Tech Tbb - Blog Posts
Happy MerMay everyone!!
(The discord shenanigans are getting out of control)
He starts staring at his datapad the moment he wakes up
I recolored Tech with his bug friend, since everyone likes him so much.
Here is the link to the pdf without a background for y’all so you can have your own tiny shiny Tech for Discord <3
Bad Batch recently off Kamino, and Tech has never seen this species before :O
Wrecker has also found wormie fren :)
Crosshair: I’m gonna need a human skull and I can't have you ask any questions why.
Tech: Only if you also don't ask why
Tech: *Pulls out 7 pristine human skulls* Take your pick.
Crosshair:
Tech:
Crosshair: This one is fine.
Courtesy of incorrect quotes generator.
who did this
who put meghan thee fucking stallion on a character playlist for TECH of all people 😭
Hi! I hope this ok but I was wondering if you could do a spicy fic with Tech, maybe he gets flustered whenever she’s near and his brothers try to help by getting you do stuff and help him.
Hope you have a great weekend!
“Terminally Yours”
Tech x Reader
Tech was a genius—analytical, composed, articulate.
Until you walked into a room.
You’d joined the Bad Batch on a temporary mission as a communications specialist. The job should have been straightforward. Decode enemy transmissions, secure Republic relays, leave. What you hadn’t planned for was the quiet, bespectacled clone who dropped his hydrospanner every time you got too close.
You leaned over the console, fingers flying across the keypad as you rerouted the relay node Tech had said was “performing with suboptimal efficiency.” You were deep into the override sequence when a clatter behind you made you jump.
Clank.
Tech’s hydrospanner had hit the floor. Again.
You turned, brows raised. “You okay there, Tech?”
He cleared his throat, pushing his goggles up the bridge of his nose as he bent down awkwardly to retrieve the tool. “Yes. Quite. Merely dropped it due to… a temporary lapse in grip strength.”
Hunter’s voice echoed from the cockpit. “More like a temporary lapse in brain function. That’s the fourth time today.”
You smirked and returned to the console. Tech didn’t reply.
⸻
You sat beside Omega, poking at your rations. Tech was on the far end of the table, clearly trying not to look your way while also tracking your every move like a nervous datapad with legs.
“You know,” Omega said loudly, “Tech said he wants help cleaning the data arrays in the cockpit. He said you’re the only one who knows how to handle them.”
Your brow arched. “He did?”
At the other end of the table, Tech choked on his food.
Echo smirked. “Pretty sure that’s not what he said, Omega.”
“It is,” she insisted with wide, innocent eyes. “I asked him who he’d want help from, and he said her name first.”
Wrecker grinned. “And then he blushed!”
“I did not,” Tech muttered, voice strangled.
You bit back a grin. “Well, I am good with arrays…”
Hunter looked at Tech, then at you, then back at his food like it was the most fascinating thing in the galaxy.
⸻
You found Tech alone at the terminal, his fingers flying over the keys. You stepped up beside him, arms brushing.
He froze mid-keystroke.
“I figured I’d help with the arrays,” you said, voice low, letting your hand rest against the console a little closer than necessary. “Since you said I was the best candidate.”
His ears turned red. “That was… an extrapolated hypothetical. I did not anticipate you would take Omega’s report so… literally.”
You leaned in, letting your shoulder press against his. “Is that going to be a problem?”
He inhaled sharply. “I—no. Not at all.”
You brushed your fingers along the edge of the screen, pretending to study the data. “Because I don’t mind helping you, Tech. I actually like working close to you. You’re… brilliant. Kind of cute when you’re flustered, too.”
He blinked behind his goggles. “I—um—I do not often receive comments of that nature—cute, I mean. That is to say—thank you.”
His fingers twitched nervously. You reached over to rest your hand over his.
“You’re welcome. And if you ever want to drop your hydrospanner again to get my attention, Tech, just say something next time.”
“…I’ll keep that in mind.”
⸻
Wrecker, Omega, and Echo crouched behind a supply crate, straining to hear.
“Did she touch his hand?” Omega whispered excitedly.
“Pretty sure she did more than that,” Echo muttered.
Wrecker pumped a fist in the air. “I told you! Get her close enough and boom—Tech-meltdown!”
They high-fived, right before the door to the cockpit opened and you walked out.
You stopped.
They froze.
“…Were you all spying?”
“Uh,” Omega said.
Echo cleared his throat. “More like… observing.”
“Scientific purposes,” Wrecker added. “Real important stuff.”
You rolled your eyes and walked away—but you didn’t miss the grin Echo gave Tech as he slipped inside the cockpit next.
“You owe me ten credits.”
Tech pushed his goggles up. “Worth every credit.”
You are SO TALENTED!!!! I love reading your fics so much. There is something so comforting and perfect about how you write. I can’t put my finger on how to explain what I mean other than I really love your style and how you describe things and write the characters. You always start the fics off in a unique way and I love how to interpret people’s ideas into your style!! Would it be okay if I make a tech request please? I was thinking about something kind of idiots to lovers where they are both obviously interested in each other but haven’t made that step yet and everyone is relaxing on the beach (because they deserve it) and reader can’t stop staring at tech and is super obvious and helpless about it. Maybe he gets all flustered and shy about it and the others are teasing them and pushing them together? If you want of course only if you feel inspired! Thank you 💗💗💗 so much love for you and your fics!
That means so much—thank you! Seriously, I’m really honored by your words, truly means a lot 🤍
“Heat Index”
Tech x Reader
The beach wasn’t part of the mission.
It was just…there. Unoccupied. Warm. Irresistible.
Clone Force 99 had been rerouted after a failed rendezvous with Cid’s contact, and with no immediate threats or intel to chase down, Hunter declared something miraculous:
“Stand down for the day. You’ve earned it.”
And that’s how you found yourself on a quiet, sun-drenched coast with the sound of waves in your ears, sand between your toes, and a distinct inability to stop staring at Tech.
You told yourself you were being subtle. Sitting beside him while he recalibrated his datapad, watching him tap at the screen with focused precision, eyes half-hidden behind his signature goggles. You probably looked like you were zoning out—beachy daydreaming, normal and relaxed.
But inside? Inside you were on fire.
It was embarrassing, really, the way your stomach flipped every time he pushed his glasses up or muttered to himself. The man could be describing planetary topography and you’d nod along like he was whispering sweet nothings.
And you weren’t slick. Not even a little.
“Y/N, you’re staring again,” Echo said, not even trying to be discreet as he passed by with a makeshift towel slung around his neck. His prosthetic hand glinted in the sun as he pointed an accusatory thumb your way.
“I’m not,” you mumbled, heat rushing to your face.
“You are,” Wrecker chimed in from where he was wrestling with Omega in the shallows. “Even I noticed. And I was busy winning.”
“You were not!” Omega shouted, shoving at Wrecker’s broad chest as he laughed and face-planted into the surf.
You groaned and covered your face. This was fine. Totally fine. They were just teasing. They always teased.
But Tech?
Oblivious.
He didn’t even look up, still scrolling through data with maddening focus, the sunlight glinting off his goggles. You watched as he adjusted his posture on the towel beneath him, arms flexing under the light linen of his casual shirt—of course he rolled his sleeves. Of course.
“You know,” Crosshair drawled from behind you, “he’s been stealing glances at you all day.”
You jumped.
“What?”
“Mm.” Crosshair didn’t elaborate. He just took a slow sip from the coconut drink Wrecker had found earlier and tilted his head, smirking. “Took you long enough to notice.”
You turned back to Tech quickly, trying not to look like you were checking—but yes. His head was angled just a bit too stiffly toward his datapad, like he’d jerked his gaze away the moment you turned. His fingers weren’t moving. He was paused.
Flustered?
That couldn’t be right. This was Tech. The man had calculated the thermal resistance of Wrecker’s cooking experiments and quoted entire military texts without blinking. Emotion wasn’t his operating system.
…But his ears were a bit pink.
You squinted. No way.
“Hunter,” you hissed toward the Batch’s defacto leader, hoping for confirmation.
He looked up from where he was lounging with a smug expression that had definitely been inherited from Crosshair at some point.
“He likes you. Don’t ask me to interpret how—but yeah. You’re just as obvious as he is.”
You buried your face in your hands again.
This was a mess. A ridiculous, tangled, sun-soaked mess.
And yet—
“Y/N?” Tech’s voice was right beside you. Quiet. Tentative. You startled a little—when had he moved closer?
“I—I didn’t mean to disturb you,” he said, and you watched his throat bob as he swallowed hard. “But I noticed a discrepancy in your hydration levels. You haven’t had water in two hours and thirty-seven minutes.”
You blinked. “You’re…tracking my water intake?”
“Well, I’ve been tracking everyone’s. But yours in particular was… below optimal parameters.”
You stared.
He cleared his throat.
“I made this for you,” he added, holding out a homemade drink container fashioned from a modified canteen and what looked like part of a fruit rind. “It’s rehydration-optimized. With, um… taste. I believe that matters to you?”
Your heart did a completely traitorous little leap. “You made me a beach drink?”
His ears turned very pink. “Yes.”
Crosshair made a gagging sound from somewhere behind you.
You took the drink, fingers brushing Tech’s. He didn’t pull away.
“Thanks,” you said softly. “That’s… really sweet.”
He stared at you for a second, expression flickering behind his goggles.
“Would you—” he blurted, then stopped himself. “Would you… be interested in accompanying me on a walk along the beach? For scientific reasons.”
“Scientific reasons?”
“Yes. I’d like to examine the tidal patterns. But also… I’d like to spend time with you.”
You almost laughed in relief, and it was so him, so endearing and awkward and precise, that you couldn’t say no.
“Yeah,” you said, and smiled. “I’d like that.”
The walk started slow.
He kept his hands behind his back at first, clearly trying to keep things casual, but he couldn’t help rattling off bits of data about the tides and the weather patterns. You nodded, asked just enough to keep him talking—but you were watching him more than anything else.
His brow furrowed when he talked, like every thought had to be carefully handled and shaped before it left his mouth. But he got passionate. Excited. Animated.
He gestured toward a tide pool and nearly tripped over a rock, catching himself with a flustered noise that made you giggle. His cheeks turned pink again.
“This is ridiculous,” he muttered suddenly.
“What is?”
He turned to you, still awkward, but determined. “I’ve run the probabilities. Of outcomes. Of this… situation.”
“This situation being…?”
“You and me,” he said, like it was a confession he’d been holding in for weeks. “Statistically, the indicators are positive. Even when accounting for external variables and potential mission constraints.”
You bit your lip. “Tech—are you saying what I think you’re saying?”
He hesitated. Then: “I like you. Very much. In a not entirely logical way.”
Your breath caught.
“You do?”
“I have for some time,” he admitted. “I didn’t say anything because I assumed the feelings were not… mutual. And I didn’t want to make things awkward among the squad.”
“Oh,” you said, voice breathy. “You absolute idiot.”
He blinked.
“I like you too,” you said, taking a step closer. “In a totally not-logical-at-all way. Everyone else figured it out ages ago.”
Tech looked stunned.
You took his hand—he startled, but didn’t pull away.
“I wanted to tell you,” you said. “But I didn’t want to make you uncomfortable.”
“I am, in fact,” he said slowly, “very comfortable at the moment.”
The silence stretched between you, warm and fizzing with promise.
And then—
“Finally!”
You both turned. Wrecker and Echo were standing waist-deep in the surf, cheering.
“I owe you five credits,” Crosshair muttered to Hunter.
You groaned, but couldn’t stop smiling.
“Let them gloat,” Tech said softly, fingers brushing yours again. “We have better things to do.”
“Like?”
“Another kilometer of beach to explore. And perhaps later… dinner. Just the two of us.”
Your stomach fluttered.
“Sounds perfect.”
⸻
Dinner arrived in pieces.
Wrecker had scavenged half the ingredients from the nearby forest—safe and edible, confirmed by Hunter—and Omega, ever the creative one, had helped wrap them in broad leaves and skewer them over a makeshift spit. Echo insisted on seasoning, mumbling something about dignity, and Crosshair contributed by not poisoning the mood with snark.
But you and Tech?
You barely noticed.
You’d spent the entire afternoon orbiting one another, caught in the gravitational pull of what had finally been said and shared. And when Tech suggested you take your food to the far end of the beach—just the two of you—there was no hesitation.
You walked in silence at first, the smell of salt and roasted fruit mingling with the low roar of the tide. The sand cooled beneath your feet as the sun dipped lower, shadows stretching long and purple-blue across the coast. When you reached a quiet, rocky cove framed by tidepools and a sloping dune, Tech paused.
“This will do,” he said.
You laid out the blanket Omega had packed, and he helped you unpack the food with the same precision he brought to every mission. Only this time, you noticed the small things—the way his fingers brushed yours when handing you a wrapped meal, the quiet way he lingered near your side as if anchoring himself.
You sat cross-legged beside him on the blanket. He adjusted his goggles. Again.
“You can take those off, you know,” you said gently.
“I—well, yes, I could, but…”
“But?”
“I prefer to see you clearly.”
Your breath caught. He wasn’t even trying to be smooth. That was the worst part—it was just honesty, simple and unaffected, and it made your chest feel like it had been sun-warmed from the inside out.
He must’ve noticed your reaction because he fumbled with his fork.
“I apologize. Was that too forward?”
“No,” you said quickly. “Just… unexpected.”
A small smile touched his lips. He nudged his glasses up slightly anyway, so you could see more of his eyes.
“Then I shall try to surprise you more often.”
The meal was delicious—maybe not restaurant quality, but easily one of the best things you’d tasted in weeks. The food was secondary, though. The real warmth came from being beside Tech, talking about nothing and everything. His shoulders relaxed the longer you chatted, especially when you teased him lightly about how long it had taken for him to make a move.
“I calculated risk scenarios,” he said indignantly, mouth twitching at the corners.
“Uh-huh. And how’d that go?”
“Well, clearly, I underestimated you.”
You laughed. “You really did.”
After dinner, the sky deepened into indigo, and stars began to prick through the darkness.
You lay back on the blanket with a contented sigh, staring up at the galaxy above. Beside you, Tech adjusted his posture, lying just close enough for your arms to brush.
“The constellations are different from Kamino’s sector,” he murmured. “See that cluster? That’s the Aurigae Trine. It’s only visible from this hemisphere.”
You turned your head to look at him.
“And the one over there?” you asked, pointing.
He followed your gaze, expression thoughtful. “That’s informal. Not officially charted. But some smugglers call it The Serpent’s Tongue.”
“Romantic,” you teased.
“Perhaps not. But…”
He hesitated, then shifted slightly, turning onto his side to face you fully.
“I once thought romance was a variable I would never encounter with clarity,” he said. “It seemed inefficient. Distracting.”
You raised an eyebrow. “And now?”
“Now I find it… illuminating. Like gravitational lensing. Everything bends, but you can see further.”
Your chest tightened with something sweet and aching.
“You always talk like that?” you asked quietly.
He tilted his head. “Do you prefer I don’t?”
“No,” you whispered. “I love it. I love how you see things.”
His gaze softened, and this time, it was his hand that reached for yours.
“I may not always say the right words,” he murmured. “But I will always mean them.”
You laced your fingers with his.
“I know.”
The sky stretched endless above you, starlight threading between the waves and wind. And for once, there was no war. No danger. Just you, and him, and a night that felt like it had waited for years to happen.
hi!! I adored your recent tech fic “more than calculations” abd was wondering if I could request something between tech and a reader who doesn’t flirt or do all the romance things kind of how tech is? I love the idea of them having the same way of showing each other love and they just understand each other even if others don’t really understand how they are together! I hope that made a bit of sense 🙈🩷 thank you!! 💗
“Exactly Us”
Tech x Reader
“Are you two… together?”
Omega blinked up at you, head tilted with that signature mix of innocent curiosity and surgical precision, like she was investigating the oddities of adult behavior again.
Tech glanced up from his datapad, not the least bit ruffled. You didn’t look away from the gear you were calibrating, either. A beat passed.
“Yes,” you both said in perfect unison.
Omega squinted, unconvinced.
“But you don’t do anything!” she exclaimed, arms flailing slightly. “No hand-holding, no kissing, no—ugh—staring at each other like Wrecker and that woman from the food stalls!”
You shrugged. “We fixed the water pump system together last night. That was plenty.”
Tech nodded. “And we enjoy our shared quiet time between 2100 and 2130 hours. Typically on the cliffside bench.”
Omega made a face. “That’s it?”
“That is a significant amount of bonding,” Tech replied, tapping at his datapad. “Just because it doesn’t conform to more overt romantic displays does not mean the bond is any less valid.”
You added, without looking up, “We don’t need to prove anything.”
Omega grumbled and wandered off, muttering something about how weird grownups were. You smirked faintly.
When the datapad made a soft chime, Tech turned it toward you. It was a thermal reading—your shared analysis project on the geothermal vents near the northern cliffs.
“You were correct,” he said, adjusting his goggles. “There is a secondary vent system. I suspect it branches beneath the island’s reef shelf.”
You leaned closer to the screen. “Nice. That’ll stabilize the water temps around the farms. You wanna go check it out?”
“Affirmative,” he said. Then, after a pause: “I enjoy when we do these things together.”
You looked up at him and nodded, your version of “I do too.”
The two of you set out across Pabu, walking in companionable silence. You didn’t talk much. You didn’t have to. There was a rhythm, an ease to your presence beside each other. When you handed Tech a scanner without being asked, or when he adjusted your toolbelt with a small, thoughtful flick of his fingers — that was your version of affection.
Sometimes, Wrecker would nudge Crosshair (visiting, grumbling, but always watching) and whisper, “How do they even like each other?”
Crosshair would reply, “They don’t need to. They get each other.”
Later, the sun dipped low, casting warm gold across the cliffs. You and Tech sat side by side on your usual bench. No words. Just a datapad between you, exchanging quiet theories, occasionally pointing at the sea when a bird swooped or a current shifted strangely.
Tech finally broke the silence.
“Most people… expect something different from a relationship. More expression. More effort.”
You looked at him. “This is effort. Just a different kind.”
His lips curled slightly at the edge — his version of a full grin.
“I concur.”
After a moment, he added, “You are the first person I’ve encountered who does not require translation of my silence.”
You gave a small smile and leaned just enough to bump your shoulder against his. “And you’re the first person who doesn’t expect me to say things I don’t feel like saying out loud.”
He reached over and adjusted your sleeve where it had folded weirdly. Not romantic. Not flashy. Just… quietly right.
Behind you, somewhere near the beach, Omega was laughing, chasing a crab and antagonising Crosshair.
But here, in this quiet little corner of peace, you and Tech sat in absolute understanding.
No need to explain. No need to perform. Just existing.
Exactly as you were.
Exactly together.
YAAA IM SUCH A HUGE FAN OF YOUR TBB WORK AND I FINALLY HAVE A REQUEST IDEA…
Mandalorian reader who speaks in Mando’a to herself when she thinks she’s alone, and one day cf 99 overhears her!!
tysm if you do this, like I said I love your work and I’m so excited to read more <3 take care lovely!!
Thank you x
I hope this is somewhat close to what you had in mind.
“Secrets in the Shadows”
Bad Batch x Reader
The cantina was loud as usual, reeking of stale spotchka and poor decisions. You sat in the corner booth at Cid’s, helmet off but gauntlets still on, nursing a cheap drink and a cheaper job. You’d just come back from a run that paid in credits so light they could float off your palm. Figures.
You muttered to yourself, low and in a tongue most beings on Ord Mantell didn’t understand.
“Kriffing dikkut,” you muttered under your breath, just loud enough for your own ears. “Ni ru'kir not even cuyir sha borarir today… bal par meg”
You swirled your cup, leaned back with a scowl. In your mind Cid’s got no honor, no plan. Just her greasy fingers in every job on this rock.
Another sip. You were speaking louder now. You thought you were alone. “Meh Ni had options, Ni Ru'kel tettar kaysh shebs off a roof”
“Interesting,” came a voice just behind you.
You froze. Slowly, you turned your head—and saw the familiar faces of Clone Force 99. Hunter stood with his arms folded, head tilted. Tech was already tapping on his datapad. Crosshair had a toothpick in his mouth and that smug glint in his eye. Wrecker was smirking like you just said something hilarious. Echo said nothing, but his gaze was sharp.
“You speak Mando’a,” Tech noted, without looking up. “Quite fluently.”
You stood quickly, not bothering to hide your annoyance.
“No osik,” you snapped. “Didn’t exactly mean for the whole squad to eavesdrop.”
Crosshair chuckled. “You talk to yourself in a dead language, and we’re the weird ones?”
Your visor snapped down. “It’s not dead. Just sleeping. Like a rancor with teeth.”
Hunter took a step closer. “Why keep it quiet?”
You didn’t answer at first. Just stared, then finally said, “Because it’s mine. Because people like Cid don’t deserve to hear it. Because you aruetiise don’t know what it means to carry a name that was earned, not assigned.”
Wrecker looked genuinely hurt. “Hey, we’ve fought with you, bled with you—”
“Doesn’t make us vod,” you interrupted. “Not yet.”
Echo stepped forward, quieter than the rest. “We’re not trying to be something we’re not. But we do understand what it’s like to have your culture stolen and your purpose used.”
That made you pause.
You looked at him for a long time, the words catching in your throat. Then, finally, you said it—soft, but clear.
“Ni ven, ori’vod. But you tell that chakaar Cid if she lowballs me again, I’ll weld her bar shut.”
Crosshair’s smirk widened. “I’ll get the torch.”
Hunter let out a rare chuckle. “Fair enough. Next time, maybe just let us know when you’re venting in Mando’a. We’ll knock first.”
You gave a subtle nod and walked past them, muttering under your breath again.
“I don’t trust you. Not yet.”
But your pace slowed at the door. Just for a second.
And none of them missed it.
Hi! I’m not sure if you’ve heard of Epic the musical and the song “There are other ways” but I was thinking a Tech X Reader where he gets lost and comes across a sorceress and she seduces him and it’s very steamy? Lmk if this is ok, if not feel free to delete. Xx
“There Are Other Ways”
Tech x Reader
Tech had been separated from the squad before. Statistically speaking, given the volume of missions they undertook in unpredictable terrain, the odds were precisely 3.8% per assignment. He should have been more prepared for it—should have accounted for environmental disruptions, latent electromagnetic fields, or the possibility of the forest itself being… alive.
Still, none of that explained why his visor fritzed out the moment he crossed the river.
Or why the fog grew thicker when he tried to retrace his steps.
Or why the trees whispered his name like they knew him.
“Tech…”
He halted. The voice came from ahead—feminine, melodic. Not from his comm. And certainly not Omega playing a prank. She didn’t sound like a dream.
His grip tightened on his blaster. “Reveal yourself.”
And you did.
You stepped from the mist as if you belonged to it. Bare feet sinking into moss, the water licking around your ankles. The moon crowned you, making the fine threads of your cloak shimmer like woven starlight. Your gaze was ancient. Curious. Smiling.
“I’ve been waiting,” you said, voice like silk over steel.
Tech’s eyes narrowed behind his visor. “Statistically improbable, considering I had no intention of entering this region of the forest, nor becoming separated from my unit.”
“Perhaps I saw what you could not,” you said, tilting your head. “Or perhaps I called, and you listened.”
He ran a diagnostic scan. No lifeforms detected. No hostile readings. The air was too quiet.
“Are you… Force-sensitive?”
You laughed—a soft, knowing sound that made his stomach tighten.
“I’m something like that. Does it matter?”
“It very much does. If you are a threat, I am obligated to neutralize—”
But you were closer now. He hadn’t seen you move. Your fingers touched the edge of his armor with something like reverence.
“I’m not a threat unless you ask me to be.”
His breath hitched. Just once. Just enough for you to notice.
“You’re… a clone trooper. The mind of your little unit.” You circled him slowly. “Always calculating. Always thinking. Never letting go.”
“I find control to be preferable to chaos,” he said sharply.
“And yet,” you whispered, stepping behind him, your hand brushing the nape of his neck, “you walked into the chaos anyway.”
His fingers twitched. He should have stepped forward. Should have recalibrated his scanner. Should have moved—
But he didn’t.
Because something about your presence tugged at the part of him he kept locked away. The part he filed under unnecessary. Indulgent. Weak.
“Your body,” you murmured, lips brushing the shell of his ear, “wants what your mind won’t allow.”
He stiffened.
You smiled, warm and wicked, stepping in front of him again, your fingers now brushing the soft lining between his chest armor and undersuit. “You wear this like a wall. But you’re still a man beneath it.”
“I am not… easily manipulated,” he managed, though his voice had dropped, deeper than he liked.
“I’m not manipulating you, Tech.” You met his gaze. “I’m offering you a choice. You can walk away. Return to your mission. Your team. Your purpose.”
You stepped closer, and his breath caught as your hand slid beneath the edge of his cowl, your touch feather-light. “Or you can let go. Just for one night. Just this once.”
He shouldn’t. He knew he shouldn’t. He could list a hundred reasons why this was an anomaly. A deviation. A risk.
And yet—
His hand came up, slowly, almost shaking. Not to stop you. To touch you. To feel you. To confirm you were real.
You leaned in.
“I can show you other ways,” you whispered.
Then your lips brushed his—tentative at first, waiting. And when he didn’t pull away, you deepened the kiss, slow and exploratory, as if trying to map the mind he kept so tightly wound.
Tech’s world tilted.
Because for the first time in years, he wasn’t thinking.
He was feeling.
And when he let his blaster fall to the moss, when his hands found your waist and pulled you against him, when he kissed you back with a desperation he didn’t know he had—
He wasn’t the mind anymore.
He was a man.
His breath stuttered.
Tech wasn’t used to this—not the heat rising in his chest, nor the sensation of lips ghosting down his neck like a whisper meant only for the softest, most hidden parts of him.
Your eyes drank him in—not with hunger, but with reverence. His freckles, his sharp cheekbones, the slight twitch in his jaw that betrayed the storm behind his glasses.
“You’re beautiful,” you said softly.
Tech blinked. “That is… an illogical observation.”
You smiled. “Then your logic needs reprogramming.”
He made a noise—half protest, half breathless laugh—but it caught in his throat when your hands touched the bare skin of his collarbone. Your thumbs pressed lightly into the muscles of his neck. Tech didn’t realize how tense he always was until he felt himself melting beneath your touch.
“Tell me to stop,” you whispered.
“I…” His voice caught. “I cannot.”
You nodded, leaning in until your forehead touched his. “Then don’t.”
He didn’t.
Instead, he kissed you—desperately this time, hands curling at your waist as if anchoring himself to something real, something grounding in the swirling chaos of magic and sensation.
You pressed against him, warm and solid and devastatingly soft. One hand curled into his hair, the other sliding beneath the edge of his armor as you slowly coaxed it free. Piece by piece, you helped him shed it—not forcefully, never rushing. Like a ritual. Like he was something sacred.
When the last plate fell into the moss with a thud, he stood before you stripped of all defenses, chest rising and falling in quiet, stunned silence.
“You’re still thinking,” you said gently, brushing your nose against his.
“I—always think,” he breathed.
“Then let me think for you tonight.”
He didn’t protest when you led him backward into the moss, the magic of the forest warming the ground like a living bed. You straddled his lap, kissing him slow, deep, like you wanted to memorize every stifled sound he made.
Tech’s hands roamed—tentative, reverent, needy. He touched like a man learning to live in his own skin for the first time. Every sigh, every moan, every tremble you pulled from him was a tiny rebellion against the order he clung to.
And gods—how he clung to you instead.
Your magic hummed beneath your skin, wrapping around his ribs like silk. It didn’t control him. It didn’t bend his will. It simply amplified everything he was already feeling, pulling him deeper into you, into this—the illusion, the escape, the exquisite loss of control.
Your mouths met again and again. His glasses were somewhere in the moss. His hands splayed along the curve of your back. And when you whispered his name, over and over, like it was the only truth left in the galaxy—
He whispered yours back like a prayer.
Like he had always known it.
Like logic had never mattered at all.
Hi, I saw request are open so I hope sending this is okay:). I had an idea that been lingering and I’d like to see if you could write it, possibly? Imagine a reader getting jealous about the friendship between Tech and Phee. I guess in this scenario reader and tech are an established couple? It honestly could go anyway you’d like it to:) My thoughts on this aren’t fully fleshed out so feel free to go crazy with this!:) I just love jealous tropes.
“More Than Calculations”
Tech x Jealous Reader
You didn’t mean to watch them.
It just… kept happening.
You were sitting at the workbench, fiddling with a half-stripped blaster that didn’t need fixing. From the corner of your eye, you could see them—Phee perched on a crate, animated, leaning closer to Tech as he adjusted something on his datapad.
She laughed again, this carefree, almost flirty kind of laugh that curled around your spine like a hook.
“That’s incredible,” she said, bumping her shoulder lightly into his. “You know more about lost hyperspace lanes than some of the old-timers back on Skara Nal.”
Tech pushed his goggles up, his voice as even as always. “Well, yes. I’ve extensively studied astro-cartography from several civilizations. Your planet’s archival inconsistencies, however, are particularly fascinating—”
“Oh, I know. That’s why I like talking to you.” Phee grinned, her hand brushing against his arm.
You clenched your jaw.
She didn’t mean anything by it, right? She was just… being Phee. Loud, curious, magnetic.
But still.
It didn’t sit right. The way she touched him. The way Tech didn’t even flinch or notice. You knew he wasn’t wired like other people—emotions weren’t instinctive for him. He didn’t register subtle cues, or the way someone’s gaze lingered just a moment too long. And he sure as hell didn’t understand flirting, not unless it came with a schematic.
But that didn’t make it hurt any less.
Later that night, after Phee had left for wherever she stored herself when not draped across your crew’s day-to-day, you found Tech alone in the cockpit, typing furiously into his datapad.
You stood there for a moment, arms folded, watching him.
He didn’t look up. “I am currently cataloging several of Phee’s findings regarding Nabooan artifacts. Some of the data is poorly organized, but she has a surprising eye for—”
“You two seem close,” you interrupted, trying to sound neutral. The words landed heavy.
Tech finally looked up.
“Who?” he asked.
“Phee.”
He blinked. “Ah. I suppose. We have engaged in mutual information exchange on several occasions. Her questions, though often imprecise, are not unintelligent.”
You sat beside him, slowly. “You don’t… think she’s being a little too friendly?”
He tilted his head, confused. “Friendly?”
You sighed. “Touchy. Flirty. You don’t notice the way she leans into you? Or calls you ‘Brown eyes’?”
Tech frowned slightly, processing. “She is expressive. That is her personality.”
“Yeah, well, it’s starting to feel like she’s trying to rewrite your personality while she’s at it.”
There was silence. You hated how small your voice had gotten.
“I just… I don’t like the way she looks at you.”
Tech regarded you with quiet intensity, the kind he reserved for situations he didn’t quite know how to calculate. “Are you implying you feel… threatened?”
You stared at your hands. “I don’t know. Maybe. She’s got this charm, this thing that draws people in. And I… I know I’m not always easy. I’m not flirty or magnetic. I just— I love you. A lot. And I guess I just… worry that it’s not enough to keep someone’s attention.”
His brow furrowed, and then he reached out, gently brushing your hand with his. “You are not somebody, cyare. You are my person. I do not compare you to others. There is no calculation in that. No contest. You… are the constant.”
You looked up, heart catching.
“Then why don’t you ever push her away?” you asked quietly. “Even just a little?”
Tech took a moment. “Because it never occurred to me that she might need to be pushed away. But if it makes you uncomfortable—”
“It does.”
“—then I will create distance. Immediately.”
You blinked. “Really?”
“Of course,” he said, as if it were the most obvious thing in the galaxy. “Your comfort is more important than her enthusiasm.”
You let out a breath you didn’t know you were holding. He squeezed your hand. “Next time, just tell me. I know I miss things. But I will always listen to you.”
Just then, as if summoned, Phee’s voice rang out down the hall: “Hey Brown Eyes, you got a minute?”
You tensed instinctively, but Tech didn’t even glance at the door. His gaze stayed on you, steady and unshakable.
“I’m currently engaged,” he called back. “Perhaps later.”
There was a pause. Then a short, “Huh. Alright.”
You could almost hear the smile behind it.
When the silence settled again, Tech leaned in and said softly, “May I continue cataloging your facial expressions now? I find them far more interesting.”
You rolled your eyes and kissed him, right on the mouth.
“Only if you add ‘jealous’ to the data bank,” you teased.
He kissed you again. “Already done.”
“You Talk Too Much (And I Like It)”
Tech x Reader
You always had a lot to say. About everything. Planets, food, stories from childhood, dreams you had the night before, conspiracy theories, music recommendations, the absolute travesty that was the vending machine on Cid’s ship. Most people tuned you out after five minutes. Echo smiled politely. Wrecker nodded along even if he didn’t follow. Hunter gave that big brother, I’m listening but please stop look. But Tech—
Well, Tech never said much at all.
You were sitting beside him in the Marauder, your legs crossed on the seat, recounting—quite animatedly—a story about the time you tried to fix a speeder bike and ended up launching it through your neighbor’s wall. Your hands flailed in the air like you were directing a play.
“And I swear, it wasn’t even my fault! The wiring was labeled wrong, and boom! Gone. Just through the wall. Like—whoosh!” You gestured dramatically. “And the guy didn’t even get mad! He just looked at me like, ‘Again?’ Like it was normal! I mean, do you know how often something has to happen for someone to say ‘again’ like that?”
You laughed at your own story, expecting the usual silence or maybe a smirk.
But Tech didn’t even glance away from his datapad. “Statistically, it would take three prior incidents to normalize an event to that degree of resignation.”
You blinked.
“What?”
“Assuming he’s of average emotional intelligence,” Tech continued, typing something, “and factoring in a baseline tolerance for property damage, he would need to experience approximately three similar accidents before responding without distress.”
You stared at him for a moment, a grin creeping onto your face. “That’s… actually really interesting.”
“I ran a simulation once on behavioral desensitization. It was… enlightening,” he added, finally sparing you a glance over his lenses.
“Tech,” you said, leaning in slightly, “do you actually listen when I ramble?”
He looked confused. “Why wouldn’t I?”
“I dunno… I talk a lot. Like, a lot a lot. You’re always so quiet.”
“I am processing,” he replied. “You provide a considerable amount of verbal data, but I do not find it unappealing.”
“…That’s the nicest thing anyone’s ever said about me talking too much.”
He tilted his head, brows slightly raised. “It is?”
You laughed, this time softer. “You’re kind of weird, Tech.”
“Correct.”
“But I like that.”
He hesitated for a beat, then reached into his tool belt and held out a tiny, modified comm unit. “I made this for you.”
You blinked. “What is it?”
“It’s a personal recorder. For your stories. In case I’m not around to listen… or if you wish to remember them later.”
Your heart stuttered.
“Tech… that’s the sweetest, nerdiest thing anyone’s ever done for me.”
He adjusted his goggles. “You are enthusiastic and loud. But I find the consistency of your presence… statistically comforting.”
You bit your lip to keep from grinning too hard.
“Wanna hear another story?” you asked.
“I’ve already adjusted the comm’s storage capacity for it.”
You didn’t know how to describe the warmth blooming in your chest—but you didn’t need to.
Tech already had a formula for it.
⸻
It started with the recorder.
Then came the noise-canceling earpieces—not for him, but for you. “In case you ever want silence but don’t want to stop talking,” he’d explained, eyes glued to a schematic, oblivious to how much your heart melted.
He began cataloguing your favorite snacks and replicating them with a portable food synthesizer. “I’ve programmed your preferred balance of salt and sweetness,” he said one night, handing you a makeshift granola bar that tasted weirdly perfect.
The best part? He never made a big deal about it. Just slipped things into your life like you’d always been part of his code.
One evening, after a mission that left the team bruised but alive, you found yourselves alone in the cockpit of the Marauder. The others were sleeping, recovering. You weren’t tired. You rarely were when Tech was nearby.
You sat cross-legged in the copilot’s seat, chewing absently on a snack bar, eyeing him as he fiddled with his datapad.
“Tech,” you said, drawing his attention with a sing-song tone.
“Hm?”
“You always listen to me talk about my stuff. But you never tell me about yours.”
He didn’t look up. “That is because my interests are largely theoretical and statistically uninteresting to the average person.”
You snorted. “Okay, first, I’m not average. And second—says who?”
He paused. “I… suppose I assumed.”
“Well, you assumed wrong. Come on, tell me something. Anything. What do you like, Tech?”
He shifted in his seat, clearly uncomfortable. “I like many things. Theoretical physics, starship schematics, linguistic anomalies…”
You leaned in. “No, not like a list. Talk to me. Like I talk to you.”
He looked at you. Really looked. You’d never seen him nervous before. But this? This was vulnerable. And Tech didn’t do vulnerable. Not in the usual sense.
Still, after a moment, he gave a small nod.
“I find… gravitational lensing phenomena quite fascinating,” he began, almost shyly. “When a massive object distorts space-time, it bends light around it. It allows us to see stars that would otherwise be hidden. It’s a rare glimpse into the unreachable, a way to observe what we otherwise could not.”
You blinked, taken aback by the sudden spark in his voice.
“And—when you combine that with redshift patterns and the curvature metrics of distant galaxies—”
He was off.
Tech’s eyes lit up behind his goggles. His hands moved as he talked, describing invisible models in the air. The way he spoke was fast, clumsy, full of jargon, and absolutely beautiful. He was so excited. The same way you were when you told your stories.
You didn’t interrupt. You didn’t tease. You just smiled and let him go.
Eventually, his words slowed, and he caught himself, clearing his throat.
“I… apologize. I may have over-answered your question.”
“No,” you said softly. “You were perfect.”
His eyes met yours.
You reached over and touched his hand. He froze, then slowly turned his palm to hold yours.
“Tech,” you murmured, “when you talk like that, it makes me want to kiss you.”
He blinked. “Statistically, that is a highly favorable reaction.”
You grinned. “Tech.”
“Yes?”
“I’m gonna kiss you now.”
He hesitated a beat. “Proceed”
And when your lips touched his, soft and warm and a little clumsy, he exhaled like it was the first time he’d let go of logic and just felt something.
Afterward, still holding your hand, he said, “You make even chaos… feel structured.”
And you decided right then that you were never going to stop talking. Because if you kept talking long enough, Tech would keep listening—and maybe, just maybe, he’d keep answering too.
I saw your fic “What’s that smell” and thought it was absolutely beautiful! I was wondering what would be the rest of the batches reactions to the new smells. I can’t imagine what their ship would smell like and then having it change and maybe even be cleaner. You’re the best! Xx
Their ship would 100% smell like oil, sweat, blaster residue, old caf, dusty armor polish, and wet dog on a good day.
Here is what I believe the rest of the batches reactions are.
Crosshair
The first time he notices it, he’s practically scowling.
He hates things he can’t immediately explain, and suddenly the ship doesn’t smell like burnt wiring and recycled air anymore — it smells like…
something soft.
Something warm.
Something he can’t stop breathing in.
He’s so annoyed about it he follows you around for an entire day, sniffing the air like a pissed-off lothcat, trying to figure out if it’s you or if someone installed a karking air freshener.
When he finally realizes it’s you, he just stands there staring at you for a long second, lips pressed into a tight line.
Then he mutters:
“You smell… distracting.”
Like it’s a personal insult.
Will absolutely lean in closer than necessary just to breathe you in — but if you catch him, he’ll immediately go “Hmph” and pretend you’re the weird one.
Wrecker
Wrecker’s the first to flat-out say it.
He scoops you up into a bone-crushing hug one day, immediately sniffs, and then pulls back with wide, amazed eyes.
“Whoa! You smell amazing! Like… like sunshine! And pastries! And soap!”
He is obsessed after that. Every time you walk by, he inhales dramatically like a toddler discovering their favorite candy.
“Can we keep ya?” he jokes — but he means it. You’re like a walking comfort blanket for him.
The Marauder slowly starts smelling better too because Wrecker starts cleaning more — purely because he wants the nice smell to stick around.
Tech
Tech notices immediately, but being Tech, he processes it differently.
“Interesting,” he says aloud the first time you pass him. “The olfactory change is quite pleasant.”
Then he starts… researching it.
He runs calculations about human pheromones and attraction rates. He theorizes that your presence might lower the crew’s stress levels by up to 23%.
He doesn’t even realize he’s orbiting closer to you during missions until Wrecker points it out.
Embarrassed, he adjusts his goggles and mutters something about “optimal proximity for psychological benefits.”
Translation: You smell good and it’s making his brain short-circuit, help.
Echo
Echo notices it like a punch to the face because he’s so hyperaware of sensory input now.
The Marauder always smells like metal and grime — he’s used to it — but you?
You smell like rain hitting dry ground. Like something clean and alive and real.
It shakes him a little.
Reminds him of before — before the war, before everything.
He tries to be subtle about it, but you catch him lingering near you sometimes, jaw tight like he’s trying not to let himself want it.
One day you brush past him and he closes his eyes for half a second, just breathing you in.
He doesn’t say anything about it for a long time.
Until maybe you tease him — and he finally admits, voice low and rough:
“You make this whole ship feel… less like a graveyard.”
Which might be the most devastatingly sweet thing Echo could ever say.
Hi! I was wondering if you could do a TBB x Fem!Reader +any other clones of your choice, where they keep using pet names in mandoa like cyar'ika, mesh'la, and maybe even riduur?(because they might’ve gotten accidentally married? Love those tropes)
but the reader has no idea what they mean and that they’re pet names or that the batch likes her. Eventually she finds out of course and a bunch of stuttering cute confessions?
Your writing is so amazing and i literally can’t get enough of it! Xx
“Say It Again?”
TBB x Fem!Reader
You had gotten used to the way clones talked — the gruffness, the slang, the camaraderie. But ever since you’d been working more closely with Clone Force 99, you’d noticed something… different.
They used weird words around you. Words you didn’t hear other troopers saying.
Hunter always greeted you with a gentle “Cyar’ika,” accompanied by that intense little half-smile of his.
Wrecker would beam and shout, “Mesh’la! You came!” every time you entered a room — like you were some goddess descending from the stars.
Crosshair, as always, was smug and cool, throwing in a soft “Riduur…” under his breath when he thought you weren’t listening, though you never figured out what it meant. He often smirked when you looked confused, and somehow that made it worse.
Even Tech, who rarely used nicknames at all, had let slip a casual “You’re quite remarkable, mesh’la,” when you helped him debug his datapad. He didn’t look up, but you felt the heat in his voice.
And Echo? Sweet, dependable Echo — he was the least subtle of them all.
“You alright, cyar’ika?”
“You look tired, cyar’ika.”
“Get some rest, cyar’ika.”
You were starting to think “Cyar’ika” meant your actual name.
But something was off. The others never used those words with each other. Only with you.
So, naturally, you asked Rex.
And Rex choked on his caf.
“You—what did Crosshair call you?” he coughed, wiping his chin.
You repeated it: “Rid…uur? I think? I dunno. He said it real low.”
Rex gave you the slowest blink you’d ever seen and then rubbed the bridge of his nose.
“Riduur means… spouse. As in… wife. It’s what you call your partner.”
You froze. “What?!”
“And cyar’ika?” he continued, amused. “Sweetheart. Mesh’la is ‘beautiful.’ They’re… Mando’a pet names. Very affectionate.”
The blushing.
The flashbacks.
All those words… those looks… Tech calling you remarkable like it was a scientific fact, Crosshair smirking like he had secrets, Echo’s voice dropping a full octave every time he said cyar’ika…
You marched straight into the Havoc Marauder like a woman on a mission — and promptly forgot how to speak when all five of them looked up at you.
“…You okay, mesh’la?” Hunter asked gently.
You blinked. Your voice cracked. “…You’ve been calling me sweetheart?”
The room went dead silent.
Echo dropped his ration bar.
Wrecker panicked. “Wait—you didn’t know?”
Crosshair chuckled and leaned against the wall, arms crossed. “Told you she didn’t know.”
Tech frowned at him. “Statistically, the odds of her knowing were—”
“You called me your wife,” you said, pointing at Crosshair like he’d committed a war crime.
He shrugged. “Didn’t hear you complain.”
You stammered something completely unintelligible, covering your face with both hands, and Wrecker let out the loudest, happiest laugh you’d ever heard. “So… does that mean you like us back?”
You peeked through your fingers. “…Us?”
Hunter stepped forward slowly, rubbing the back of his neck. “We all… kinda do. Like you. A lot.”
You were red. Like, fruit-on-Ryloth red. “You’re telling me five elite clones have been flirting with me in another language this whole time?!”
“…Yes,” they all mumbled at once.
Crosshair grinned like he’d won a bet. “So… Riduur?”
“Riduur?” Crosshair repeated, lifting a brow like it was nothing. Like he hadn’t just dropped a romantic thermal detonator right in front of everyone.
You stared at him. At all of them.
Hunter’s quiet guilt. Echo’s embarrassed fidgeting. Wrecker’s hopeful puppy-dog smile. Tech’s analytical interest. And Crosshair’s smug little smirk that you really wanted to slap off his face… or maybe kiss.
You swallowed. “I—I need a second.”
And then promptly turned on your heel and walked right back out of the Marauder.
⸻
You spent the rest of the day spiraling.
Sweetheart. Beautiful. Wife.
They’d been calling you those for weeks. Months, maybe. You were out here thinking it was some fun cultural expression or inside joke you weren’t in on—and it turns out you were the joke. The target. Of five clone commandos’… affection?
It didn’t feel like a joke, though. It felt sincere. Soft. Safe.
And scary.
Because you liked them. All of them. Differently, but genuinely. The thought of them caring about you—of whispering pet names they grew up hearing in the most intimate, personal ways—made your chest ache in a way you didn’t know how to handle.
⸻
The next day, you avoided them.
The next day, they let you.
The third day, Hunter found you in the mess hall, sat beside you without a word, and handed you a steaming mug of caf.
You looked at him.
He didn’t speak right away. Then: “We’re sorry. If we made you uncomfortable.”
“I’m not uncomfortable,” you blurted out. “I just… didn’t know how to react. I’m still trying to figure it out.”
Hunter nodded, eyes kind. “We can stop. The nicknames, I mean.”
You hesitated. “No. I don’t want you to stop.”
He smiled, just a little. “You sure?”
You nodded. “I think I like them. I just… I want to know what they mean now.”
⸻
So, one by one, the boys showed you.
Wrecker said “mesh’la” every time you helped him carry heavy crates, with a goofy grin that made your stomach flip.
Echo said “cyar’ika” after every quiet conversation, letting the word linger like a promise he wasn’t ready to say aloud yet.
Tech, precise as always, began to offer direct translations.
“You look stunning today, mesh’la—objectively, of course.”
Crosshair didn’t stop with “riduur.” He started calling you “cyar’ika” too—softly, in rare unguarded moments—and he never looked away when he said it. Like he meant it. Like he knew what it was doing to you.
And Hunter? Hunter started saying “ner cyar’ika.” My sweetheart.
⸻
It wasn’t instant.
But slowly, their voices stopped making you flustered—and started making you feel home.
You started saying their names softer. Started touching their arms when you passed. Started blushing less… and smiling more.
And one day, while standing beside Wrecker during maintenance, you reached up on your toes, kissed his cheek, and whispered, “Thanks, cyare.”
He blinked. His whole face lit up like a nova. “You said it back!”
Later, you caught Echo outside the ship. Nervous, swaying slightly on his heels. You pressed your hand into his and whispered, “You can keep calling me cyar’ika, you know.”
He looked down at you with wide eyes. “You really don’t mind?”
You shook your head. “I like it.”
And Tech, when you repeated “mesh’la” with a teasing little lilt, glanced at you and—just this once—forgot what he was doing.
Even Crosshair dropped his toothpick when you looked him dead in the eye and whispered: “You keep calling me your riduur. What does that make you, then?”
He blinked. Once. Then smiled. Really smiled. “Yours.”
⸻
By the time you curled up beside Hunter one quiet night, your head on his shoulder and his hand tracing slow circles on your back, he murmured “ner cyar’ika” and you didn’t freeze or stammer.
You just smiled.
Because now you knew.
And you finally, finally understood that you’d never been the joke.
You’d always been the reason they smiled.
I love how you write tech! And how you have him all flustered is written amazingly!
As someone who is high functioning, I love hearing people talk about what they’re interested in. Could you do a tech x Fem!reader where she loves listening to him and he gets flustered and add some of your own flare to it? Xx
“Sweet Circuits”
Tech x Reader
⸻
The cantina was its usual mess of sour drinks, old booths, and worse music. A storm brewed outside, the dusty kind that stuck to your clothes and made the whole world feel static-charged. Inside, though, it was warm. Dim. Safe.
And across from you, Tech was talking—hands animated, datapad in one hand, drink in the other (untouched, as usual).
“You see, the issue with the ion displacer isn’t so much the core processor as it is the overcompensating voltage feedback. Most engineers forget to recalibrate the thermal sync, which is frankly a rookie mistake.”
You nodded slowly, chin in your hand. Not because you were bored—but because watching him talk was like being allowed to peek inside a galaxy of stars. Not many people noticed how his eyes lit up, how fast he moved when he was in his element. He was like a hyperdrive: complex, brilliant, and far too often overlooked.
“I mean,” he went on, tapping something on his datapad, “with the right calibration, you can amplify power efficiency by at least 23.8 percent. If you’re clever about it. Which, most are not.”
“You’re clever,” you said simply, before you could think to dial it back.
He paused. Blinked. Looked up from the pad, blinking again behind his goggles as if the compliment hadn’t quite registered.
“Pardon?”
“You’re clever,” you repeated, letting a little smile curve your lips. “I like hearing you talk about this stuff.”
Tech straightened, shoulders going stiff like someone had just issued a direct order. His ears flushed a soft pink beneath the curl of his hair.
“You… do?” His voice had gone up just slightly, like you’d knocked him off-balance. “I was under the impression that most people find my commentary… verbose. Occasionally overwhelming.”
“Not me.” You shrugged. “It’s nice. Makes me feel like the galaxy still has things worth understanding. Even if I’ll never understand them as well as you.”
He stared at you for a moment too long.
Then, very slowly, he lowered the datapad. His fingers twitched near the edge of it, like they weren’t sure what to do without typing.
“I… appreciate that.”
Silence settled between you. Not awkward. Just… soft. Outside, thunder rolled. Inside, Tech leaned back in the booth, flustered but visibly trying to play it cool.
“If you’d like,” he added, voice quieter now, “I could explain the modular wiring system I built for Hunter’s blade gauntlet. It incorporates… well, it incorporates some rather interesting electroreactive alloy.”
You grinned.
“I’d love that.”
And so he talked, and you listened, both of you orbiting the same quiet space—two people who had survived too much, holding on to the little things that still made the galaxy feel… good.
Tech was halfway into an explanation about conductive filament lengths—his voice smoothing out, more relaxed now that he knew you actually wanted to hear him—when a sharp voice cut through the low hum of the cantina.
“Well, well. Isn’t this cozy.”
You turned to see Cid standing a few feet away, arms crossed, one brow raised like she’d caught the two of you holding hands under the table—which, for the record, you weren’t. Yet.
Tech sat up straighter immediately, clearly thrown, and you fought the urge to roll your eyes.
“Good evening, Cid,” he said, formal as ever.
Cid glanced between the two of you, unimpressed. “You sweet on him or just have a death wish sittin’ through all that tech talk?” she asked, jabbing a clawed thumb toward you, then Tech.
You smirked. “A little from column A, little from column B.”
Cid snorted. “Well, hate to break up the love-in, but if you two are done whispering sweet circuits to each other, we’ve got a situation.”
Tech’s expression snapped back into mission-mode like a switch had been flipped. “What sort of situation?”
“Kind that pays, if you don’t mess it up,” she said, tossing a datapad onto the table with a clatter. “Package needs retrieving. Discreetly. You’re the brains, and she”—she gestured to you with a smirk—“is the only one who doesn’t treat the clientele like targets.”
“I do not—” Tech started, clearly offended.
You cut him off gently, patting his arm. “It’s fine, Tech. She’s just mad she interrupted the best lecture I’ve had all week.”
Cid made a gagging sound and walked off, muttering about nerd love and people trying to run a business.
Once she was gone, Tech turned to you with a strange look—half embarrassed, half something warmer.
“Did you… mean that?”
You looked at him.
“Of course I did. You’re brilliant. And kind. And you make me feel like I can actually understand the stars, not just look up at them.”
That flushed-pink look returned to his ears again. He swallowed.
“Well then,” he said, offering you his hand with a shy, almost formal air. “Shall we retrieve a package, Miss…?”
You took his hand, letting your fingers linger just a bit longer than necessary.
“We shall, Mr Genius.”
And as you stood, his hand still holding yours, you noticed the datapad had been left behind on the table—still open to the schematic he’d made just for fun, just to show you something he loved.
And you realized, maybe he hadn’t really been explaining it for the sake of talking.
Maybe he’d just wanted you to understand him.
⸻