#tech tuesday fic

[mylifeisactuallyamess]

The Keldabe Kiss

A/N: It’s no secret I actually despise February 14th (whether I’m single or not!) and so I fall back on my boys to help me through. Don’t ask, I’m complicated. This year the lucky guy is Tech 🥹 honestly my clone fixation has blown up recently and I’m not even sorry. (I use that tag a lot.) I wrote something simple for him.

Summary: Festival of Love has come to Ord Mantel (yes I fucked with the timeline.)

Warnings: none except this is based on a little universe I have going on in my head where the Bad Batch rescued a medic and nicknamed her Stitch. F!Reader (I can’t remember if I stipulated that in the fic so just covering my ass. If could be GN I honestly can’t remember.) Mention of children (Omega.) It’s kinda fluffy.

Word Count: 3.5k+

You stood outside Cid’s parlour, watching some people put up flickering lights ready for tomorrow's Festival. You’d been so set on going, never having the opportunity to experience something like this before as you’d always been on the run or ‘avoiding the locals', your father had called it. These things were never fun alone though.

The wistful sigh couldn’t be contained but your sinking mood was lifted by the group coming toward you. Their armour was distinctive, marked with orange and grey, carrying their helmets as they eyed everyone with a healthy dose of suspicion. You knew where they were heading and you waited to side until they reached you.

“Ah, Stitch!” Wrecker grinned joyfully at you and barged past his brothers to grab you in a bear hug, lifting you clean off the ground.

“Wrecker!” You giggled, momentarily losing your balance after being swept off your feet. Hunter automatically reached out to steady you with a firm hand to your shoulder followed by the softening of his gaze. “Good mission?”

“Depends on what you’d define as good.” Hunter muttered and moved past you revealing Tech who made eye contact for a brief second.

“That bad?” You asked and fell into step beside the younger looking clone.

“Well no one was injured, so I think you’d class that as a successful mission. Cid, not so much.”

“Ah,” you understood perfectly. They left you at the bar with Omega and you glanced at her fallen face, wondering how you could cheer her up. “There is a festival tomorrow,” you told her.

“What sort of festival?”

“It’s a celebration of the best things in life. There’s going to be stalls selling special items, different food, they are putting decorations up and I heard, there might even be fireworks.”

“Fireworks??” Her brown eyes shone with wonder.

“Want to come with me?”

“Oh yes! Hunter, can I go with Stitch?” Omega swivelled on her stool and you looked up at the tired group as they all grabbed a drink.

“Go where?” He asked, his tone laced with doubt and you wondered if you should have offered at all.

“Oh it’s nothing…” you tried to gloss over it but once Omega got her teeth into something she didn’t let it drop.

“It’s not nothing! It sounds really cool! There might even be fireworks,” she parroted. “I want to go.”

“You’re talking about the festival, tomorrow?” Echo huffed as he slumped on the other side of you.

“The Festival of Love originated from Endor and has since been recognised in places like Naboo, Coruscant, Ord Mantell and other places. The Festival is to honour kinship and love. Traditions include exchanging gifts, eating meals and…dancing.” Tech lowered his datapad and glanced at the expressions on his brother’s faces.

Echo sighed and turned to look around the bar like he wasn’t even part of this conversation, Wrecker grumbled something about wanting to play dejarik and sidled off. Hunter’s shoulders slouched like he couldn’t think of anything more tedious while Tech had his nose in his datapad, probably scrolling through more facts.

“I don’t mind taking her,” you mumbled.

“You can’t take Omega on your own,” Hunter instantly said, causing Omega to cross her arms and sulk. “Plus we have another mission for Cid tomorrow.” He leaned closer to the little girl and you could see the regret etched on his tattooed face. “I’m sorry, Omega.”

“I never get to see anything fun!” She pushed away from the bar and stormed off to find Wrecker.

“Handled that well,” Echo muttered.

“You could have stepped in,” Hunter shot back hotly.

“May I suggest an alternative?” Tech appeared at your shoulder, taking Omega’s vacant seat.

“You’re going to anyway,” Echo snarked under his breath and you raised an eyebrow but Tech didn’t even notice the other clones' sour tone.

“If it’s Omega running off you’re worried about, I can watch her. I’ll make her wear a tracker.”

“Tech! You can’t put a tracker on a kid!” Hunter nearly spat out his drink in shock and stared incredulously at his brother.

“I can. I have before and she didn’t seem to mind.”

“Did she know?” You asked Tech gently, making him look up from his datapad as he thought about your question.

“Actually, no.”

“I don’t think she should go and it puts us at a disadvantage if Tech stays behind.”

“Not so,” Tech cut across Echo. “You don’t need my particular skill set for this mission.”

“He’s right,” Hunter agreed and Echo just rolled his eyes in response. A strained quiet settled over the group only broken by the sounds of the parlour and Tech’s tapping on his datapad. You clutched your drink, feeling bad that you’d not spoken to Hunter first, of course it was his decision if you took Omega or not. “All right, fine!” Hunter grumbled and then downed his drink. “Plant a tracker on her and do not let her take it off. Plant one on Stitch while you’re at it, we can’t afford to lose her either.”

“Gladly,” Tech blinked owlishly at his own response and his fingers stilled on the screen.

“Well! Now that’s settled I’m going to head back. I’ve had a long day.” You emptied your own cup and slipped off the stool, hoping no one would notice the silly smile you couldn’t suppress at the idea of Tech putting a tracker on you.

“Tech…” Hunter jerked his head in your direction and then went off to find Omega and no doubt tell her the good news about tomorrow.

“Of course.” To your surprise the datapad was put away and he stood, looking at you with an air of expectancy. “You were leaving?” He reminded you, a hint of uncertainty in his voice like he worried he’d missed something.

“You’re coming with me?” Tech swallowed and adjusted his specs as his honeyed brown eyes met yours for just a second.

“Hunter is worried about you walking back at this time. Crime activity has increased by 28 percent in this section and I believe it’s why he wants you and Omega to have an escort tomorrow.”

“Oh.” You stood there stupidly for a second, trying to gather your skittish thoughts. “It’s not necessary,” you eventually managed to say.

“I believe it is.” You couldn’t argue against that so you didn’t protest anymore and he followed you out. The street was almost empty, just a few people with their heads down as they went home. Tech kept a watchful eye, his hand never straying far from his DC-17s. He stayed about half a step behind you almost bumping into you when you stopped at your door.

“Well, we made it.”

“So it would seem. I have yet to check your residence.” You sputtered out a laugh but he only continued to stare at you as he waited for you to admit him.

“You’re serious. Ok, sorry about the mess.” The door opened and the lights came on automatically. You went to go in but he put out an arm to stop you, dropping the visor down over his specs and stalking into your apartment that also doubled as your treatment room.

Your droid woke up at the movement beeping out a greeting, coming forward a few steps before the power seemed to disappear completely from it and you huffed as it slouched lifelessly. Opening the front panel you stared completely clueless at the wires wishing you could afford to get the damn thing fixed.

“The charging ports might need replacing,” Tech announced his arrival from scouting out your place. “I could run a diagnostic if you like?”

“It’s late, you’ve barely been home.”

“Home is a state of mind.”

“Yeah…” he was right. You’d never had a place you could really call home. So home being a feeling rather than a place was the most accurate thing you’d heard in a long time.

“Another time then,” Tech said. “Your place is clear. I shall be back tomorrow with Omega.” He walked towards the door and you followed, desperately wanting to say something else but not sure what.

“Tech…” he turned at the sound of his name and you really tried hard not to gaze directly into his eyes, knowing that made him uncomfortable. “Be careful. On the way back.”

“Always,” he saluted you with two fingers before disappearing round the corner. You closed and locked your door letting out a frustrated sigh. Of all the clones to harbour secret feelings for…

Your droid looked like a patient, laid out on the table with its wires hanging out as you tried to repair it, not wanting to put Tech out. He had better things to do than maintain your equipment. The door alarm sounded and you quickly smoothed down the material of your outfit, your heart fluttering a little at the idea of spending the whole day with Tech. And Omega.

The latter wrapped herself around you as soon as your door opened, her mouth instantly going as she spilled her excitement. You grinned at Tech and his tense expression, beckoning them inside. Omega went straight to your table, standing on a supply crate to have a proper look inside the droid.

“Did she sleep much?” You asked him noticing the way he clutched his datapad and glanced over at the mess your droid was in.

“She slept less than the normal amount,” he informed you matter of factly. “Echo was not amused.”

“Not a lot amuses him at the moment,” you replied dryly.

“Echo believes we should be doing more against the Empire rather than just hiding. He cannot help it.” You hated to admit Tech was right. He seemed completely unruffled by the conversation and you admired his utter acceptance of his brothers.

“Are you ready?”

“Yes!” Omega leapt down and hurried to the door. “Come on! We don’t want to miss anything!” She shouted and you smiled at Tech as he refrained from rolling his eyes.

“I’m not actually sure we can miss an all day event,” Tech called after her. “You forgot this.” You locked your door and turned to find him holding out a tracker on the palm of his hand, the light blinking innocently.

“I don’t think Hunter was serious about one for me,” you half laughed but Tech stayed standing in your way with his hand held out.

“He was. And so am I.” You took the tracker and slipped it into your pocket, Tech lifted his datapad and pressed a few buttons. “Perfect signal.” For some reason that made you so happy that you’d pleased him over something so simple.

“Are you guys coming?” Omega appeared around the corner eyeing you both just standing in your doorway. Tech brought up the rear as you reached for Omega and she clasped your hand eagerly.

The festival wasn’t what you expected at all, it was so much better. The streets were lined with pink and red coloured streamers, all fluttering in the breeze. Bunting stretched from one side of the street to the other and the lights were flickering. You couldn’t wait to get the full effect of it when it was dark.

Omega danced from stall to stall, her excitement contagious and you found yourself caught up in her joy and zest for life. Tech trailed after you both, suffering the chatter, loud noises and heavy crowds. Keeping himself occupied by noting down new facts or recording anything he found remotely interesting.

You happened upon a stall run by a twi’lek, your stomach rumbling at the fresh meilooruns. You approached the stall noticing the usually orange fruit had a purple tinge to the rind. You’d never had this variant before but before you could ask for one Omega was tugging on your hand and dragging you to look at something else.

Soon even Omega was flagging, but her eyes were still wide from all the sights she’d experienced. Her bag was full of trinkets and she’d bought something for each of her brothers. You felt honoured that she had asked for your opinion, enjoying the feeling she instilled inside you. She really was something special.

As darkness fell you suggested getting a good view for the fireworks and began to head in the direction of the seating area when Tech stopped you.

“I have a better place where we can watch the fireworks, away from the crowds.”

“Is it far?” Omega asked, chasing it up with a yawn.

“It’s approximately 0.5 klicks from our current location,” Tech rattled off as he adjusted his specs, the light of the datapad reflected in them.

“I can make it,” she said cheerily but you heard the fatigue in her voice, especially if she had been up early hassling her older brothers.

Now Tech took point, leading you away from the streets where the festival was still in full swing. You wanted to question him but instead you decided to trust him. Tech had never let you down yet. Your interest peaked when he told you to climb an outside staircase. Omega went first with no hesitation, climbing to the top of the seemingly abandoned building and gasping loudly.

“Oh…wow.” You looked up at the sky, mesmerised by the amount of stars that dotted the black sky above you. Tech had led you to a place on the edge of town that wasn’t affected by the lights of the festival, giving you an incredible view of the stars and no doubt the fireworks when they started.

“I calculated the amount of noise and light pollution from the festival. From that I was able to survey an appropriate place where it was quiet and had uninterrupted views.”

“Tech…this is amazing!” You gushed.

“He checked it out last night,” Omega said slyly and Tech looked at her in shock. “What? I was awake when you snuck out. Now I know what you were doing.”

“Clearly I wasn’t as subtle as I thought,” he muttered, reaching to adjust his specs again.

“Oh look! Seats!” Omega dropped her bag and fell into one, turning to wave you over.

“Were these you as well?” You asked Tech quietly.

“The fireworks are supposed to last approximately 15 minutes. I had assumed that by being on your feet all day and chasing Omega, you’d want to rest.”

“You assumed correctly.” Omega had taken the middle seat, cuddling up into you when you settled beside her. Tech sat on the other end, his trusty datapad in his hand as he counted down to the fireworks; and they started exactly when he said they would.

The fireworks were the best moment of the day, filling the sky with glittery flashes that lit up the world all around you. Omega laid her head in your lap and you rested a hand on her side watching the display together. You revelled in the deep bangs that seemed to explode in your chest and the fizzling crackles that popped in your ears. You’d never seen something so eye-catching and you were sorely disappointed when they finished; just a plume of white smoke the only evidence that they had happened at all.

“She’s asleep.” You glanced down at Omega and sure enough her eyes were closed, even breaths passing through her slightly open lips as she lay completely relaxed in your lap. “You’re good with her.”

“You think so?” Biting your lower lip you glanced over at Tech to find him looking at you both with a strange expression on his face that he tried to hide.

“I know so. Due to her nature she is exceptionally accepting but she does seem to favour you.” Gently you swiped some blonde strands out of her peaceful face, regretful that you were going to have to wake her soon.

“I think she’s great and after everything she’s seen and been through…she still has this innocence about her. She’s a credit to you all.”

“I don’t see us having much influence over her,” Tech said and you scoffed at his words.

“She idolises every single one of you.”

“That’s nice to hear,” you turned to find Hunter, Echo and Wrecker coming from behind. Tech stood up and greeted his brothers. Wrecker reached down and plucked the sleeping child from your lap, cradling her in his massive arms.

“Look at her,” he whispered in his gravelly voice. “This is the quietest she’s been for days!”

“Don’t wake her then, Wrecker!” Echo hissed as they made their way carefully down the stairs.

“Was it worth it?” Hunter asked you and the smile that spread over your face told him everything he needed to know.

“Thanks for lending us Tech. He did actually put a tracker on me,” you told Hunter who let out a soft chuckle.

“Good. I’d be having words with him if he didn’t.”

“You know, I’m scrappy. I can look after myself.” Hunter fixed you with a knowing glare and it reminded you so much of Tech for a moment.

“It’s what we do. Anyway we need you, Stitch. More than we like to admit.”

“Medics are everywhere,” you told Hunter with a quick roll of your eyes.

“Not ones, as good as you.” The pair of you stopped and looked back at Tech who came to an abrupt halt. “Well,” he adjusted his specs and lifted his datapad. “Stitch has performed 107 successful repairs on all of us together, the most drastic being my broken femur from the failed mission on Serenno. Not to mention the blaster shot to your chest and Wrecker’s shoulder. Also her continual observation of Echo…” Hunter gave his brother a lopsided smile and clapped him firmly on the shoulder.

“Now you’ve listed her best accomplishments, you can walk her home.” He melted into the shadows suddenly leaving you and Tech alone in the dark.

“Do you know the best route? I’m still not familiar with this part of town,” you admitted shyly.

“It won’t take us long,” he reassured you. The walk was quiet, you weren’t sure what to say to him and your feet were beginning to ache something drastic. You followed Tech onto a street you were familiar with and fished around in your pockets for the tracker.

“I should give this back.”

“Keep it. I have plenty.” Tech said quickly. He glanced at you and then continued. “It’s a modified one, with a panic option that goes straight to my datapad. Should you ever need it.” Your fingers closed round the tracker, suddenly finding it the most precious thing you had.

All too soon your door loomed and the pair of you stood under the small light that flowed on the outside.

“Tech…?”

“Yes?”

“I got you, something.” He watched curiously as you opened your bag and pulled out a small box, taking it gently when you offered it to him. “I hope it’s useful.” He opened the lid and revealed a brand new All-kit tool. The handle had a rubber grip, the alloy shiny from having never been used. At first Tech didn’t say anything, just reaching for the tool and you panicked, thinking you’d got something he really didn’t need. “I’m sorry, I didn’t know if you had one, I’ve never noticed you with one.”

“I don’t,” he interrupted. “I didn’t have one, until now.” He looked up to see the relieved smile cross your face and a small frown appeared on his own. “You shouldn’t be so worried, I am always in need of tools and this…” he pulled it from the box and with a flick began to cycle through the different heads. “It’s immediately my favourite,” he reassured you. “Which reminds me…” he put the box in his bag and extracted something that had you gasping a little. “I saw you looking at these but not actually buy one.” You took the purple fruit from his hand, trying not to over think the fact you both gave a gift during the Festival of Love. He probably didn’t realise the depth of the tradition and you were fine with that. Although out of the whole squad, he’d be the only one to know.

“Tech, thank you so much.” Emotion coloured your tone and you stepped closer to him. Gently resting a hand on his shoulder you made your intentions clear expecting him to pull away. When he didn’t you went ahead and planted a soft kiss on his cheek, breathing him in as you did. He lifted a hand to rest against your elbow, as though he was steadying you both. Your eyes were still closed as you pulled your lips into your mouth, reluctant to move away just yet. Tech’s quick breath fanned over your face as he pressed his forehead against yours. His fingers tightened on your arm and you both stood like that for a moment, just drinking in each other's closeness.

“Tech?” His com lit up with Hunter’s voice and you separated. Clearing your throat you backed up and allowed him to answer, telling Hunter he was all right and was just making his way back.

“Thanks, Tech.” You swallowed down the huskiness in your voice. “For today, for all of it. Get back safely, please.”

“Always,” he said, touching two fingers to his forehead and giving you the casual salute. “I’ll be back tomorrow to fix your droid.” He told you, walking backwards down the street, his gaze still fixed on you.

“I’ll be here,” you answered, leaning on your doorframe and watching him leave.

“I know.”

[vimse]

Tech is figuring out mozzarella physics

Inspired by a scene from @eyeluvmusic21's Tech/Reader fic "Fantasy Falls Into Reality". It was a brief scene, but I've been thinking about it for weeks (really, how would Tech handle earth foods? would he like it? which would be his favourite? the questions are endless).

The fic is about Tech falling into our reality when he fell on Eriadu. So far I've been a lurker, but I love it so much!! Such a cool concept. And the execution is done very well imo. It's a slowburn with plenty of domestic moments. You guys should totally check it out! 👀

[starqueensthings]

Dork Love: Part Four

chap1 | chap2 | chap3

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“But… why?” Hunter added.   

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Yeah, ‘vod?” 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“I, uh… I was on Ryloth.”    

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“That explains the fetid caf,” Tech chimed. 

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

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

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

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

***

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

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

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

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

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

“I can manage.”  

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

***

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Of course I would.” 

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

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

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

“Catch what, exactly?” 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Sure.”

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

***

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Well why didn’t you?” 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

 “I will see you then.”

 “Te—!”

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

***

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

***

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[littlelioncub43]

Eddie's Valentine's Day gift to you is a bottle of liquor he nicked. You spend the night drinking, dancing like idiots, and making out in the sloppiest, messiest way imaginable.

Honestly. Yes. Accurate and fun.

You guys were having a fucking blast. The music was softly playing on his stereo, the joint you two decided to share was left put out in the ashtray on his dresser, half empty cups of the totally-not-stolen whiskey abandoned next to it.

The ruins of the drinking game Eddie made up lie on the floor, you two were definitely drunk, the intoxicating burn of the alcohol mixed perfectly with the love and need that radiated off the two of you. Tangled limbs clustered on his messy bed while you went at each other like animals. Your lips were nearly inseparable, you were certain that there was nothing on earth that could tear you away from Eddie Munson.

Well, maybe the need to breathe.

"Jesus Christ," you gasp, staring up at the ceiling as your chest heaves, the skirt of your dress bunching at your waist as you wrap your legs around your boyfriend. Eddie hovers above you to mouth along the slope of your neck, groaning as he leaves deep lovebites for you to admire later. "Oh fuck, Eddie."

"Christ," he curses before rasping in your ear, his hips rutting into yours desperately, too worked up to take any clothes off, "sounds so fucking hot when you say my name, Princess, do it again for me, please?"

"Eddie, fuck, fuck, Eddie," you moan into the small bedroom, your hips moving in tandem with his own perfectly. Eddie's eyes roll back as you both hump against each other frantically, his hands trembling before clutching your flesh tighter than before. A rough grunt rumbles in his chest then he's attacking your mouth with his own once more.

The sound of your shared moans and sighs was music to his ears, the way the mattress squeaked with each sloppy movement of your bodies accented with your soft whimpers sends mind-numbing pleasure shooting through him. Your hands find purchase in his hair, holding on as you work each other closer and closer to your highs.

Maybe it was the alcohol or maybe it was just the "Munson Magic" as Eddie loves to call it (embarrassing, I know), but everything feels much more intense. Sure, you've dry humped before, but it was never this desperate, needy, animalistic. It was glorious.

"Princess, please tell me you're close," he whimpers breathlessly into your open mouth, his voice sounding just as wrecked as you feel. Eddie was barely hanging on, his self-restraint was starting to wane and the grip he has on your hips was starting to ache in his joints.

"So close, Eddie, little more, f-fuck, please." You moan.

"What do you need?" He mumbles, his blurry eyes focusing on you, still rutting against you.

"You, need you inside me," you're not even done with your sentence before Eddie is lifting off you to undo his belt and jeans as fast as he could.

"Fucking, son of a—" he curses as he struggles with shaky hands to free himself of his pants. Finally, he's got his pants low around his thighs before he's lunging at you, folding your knees to your chest to expose more of your dripping pussy to him, and pulling your panties to the side. He sinks into you as quickly as he can without hurting you too much, feeding inch after inch into your soaked cunt.

"O-Oh! Oh my god! Fuck!" You scream, your back arching as the delicious burn sears through your nerves, your legs trembling, the stretch being just what you needed to push you over the edge. "Eddie! Eddie! Fuck!"

"Ooooh! Oh fuck! Yes!" Eddie bellows with you, the tight, wet heat of your pussy as you cum was too much for him to take. He finishes with harsh, heavy, jerky thrusts; rope after rope of his spend flooding you while he curls over you. You both ride the delirious pleasure out for as long as possible, moaning your bliss to each other with raw voices. Eddie relaxes into you fully, easing your legs down from their position to rest around his waist with gentle yet unsteady hands.

You can feel the soft kisses he leaves along your jaw, the sweat that soaks the space between his shoulder blades, dampening the Hellfire t-shirt he wears religiously, the massive mess of your combined cum that coats your thighs and definitely ruined your panties. Eddie draws you into another kiss, this kiss singed with the remnants of your passionate moment, as you stroke his shoulders, soothing his racing heart with your own trembling touches.

"I love you so much, Princess" he whispers while he cradles you underneath him, trying his best to keep you hidden and safe from the world. "Never felt like this before, never loved anyone like this before, just you."

"I love you too," you promise tenderly, pulling his as close as possible. "Love you so much, Eds." More kisses rain down on you, your bodies spent and tired and wanting nothing more than to rest together. It was safe to say that this was so far, Eddie's favorite Valentine's Day.

Comments and reblogs are always welcome! 💖

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[sev-on-kamino]

Distractions

Two times Tech got distracted during sex, and one time you did. You’re used to Tech getting distracted, and you’ve learned to roll with it, and you think it can’t happen to you.

warnings: Minors DNI (it’s in the divider, saying it again anyway) p in v sex (wrap it before you tap it irl), oral (m receiving), cockwarming if you squint, Crosshair being Crosshair, established relationships, voyeurism, poly, no clonecest, smutty and fluffy

Your breaths are growing shallow, skin glistening with sweat, as you work yourself on top of Tech. His hands grip your hips, head lowered to allow him to bite and suck at your nipples. The muscles in your thighs are crying out, but you’ll be damned if you stop now.

You feel it before you hear it. The subtle shudder through the Marauder. Fuck, you think to yourself, pushing past the burn in your thighs, and guiding one of Tech’s hands to the space between you.

“Play with me, please,” you beg. He indulges you for a moment, nimble fingers circling your sensitive little pearl. You were so close, and if you could keep his focus for just 2 more minutes, you’d get what you were desperately after.

“Darling,” Tech begins breathlessly. “I think our forward stabilizer needs to be calibrated.”

Resisting the urge to grumble, you settle on his lap, and use your toes to spin the chair, so Tech can grab his datapad. On e you spin the pair of you back the other way, Tech wraps his arm around your lower back, and you lean backwards, capturing the necessary cords to plug into the datapad to run a diagnostic. He helps pull you back up, swearing, as your pussy clenches around his cock.

“Focus, Tech,” you tease, plugging the cords into the datapad. While he runs the diagnostic, you reach down between your bodies to rub circles against your clit. This is a well practiced dance. If you help him with whatever has stolen his attention, he can come back to you faster, but sometimes you just needed to cum. This was especially true when your position meant he didn’t even have to separate from you. The feeling of his cock filling you was too good to ignore.

“I only need another moment,” he promises.

“That makes two of us,” you smirked, not slowing down your movements. You watch him work while you chase after your orgasm. The light touching his face makes him look so perfect, your heart actually aches a little.

“Fuck, you’re gorgeous,” you breathe out, fingers moving faster, as you squirm in his lap. You’re almost there, and you feel the coil tightening in your stomach. Your thighs tense, and a desperate whine rises out of you.

“Done!” Tech grins, spinning you to lay down his datapad, the motion tumbling you into your climax. You cum, swearing as you work yourself through it. Tech groans and resumes his vice-like grip on your hips, as your fluttering walls beg his cock for the desired response.

“Me too,” you gasp, gripping his bicep with your free hand.

“I’ll be right behind you, cyare.” Tech is meeting your motions in earnest now. Feeling him finally moving like you wanted, has your body building to a second orgasm.

As if he knows, Tech wraps his fingers around your wrist and pulls your hand away from your clit.

“Wait for me, please,” he looks up at you, and fuck, you can’t say no to that face. You nod, and lean down to steal a kiss.

“Thank you for coming back to me,” you mutter against his lips.

“Thank you for being as patient as possible,” he replies with a grin.

“Only for you, Tech…but not for long, I’m so close.”

“I am as well. Keep being my patient girl, and you’ll get exactly what you want,” he promises.

Tech always keeps his promises, and you leave the cockpit with his cum dripping down your thighs.

***

When Crosshair walked into the cockpit, he fully expected to see Tech working on some project or another, and you sitting in the co-pilot’s seat with your feet propped up on the console. Tech would lecture any of them for doing it, but he had a soft spot for you, like they all did, which meant you could get away with murder.

In fact there was a long list of things Crosshair could have walked in on that would have made sense to him, but the sight that met his eyes had him questioning his perfect vision.

Tech was working on a project alright, but stripped down to only the lower half of his blacks. And you? Well, you were sitting there in your panties, wearing the top half of Tech’s blacks, holding a tool in place while Tech fiddled with the piece of machinery on the floor between you.

“What are you doing in here?” He asked, placing a toothpick between his teeth, and leaning against the doorway. As strange as the situation was, Crosshair wasn’t going to pass up a chance to see you in your panties, even though he’d seen you totally naked in the refresher this morning.

“If you must know, cyare gave me an excellent idea on improving our communications array, and I wanted to start working on it right away,” Tech replied without looking up.

Equally unconcerned with just how underdressed you are, you beam at Tech, so pleased you could inspire him.

“This is not foreplay, Tech,” Crosshair says with a smirk.

“It could be, if you’d get outta here,” you reply, shifting your position to give Tech room to access a different area.

“Fine, I’m going, but next time we’re cleaning my rifle,” he trails off suggestively.

“Yeah, yeah, I’ll do it topless,” you say with a wink.

After Crosshair closes the door behind him, you turn your attention back to Tech, who’s looking at you with an unreadable expression.

“What?” You ask, brow furrowed. His eyes are traveling down your body, taking in the sight of you in his blacks.

“You look lovely wearing my clothes,” he says finally, leaning forward to kiss you softly before he goes back to working, a small satisfied smile on his face.

“Thank you,” you reply, unable to stop smiling, as you resume your work as his assistant.

***

Back to back missions for roughly 14 rotations had left no time for anything more than inhaling a ration bar here and there, and closing your eyes for just enough time to keep your body going. Leisure time? You remembered the concept, but you were starting to feel like you’d never know rest, pleasure, or real food again.

When Hunter announced you’d be in hyperspace long enough for everyone to sleep, the collective sigh of relief through the room could have been felt 3 systems over.

The five of you gathered into the cockpit to share a meal together, ration bars still because you weren’t that lucky. You perched yourself on Wrecker’s lap, as you were absolutely starved for some human contact that wasn’t ‘pass me that detonator’ or being tackled out of the way.

“Maker, these taste so much better when you’re not also worried about getting shot,” you giggle, only slightly delirious from exhaustion.

“I was just thinking the opposite,” Crosshair replied with an uncharacteristic chuckle.

“Crosshair’s laughing,” Wrecker practically sang, adding his laughter to the chorus.

“Oh fuck, he is!” your voice comes out higher now, followed swiftly by peals of laughter. You simply couldn’t stop. Clapping your hand over your mouth, you look around at them. Your muffled giggles are still rolling, and Crosshair’s soft laughter shakes his shoulders. Wrecker’s wrapped an arm around you, so you don’t fall, as his deep chuckles rumble through you.

Hunter opens his mouth to say something, but his lips twitch towards a smile before he’s trying to hold back laughter too.

“You all require rest. Expeditiously,” Tech says, finding the sight of the four of you amusing, but still resisting the urge to burst out laughing. “I’ll take first watch,” he announces, as the laughter increases in intensity.

Rolling his eyes, he stands up, and starts leading you all back to your bunks one by one. First Crosshair, then Hunter, then he comes back to scoop you out of Wrecker’s arms.

As he lifts you, you wrap your arms around his neck. “Thank you, Tech,” you giggle softly, as he helps you out of your armor, and into your bunk.

“Rest well, darling,” He says, pressing a kiss to your forehead, and closing the privacy curtain. You’re asleep before his steps fade down the corridor.

You wake up a few hours later, warm and confused. How long had you been out? You look at your watch and realize there’s no way it hasn’t been your turn on watch yet. Climbing out of your bunk, and wrapping your blanket around yourself to make your way to the cockpit.

Tech is in the pilot’s chair, relaxing as the soft glow of hyperspace washes over him. He looks peaceful, beautiful, and your body suddenly remembers that you haven’t been properly loved on in two weeks.

“Why didn’t you come get me?” You ask, approaching him and leaning down to kiss his face.

“You were delirious when I put you to bed. And a mere 3 hours of sleep did not seem sufficient,” he replies easily.

“Maker, you take such good care of me,” you groan, and lean down to take his lips instead this time. Not only did it make your heart soar that Tech had been concerned for your wellbeing, but you hadn’t kissed him like this in so many days, you’d forgotten how blissful it feels. He raises a hand to grab the back of your head to hold you in place.

“Fuck, sorry,” you pull back, biting your lip. “I’m not supposed to be distracting you…but I honestly think it would only take like 5 minutes be-“

“Yes, whatever you’re suggesting. Please, cyare,” Tech cuts you off to stand up, and start pulling his clothes off as fast as he can. You don’t wait for a formal invitation, and shimmy out of your blacks before laying the blanket on the floor, and sinking to your knees.

Tech is already half hard from the kiss, and you both moan deeply when you take him into your mouth. Your hands grip his hips, while his find their way into your hair. You’re always happy to please him this way, but after two weeks of not so much as a smack on the ass, you’re more enthusiastic than you’ve ever been.

The swollen head of his cock presses insistently on the back of your throat, and you swallow eagerly around the intrusion, causing him to swear above you. One of your hands slides down off of his body to dance over your aching pussy. It felt heavenly to touch yourself for pleasure, and not to slap on bacta gel.

“You can’t keep this up, darling,” Tech moans. “I won’t last.”

You pull back with a pout and look up at him. He’s breathing hard, and gazing at you with so much affection and lust. Your heart is aching just as badly as the rest of your touch starved body. His cock still hovers near your lips, and you smirk up at him before deliberately licking the tip like it’s a lollipop.

“I don’t want you to last, love, I want you to cum,”

Tech bites his lip to keep from moaning. He couldn’t resist you when you were direct like that, but he also wasn’t going to let you keep him from making you cum on his cock. Watching you swallow was a treat, but finishing inside you was bliss.

“And I promise I will. Lie back for me, cyare.”

You would do anything for him, if he asked you in that sinful voice. You lay back on the blanket, parting your legs slowly and reaching down to tease your clit. He settled between your legs, running his hands over your thighs before gripping them tightly, and pulling you forward, as he pressed forward to meet you.

His cock slowly entered you, drawing the most desperate and obscene moan out of you. When he was fully sheathed within you, he took your lips. You returned his kiss with fervor, giving him a little squeeze to encourage him to move.

“So impatient,” he mutters against your lips before pulling out slowly, and sliding back in harder than the first time.

“Tech,” you whine. “Please.”

“Please what? Use your words, darling,” he teases, giving you a shallow thrust.

“Please fuck me, hard,” you beg. Normally you’d be a brat about this, but your priorities are different tonight.

“With pleasure.” He’s moving now, hips meeting yours with purpose, as he drives into you. Your moans of his name sound like a prayer, as you take everything he’s giving you.

You’re so focused on Tech and where the two of you are merged, you miss the door opening, and Crosshair dropping into the seat next to you until he clears his throat. You look up at him, face heating up instantly despite the fact that everyone on this ship has seen you naked, and, more importantly, been in this exact position with you.

He smirks down at you, and rolls his toothpick from one side to the other.

“So loud, doll,” he chides you with a mischievous sparkle in his eyes. He’s surprised but proud that Tech is the one who has taken advantage of the down time to reconnect with you, and he had to come and see it for himself.

You’re happy to invite him to join you, but Tech moves his hand between your bodies to rub luxurious circles over your clit.

“Tech,” you whine, looking up at Crosshair. Tech doesn’t so much as glance in his brother’s direction. He uses his free hand to gently grasp your face, and make you look at him again.

“I promised I’d cum for you, and I know you’re close,” His voice is low and dripping with lust. Fuck.

“But Cross-.”

“Can wait his turn,” Tech finishes your sentence and effectively ends the discussion. The past two weeks of nothing have pushed him right to the edge of his patience, and he needs you to himself right now.

You keep your eyes trained on him, and your body focuses on his ministrations. His cock, his hands, his lips, all working in concert to bring you over the edge.

Surprisingly, the sniper stays quiet, and leaves you to it, though he would normally steal some of your attention as well. He understood the show of possessiveness, as it was usually him demanding all of your focus, and he was willing to wait…just this once.

You cum just as fast as you’d suspected you would, and as Tech spills inside of you, you moan his name, thanking him and kissing every bit of him you can reach. He returns your affections, wrapping his arms around you, and pulling you up and into his lap.

“Thank you for coming back to me,” he whispers into your ear.

“Thank you for being as patient as possible,” you reply softly, pressing a kiss to his cheek.

[523rdrebel]

Chapter 1, Chapter 2, Chapter 3, Chapter 4, Chapter 5, Chapter 6, Chapter 7, Chapter 8, Chapter 9, Chapter 10

Chapter 10 - The Start of Something New

Chapter Summary: Crosshair, Bells, and the Batch enjoy the Festival. Bells and Crosshair take small steps to learn how to navigate their relationship.

Rating: T, SFW

Warnings: None

A/N: So so sorry for taking so long to continue this story. I went on hiatus and then hit an unfortunate bout of writer's block. Fair warning this chapter begins Part Two of Sunflowers and Blasters which will have a bit of a tonal shift. We are still focusing on Crosshair and Bells's relationship, but I'll be introducing more original characters, quite a lot of backstory for our favorite sunshine medic, and even some angst and action. If that isn't something you're interested in, no worries, and no pressure to keep reading. <3

Thanks so much for your patience with me and I hope you enjoy!

Crosshair divider by Snotbuggle, Star and Moon Dividers by Saradi

Wrecker came up in between them wrapping his arms around their shoulders and dragging them along with a firm squeeze back toward the festival, “Come on, you two! There’s a whole festival to enjoy…together.” He wiggled his eyebrows and laughed, loud and boisterous.

“Ugh–” Crosshair groaned and rolled his eyes, but didn’t fight Wrecker guiding them back towards the Festival.

Once they reentered the bright, joyful lights, surrounded once again by the cacophony of sound from a village temporarily uninhibited by responsibilities, Wrecker released the pair and jogged off as he caught sight of Daisy passing nearby, drawn like a moth to a flame.

Left alone, there was this weight of uncertain pressure between Crosshair and Isabella. They’d flirted often, drawn inexplicably towards each other from the moment Crosshair had entered Isabella’s clinic, but now, they stood on the precipice of an undeniable change. They stood close together but not touching, hesitant but with an electric undercurrent of expectation. Isabella glanced to the side, observing Crosshair’s body language for any clues on his thoughts. Her hand twitched and she fought the urge to grab his hand and drag him along.

She heard Crosshair sigh through his nose, bringing her gaze back to his face as he rolled his eyes. The back of his hand brushed against hers, electric sparks shooting through her body causing a barely suppressed shiver.

“Well…” Isabella began, leaning slightly to brush her shoulder against his, “Where to?”

He leans in conspiratorially, “We could just leave…”

“Not so fast, Cross. You can’t go to a Festival and not play obviously rigged games. It’s tradition.”

“Rigged games–”

“Come on!” Instinctively she reached out for his hand, but stopped short and instead held out her hand palm up. An invitation.

Crosshair eyed the hand for only a moment before grasping her open palm within his, reveling in the sensation of her soft, warm fingers wrapped around his. He let her lead him through the busy streets of the festival, much as Omega had led them earlier that evening, his eyes cataloging her form- her hair, her smile, her bright, twinkling laugh. How long would he be able to hold on to her? How long until he broke her, too? But he pushed those unwelcome thoughts down, down into his mind avoiding the cold grip of fear he was all too accustomed to.

The evening passed in a dizzying blur of activity. Bells led Crosshair to all of her favorite sections of the Festival: Lantern lighting, hand crafted art and trinkets, exotic foods, dancers and musical performers and games of skill. At one game Wrecker took on a feat of strength, lifting a large boulder and spinning around to launch the rock across a number of lines indicating the distance thrown. Shep, surprisingly, tossed his boulder just a hair farther than Wrecker to the shocked cheers of many onlookers. Wrecker congratulated Shep with a crushing hug, lifting the man off the ground and laughing joyously.

Echo and Hunter challenged Crosshair and Tech to a game strategy and cooperation, followed shortly after by Wrecker and Omega who joined the competition. One of each team of two was blindfolded and sent into a maze, the partner perched atop their shoulders to direct them through the maze. It was a highly competitive game, each team yelling directions and orders or attempting to distract or mislead the opposing team. Hunter, Tech, and Wrecker were blindfolded, their partners secured upon their shoulders and the game began. Echo kept purposely directing Hunter into walls when he tried to use his heightened senses to tell Echo where he thought they should go. Crosshair communicated almost solely through various forms of grunts and growls, frustrating Tech to no end, “Use. Your. Words. Crosshair.”  Wrecker and Omega made it through the maze in less than five minutes, having no difficulties communicating and Omega only directed them to a dead end twice. Wrecker and Omega were adorned with beautifully crafted flower crowns for their victory and Wrecker promptly offered his to a blushing, giggling Daisy.

Bells nudged Crosshair with her elbow, directing his attention towards Wrecker and Daisy, “He went off to talk to Dai-sy.” She beamed at the pair across the way, “She's my favorite baker on the island. Wrecker’s had a crush on her for ages…”

Crosshair rolled his eyes, “I know– he’s been insufferable. Mooning at her for months.”

“He asked me for some advice, didn’t quite know how to start talking to her.”

“You?” He remarked dryly.

She elbowed his waist sharply this time, “Believe it or not, Cross, I am actually a woman. I’m familiar with our wiley ways.” She wiggled her fingers at him playfully.

“Do go on…”

“Excuse you! Those are protected trade secrets. I can't reveal them to just anybody.”

He snorted and directed another eye roll at her.

She sighed and shook her head, then shrugged, “Well, I’m hungry. Come with me?”

“I suppose. Wouldn't want to leave you and your wiley ways unsupervised…”

After their hunger was satisfied, they decided upon one last game. “Saving the best for last,” she’d said, and led him to a stall with a rudimentary game of accuracy. The stall was set up with holo-targets at three levels of difficulty and an old short-range training blaster rifle was provided for all who wished to take on the “challenge.” Crosshair scoffed, but Bells beamed at him and stepped up to the stall.

Crosshair stood back observing quietly, taking it all in. He was happy, happier than he'd been in a long time, if ever. He watched Bells laughing with Wrecker who had come over to cheer for her.

He watched as she set her stance like he’d taught her, leveled the rifle, and took aim. She was still wearing his borrowed jacket. The corner of his mouth twitched. He approached her from behind while she took her first two shots, nailing the bullseye, then just to the right. She aimed again, nailing the next two with intense focus. He smirked and ran a hand up her back under his jacket and leaned close to whisper in her ear, “Don’t get distracted…” She jumped, barely hitting the outer ring of the target and she turned on him, blushing profusely, “Cross!”

Crosshair chuckled quietly, “Works every time…” His gaze swept over the targets, “Well, you still hit the target…barely. Might have to work on your focus, Bells.”

She crossed her arms over her chest with a huff, mumbling under her breath, “Kiss the man once in a secluded garden and suddenly he gets bold.”

It was getting late, the crowds had thinned and many stalls had begun to clear away. Lighting around the Festival areas were dimmed to a low, soft ambiance. Hunter and Omega had bid their goodnights an hour or so prior and the rest of the Batch had scattered elsewhere. Crosshair and Bells walked the darkened quiet streets of Pabu’s upper levels, meandering a path towards Bells’s home. When they finally approach the door, Bells tapped the entry pad and the door opened with a woosh. The pair lingered in the entrance, hushed and unwilling to break the spell and end the night.

After what could have been seconds or hours, locked in a stalemate with ever encroaching time, Crosshair wraped one arm around her waist and pulled her close. The other hand softly cradled the back of her neck and he pressed a soft, teasing kiss to her lips before releasing her with a knowing smirk, “‘Night, Bells.” Once again he walked out her door leaving her breathless and hopelessly wanting more. 

She shook her head and slowly began getting ready for bed, her mind occupied with a mixture of memories and sensations from the evening and fanciful fabrications of an evermore possible future. As she exited the ‘fresher, her busy mind was abruptly broken from its revelry by a strange beeping sound. Isabella froze, listening for the sound.  It came from a storage unit she hadn’t touched since arriving on Pabu some years ago. The sound stopped and she squeezed her eyes shut against the burning cold dread, clenched her jaw, and climbed into bed. With some effort, she redirected her thoughts back to the pleasant events of the evening, her breathing slowing until sleep finally found her.

She dreamt of a beautiful picnic with friends and loved ones from Pabu. Desi and Taayo were there, a young, nameless child crawling around them. Crosshair was there, as were his brothers and sister, the banter and laughter flowing freely. Other residents of Pabu made an appearance as well. All the while, a shadow hovered just out of sight, at the corners of her vision she knew it was there. She knew the shadow, but could not recall it’s name. She turned to ask, only to have it move once more just outside of her vision and then was gone. The rest of the night no more dreams troubled her.

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@jediknightjana @dangraccoon @wizardofrozz @freesia-writes @mythical-illustrator

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@clonemedickix @followthepurrgil @clonethirstingisreal

[heumilch]

What if Lula was a real tooka?

[substantial-exposure]

Plan Ninety-Nine

Tech x Oc

Summary: Lorraine Deagan loved every single minute she spent courting Tech. It was just a shame it ran out so fast

(A/N:) I put all my friends original ocs into Star Wars and then put them with bad batch characters. She chose Tech and now she has to deal w the consequences. Anyway this is pretty much just Techs death rewritten with his girlfriend there with some good old angst towards the end!!But this is my first time contributing to Tech Tuesday!!

-

It had been three weeks since Omega was taken.

Three weeks since Tech had died. Three weeks of nothing but agony inside Lorraine's mind. Every time she saw those broken goggles on the shelf it was a new wave of tears.

She remembered it all way too well.

-

They were all on their way out. The connected cable cars had shut down, drained of power as everyone stood inside them. Well, everyone besides Tech. The rest of the group was safely inside the second cable car. He was the only one trying to find a way to converge power to the double car so they could make their daring escape. He was the only one smart enough to do it.

Hunter yelled over their radio. "Tech! We need power! Hurry up" he had said. He could see the ships closing in on them. There were atleast six fighters on their way to their location. Hunter could see them from here, apparently they were close enough to start shooting.

"Wrecker, Ali, Jade and Omega. You take the other side" Hunter instructed as he held up his blaster and leaned out the side of the car. He began to try and shoot down the ships that were on their way.

The fighter ships only got closer and closer. And soon enough they were close enough to make a near dead perfect shot at one of the coupling holding up the first cable car on its track. The entire structure shook beneath their feet. One of the four couplings attachments were destroyed. Tech kept his balance as he stood on the small platform on the wire structure support. He was maybe ten yards if not further from the car.

Tech watched as his datapad finally connected and flashed green. All systems cleared. "Echo! Dasibri! Full power, now!" He yelled inside his helmet. Praying that it would work. He yanked his cord out from the panel and strapped his datapad into place.

He used his grapple to make his way back to the large metallic track. He stood on it with slightly shaking legs, looking back and watching as another fighter jet came hurtling their way. Powered by his adrenaline, he ran. He ran along the cable, already now on top of the car.

It was then that the ship fired off another shot and Tech was too slow to avoid it. As the shot hit the second coupling, it burst at the contact. The explosion knocked him back a few feet and left him clambering for something to hold on to or stand on. He was thrown back, he tried to claw at the cable, to hold on and spare himself the fall. But as his hands slipped past any hand-hold, he crashed onto the roof of the first cable car.

The thud of his body hitting the roof reverberated inside the car, grabbing just about everyone's attention.

Lorraine looked up, worried. She tried to look outside the opened doors and yell up to him, but through the wind and passing blaster shots, he couldn't hear her. "Tech! Get down here!" She called. Her fingers gripped the metal of the door tightly as her heart pounded in her chest.

It was as Tech finally made it to his feet and walked along the roof, the first cable car fully snapped off from the couplings, completely separated from the track.

Kriff.

The first car hung on only by the small connector that held the two cars together. It was threatening to pull the second car, along with everyone one inside of it down with it. Thanks to his quick thinking, Tech was able to attach his grapple from his belt to the car. As the cable car dangled and steadily strained the second car, Tech hung off the end of it by a rope. He didn't dare look down. He didn't suffer from the same fear of heights his brother did but that was a height he definitely did not want to see.

Immediately he began climbing. Every muscle in his body screamed but his head remained quiet, focused.

Lorraine pushed through everyone. Shoving aside Hunter and Ali, moving Omega to her side and using all her strength to push Wrecker out of her kriffing way. She looked down the length of the broken off car. She could see him. She'd never felt more relief in her entire life. She smiled. He was alive.

"Tech. I'll.. I'll get you. Just stay there." She yelled. Lorraine looked at the massacred metal connecting the two pieces of cars. Would she even be able to make it across? She didn't care, she'd have to find out the hard way.

She heard his voice from way down below yell to her.

"Negative! Do not shift the weight!" He yelled. "Lorraine, stay there" he called as he pulled himself up the rope. He used all his strength, all he had left to haul himself up.

A deep thunderous voice boomed right after. Wrecker was standing right beside Lorraine, looking down at his brother who was hanging off the side of the car. "Come on Tech! Hurry!" He yelled.

"I'm climbing as fast as I can!" His voice was strained with effort. It had been a long day, a long crazy day that was requiring all strength his body possessed. He could hear blaster bolts, not ones from ships but from actual soldiers.

All in the meanwhile Dasibri had a tight hold on one of Wreckers guns. On the parallel track was another cable car that had been filled to the brim with troopers. She wasn't even sure how many they had all killed by now. All she knew was two were left. There wasn't a single thing about this shootout that was getting easier.

A trooper didn't shoot at the doors of the car, it shot at the third straining coupling. It shook the entire car the Batch was stood in.

Tech had let go of his cable, not by choice. The violent shaking had left him once again at the end of his rope and listening to the creaking metal. The clone looked up through the aerial car, his eyes meeting the strained stare that belonged to Lorraine. In that moment he spoke to her. "Cyare, I need you to cut the connection hinge." He told her. Tech knew what the request meant. He knew what he was asking her to do. He looked up at her, watching the emotion cross her face. Despite the tears and her messy braids and hair flying in the rapid wind, Tech thought she looked as beautiful as ever. Even with the desperation, the frantic way she turned and shook her head, he found himself calming down. Coming to terms.

If she cut the connection hinge there was absolutely no way he would be able to climb back up. He would fall.

Lorraine narrowed her eyes in thought. She looked confused. Almost angry at what he asked of her. "What? No! Not until you're up here! We'll find another way" she yelled. Lorraine looked around at the Jedi and soldiers that surrounded her. It was quiet. She couldn't hear a thing. She looked back down to the man dangling so far above ground. She couldn't stand the thought of it. "Get up here now!"

The cars shook and strained under the weight.

Tech let out a deep sigh. He ignored the strain in his neck as he looked up. "There is no time for this." He said aloud. He yelled to his brother who stood beside Lorraine. "Wrecker cut the hinge!" He yelled.

The aerial view was bright as Tech sighed and grabbed his gun off his side, knowing already that Wrecker wouldn't do it. "Plan Ninety-nine" he said as his only explanation.

Omega grabbed onto Lorraine's arm. The young girl looked at her brother, panic and grief already prevalent and run across her face. "What is he doing?" She asked her. Omega knew what the plan was. But she couldn't think of a single way it could be justified. How could he actually execute Plan 99?

Lorraine looked down at him, watching the blaster in his hands. She yelled at him "Dont do it. Tech!" She yelled. Lorraine looked behind her. The once Sargent Hunter was standing beside the once General Taraay who were both trying to shoot down whatever was firing at them now. "Order him to stop. One of you. Order him to stop!" She cried out. Everyone was watching now, looking down as Tech raised his blaster and aimed.

With a quiet breath and a few simple breaths he felt at ease. He looked up at Lorraine's crying tear tracked face. Oh how he hated it when she cried. Tech came to terms with what was going to happen. What he was going to do. He huffed out a full breath. "When have we ever followed orders?" He had chuckled to himself and raised his blaster, his finger right over the trigger. He looked up to Lorraine, a tight lipped smile behind his helmet. "I love you." He said lastly. Without a second to spare he fired off his shot. Blasting the connector clean in half.

He had successfully separated the aerial cable cars and begun his free fall.

Lorraine screamed, lunging down for him, no longer stunned in shock. Wrecker had grabbed her, ensuring she didn't fall too. His arm was wrapped fully around her bicep as she reached out for him.

Lorraine was one with the force. Since the day she'd been born, she had been. But in that moment she reached out and tapped into anything she could. Light, dark, living, dead, she didn't care. She held him there, refusing to let him go. And for a mere second her desperation alone was enough to stall his free fall. Kilometers above any ground, he was stagnant in the air.

Her heart was a drum that slammed inside her rib cage. If she could just... lift him up somehow. Within that second ages passed. And that second was fleeting.

Tech had indeed fixed the power before he fell. So as soon as the system finally recalibrated it took off with an immeasurable speed. Meaning Lorraine and everyone inside were now hurtling down a track they couldn't even locate on a map. Meaning that Tech was now left, once again in free fall. Left to fall into the expanse of the woods.

He had slipped through her fingers. He had quite literally slipped through her fingers. Lorraine stared at her palm as she panted and shook. She looked back as if she'd still be able to see him there. Held up in the air by her will alone.. but he wasn't. He was long gone.

She felt two hands on her, Jade and Dasibri each had a comforting hand on her shoulder. Ali was stood before her, her expression sympathetic as she brought the girl in for a hug.

-

Three weeks since her entire world slipped away. There was no one to listen to. No one to watch.

Lorraine sat on Tech's bunk and held his goggles in her hands. She remembered what that psycho Doctor had said to her.

"This was all I could salvage."

All she had left were things. She had shirts and belts and wrenches and a note still sitting in her lunch box. How was she supposed to deal with this? How could she cope? He was gone but all of his stuff still remained. His chess set was still splayed out, unfinished. No one had dared to touch it. His pomade was still on the 'fresher counter and his slippers were in the same spot she always tripped over them.

Lorraine hadn't meditated in days. What was the point? What did she need to be 'in tune' for? Her entire word was gone. She didn't care anymore.

She heard quiet cough from across the room. Dasibri stood there with a sympathetic look on her face as she stood in the doorway of the Marauder. "Hey." The girl stated quietly.

Lorraine took a deep breath as she thumbed over the broken glass on the goggles. "Hey." She echoed the words and sighed. "I'm sorry" she said wiping her eyes with her sleeve. "Did you.. uhm did you guys need me?" She sniffled slightly and didn't lift her gaze from the tinted glass. Lorraine felt the bed shift beside her.

Dasibri sighed. "I was worried about you." She confessed. "I just wanted to talk." She mumbled. "How are you holding?" The girl asked gently, she raised a hand and tried to comfort her.

Lorraine let out a unconscious and albeit sarcastic scoff. "How do you think?" She mumbled looking down to her hands, shifting over the broken glasses.

The other Jedi nodded in understanding. "I was going to take Ali and Jade to go meditate in the woods here... I want you to come" Dasibri said extending the invitation. She saw the way the other girl tensed.

"I think I might pass, Bri" Lorraine said looking up at her friend. "I didn't sleep well last night." She tried to explain.

An excuse like that would never of worked. Not with Dasibri or any other Jedi present. "I don't think anyone has in weeks." She shared sympathetically. "All the more reason I think it would be good for us, you especially" Dasibri said with a deep breath. "You need to take care of yourself."

Lorraine harbored a strange feeling in her stomach. The same feeling that had been plaguing her since long before Order 66. She had only talked to one person about it. Lorraine was starting to live under the notion that everything in the galaxy was out to kill her. Whether it be the force or the galaxy itself it was out to get her and everyone she ever loved.

Anakin Skywalker had shared the sentiment, all those years ago he agreed. He was the only one who understood it. She had been able to ignore it for so long. But now, it was a deafening ringing in her ears. After these three long weeks, every single day was a nightmare she couldn't wake up from.

It seemed today it would get worse.

"I know how these things can weigh on someone" Dasibri muttered. "But I always try and think of what Master Windu would say to me" the girl said taking a deep breath. The loss of her Master still cut her deep. Knowing he was killed the same night as so many. The same night she almost died. He was so close to stopping all of this. Had he succeeded their lives would look very different right now.

"He used to tell me that it was the way of the universe." She said with a sad tight lipped smile. "Which he would always say was just other way of saying that it was the will of the force." Dasibri explained watching over the other girls face. "Everything will pass." She explained squinting slightly, trying to remember all the wisdom her Master had left behind for her to carry on. "It isn't easy to hear, and it's even harder in practice. But Lorraine." Dasibri said, grabbing her friends hand tightly and looking into her eyes. "This wasn't your fault. You need to forgive yourself. Understand that it was his time"

"So what am I supposed to do? Am I supposed to just forget him? Move on just like that?" Lorraine scoffed. She brushed off the girls words. "No offence but you wouldn't get it, Bri" the girl said rather bitter. It was rich honestly. Coming from Dasibri atleast.

If Lorraine could go back to that night, years ago sitting inside Dasibri's bedroom at the temple, she would of acted very differently. During that Girls Night hangout she would of smacked her across the face and told her to keep her wits about her.

They had sat in that circle and gossiped over their run ins with the notorious experimental unit that was Clone Force 99. Ali had talked about her excursion to Rodia and how as soon as she went to leave the planet, The Sargent that had been eye fucking her since her arrival went into her ship and came out a dazed mess. Dasibri had gone on about how she loathed her time on Dantooine up until they showed up. Up until a sniper had ended up in her bedroom and quite literally changed the course of her entire life. Before Lorraine or Jade could of even gone on to explain their own interactions. She would of cracked Dasibri across the mouth, hoping to knock sense back into her and told her to never contact that man again.

Lorraine had gushed about Tech that night for over an hour. About how he had tried to shield her during their speeder crash. He had sustained most of the damage and held her tight to keep her out of harms way. How they'd been abandoned in the woods the entire night and were forced to talk to one another till the sun came up and it was safe to continue their travels back to base.

How he had confessed to what he thought of her while they both sat in front of their fire. She had said it was silly. But he was blushing so intently she had no choice but to believe him.

Lorraine would give anything to go back to that night. Either to tell herself she needed to nip that attachment in the bud or to warn herself of the pain to come.

But now, sitting here looking at Dasibri who had the gall to speak of the force at a time like this. Lorraine almost lost it.

"I mean listen to yourself, I know you think you know how I feel... but you don't." Lorraine started, trying her hardest to be nice but her resolve was starting to weaken as the seconds passed. "You didn't lose Crosshair. He left. He chose the Empire. Chose it over his brothers and he chose it over you." She said keeping her eyes down. Her eyes focused on the necklace the other girl wore since she couldn't bring herself to meet her eyes. "Don't think it's the same."

Dasibri was taken aback. "I didn't say it was." She said back after a moment. "I only meant that-" the girl said reaching out her hand. She went to put her hand on Lorraine's arm, and attempted to send out a calming energy through the force.

Immediately Lorraine pushed her hand away. "No I know what you meant." She fired back. Lorraine stood up and looked at her friend. "Tech died just trying to find that place. Alright? Died." She repeated. "They took Omega and we aren't any closer to finding the kriffing place!" She said growing more and more frustrated by the second.

Dasibri let out a deep breath. Everyone had mourned the loss of Tech but nobody more than Lorraine and his brothers. But to say Dasibri wasn't saddened and burdened by it was incorrect. "Tech died honorably. And I as difficult as it is to stomach..." She hated the words about to come out of her mouth. But it didn't make them any less true. "But it was his call. I'm sorry. Okay, I am so sorry." She apologized. "Now listen okay-"

Lorraine felt her blood boil. "No." She seethed. "No, you listen." She spat. "Tech died and he's never coming back. I don't want to hear a word from you about it." Lorraine said angrily.

Standing there, Dasibri could only blink. She felt a strange sense of deja vu. Almost as if she'd had a similar conversation before. A long time ago, she'd had a very similar conversation with Anakin. And as the seconds passed Dasibri could pinpoint the similarities until she began to grow concerned. The anger, the attitude, it scared her.

"Crosshair tried to kill you. Tried to kill all of us. And then when you gave him the option he didn't take it. He left. He chose. So before you try and tell me to cope, I'm gonna need to tell you that he doesn't want your help. And a murderer like that, doesn't fucking need it. Alright? Cope with that, and then try and kriffing tell me what to do." Lorraine spat.

The girl grabbed her bag and Tech's goggles off the bed. She was leaving. They shouldn't of been trying to find that stupid laboratory. They should of been hiding. They should of run and his the second they left the temple.

It was stupid to of done anything else. Lorraine felt bad about leaving before they would of found Omega. But she would of lost her mind even further if she knew just how long it would actually take them...

-

[apocalyp-tech-a]

Tech-ology: VOl I, Chapter 8: ‘Refresher My Memory,’ Excerpt:

“Well, for your information,” Tech tweaked his goggles as he swiveled around toward them and then held a pointed finger up, “There are several models that are much more efficient in terms of suction function.”

“Sounds like a personal problem,” Crosshair drawled with a toothpick mouthed smirk.

As Tech raised an eyebrow at Crosshair and Wrecker laughed heartily, Hunter swiveled around in the copilot chair, finally induced to join the conversation. “Whoa whoa whoa whoa. We are not getting one of those toilets that has poor suctioning capabilities.”

[mylifeisactuallyamess]

Chapter 5: The Risk

A/N: Happy Tech Tuesday!

Warnings: Erm…not much except I may be doing a Filoni with the whole calm before the storm? No it’s not that bad….oh yeah alcohol mention!

Word Count: 5.6k+

Masterlist

The squad spent days helping you set up. Tech’s knowledge was invaluable, alongside Omega’s, as they put together your equipment. The droid, Beetoo had been reprogrammed, her memories wiped and new information downloaded making her an efficient companion for you.

Today, Echo, Hunter and Omega were off doing a mission for Cid, Wrecker was lazing on one of your gurneys while Tech was syncing up your new datapad and computer system.

In truth, you had gotten used to having them all around, not wanting these days to draw to a close. When it was all over you were faced with the unknown; were they going to be off world more? Leaving you behind? When they came back would they even want to visit you?

Your gaze was dragged to the armour you’d worn on the med station. You could still feel the pull of Crosshair’s hand, the tightness of the binders, the way he looked at you with so much hatred because you were in his old squad's spare armour plates.

Hunter had tried to explain it all to you, to apologise for you being caught in the crossfire but you knew sometimes, these things couldn’t be helped. He looked so sad when he spoke, his deep brown eyes casting to the side as he tried to find the words about his brother. It was clear they all missed him. They don’t hand this out to nobodies….

Your front door slid open and Cid walked in leaning on her stick, yellow eyes immediately taking in the changes that had been made to the space she’d let you stay in.

“Looking good, Needles.” You gave a tight smile in response, still not comfortable with the way the squat Trandoshan made you feel. “I thought I’d find you boys lazing around here,” she growled, stomping towards Tech and Wrecker.

“Far from it,” Tech started. “In order for this venture to generate any profit that does not alert the Empire to you, or us, it needs to be set up properly.” He adjusted his goggles as he peered at her. “Which I have done.”

“What about you, Muscles?” Cid cast an accusatory glance at Wrecker.

“Ah, I’ve been liftin’ all the heavy stuff,” he told her while sitting up.

“He’s my first patient,” you said suddenly so all eyes fell on you.

“But—there is nothing wrong with Wrecker,” Tech instantly replied in a knowing tone.

“Take off this,” you gently tapped the larger clone’s upper armour plates. “I want to show you something.”

“Er…” he glanced at Tech, who just shrugged. “Ok.”

Patiently you waited, watching the way he gently rolled his shoulders when he shed the armour. His muscles bunched thickly and didn’t look diminished at all without his armour, he really was quite impressive.

Lowering the gurney until he was the right height, you felt your way down his neck and along his shoulders, gently massaging the tightness. “Relax,” you murmured.

“Oh…that feels good,” he rumbled. Putting your fingers in place you felt for the misalignment, carefully manipulating his head until he was completely mailable in your hands.

Cid let out an irritated sigh, “As fascinating as this is, Needles…”

CRACK!

Wrecker let out a surprised howl, his hands flying to his neck and sliding out from under your grip. Tech flinched, his hand instantly going for his blaster just on reflex from the sudden noise. You waited, watching the way Wrecker moved, realisation dawning in his eyes.

“Oh…” he let out a gravelly laugh, a wide smile spreading over his face. “That feels great!” Before you could react Wrecker charged forward, enveloping you in a gentle but strong hug that made your feet leave the floor. Age old panic threatened to fog your brain even though you knew he wasn’t going to hurt you.

“Wrecker, put her down. She doesn’t like to be touched,” Tech sighed.

“Oh, oh sorry.” It was a relief to feel the floor under your feet again and you stumbled slightly, finding Tech was there to briefly lean against until you’d regained your balance. “Can you do it again?” Wrecker asked gleefully.

“When you need it, and don’t attempt it yourself!” You warned him.

“He won’t,” Cid glowered at the clone as he put back on his armour. “Just so happens I’ve got a mission for all of you. One last thing to do before this place is open for business.”

“All of us?” Tech asked, eyes searching the floor as he ran through every possibility that Cid could mean. “You are implying Stitch is to accompany us?”

“I am. This job requires a pretty girl and he will deal with her better than he would with your ugly faces.”

“That isn’t her agreed purpose,” Tech argued, a little frown appearing on his brow.

“Her agreed purpose is whatever I say it is, Goggles. When the others get back, my parlour for a debriefing. No complaints!” She jabbed a clawed finger at them before stomping her way back out the medcentre, leaving you reeling slightly. Tech sighed wearily, going back to finishing his task on the datapad.

“Hunter will not like this,” he muttered.

“But if the client won’t deal with us, Stitch has to come,” Wrecker said as he shrugged his armour back into place.

“There is always another way,” Tech said with a note of finality.

You walked over with Tech and Wrecker flanking you, both of them letting you go first down the stairs. Pushing open the door you were greeting by the soft sounds of the slot machines, the delicate hum of the dejarik table and the noise of AZI’s repulsers as he bopped about the space collecting glasses.

“Good day! It is I, AZI-3452…”

“We know!” Wrecker grumbled and swept past.

“Mistress Cid has requested your presence in the back room,” the little droid said. Tech followed Wrecker, pulling off his helmet as he disappeared through the doorway. Gathering a breath in your chest you made yourself walk forward trying to tell yourself you were ready to face whatever the Trandoshan was going to throw at you.

“At last,” she crowed. “Thought you’d forgotten the way. Now, down to business.” Hunter shifted aside so you could fill the gap between him and Tech. His arms were crossed and already he had an unhappy look on his face. “I’m sending you to Kafrene to collect something of value.”

“The Ring of Kafrene,” straight away Tech was on his datapad. “A retired mining colony, currently a trading post in the Thand sector. Recently succumbed to Imperial occupation.”

“It’s too risky,” Hunter said.

“I’ll decide that,” Cid told him. “This information is too good to pass up.”

“I’m not taking my squad into Imperial controlled space,” he retorted hotly. “Especially after our last encounter.”

“Then your flying days are over and you’re of no use to me, Bandana. Are you not paying attention? Soon you won’t be able to set foot on a world without coming across the Empire.” They stared at each other for a moment, making the atmosphere tense and frosty.

“If I may,” Tech nudged his goggles, waiting for someone to tell him not to continue. “I do believe the Imperial occupation is new, they have minimal personnel covering the entire structure. It would be easy enough for us to slip in and out undetected, with the right planning.”

“I don’t like it,” interjected Echo.

“You wouldn’t, would you, Killjoy?”

“Fine,” Hunter spat. “But Stitch and Omega aren’t coming.” Immediately Omega voiced a protest but Cid spoke over her.

“Tiny can stay but this entire deal won’t go through without Needles. She has to go.”

“I don’t wanna stay!” Omega cried out, her little hands balling into fists.

“I’m sorry kid, but Kafrene is no place for you,” the regret was evident on Hunter’s face as he spoke to her.

“Oh yeah, Hunter has a point,” Wrecker said, earning himself a nudge from Echo.

“What do you want me to do?” Silence fell over the group when you spoke and Cid eyed you for a moment.

“Everybody out, Needles and I have some details to go over.” Slowly the squad filtered out, Hunter lingered until everyone else had gone, his deep honey gaze never leaving Cid.

When the door closed Cid slumped into her chair, the tough demeanour dropped for a moment. “I ain’t gonna lie to you, this isn’t going to be easy. It wouldn’t even be happening if they hadn’t lost the data from the last retrieval mission.” A hologram sprang to life showing the picture of an astromech, decked out in Imperial colours. “The target has this droid on his yacht. It holds important, encrypted data from the old Republic Archives. My client wants it but would rather not go head to head with this…person. That’s where you come in.”

“I’m not good at anything like this.” Cid snorted and the hologram diminished.

“You gotta be kidding me. I was all prepared to take no less than 50 percent from the medcentre…you have something about you, Needles. Not the whole I used to be a slave drama either. Something else. Also, none of those bucket heads out there will negotiate well.”

“I don’t…”

“You were someone else before you ended up here,” Cid interrupted. “Do this, get this droid and I will try and find out for you.”

“What if I don’t want it?” You asked, feeling the shot of anger sear through you. “What if, the person I was, wants to stay dead?” Cid shrugged and toyed with the horn on her desk.

“The offer is there, kid. But you will broker this deal for me or steal that info, regardless.”

“And then you’ll let me run the medcentre in peace?” It was such a needy question and you hated asking it, but you wanted stability and safety above all else.

“Suuuuuure. Until you are more useful doing something else for me,” she replied, licking her teeth for a second and you had repress a shudder. “Here,” Cid reached down and threw something to you. An old clone trooper helmet from her shelf landed in your grip and you looked up with a puzzled expression on your face. “I know they gave you their spare armour, take this so you have a complete set. You’re gonna need it.”

The whole squad turned when you exited Cid’s back room the helmet still clutched in your hands.

“Well?” Demanded Hunter. You handed Tech the details and he slipped the chip in a slot at the top of his datapad.

“We are to retrieve an imperial droid from someone called…Dryden Vos.” Echo shook his head, not recognising the name and Hunter let Tech type a bit more into his datapad. “Records show he is the leader of a Crime Syndicate, Crimson Dawn.”

“Of course he is,” Hunter growled into his drink before downing it.

“He has the droid on his ship and I apparently need to try and broker a deal with him,” you informed them. “Or at least retrieve the information in its data banks.”

“Why don’t we just take it?” Wrecker demanded. “We’re good at that.”

“Because then we’d have another Crime Syndicate on our backs for taking something that belongs to them,” Echo explained with an irritated bite to his tone. “Putting all of us in jeopardy.”

“Again,” Tech chimed in.

“Nah! He’d never find us.”

“Wrecker,” Tech looked at his brother with a piercing glare. “You put too much faith in this as an acceptable hiding place. It won’t be sufficient forever.”

“Stow it you two.” Hunter put a hand on Omega’s shoulder and her scowl melted away into a look of sadness.

“You’re leaving now?” She asked quietly.

“Quicker we get this done, the quicker we will be back,” he told her softly. “Try not to get Cid into trouble.”

“I’ll try.”

“Echo, Wrecker get some supplies. Tech ready the ship, Stitch, you’re with me.” You went to follow but a small hand grabbed at yours making you pause.

“Look after them for me,” she said with wide imploring eyes. “Please?”

“I will do my best,” you told her, sucking in a breath when she hugged you round the middle. Glancing up you saw Hunter watching from the bottom of the stairs, a slight smile adorning his marked face. Awkwardly you patted Omega, finally giving in and putting an arm around her until she let you go.

It was weird being on the ship without Omega, Wrecker had taken to sitting in her room with Lula dwarfed in his giant hands. Hunter was brooding in the hold, sitting in the chair with his arms crossed as he used his feet to rock the chair side to side.

You sat on the bottom bunk, legs dangled over the side and you gazed at the helmet in your hands. Turning it over, gently you ran your hand inside it, feeling some soft padding before touching the edge of the inner visor. It flickered to life, the HUD activating only to switch back off when you withdrew your touch.

“Phase 2.” You looked up at the sound of Tech’s voice. “I noticed them on the wall, I assumed they were dormant, I had no idea they were still functional.” He asked for the helmet with his hands and you gave it over, shuffling up at the same time so he could sit next to you. He connected his datapad to a port in the helmet and you watched the screen flicker to life again. “I can modify it so it’s the same standard as ours, linking the com to our channel.”

“Should I wear this when we board Dryden’s ship?” Hunter stirred at your question, his feet planting on the floor and stopping his rhythmic swaying.

“I think so.” Now he looked down at his own armour as though seeing it for the first time. “We should alter our armour, Echo!”

“What?” Came the muted reply from the cockpit. “I’m resting.”

“We’ve got plenty of time to rest. What did Omega do with those airbrushes?”

“These,” your head swung round to see Wrecker holding up a pouch with what looked like tools in it.

“Will these cover our current markings?” Hunter asked Tech who didn’t give a reply. “Tech?”

“Hmm?” He glanced up, pushing at his goggles as he peered at the pouch Hunter had taken off Wrecker. “Omega’s paint? She’s not here to use it.”

“Well, we know that,” rumbled Wrecker, slumping back in the seat and hugging Lula tighter.

“I’m saying,” Hunter started. “Our armour is too recognisable. They think we died on Kamino, assuming Crosshair kept his squad quiet and I’d like to keep it that way.”

“It’s an excellent idea. I was going to suggest painting Stitch’s anyway so at least it matched. The less we give Dryden Vos to question the better.”

Kafrene was in reach of the Marauders long range coms from the surface of Takodana. Hunter and Wrecker had gone to check out the perimeter, leaving Echo and Tech to connect the signal. You hadn’t moved from the lower bunk, now laying on your side as you watched Tech click the buttons on the console. He was conversing with Echo while they searched for the right channel to tap into and you let it all wash over you.

After 24 standard hours of observation you were going to head to Kafrene and put yourself in a situation that could go horribly wrong at any time. You hadn’t spoken to the guys about it, they were just doing, and you didn’t want to voice your concerns and ruin whatever barriers they put up to get through a mission.

The sound of the speeder outside had you sitting up to watch Wrecker barrel in, excitement evident on his face. “We have food!” He announced loudly.

“All right big guy,” Echo said as he danced out of Wrecker’s way. “We’re still setting up the channel.”

“Stitch!” He beckoned you forward and you decided to go, anything was better than sitting there wallowing. Hunter was already setting up a small fire, tenting the sticks to allow good air flow but not too much.

“Hey, Stitch. Come to see the haul?” He asked with an amused twinkle in his eye.

“Look!” Wrecker grabbed the canvas top of the bag and ripped it back to show some bottles.

“That’s not food,” you instantly said, slightly disappointed because you could have done with a decent meal rather than rations: it was pretty much all you’d eaten since leaving the slavers complex.

“The food is underneath,” Wrecker whispered. He lifted one of the bottles and nodded, encouraging you to take it.

“This is…wine?” You looked across at Hunter, frowning as you held out the bottle.

“It’s been a while since we had anything like this, I decided the boys needed a treat.”

“I—.” You drew the bottle back, rubbing a hand over the raised aurebesh and sweeping off some dust from the surface. “I’ve never had wine before, that I remember anyway.”

Hunter huffed slightly and threw another stick on the small fire he’d made. “We had some during the war.”

“Where did you get the food from?” You asked, giving Wrecker the bottle back.

“Kanata’s Castle, just a few klicks east of here. Maz gave us bread and meat from her kitchens,” Wrecker told you as he spread the bag open wider. “She even had cheese!”

“I don’t know how you can eat that stuff Wrecker,” Hunter shook his head and stood up from his crouched position. He pulled his pack off and planted it next to the helmet that was perched on a fallen log.

“More for me,” Wrecker gave you a wink with a nudge to the shoulder and you couldn’t help but smile in the face of his excitement.

“Done,” Tech announced his arrival as he exited the ship, datapad in hand and followed by Echo who looked curiously at the bag Wrecker had his hands in. “The Imperial channel is successfully connected and we can monitor all com chatter. I have a programme running that will trace their movements onto the schematics I downloaded of the trade post…”

“Yada yada yada!” Wrecker burst out making Tech lurch to a stop mid sentence. “Let’s eat?”

“Very well.” You could see Tech was annoyed by the way he narrowed his gaze, pushing the goggles up harder than he needed to and holding a breath in his chest.

Hunter held out a hand and you sat at the spot on the log he gestured to, finding Tech plant himself on the other side. Hunter smirked and settled himself on the ground beside you. Wrecker handed out the food and bottles, making sure everyone had some before diving noisily into his own with satisfied groans.

“What is this?” Echo wrinkled up his nose in disgust at the cheese which was a marbled blue-green colour. “Smells vile.”

“Here!” Wrecker held up his hand and Echo chucked it across the fire only for it to disappear down Wrecker’s throat.

Mostly they ate in silence, drawn into their personal thoughts as they gazed into the flames and darkness began to seep over the planet.

Hunter cracked open his bottle, using his knife to break the wax seal, doing the same to yours before handing it back. “Here’s to not dying tomorrow.”

“Morbid,” Echo stated dryly.

“Maybe we could toast to a successful mission,” Tech suggested.

“If we don’t die tomorrow, I’ll count that as a success,” Hunter muttered.

“To Stitch!” Wrecker said loudly.

“Why me?”

“Lucky charm,” Wrecker answered with a shrug.

“Hardly,” you told him with a stiff smirk.

“Why don’t we toast to our fallen brothers.” Silence fell over the group at Echo’s suggestion and their smiles dropped. You could imagine the scars that each of them carried from the Clone Wars but for Echo, you could see his with your own eyes.

“To the clones,” you said, holding your bottle out for Tech and he clinked his against yours.

“The clones,” he repeated, catching your eye in the firelight and giving you the tiniest smile that if you had blinked you would have missed. You all drank, but you weren’t prepared for the bitterness of the liquid and you chased your gulp up with a sharp breath.

“Got a kick ain’t it?” Wrecker chuckled before chugging some more.

“People drink this willingly?” You gasped, wiping your mouth and looking at the bottle like it had offended you.

“Tech, do you remember that wine Skywalker gave us after Skako Minor?” Hunter suddenly asked.

“Blossom Wine, rare and expensive. Originated from Naboo I believe.”

“That was nice, what I got of it anyway,” Hunter said, shooting a good-natured glare at Wrecker who avoided his brother’s gaze.

“Yeah well, it was nice.”

“Wrecker,” Tech now fixed an exasperated look on his brother. “You downed almost the whole bottle and then slept for an entire rotation.”

“Er, well Crosshair made me do it!”

“Guys,” Echo suddenly stood up, running his hand over his face and not looking at anyone. “I’ll monitor the coms.”

“My programme won’t fail, I wrote the code myself,” Tech called after him. Without thinking you leaned into Tech drawing his attention to you and off Echo.

“He wants to be alone,” you explained softly.

“Oh.”

“Echo suffers more than anyone,” Hunter sighed. “I’ll check on him in a bit.” He went to drink out of his bottle but movement caught his eye. “Wrecker!” He snapped.

“Oooh!! But he left his food!”

“Doesn’t mean you can eat it,” Hunter told him firmly.

“Fine.” Wrecker slumped back to a sitting position, glaring into the fire.

Whether it was the wine or the impending feeling of possibly dying tomorrow, you couldn’t sleep. Constellations of light twinkled above you, stretching as far as the eye could see, trapped in the velvety blackness of the sky. Resting a hand behind your head and dangling one leg off the nose of the Marauder you tried to make shapes within the stars.

You heard a noise, Hunter leapt up easily beside you, sitting with his back to you and joining you in star gazing. “Do you know the names of any constellations?” You asked him quietly, not wanting to wake the others.

“Only some on Kamino and that was because Tech told me about them. You?” To your surprise he settled back against the transparisteel so now you had to look up at him beside you.

“No. I couldn’t even tell you what planet I’m from.” You heard him exhale, a long drawn out sigh from the depths of his soul. He had something in his hands that he kept turning over and it took ages for you to see it was a toothpick. You knew whose it was and you tried not to think about it.

“That would be better sometimes.” Right, the cities on Kamino were destroyed, their home obliterated and now it was like it never existed.

“I’m sorry. I don’t think before I speak.” Hunter huffed out a small chuckle.

“We already have one like that, I’m used to it.” You could tell his curiosity was burning and you patiently waited for him. Sure enough, his gaze finally fell on you and he opened his mouth to speak, but then closed it again.

“Ask.”

“All right,” he threw the tooth pick over the side and put his full attention on you. “How long were you a slave?”

“Too long,” you said bitterly. “I don’t know, my childhood is hazy, only snippets remain, mainly of my father but I couldn’t tell you what he looked like. I went to a medical academy, a Republic one but I have no idea where. I was so proud of getting in doing something for myself.” Now you paused, the only memory you hadn’t been able to fully forget was the night you were taken. Hunter saw the change in your face, the way you looked up at the stars as your demons crowded in the dark.

“What happened?” He quietly asked. You debated not saying anything, words made it real, talking about it made you relive that moment again and again. And you already relived it in your sleeping hours.

“They broke in, killed my friends, burned down the Academy all because my father owed them money, I guess.” Your nose scrunched as the bitter taste of that night filled your mouth. “So instead, he gave them, me. I don’t even know how old I am, I’ve forgotten who I am…I have nothing.” Hunter looked down at his hands, he knew that feeling. He was there when Kamino had been wiped out, when everything that was familiar was destroyed before his eyes and he couldn’t do anything about it.

And then to have someone close betray you. His insides still twisted at the regret he felt about Crosshair, the shame of leaving him the first time. If only they’d known. He took a breath, trying to dispel his sense of agitation and concentrate on you.

“Well you’re wrong. You have us, Stitch. Doesn’t matter who or what you used to be,” he shrugged a little and looked back at you. “You can’t change what happened to you no more than we can change what happened to us. You just adapt.”

The pair of you settled into a quiet companionable silence, feeling the gentle breeze on your face and you turned your face to it. “Come on.” He stood up and offered you a hand, at first you just looked at it but then conceded.

His grip was firm and strong, the glove felt warm against your bare skin and it knocked you a little. Knowing that someone was touching you and they wanted nothing from you nor were they going to hurt you, had you inhaling sharply. “You ok?” He was so close but you didn’t move away.

“Yeah, I just…” gazing up at him you couldn’t help but notice the way the moon created a halo of light around him. “Cid offered to find out who I was, I don’t know if I want to find out,” you told him in a rush. “I like who I’m becoming, here, with you guys.” Your gaze lowered and you felt embarrassment curl in your chest. “That was presumptuous, I know I’m not part of the squad I’m sorry.”

“Hey,” Hunter reached out and put a hand on your arm, looking for any hesitation from you. “The moment Tech insisted you come with us, I knew you’d be a part of this squad.”

“But…”

“No buts,” he said, drawing to his full height and the hand dropped away. “Tech doesn’t just take to anyone, ever. Not even with Omega, at first.”

“I was just useful. Keeping Roc alive.”

“No. He risked the entire mission to get you free of that place. I think he’d have done it even if we didn’t have the target.” Your heart quickened, remembering that night, the blaster shots, the hounds snarling and Tech, so steadfast as he stood before you.

“He’s just one of the good guys,” you mumbled. Hunter registered your twisting hands and lack of eye contact, so he stepped back and jumped down off the side of the ship.

“We should rest before tomorrow,” he called. Giving the sky one last look you wondered if you were ever going to see the night sky again. Sitting down you slipped off the side of the ship, landing squarely on your feet next to Hunter. “We will have your back no matter what,” he reassured you quietly.

“I know,” you replied. You had no doubt about that.

You watched Echo skilfully drift the airbrush over the plates of armour laid out. Every time he finished a piece Tech would set the paint with a blow torch. It was weird seeing them in normal clothes, you had wondered if they owned any. Hunter ran his fingers slowly over the stubble on his jawline, a frown dragging his brows down.

“It feels odd,” he finally confessed.

“You’re becoming your own people,” you told him from where you sat on the Marauder ramp. “Away from the stamp of the Republic.”

“Mmm.” Your stomach cramped slightly but you ignored it, knowing it was just nerves.

“Ooowwwww,” Wrecker moaned from behind you, slumping on the doorframe, his heavy head in his hands as he winced in the daylight.

“Hungover, Wrecker?” Hunter rolled his eyes and recrossed his arms. “Shouldn’t have drunk Stitch’s bottle last night.”

“I can sort it,” you said, dusting off your legs and squeezing past the large clone to find your med kit. Knocking up a concoction of bacta and painkiller in the vial before placing it in the driver. Wrecker was sitting on the top step, barely flinching as you felt for his vessel and injecting the meds into his system. “Just rest for a bit, it will kick in soon.”

“Thanks, Stitch.” Patting him on the shoulder you left him to stand next to Hunter. The sun on Takodana was nice, the greenery was lush and vibrant. It appealed to you; what a nice place to spend your possible last day in the Galaxy.

Soon you would be heading to Kafrene, to meet with Dryden and either buy this droid or steal its data. You knew which course Cid would like you to take but you had a case of credits stashed on the ship anyway.

“The plan,” Hunter started for the fourth time that morning. “You will go in with Wrecker, the credits and the data stick. You need to see the droid, make sure he has what he says he has before you show your hand. Got it?”

“Yes.” No. Maybe? You were so nervous but you were trying not to show it. At least with Wrecker you knew you were well protected.

“His ship is usually open for, guests in the evenings,” Hunter continued. “Don’t talk to anyone else we don’t know who he has invited and what circles he’s moving in.” Now he turned to his brother. “You are to watch her, Wrecker. Do not make hard contact unless there’s no other way.”

“Yeah yeah,” he grunted.

“This isn't a military operation,” Tech spoke up from behind you. “Our usual strategies and plans will not translate well in this sort of situation, the odds would not be in our favour.”

“Tech, Echo and I will be outside. Tech will have a direct feed to your HUD so essentially he’ll be in your head on a different com channel. Any sign of trouble and we will extract you. Understood?” His gaze swept the group and they all nodded. “I am not happy,” Hunter muttered. “Putting you in such a dangerous situation.”

“I’ll be ok. I’ve got you boys.” You hoped the smile you gave Hunter was convincing. His expression softened and he gave you that little smile at the corner of his mouth.

“Yeah, you have. Let’s gear up.” Each of them gathered their newly modified plates of armour, slipping them over the pads and folds of the clothing they used instead of their blacks. You donned yours in silence, finally reaching for the helmet that wasn’t white anymore.

The surface was a distressed grey, matching the rest of your gear and nearly the double of Tech’s. It had thin red stripes that matched the boys, streaking down along the line of your spaulders and breastplate. You smiled at the stitch markings Echo had applied to your vambraces, thin red vertical lines marked with a jagged, thicker horizontal line. Your fingers swiped over the small, hidden, raised skull detail on the side of your helmet, noticing the zigzag lightning strike crossing horizontally behind it. The picture looked like Tech’s but from a different angle. It had been painted over like their own marks had, only visible if you knew what you were looking for.

Your chest swelled as tears threatened to fill your eyes. They didn’t have to do this, you were probably going to die today and here they had spent their morning making your armour match theirs. The details didn’t escape you and for the first time in your entire life you felt like you could actually belong. A sense of self settled inside you, the beginnings of a determination you’d never felt before and it made you resolute in the fact you didn’t want to let them down. You can’t change what happened. You just adapt. You weren’t going to die today, not if you could help it.

Slipping the helmet on, you watched the screen come to life in front of your eyes. It picked out their faces, highlighting them, telling you who they were, how far away they were, their current heart rate and health stats. Flicking through the screens you saw them in infrared, night vision which made you squint, and some others you had no idea about. The last one rolled around before you got back to the main screen and you yelped in surprise, drawing their attention to you.

“Ah,” Tech adjusted his specs and looked down at his datapad. “You’ve discovered the x-ray ability I have applied to your helmet.”

“It’s…interesting.” Curiosity overrode your shock and you cast a curious look at Echo.

“Wait, she can see our bones?” He asked in disbelief, his whole arm pointed in your direction, you could even see the individual bones in his finger as he gestured.

“And lack of,” you replied through the helmet only to freeze when you realised that probably wasn’t an appropriate thing to say. “I’m sorry,” you whispered. Flicking it back to the normal screen. “That will be really helpful in the field, thanks Tech.”

“You’re welcome.”

“When you’ve finished talking about things we don’t understand,” Hunter interrupted with a quirked eyebrow. “We have a yacht to infiltrate.”

“Yeah!” Wrecker added throwing a fisted hand in the air. “Let’s go…infiltrate!”

[augustinewrites]

you should absolutely add naoya to the story!!!! i would LOVE some drama between gojo and that loserrrr i just know they hate each other so MUCH

useful context for this fic can be found in three conditions!

"'salt to taste,'" satoru reads, already confused. "what the hell does that even mean?"

tuesdays are always his day to cook dinner - meaning the second you smell something burning, you kick him out of the kitchen to take over - but you'd left about left twenty minutes ago to pick the kids up from karate, so he's on his own.

shrugging, he pours a questionable amount of salt into the bowl of vegetables he's been attempting to season.

after tossing in the rest of the spices, the next step is to cook over medium-high heat. so he flicks the stove on, leaning against the counter as he waits for the pan to heat up.

that's when a knock sounds at the door.

he doesn't move, hoping whoever it is just gives up and goes away. he wasn't expecting any guests, and the backup food he'd ordered shouldn't be arriving for another half hour.

but whoever it is bangs on the door this time, clearly impatient and wanting to get on his nerves.

huffing, he flicks the stove off and stomps to the door, yanking it open.

"you've gotta be fucking kidding me."

"still as uncouth as ever, i see," naoya zenin scoffs, rolling his eyes.

"and you're still as ugly as i remember," he fires back. "no wait— uglier."

that gets the reaction satoru's hoping for, naoya scowling as he says. "seems the rumours are true. my dear relative's run away to become a gojo whore."

satoru barely manages to keep his hands off the blond's throat, because killing him would start an all out war with the zen'ins, and he isn't ready to make waves (yet).

it wouldn't take much force to just put his head through the wall, would it?

"just tell me what you want so i can say no," he says instead, voice fighting to remain steady.

god, he hates the smug look on his face as he asks, "how much do you want?"

"excuse me?"

"how much do you want," he repeats slowly, as if he were talking to a particularly stupid animal. "for her. and the fushiguro boy."

it takes satoru a moment to realize what exactly he's asking for, the request so outlandish that he can hardly believe it. "how much do i— you're insane."

he goes to slam the door, but naoya is quick to catch it.

"it's only right that they should be with their family, don't you think?"

"and that's you?"

"if we're being sentimental about it, yes."

"well, they're not for sale," he says firmly, removing his sunglasses and tucking them into his pocket. every molecule of restraint is quickly leaving his body. "nor will they ever be. now leave."

stupid as he is, naoya senses the thinly veiled threat and turns on his heel, satoru keeping his eyes trained on him until he disappears down the hall.

_____

"naoya stopped by."

"what did he want?" you ask, lips already pulled down into a frown as you take another dish to dry.

"you and megumi."

"of course he does," you sigh, setting the plate aside and resting your palms on the counter "they want ten shadows."

"what are we going to do?" he asks seriously. "what if next time they don't ask?"

"there's not much we can do right now," you tell him grimly. "it’s the zen’in clan, satoru. we just need to keep our heads down and focus on getting megumi into jujutsu tech. at least he won't be so vulnerable with all of us around—”

“hey, hey,” he murmurs, pressing his forehead to yours. “i’m not going to let anything happen to you both. you know that, right?”

“i know,” you smile, kissing the tip of his nose. “that’s why i’m not suggesting we’ve halfway across the world.”

“that’s not a bad idea. we could move somewhere hot and tropical. i’d get to see you in a swimsuit almost everyday…”

“you’d get sunburnt,” you correct, laughing as he nudges his face into the crook of your neck.

“i’d happily let myself get sunburnt if it meant you were safe,” he murmurs into your skin. “the kids would probably eviscerate me if i let anything happen to you.”

“of course they would. they’d starve otherwise.”

[clockwayswrites]

via @flipwizardstarlight

#OOOOOOH BABY BOY#he has so many scars#glad and also a little disappointed he doesn't have a vivisection scar#would LOVE to see Jason's reaction to THAT little tidbit#like#'who hurt my Tuesday?!' and getting super worried about it#until danny is like 'oh yeah dont worry my friends went a little feral on the people who did that and they don't exist anymore'#and jason is just like 'well damn'#also another fun scene that is cute and sweet and fun idea:#danny hanging out with his hooker friends and didn't realize how late it was getting and someone rolls up tot he curb#tries to get danny thinking he is a new worker and maybe starts getting a little rough about it (just yelling for the moment)#tim was swinging through to find hood for something and is like 'we got a problem here?' and#one of the girls is like 'nah#'Hood's boy lost track of time and this guy was just being rude' and anyway#this is how tim finds out everyone thinks hood and jason are dating and that they have a mutual boyfriend

LOL 1) I am trying desperately to keep not!Writing generally happy lol. Like obviously Danny ended up in Gotham going by Nightingale but people have vote against angst... like I do in other fics. So no vivisection scars.

2) that would be a hilarious way for Tim to meet Danny but

3) I raise it that now Dick thinks Jason is a sugar daddy to Danny, Tim thinks Jason is dating a sex worker as Red Hood, Babs thinks Danny is a flirty tech person for Red Hood, Steph thinks Red Hood is a sugar daddy to Danny etc etc.

Cass has it all figured out as well as the fact that Danny is Not Normal.

[littlelioncub43]

I think I'd like to tie up Tom Grant and lick whipped cream off of him tonight. Since it's a special occasion and all. 👅

I hate him (i love him so much it hurts)

"I thought this was supposed to be a present," he whines for the millionth time, his head rolling on the pillow while he looks up at you. The ties held his arms and legs in place securely to each of the four bedposts, leaving him exposed, naked, and at your mercy completely.

"It is, Tommy, just relax," you giggle and give him a sweet kiss to placate him once more. He sighs into your mouth, relishing the softness of your lips and the silk of your robe against his bare skin. "One more complaint outta you, and I'll gag this pretty mouth of yours, do you understand me?"

"Yes," he gasps out, he loves when you're like this; so calm and gentle yet still in control and so fucking powerful. You grin at his compliance and peck his lips once more.

"Good boy," you feel his cock throb happily between your bodies at the praise. Straddling his waist, you finally sit in his lap, his hard on nestling against your core through the robe.

"F-Fucking hell," he curses under his breath before licking his lips to smile up at you excitedly. You can't help but smile back at him as you begin to untie the robe. "Yes, take it off for me, baby, wanna see you," he sighs, his eyebrows tilting up in a gentle plead.

"You wanna see me, Tommy?" You coo and play with the tie a little longer to listen to him beg a few more times. He's been dying to see whats under your robe ever since you walked out of the bathroom and swatted his wandering hands away.

"Yes. Yes, please, wanna see you, love," he begs softly, nodding eagerly and trying to sit up as straight as he can to get the best view.

Finally, you unravel the tie and let the teal silk fall from your body. Tom knew you'd put on something pretty for him, but fucking hell, he wasn't prepared for the treat that you hid underneath.

The dusty blue lingerie set was going to be seared into his brain, he was sure of it. The way the bra was cupping your breasts was downright sinful. Pretty clusters of fabric flowers etched in lace over the silky satin of the cups and panties seemed to call his name, begging for his hands to feel their petals. The garter belt that is cinched around your waist leads his eyes to the expanse of your torso and thighs, the soft skin there peeking out from behind the straps and bands that wrapped you up deliciously. Then your panties, oh God Almighty, your panties were Tom's favorite: matching silk satin covered in the darker blue lace, an embroidered 'T' adorning the space just above your honeypot.

"Oh, Jesus Christ," he moans shamelessly, pulling at the ties repeatedly. "Fucking hell, baby, s-so fucking gorgeous, Jesus, how are you fucking real? Fuck me, oh God," he rambles and stares at you as lust swallows his irises.

You simply giggle at him, letting him babble to himself while you reach for the hidden can of whipped cream you stashed under the other pillow. The moment he sees the can, he's grinning like mad.

"You've got to be kidding?" He chuckles, half whining and half excited to see where this goes. When you nod with your own laugh, he's laying back on the bed, his eyes shut as he resigns himself to his fate. "You're the best fucking thing that's ever happened to me, love, ya know that—AH!"

A cold line of whipped cream lands at the center of his chest, sending goosebumps all along his pale skin, his cock flexing happily against your crotch. You both share another laugh, your smile lasting even as you slowly dip down to lick the sweet cream from him with an appreciative moan. Tom moans with you as your hot tongue glides along his chest, a delicious contrast to the cold topping. He watches as your sinful tongue licks the white cream from your gorgeous lips, wetting his own when you lean down to kiss him.

"You're the best thing that's ever happened to me, too, Tommy," you whisper against him before giving him another mind-numbing kiss.

"Love you," he whispers through passionate kisses, "love you so much, keep going, please."

"Love you too," you mumble before sitting up straight again, can in hand. "Now where were we?"

Part 2???

Comments and reblogs are always welcome! 💖

I no longer have a taglist! If you wish to stay up-to-date on when I post, follow @littlelioncub-library 💖

[addicted-to-dc]

AK!Jason Todd x Catwoman’s protégé! Reader - Just for tonight, Kitty - Pt 2

I really had to squeeze my brain to get this out, but I cannot wait for maybe part 3 👀? I have some ideas revolving around a fic or two for Gotham Knights! Jason. We shall see.

Link to part 1

Content: mind control, violence (obv), toxic af relationship, lovers to enemies to lovers (again)?

----------

It feels like you’re being puppeteered, every movement meticulously controlled by strings and sticks. It almost feels like last Tuesday. You had infiltrated Star Labs to steal some new tech designs, especially when Batman was distracted by Catwoman.

Security is nothing compared to your skill, even if you’re not completely yourself. It takes a bit longer than you’d prefer, but you finally make it to Stagg’s office.

Adjusting your goggles, you scan the area for anything that could spoil your fun. One by one, you check off your mental list until you clear the room. Most rich CEOs usually hide their deepest darkest secrets, not wanting an inkling of them to be discovered. Not Stagg, though, you know his type.

Walking around the room, your eyes scan over the décor. A man like Stagg likes to be reminded of his accomplishments. The publicity photos, front page Gotham Gazette articles, the whole nostalgic works. Everything seems to stroke his ego one way or another, but then you finally see what you’re looking for. At first, it seems like a piece of trash thrown onto a table. No, it’s the focal point, the center of it all.

You scan over the structure before carefully opening it. A flash drive appears, absolutely begging to be taken away from this place. Readying yourself, you snag the drive and place the top back on.  Just as you’re about to head to the door, you hear footsteps approaching. You immediately head for the window, quickly dismantling the alarm as you pry a panel open.

Closing it just in time, you push yourself up against the exterior of the building. Letting out a breath, you move further away from the window and jump. Falling with the rain, you crack your whip and swing off a flagpole. The momentum sends you buildings away from Stagg Enterprises, finally completing what Jason… what the Arkham Knight ordered you to do.

“It’s done.”

Despite the job being done and over with, you still have no control over yourself. Your body keeps moving, heading deeper and deeper into parts of the city you’ve never even seen. Landing softly in an alleyway, your body heads straight towards the end of it. Even your sensors fail to pick anything out of the ordinary. Why has he brought you here?

You hear him land behind you after a few moments. Turning around, you move to hand him the flash drive. The Knight acknowledges it with a head tilt before taking it from you. It disappears in one of his pockets. As soon as his hands are free, he presses a button on his wrist.

You tear your helmet off as soon as your body catches up with your mind. Rage builds into your chest as you lash out at him. He can’t prevent your claws from screeching along his armor until you finally find skin.

“You just come back from the dead and USE ME?!” you scream, grunting as he grabs your arm and twists it behind your back.

You try to lash out with your free arm, but he quickly dodges the attack. Before you know it, your back is against the cold brick wall of the alleyway. One hand holds yours above your head, the other trails across your cheek to wipe away rogue tears.

“They wanted me to kill you, this was the only option,” Jason reveals, using his spare hand to open the front of his mask. “I-I couldn’t do it.”

“Why are you doing this, Jay?” you beg, sick of the mind games that he’s putting you through.

“Batman.” A wave of cold washes over you at his tone, riddled with a hatred you’ve never seen before. “He left me to die, (Y/N), he deserves to die for what he’s done.”

“Jay, he searched for you. We all did, but when we saw him shoot you, we thought you were dead,” you whisper, flinching as he leans closer to your face.

“You did find me, though, in Venezuela,” he growls, leaning closer until his helm digs into your skin. “Do you know how hard it was to let you leave? I couldn’t believe my girl finally found me.”

“What are you going to do now that you have me?” you ask, staring into his cold blue eyes. “Lock me away as you take over Gotham with your buddies?”

His eyes darkened at the suggestion. “I don’t want to lose you again.”

You shake your head, more tears escaping from your eyes, “I lost you, Jay, really lost you. I just got you back and you’re just going to do it all over again.”

He remains silent, unsure how to respond. Jay slowly leans in, his lips ghosting over yours before lightly kissing you. Your resolve shatters quickly, leaning into the kiss and giving in to your desires. You can’t lose him again.

He releases your hands, abandoning them to grasp your waist and yank you closer. The softness of the kiss disappears, desperation forcing the kiss to become feral. Both of you break away to breathe, taking each other in as you recover.

“Can we pretend, just for tonight, Kitty?” Jason asks, his eyes desperately pleading you to agree. “I can’t stop what’s in motion, but I’ll explain everything.”

Fuck it.

“Just for tonight, Birdy.”

[vimse]

It’s Taco Tech Tuesday

Hey @eyeluvmusic21 since you mentioned tacos in the latest chapter…😉 Mechanic Tech as I imagine he appears in the fic Fantasy Falls Into Reality.

[alovesongtheywrote]

Heyyyy I just read Nightmare Academia, and I LOOOOVE IT!!! You're such a talented writer!! 🩷🩷🩷

♥ Summary: I'm glad to hear that you're enjoying the fic :D In this chapter of Nightmare Academia, your author presents you a series of vignettes about you and Reid sharing an office. In other words- you and Reid share an office. Shenanigans ensue.

♥ Warnings: none? that i'm aware of?

♥ A/N: heyyyyy, what's uppppp, it's meeee. sorry this fic took 20 years, lmao. finals hit, im sure you understand. ANYWAY, enjoy the chapter. it's like, 3,000 words, i hope that makes up for it lol

♥ Word Count: 3,336

Series Masterlist

♥♥♥

Working out of Spencer’s office was strange.  It wasn’t difficult, as one might expect.  You did not struggle to exist in the confines of that office- if anything, the opposite was true.  Working with Spencer was easy.  Being in his space and working by his side was as easy as breathing.  Despite the pranks, the general bitchiness, and your lingering guilt after the stabbing incident, you and Spencer were a good team.  You could put aside your feelings and get work done when it mattered.  

It was all very fucking weird.

That said, when it didn’t matter, absolutely no constructive work could be completed within your office.  By inviting you into his space, Spencer had unlocked a new universe of pranks for you.  You knew the password to his computer.  You had the key to every cabinet.  Everything you could ever dream of stealing was within reach.

You behaved accordingly.

-

Where most normal laptop-havers set their desktop images to pictures of family, friends, and/or big-tittied anime girls, Spencer left his desktop image on the factory setting.  It was the same default shit that came with any piece of new tech- but this hunk of metal and wire wasn’t new.   He’d had it for years and it was still the same image.  Boring.  Blank.  Impersonal and unrevealing.  Honestly, you weren’t sure if Spencer knew he could change the image, but that didn’t really matter.  Whether or not he knew, you would take the liberty of changing it for him.

You had to move quickly and strike carefully.  Despite being a technophobe, Reid wasn’t the type to leave his shit lying around.  You had to wait patiently for an opportunity, and when one arose, you had to make the most of it.  Spencer Reid would not have a sweet image of capybaras in an onsen.  He would not get a desktop image of sweet sleeping dogs.  That motherfucker would not be on the receiving end of anything wholesome or sweet.

You picked an image in advance.  You waited patiently- and when the window of opportunity finally swung open late one Tuesday afternoon?

You almost missed it.  It wasn’t your fault.  When Reid finally got up and left the room, you were a touch busy stealing one of the books off the shelf behind him.  By the time you noticed he was gone, you’d already placed some horny chunks of text bound by a tasteful cover in its place.

You could hear his footsteps down the hall.  You had to move quickly.

Every inch of your body seemed to crackle with a sort of electricity.  Your heart pounded in your chest, urged by the knowledge that you could be caught any second.  Your fingers raced over the keyboard as you found your chosen image.

When Reid returned to the room, you were back at the bookshelf, scanning the titles and pretending you hadn’t done anything wrong.  It was kind of hard to do when you were staring your smutty novels in the face, but still, you managed.

Your teeth grazed your lip as Spencer stepped into the room.  You could hear him place something on his desk, but you refused to look at him.  His eyes burned holes in the side of your head, you could feel it-

“Here,” he reached out to you, paper cup in hand, “I got you a coffee.”

“What?  How?  Why?” You stuttered out, completely failing to hide your shock.

Spencer raised an eyebrow, “Coffee.  With money.  Because it’s late and you’ve been working all day.  You know, the traditional thing to say in this situation is thank you.”

“I- Thank you,” you accepted the coffee, wrapping your hands around it tightly as if you could squeeze out your shame.

He smiled, smug and smarmy.  Your shame immediately dissipated.  This fucker deserved the cursed bullshit you’d set on his screen.

“You’re welcome, (L/N).”

He turned away from you, switching on his laptop and entering his password.  You watched him, silently sipping on your coffee.  It was perfect.  He’d memorized your coffee order.  Of fucking course he had.  That didn’t mean anything, right?  Spencer could memorize anything, it was all a part of the eidetic memory package.  He probably memorized every coffee order of every person he’d ever stood behind in every coffee shop he’d ever been to.  The fact that he knew your order meant-

“GOD-” Spencer pushed back from the desk, almost pushing his office chair right into your leg.  You looked up, a grin crossing your lips as you saw what had caused his outburst.

A hydra-like creature with a long fleshy body, several long slender necks, and multiple Furby-style faces stared out at you from the glowing screen of Spencer’s computer. 

It was the worst thing you could find, a terrible monster from the very depths of the internet- and it had the intended effect!  Spencer glared at his screen with horror and confusion, his face contorted by whatever rush of emotion he felt upon seeing the cursed thing in front of him.  A sense of euphoric joy spread through your body, burning away all the shame and confusion you felt.  

“You really can’t act like an adult for two seconds, can you?”

“Apparently not.  Thank you for the coffee?”

-

Whenever Spencer got on your nerves, you reorganized his files.  You hid folder upon folder of paperwork in the wrong place.  You switched files with other files on purpose.  You didn’t re-label anything- you weren’t a monster- but you did create such a mess that Spencer had to stay late for a few nights.  He didn’t mind, really.  In messing up his files, you had made a little mystery for him to solve.  He liked little mysteries.

Besides, on the nights he had to stay late, you stayed with him.  

On the floor.

That wasn’t too uncommon, honestly.  Reid’s office didn’t come with two desks- therefore, when one of you needed space, the other usually offered to take the floor as their dominion.  Re-arranging files took lots and lots of space, hence, you often found yourself on the ground.

One such late night, you sprawled yourself across the floor and angled your head to get a better view of Reid’s sorting.  His eyes darted across the page at a speed that some would call inhuman.  (You wouldn’t call it inhuman.  You would just call him a speedy boy.)  As he flipped through the papers before him, those eyes of his turned to you.

“Hi!” you greeted, “How goes the search?”

“You know you don’t have to stay late, right?”

“I know!  But I like watching you work.  Besides, the floor is comfortable.”

“I doubt that,” Spencer said, turning back to his sorting, “If you ask me, you’re here because you feel guilty for making me stay late.  I told you it’s fine, I-”

“Yeah, you like a paper trail, I know.  But I promise, Reid, I do not feel guilty.”

“Then maybe you just enjoy my presence?”  He looked back up at you, a shit-eating smirk painted on his face.  You wanted to smack it off of him.  Or maybe kiss it off of him?  However, if you were to kiss it off of him, you would definitely do so with unnecessary aggression.  Perhaps violence.

You let out an unconvincing laugh, “That’s ridiculous.  Be less ridiculous, Reid.”

“I don’t think I’m being ridiculous.  I think you’re in denial, (L/N).”

“Pft, denial.  You’re silly.  You’re a silly little guy,” you stood up, pulling yourself up and brushing yourself off.  You didn’t notice the way Spencer’s eyes followed your every movement, didn’t catch his gaze lingering on the small patch of skin that revealed itself as your shirt rode up.  

He almost snapped his neck when you turned back towards the desk.  He couldn’t let you catch him staring the way he was.

“My dear, dear Spencer Reid, I do not stay with you because I feel bad for making you work late,” you placed your hands on the desk, “Nor do I stay because I enjoy your presence.”

You pulled yourself up onto the desk, perching atop it.  This time, you noticed where Spencer’s gaze went and how it lingered on your thighs.  You had never felt more powerful in your life.  With a smirk, you reached out and placed two fingers beneath his chin, forcing him to look at you.  He took a deep, nervous breath, and you could feel him breathe beneath your fingers.  

“So why-” he choked, “Why do you stay here?  Just to try and flirt with me?”

“No,” you said, objectively flirting with him, “My darling doctor, I stay here because the floor is really fucking comfortable.  And I have work to do.”

His brows drew together as the cutest little pout crossed his face, “I don’t believe you.  There’s no way it’s that simple, I am sure you have an ulterior motive.”

You did.  You had several.  You felt bad for making Spencer work late, and you enjoyed his presence, and above all else, you wanted to make sure he got home safe and un-stabbed.  You weren’t gonna let Spencer know about that, though.

“Aw, pretty boy.  If I have any ulterior motive, it’s that I get to watch you suffer,” you lied.

With a huff, Spencer pulled his face from your grip and returned his focus to the mess you had made for him.  You smiled, but the grin on your face was nothing more than plastic, porcelain, fake material posing as real joy.  

“I still don’t believe you.”

Fucker.

“If you want to live in a world of delusion, that’s your decision.  All I can do is sit here and watch.”

He smirked, “Wow, (L/N).  I never pegged you as a voyeur.”

You responded to his quip like any reasonable mature adult would- you made a little sound and swatted some of the papers off of his desk.  Spencer just smiled and let his eyes move to a new paragraph.

You were going to kill that man.  Not that night, nor the nights that followed, but you were sure.  One of those mother fuckin nights, Reid would meet his end by your hand.  Or maybe by your thighs.

-

Spencer Reid might’ve been a renowned doctor with multiple PhDs, but he still wasn’t smart enough to hide his property from your thieving gremlin hands.  Before you had moved into his cozy little office, your acts of petty theft were limited to small things.  Mugs, for example.  Or books.  Now, though, you had access to all his worldly possessions- or at least all the worldly possessions that he kept in his office.

You’d taken his keys a few times.  The first time you’d done that, he practically kicked down the office door in a panic.  He’d searched the office desperately, throwing papers around and checking every drawer, only stopping when he saw your smiling face.  

The most recent time you took his keys, he’d just sighed and stared at you expectantly, his hand open and waiting.  You were super tempted to lick him, but you held back.  You just gave him back his keys.  

Mugs, books, and keys weren’t the end of it, though.  You stole chess pieces, office supplies, a desk lamp, and at one point, you nabbed one of Spencer’s fucking degrees.  (It was just hanging on the wall, taunting you.  You had to take it.)

Your favourite incident of theft, though, was a scarf.  During the colder months, Spencer usually wore a purple scarf, but this one was different.  He didn’t wear it as frequently- it was long, generally tan with stripes of orange, purple, and green.  The wool that made it up was unbelievably soft beneath your fingers.  You never wanted to let that scarf go.  So you didn’t.

You took it.  

And you kept it.  

You were cold, your neck was scarfless, and he left a lovely soft scarf right in front of you for you to grab.  So you grabbed it.  And you wore it.  And you looked hot.  And you were hot- literally.  

It was a good thing that you’d nabbed the scarf when you did.  The very next day, the heating system that kept the campus warm during the colder months mysteriously broke down.  You came into work expecting the usual warmth only to find that everything was fucking freezing.  You were fortunate.  You still had the scarf in your bag.

Without another thought, you wrapped it around your neck and curled up into a tiny ball behind the desk.  

Spencer was not so fortunate.  You see, dear reader, our sweet former FBI agent hadn’t realized his scarf had been kidnapped.  Upon returning home the night before, he noted the lack of scarf and assumed that he’d left it in his office.  That’s right.  The man with the eidetic memory just assumed he’d forgotten something- not just something.  The nerdy scarf that he’d spent months working on.

Please forgive him, he’s secretly like, half a himbo.  A half himbo in disguise.  A halfbo incognito.  Anyway.

His assumption left him scarfless, and that morning, Spencer burst into the office, desperate and searching once more.  And then, he saw you wearing his scarf.  The Doctor Who scarf.  The scarf he’d knit himself, the scarf that had spent hours and hours in his hands, that scarf wrapped around your neck.  He froze.  The panic he had felt in the moments before faded away to nothing.  

No.  Not nothing.  It just faded to a different kind of panic.  An, “Oh my god, my cute co-worker is wearing a scarf I made,” type of panic.  A, “Holy shit, my mortal enemy is wearing something rope-like that I made around their neck what kind of day IS THIS,” type of panic.  

An, “Oh god, oh man, my cute co-worker is wearing something I made around their neck to keep warm in the cold,” kind of panic.

Put another way, Spencer went from one kind of panic to several kinds of panic, all before you looked up from your paperwork to catch his wide-eyed gaze.

“Good morning, Dr. Reid,” you said, reaching up to tuck the scarf tighter around your neck, as if you could hide it with such a simple gesture, “How are you?”

“I-” he stood there for a few moments, staring at you and willing the blush on his cheeks to stop burning.  It didn’t.  It burned harder.  Finally, Spencer choked out something, “Is that my scarf?”

“Perhaps,” you drew out the word, curling further into the chair and away from Spencer, “Why?”

“Well, first and foremost, the temperature is thirteen degrees lower than normal-”

“Did you check the thermostat?”  Your words were quiet, mumbled underneath your breath as an expression of genuine confusion rather than a petty, bitchy quip.

“Secondly, my scarf- my scarf that looks suspiciously similar to the one you’re wearing now- is missing.  At first I thought I misplaced it, but then… well,” he gestured vaguely to you, to the fabric draped around your throat, “I managed to put the pieces together.”

You pulled back further.  Spencer just rolled his eyes and stepped into the office.  He slapped his hands down on the desk, letting a loud bang echo through the room.  He smirked at the tiny squeak that escaped you.  Fucker.

“Well?” you asked, voice quiet and hands tight around the scarf, “Care to share, profiler boy?”

He scoffed, though the smile on his lips was genuine, “It wasn’t that difficult.  I came to work missing my scarf and the first thing I saw was my scarf wrapped around your neck.”

“Ah.  The case solved itself,” you paused, biting the inside of your cheek.  Another shiver ran through you, “I suppose you’ll want this back?”

Before you could move to remove the scarf, Spencer held up a hand to stop you, “Keep it.  At least, for now.  It’s cold, and I’ve got a sweater around here somewhere, and you-”

“Are a sweaterless bitch, yes, that’s an accurate take.”

Spencer choked and spluttered, his pink-toned cheeks burning an even darker red, “I- I wouldn’t put it like that-”

“That’s cool,” you shrugged, unfurling your body from the confines of the office chair, “I put it like that.  I am a bitch sans-sweater.  Sweaterless bitch.”

He put a hand up to his face, covering his eyes as he whispered a tiny little curse word.  You just smirked, pulling the scarf tighter around your neck as you stretched your legs out beneath the desk.

Spencer was pretty sure he was going to combust at this point.  You weren’t aware of this- but even so, you still managed to make his day harder.

“So, where did you get this?  It’s soft as fuck, I want, like, fifteen of them.”

Somehow, Spencer managed to avoid choking again, “I, uh, I made that.”

The smile that crossed your lips was blinding, “No shit?  Fuck.  You’re more talented than I thought, Dr. Reid.”

“Thank you?” He paused, awkwardly shuffling into the room and setting up for the day, “So, do you watch Doctor Who?”

“Oh shit,” you looked down at the scarf as it cascaded down your body, “Is this a Doctor Who thing?”

“It’s a replica of the scarf worn by Tom Baker who portrayed the fourth doctor from 1974 to 1981.  The original scarf was actually twenty feet long- the woman who made it wasn’t told how long the scarf needed to be, so she used all the yarn she was given.  It was only shortened slightly for the show’s production, but overall, the end result was very well loved by- oh,” he cut himself off, “Sorry.  I’ll-”

“Wait, why did you stop?”

Spencer raised an eyebrow, “Because I’m rambling?  And I’m sure you have work to do?  And you don’t watch the show, so-”

“Work?  Work is boring.  Give me the scarf lore.”

“The scarf lore for a show you don’t even watch?”

“Yes!  Look, I’ve always taken a more Rocky Horror route when it comes to sci-fi, but I might have to get into Doctor Who because of this.”

“You should!” Spencer lit up, practically glowing with excitement as he took a seat on the desk, “Especially the newer stuff, I think you’d really like what Russell T Davies has to offer as a showrunner.”

“Do you?” you leaned forward, trying not to grin, trying not to show that you were just as excited as he was.  You failed, “Tell me more, then.”

He did.  The two of you whiled away that morning, ignoring the cold in exchange for an impromptu lecture about British television.

-

A few hallways away, Professor Belker (the head of the criminology department) sat at her desk.  Before her, in two chairs, sat professors Peters and Evans.

“So…” Evans began, rubbing his arms as a weak defence against the cold.

“So,” Belker agreed.  None of them needed to state what they were agreeing upon.  Peters stated it anyway.

“Spencer and (Y/N) are fucking, right?”

“Oh, yeah.”

“It’s practically a guarantee at this point.  You don’t share an office with your mortal enemy unless you and that enemy are having… relations.”

“Wow, ‘mortal enemy.’  That’s intense, Belker,” Evans’ eyes got wide.

“It is.  I’m quoting them directly,” Belker replied, her body weighed down in a way that told the other profs that she had heard that quote a million times.

“Well, it was a good move to shut the heat off.  I saw (Y/N) with Spencer’s scarf, so…” Peters gave a large and unsubtle wink.

“I didn’t shut the heat off.  I thought about it, but-”

“It couldn’t have been you, Belk,” Evans interrupted, “I saw the preliminary report.  The power shut off in the middle of the night.”

“Huh.  That’s odd.”

“Odd indeed.”

A few more hallways away, a book fell off one of the many shelves in your office.  Your office.  The haunted office.  The ghost was getting her way, and lord help anyone who tried to stop her.

♥ Tags: @icarusignite, @usuallyunlikelyfox, @maraudersforlife2005, @fictionalcomforts, @morgthemagpie, @iiheartbowie, @digitalhearts, @corpsebridenightamare, @ghostatrixx, @reiding-writing, @mywellspringoflife, @80katie, @ms-ks-world, @currentfications, @ilse235, @emagen, @foolishwaitersblog if you asked to be tagged and i forgot, pls let me know!! if you would like to be tagged and aren't, also let me know :D