as your hand flew to your mouth, like you could shove it back inside. Tech blinked, startled. It was a sound very rarely heard from anyone in the squad. He watched as you collapsed further into yourself, shaking from more than just the cold.

He reached for his comm, thumb brushing the toggle to alert Hunter.

Your eyes widened and then your hand shot out, grabbing his wrist with frantic force.

“No! Don’t!” you gasped. “Don’t call them, don’t call anyone!”

Tech froze in confusion. The strength of your reaction jolted him.

“I don’t want them to see me like this,” you stammered. Your words were broken, breathless, collapsing over one another.

“Omega, Omega can’t—I can’t and Echo will ask questions and Crosshair will know, and I just—”

You were hyperventilating now, voice tangled and messy, and Tech’s hand remained frozen where you held him.

“Okay,” he said at last, quietly. “I will not contact them. Not unless you ask me to.”

Your grip loosened slightly, and your eyes dropped to the soaked ground.

“Tell me,” Tech continued. His voice was low, unwavering, his expression unreadable. “Please tell me exactly what has happened. Have you been attacked?”

You bit back a whimper, your breath faltering again. Then almost mechanically you began to shift.

Your legs parted slowly, and Tech instinctively leaned back to give you space. His eyes stayed on your face at first, respectful and careful — until they dropped.

His breath caught in his chest.

The inner seams of your pants were torn jagged, uneven rips that didn’t look accidental. Bruising already darkened your upper thighs. Scratches crisscrossed your skin, raw and red. The rain couldn’t wash those marks away.

Your body was trembling violently now, arms tight around your middle. You couldn’t even look at him.

“I see,” Tech whispered, eyes scanning the injuries, brain parsing faster than his heart could follow. The moment held in silence; save for the rain.

His voice dropped further. “You need to answer me… have you been raped?”

You shook your head. “H-he tried…” Your voice cracked with the admission. “I fought… he heard people coming and ran.”

Tech didn’t blink. “And which direction did he go?”

There was a shift in his tone. Still steady, but something simmered beneath it. A sharpness. You barely managed a shrug, shoulders curling in.

“I don’t know,” you whispered. “I didn’t see.“

“I just wanted to go for a walk.” The last sentence broke apart as the tears came again, full and raw, spilling hot over your cheeks even as the rain streamed down your face. You hid behind your hands like it might stop the memory from clawing forward. Your voice had gone, and so had your breath, caught and broken in your chest.

Tech didn’t move for a moment. His mind raced, measuring the options, assessing your condition, calculating the risk of calling the others versus giving you time to stabilise. You were conscious, responsive, but clearly in shock. Medical protocol urged him to alert Hunter. His emotional instinct which was less familiar and less logical told him not to.

He made his decision.

Without a word, Tech shifted from his crouch and moved closer. His knees sank into the puddles, he sat down beside you, just close enough for his shoulder to brush yours. He silently grabbed the cloak he brought and pulled it over your body, shielding you from the rain and the horrors you found yourself in.

And he stayed there. No more questions. No more requests. No orders. Just silence.

The rain fell hard around you both. Fat, cold drops hammered the ground, pooling in shallow gutters and bouncing off crates. A flash of distant lightning briefly lit the edges of the alleyway.

Eventually, the sobs slowed. Your breathing didn’t settle, but it staggered into a softer rhythm. Your hands dropped from your face, fingers shaking as you tried to wipe the mess of tears from your cheeks. You glanced toward Tech.

He was speaking. His mouth moved but you couldn’t hear him over the echo of your own thoughts. Everything else was drowned by the sound of your innocence cracking like glass. The memory still clung to your skin, as real as the bruises. Shame curled in your stomach. You wanted to crawl out of your body and vanish.

Without thinking, your frame folded toward him.

You didn’t ask. You didn’t think.

You just collapsed into him.

Tech stilled in surprise — his back stiffening as your arms clutched his sides and your face pressed to his chest. He hesitated, his own arms suspended in the air for a beat too long, unsure.

Then, slowly — one hand touched your back. The other settled across your shoulders. Not gripping, not pulling, just holding.

You clung tighter.

“It’s alright,” he said softly, barely above a whisper. “You’re safe now. No one will harm you again.”

He wasn’t sure if it was true.

He wasn’t sure of anything except the sound of your breathing against him, the weight of your trembling, and the bitter taste rising in his mouth — rage, cold and clinical. It filtered through the cracks in his logical mind and settled in his chest like ice.

He didn’t raise the comm.

He didn’t activate his visor scanner.

But he was already mapping the area, cross-referencing your coordinates, timestamps, route logs. Estimating who might’ve been in the sector. Measuring likelihoods. Piecing together a profile.

Someone had tried to hurt you.

And Tech — who never believed in vengeance — was already calculating how to find him.

Above you both, the sky cracked open again. A new surge of rain poured down, heavy and relentless. But neither of you moved.

If you have been impacted by this story and need support if you’re living in England and Wales please see this website here. Other helplines are available.

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RAINN

Crisis Text Line

you're not a victim for sharing your story. you are a survivor setting the world on fire with your truth. and you never know who needs your light, your warmth, and raging courage. -Alex Elle

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

[powertechmove]

Tech: This is a very powerful artifact. You’d be messing with some forces we don’t fully understand.

Omega : That sounds like a dare to me.

Tech: Oh my Maker.

[powertechmove]

Updated Juice Gonk page for @engagemythrusters !! Featuring even more flavours of Juice gonk! (which you can get as stickers here if you want)

[powertechmove]

[powertechmove]

I'm late but I'm in a train and I need to spend my time haha

[powertechmove]

[powertechmove]

rexy sketchy :)

my first foray into shirtlessness ig. leaving it as a sketch because I fear I’ll lose all sense of anatomy if I try and clean it up lol, not really sure if I achieved it to begin with but anyway

art tags (join here): @lonewolflupe @ghostymarni @cyaretra @returnofthepineapple @rex-meshla @liopleurodean @asgre @mae-lou-ron

[powertechmove]

i can finally share my piece for @batchedzine !!

(i did this a while ago so my style is a bit different now but-)

[powertechmove]

Liar Liar (Part 11/?)

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

🫧 Pairings: Commander Fox X Female Reader

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

🫧 Warnings: more angst, accidental feeling confessions.

“I wish you’d cheer up.”

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

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

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

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

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

“What?” you asked, suspicious.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Stone.”

“I’m just saying.”

“Stone.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

You cursed Hound’s name internally.

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

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

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

“Fox,” he corrected quietly.

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

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

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

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

“…Is this your final decision?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Both of you froze.

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

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

“Affirmative. Get behind me.”

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

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

“Stone?” you whispered. No answer.

Then—

PEW!

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

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

You blinked. “Is that a… hawk-bat?”

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

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

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

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

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

“Is he?”

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

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

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

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

⋅⋅ ───⊱༺  🦊 ༻⊰───⋅⋅

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Until you felt a hand on your shoulder.

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

You blinked, confused. “Uh, okay…?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Of course he did.

The silent executioner.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Moving,” you snapped.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

You stopped yourself, swallowing hard as the floodgate cracked.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“I’m tired, Hound,” he muttered.

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

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

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

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

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

He called your name.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“I’m not done.”

Reluctantly, you turned back to him.

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

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

You swallowed hard.

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

The silence between you was unbearable.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Tags:

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[powertechmove]

Captain Sexy- um Rex anyone?

Tysm for this beautiful commission. I LOVE him! @pinkiemme

[powertechmove]

As usual.

(If you have any adidas for strips with clones feel free to share.))

[powertechmove]

Commander Wolffe in The Clone Wars

[powertechmove]

I love it when sports also feel free to call me out on any inaccuracies esp with this one

[powertechmove]

I was watching a compilation of feel-good moments from the bad batch, as one does, and it dawned on me each time Tech spoke....

[powertechmove]

⚡ Happy Tech Tuesday ⚡

[powertechmove]

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

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

🌊 Reading Between the Lines

🫧 Pairings: Tech X Female Reader

🫧 word count: 6.1k

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

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

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

“Now, attempt the next word.”

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

“Erm…”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

She nodded silently.

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

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

Then he disappeared into the ship.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

But now? Now you just felt like dead weight.

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

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

🫧🫧🫧🫧🫧🫧🫧🫧🫧🫧

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

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

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

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

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

Echo exhaled, clearly trying to keep his patience.

There was a pause, and then Tech added:

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

You didn’t stay to hear more.

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

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

He frowned. “Was that—?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Nothing worked.

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

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

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

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

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

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

Your stomach twisted. You knew that voice.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“We have plenty of free time to continue—”

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

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

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

“What was that?”

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

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

You let out a tired sigh. “Tried to.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

That got a small chuckle out of you.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“A… B… C…”

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

And again.

And again….

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

You hesitated. “Uh… F?”

She shook her head. “Try again.”

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

“Yes!” She beamed. “Now this one?”

You pointed. “P?”

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

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

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

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

You blinked. “Huh?”

“I want you to write my name.”

You laughed nervously. “Omega?”

“Yup! Easy, right?”

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

“Perfect!”

“...M.”

She paused. “Hmm…”

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

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

You corrected yourself and carved it into the dirt.

“Nice!” she beamed. “Keep going!”

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

“O-M-E-G-A.”

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

“You did it!”

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

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

Over the next few days, Tech noticed a pattern.

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

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

You were still learning. Just not with him.

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

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

He remembered it well.

In fact… he had the recording saved. Privately.

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

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

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

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

“May I speak with you for a moment?”

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

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

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

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

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

Tech blinked. “Ration labels?”

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

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

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

Tech frowned. “Most likely.”

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

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

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

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

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

Tech opened his mouth, paused, then exhaled sharply.

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

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

Omega watched his face, seeing the moment it clicked.

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

Tech’s voice was quiet. “I see.”

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

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

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

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

He looked away. “It is irrelevant.”

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

He adjusted his goggles again, silent but not dismissive.

“I knew it.”

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

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

🫧🫧🫧🫧🫧🫧🫧🫧🫧🫧🫧🫧🫧🫧

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

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

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

It wasn’t Omega. It was Tech.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

The first said: “Wrecker is loud.”

You gave a small huff through your nose.

The second: “Hunter smells like the forest.”

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

The third said: “The moon is big.”

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

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

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

“I’m impressed.”

You paused.

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

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

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

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

There was a long pause before he spoke again.

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

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

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

Tech didn’t respond right away.

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

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

You turned toward him slowly, sitting up straighter.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Wrecker… eats… all… the rations.”

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

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

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

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

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

Still, you gave it your best shot.

“Tech… has… fe-…”

You frowned, squinting at the next letters.

“Fe-el… fe-lin… no—”

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

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

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

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

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

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

“…With what?”

“With the lesson plan.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Tech adjusted his goggles, “Yes?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

That was all the confirmation you needed.

You lunged.

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

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

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

He rolled.

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

You stilled.

He stilled.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

And you read it aloud before you could think twice.

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

Silence followed.

Tech didn’t speak.

Didn’t even correct your pronunciation.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

The lesson was over.

But something else had only just begun

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