The Bad Batch Fanfic - Blog Posts

Between Hearts and Ruin Pt. 2 "Someone New"

Summary: Tech and Leena’s marriage is strained, with mounting tensions that leave Tech feeling exhausted from carrying the weight of trying to fix their issues. Despite his efforts, he’s reached a breaking point, unsure of how much longer he can continue. The same night Tech starts to find some peace with his uncertain decision about their future, he meets someone new, stirring unexpected feelings. Meanwhile, Leena, who isn’t ready to let go, finds solace in the company of someone she knows only vaguely. Both are left questioning the path forward, caught between their unresolved past and the pull of new, uncharted connections.

Word Count: 10k

Pairing(s): Tech / OC Leena

Warnings: Mentions of splitting up, so much Angst in this bad boy, brief mentions of losing spouse

Author's Note: Hi friends! This is a 3 part story crossover between myself and @leenathegreengirl! All characters are part of her Pabu AU. All other chapters will be posted at the same time and linked below. Please check out her page to learn more about the AU if you are new, and if you have stuck around for a while... buckle up because it's going to get intense... You can find a link HERE on her account to a book version of the full story!

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As the last sliver of sunlight faded beneath the horizon, Tech made his way through the dense trees, heading toward the far side of the island. The solitude of the home had always been one of his favorite things—its isolation was his refuge. But he knew that wasn’t the case for Leena. She had always hated how cut off it was from the rest of the world.

Now, in the aftermath of their heated confrontation, the weight of everything—his broken marriage, Leena’s begging, and Kayden’s unexpected siding with his decision to leave— left an odd swirling in his stomach. The journey, already daunting, felt even more taxing in the stillness. With the sting of alcohol dulling his senses and his emotions a chaotic swirl, each step felt uneven, his boots catching on unseen roots beneath him. The ground seemed to shift with the weight of his thoughts.

Despite the unease he carried with him, there was an undeniable lightness in Tech’s chest. It was as if the burden that had weighed him down for so long had finally been lifted. For the first time in what felt like ages, he could breathe. There was a quiet relief in knowing that, slowly, others were beginning to see things from his perspective—not holding him solely responsible for the fallout that followed his decision to end the marriage.

Yes, he had been the one to initiate the split, and that made him the villain in their eyes at first. But with time—and the painful explanations that came with it—his friends and family had started to understand. They saw the cracks he’d long felt, the fundamental misalignment between him and Leena. It wasn’t just his perception; it was real, and now, they could all see it.

Tech just hoped that with this newfound understanding, they could finally begin to heal. They both deserved that.

There were no other homes on this side of Pabu—just the occasional wildlife that wandered through—and almost no signs of life beyond that. So when Tech finally spotted the faint outline of his house, he was taken aback to see a figure standing in the distance.

The lack of light made him hesitate. Who could it be, waiting for him out there? A wave of unease washed over him. Could Leena have ignored her sister’s plea and circled back, despite his insistence on having space? Maybe one of his brothers had overheard the argument and come to check on him. Mae had been stopping by every now and then, making sure he was managing, even bringing food when she thought he was getting too lost in his own head.

Whoever it was on the porch, Tech wasn’t in the mood for company. He was ready to send them on their way. And as he drew closer, his gaze locked on the figure, straining to make out the shape—at least enough to tell it was a woman. But just as he was about to get a clearer look, a voice cut through the silence. One he didn’t recognize.

“Finally. Shep said I’d find you here,” she said, hopping down from the railing she had been perched on and stepping toward him without hesitation. The faint moonlight barely illuminated her, leaving her features shadowed and indistinct. All he could discern was her slight, shorter frame and long hair, flowing down around her waist. Beyond that, he had little to go on.

Tech cursed himself internally for grabbing his glasses instead of his goggles. He didn’t expect to need them since he’d attended the party, and now he regretted not having the tactical advantage. If he'd had them, he could’ve gotten a clearer picture of who was waiting for him.

“Why would Shep send you to find me here? I do not know who you are,” he asked bluntly, stepping onto the porch, where the woman stood blocking his path. There was something unsettling about how comfortable she seemed in his space—it felt almost imposing.

“I don’t come on land much, especially not for small talk,” she said, her voice matter-of-fact. “I need help with my boat’s engine and I’ll be on my way. Normally, I can handle it myself, but the nature of this repair is a bit out of my skill set. Shep mentioned someone settled in the old shophouse and knew their way around mechanics. Considering this engine is responsible not only for my work, but also my lodging, it is imperative it is repaired.”

Her words were stripped of frills, no apologies or introductions sprinkled in. It was a way of speaking Tech used himself, and was often told came off as rude, but hearing it from her felt oddly refreshing.  He didn’t often meet those who prioritized the content of their words over the pleasantries society demanded. Whoever she was, she seemed self-sufficient—likely isolated, and perhaps she spent so much time out on the water that is why their paths had never crossed.

With a sigh, Tech glanced over the motor’s outline. How she’d managed to lug it up here on her own, he couldn’t quite figure out. She must be stronger than she looked. Carefully, he slid past her, mindful not to bump into her as he opened the door.

“I can take a look, but I won’t make any promises,” he said, flicking the porch light on before coming forward to assist her in getting it inside to his workbench. The soft glow of the light revealed more than he expected. In the near-darkness, he’d only caught outlines, but now, under the warm light, her appearance was illuminated.

Her skin, paler than his but still kissed by the sun, was marked with stark blue lines—tattoos that covered her arms and torso. She wore a wetsuit, unzipped and tied loosely at the waist, with only a swim top beneath. The material tightly held her breasts in a way that presented them without drawing too much attention to them. 

Dark hair, windblown and slightly frizzy from the sea air, framed her face in messy waves. But it was the strand of white at her hairline that caught his eye—a single, stark contrast to the deep bronze of the rest of her hair. The juxtaposition of it stood out, almost jarring. 

Only furthering the odd clash of features, was the way the woman’s eyes looked. In the darkness it was hard to tell, but he almost thought they looked to be differing shades, but perhaps it was just the light playing tricks on him. If he had to guess one was fair, and one dark - a rare genetic disorder he’d hardly come across in all his travels. 

“You’re staring,” she noted flatly, devoid of emotion, as if merely stating the fact rather than insinuating anything by it.

She wasn’t wrong. He was staring. There was something about her—something both strikingly familiar and entirely unique. Tech was certain he’d remember someone so visually intriguing, and standing here he was taking the opportunity to study just how complex her features appeared to make her so fascinating. But, he knew there were rude connotations with staring, especially at women. 

“Apologies—” Tech told her, reaching out to lift the engine off the bench on the porch she had sat it upon, hoping the weight of it could distract him from the now creeping in guilt at his unintended reaction to studying her features as boldly as he had. 

“That is unnecessary.” Her tone remained matter-of-fact. “It is a purely biological response. Men of sexual maturity usually stare at women upon first meeting to assess their suitability for mating purposes.”

Tech knew the statement was accurate. If anything, it was the kind of fact he might have casually inserted into a conversation himself. But knowing it was true and accepting that he was currently at the mercy of his own instincts were two very different things. For once, he found himself at a rare loss for words.

"I've made you uncomfortable," she said, her voice gentle yet knowing, as she noticed the lingering silence. With a slight step forward, she reached out, effortlessly lifting the other side of the heavy engine, helping him slide it inside with ease. Tech couldn’t help but notice the way the muscles of her arm, though slim, tightened as she moved, her strength evident in the graceful motion. There was something almost mesmerizing about how the delicate frame of the woman hid such a quiet, powerful strength.

"No," Tech replied, shaking his head slightly, his tone softening as he turned to face her. "You haven’t. You just... caught me off guard." He offered a faint smile, trying to ease the tension. She didn’t return the smile, instead, her gaze wandered across the interior of his home, taking in the space with quiet observation.

He hadn’t been here long—just a few months at most—and even then, he’d only bothered with the essentials. The walls bore the signs of a hurried repair, the bare minimum to make the place functional again. When Leena had suggested painting over the natural wood beams, he’d quickly declined. He preferred their rough, unaltered beauty over any kind of artificial touch. Instead, she had hung a few of her own paintings as a compromise. But after she’d left to stay with her sister, he’d taken them down. Not out of spite, but because they felt like a reminder of something he wasn’t ready to hold on to. He had turned them face down and tucked them away.

In the far corner, his bed was neatly made, a simple, practical setup. The only real sign of life in the space was the workbench, cluttered with tools and various projects. Otherwise, the room was bare, almost sterile—unadorned with any personal mementos or decoration. He spent most of his time here working, the space merely a place to rest and recharge. He hadn’t seen the point in making it more than that.

Tech couldn’t help but watch as the woman’s attention seemed to deepen, her eyes tracing every detail of the room with a growing sense of awe. Her posture shifted, the casual curiosity transforming into something almost reverent, as though she were witnessing something sacred. It was an odd reaction, one that stirred an unspoken question within him, but he didn’t voice it. Instead, he turned away, walking toward his workbench, his mind already slipping into the familiar rhythm of assessment.

He welcomed the shift in focus, even if it was an unexpected one. Despite the intrusion into his quiet evening, the distraction of repairing her engine was a welcome reprieve. His hands itched to get to work, to twist, tighten, and fix. It was something he had always excelled at—tinkering, problem-solving, creating order from chaos. The hum of machines and the precise motions of working with his hands had always been a balm for his restless mind.

As he stood before the workbench, setting his tools into place, a sense of calm washed over him. Here, in this space, he didn’t have to think about anything beyond the task at hand. There was comfort in the simplicity of it, the clarity that came with focusing solely on the work. And for tonight, that was enough. He would fix her engine, quiet the constant whirl of thoughts in his head, and let the hum of mechanical precision anchor him.

"You mentioned that you don’t often come upon land," he said, his voice casually probing, though there was a subtle undercurrent of genuine curiosity. He had noticed her mannerisms, the quiet confidence in the way she moved, the calmness that radiated from her despite the uncertainty in her eyes. There was something magnetic about her, a presence that intrigued him in ways he couldn’t fully explain. He found himself wanting to know more, eager to uncover the layers beneath the surface. The island was small, and his isolation felt even more acute with every passing day. Meeting someone new, someone like her, might be the distraction his disoriented mind desperately needed. He had to admit, he was craving a connection.

It wasn’t lost on him how the people here had aligned themselves with Leena, leaving him feeling like an outsider in his own world. Her departure had shifted things in ways he hadn’t expected, and as much as he tried to focus on his work, there was a hollow sense of loneliness gnawing at him. He was more than just a little intrigued by this woman, but he also couldn’t help but feel the weight of his own solitude. He needed something or someone to fill that space, even if just for a moment, to help him regain some sense of balance.

He waited, watching her closely, as if hoping for some sort of sign—an opening, a clue to the story she carried with her. Her response, when it came, was measured, but there was something in her voice that suggested she wasn’t used to speaking of herself openly.

"I don’t," she replied softly, her eyes briefly scanning the horizon outside before she turned back to meet his gaze. "I prefer the open water. There’s more freedom out there."

Her words were quiet, but there was a depth to them that caught his attention. Freedom. She said it as though it meant something much more than just physical space—like it was a lifeline, a choice that had shaped her in ways he couldn’t yet understand.

He nodded slowly, his curiosity deepening. "That must be… quiet,” he filled in the gaps. She preferred isolation, as did he. He didn’t mean to impose too much into the brief explanation he’d been gifted. 

"It is," she hummed, stepping closer to the workbench as she watched him carefully remove the cover to reveal the intricate mechanics beneath. Her gaze followed each of his movements with quiet interest, her posture poised, almost as though she were taking mental notes. "I’d like to learn how to fix it, if you don’t mind showing me," she continued, her voice steady but with a note of earnestness. "I’m a fast learner, I assure you."

There was something in her tone—an unwavering self-assurance, mixed with a quiet determination—that resonated with him. It wasn’t just the request itself, but the way she framed it, as though she was accustomed to taking things into her own hands. The insistence on self-sufficiency, the desire to acquire knowledge—it was something he recognized, something familiar. It reminded him of himself, in many ways.

He paused for a moment, watching her carefully. There was a sharpness in her eyes that spoke of a mind that didn’t settle for surface-level answers. It made him wonder about her life before this—what kind of work did she do? She certainly didn’t strike him as the type to spend her days on a fishing boat. No, there was an intelligence about her, a kind of quiet brilliance that seemed out of place in the simple life of a fisherwoman.

As he considered it, he found himself intrigued—what else lay beneath her calm exterior? What had shaped her into this woman, standing here now, asking to learn the very thing he was most skilled at? There was a story there, one he couldn’t help but want to uncover.

“I don’t mind at all,” he said, his voice steady as he continued working, his focus shifting briefly to her. “It’s not often I get the chance to share my skills with a willing observer.” He noticed the way she relaxed, her shoulders easing from the tightness they’d held moments before, and it felt like a small victory.

It was then that it struck him—he hadn’t actually learned her name, nor had he shared his. A faint sense of awkwardness flickered in him. “Tech,” he said simply, almost as though it were enough explanation. She paused, her eyebrow arching in quiet disbelief. “I beg your pardon?”

The question caught him off guard, and in the dim light of the workbench lantern, he finally took in the full clarity of her features. He had been too absorbed in the task at hand, but now, noticing her expression more closely, he saw that her eyes were in fact distinctly different from one another—one a deep brown, the other a striking shade of blue.

"My name is Tech," he clarified, his tone a bit more deliberate now as he watched her reaction. He could see the confusion in her gaze shift into something closer to understanding, her posture softening further as she absorbed the answer.

“I suppose pleasantries were not properly exchanged,” she said, her voice softening slightly as she spoke, a touch of self-awareness creeping into her words. “Apologies. I’m not exactly skilled at handling... that side of human interaction, the way most people seem to manage so effortlessly.”

As she spoke, Tech caught the faintest flicker of something in her expression—an almost imperceptible hint of embarrassment, lingering in her eyes and the way she looked away briefly, as if she were retreating from her own vulnerability. It was a rare thing to witness, this crack in the calm exterior she had so carefully maintained, and for a moment, it made her seem less like the composed figure standing before him and more like someone who, despite her quiet strength, was still working out the nuances of human connection, same as him.

“I understand,” Tech said, offering a small nod. “It’s not a strength I possess, either.”

She didn’t elaborate further, and he didn’t press her to. After all, what more could be said on the matter? The silence between them stretched comfortably for a moment as she glanced down at his work, her focus sharp as she examined the mechanics with quiet interest.

“Marina,” she said at last, her voice softer now, as though sharing something personal.

“Your name, I presume,” Tech replied with a small, rhetorical smile, though his words carried a hint of curiosity beneath their casual tone.

“Yes.” She moved a little closer then, just enough to peer over his shoulder at his work without encroaching too much on his space. It was an act of quiet observation, and yet, he couldn’t help but be acutely aware of the subtle shift in proximity. Her presence seemed to fill the room in ways that made the air feel warmer, and he could feel the heat of her skin against his, even through the layers of his sweater. An odd, fleeting sense of discomfort stirred within him.

He felt the sudden urge to shed his sweater, as though it were too much to bear, the warmth of the room and her nearness intensifying that familiar restlessness. Without thinking much of it, he pulled the garment off, tossing it aside and adjusting his undershirt to cover his torso more comfortably.

“Fitting name for someone who spends all their time on the water,” he said, his voice drifting back into casual conversation. Small talk wasn’t unfamiliar to him, particularly with the way people had interacted with him over the years. The banter, though often fleeting, filled the spaces between moments like these.

“It is,” she agreed, her voice almost flat. “Just as Tech seems to suit someone who works with mechanics.”

Her words were pointed, but not unkind. There was a dry humor in them that Tech could appreciate, the way she spoke as though the names weren’t just labels, but something that defined their purpose. The banter, brief as it was, felt oddly comfortable, like two people who had learned the unspoken rules of conversation without the need to over explain.

Tech glanced at her briefly, a faint smile still tugging at his lips from their exchange. The humor was subtle, but it was enough to lighten the air between them. He found himself curious, though—there was something intriguing about her. In the quiet moments of their conversation, he could tell she was more than she let on. Her directness, the way she carried herself, and even the way she observed everything with such intent spoke volumes.

As his hands continued to work on the engine, his gaze drifted to her once more, still absorbed in her quiet inspection. Something in the back of his mind nudged him forward, pushing him to ask a question that had been lingering.

"So," he began, his tone soft but deliberate, as though he were testing the waters. "What is it that you do, Marina?"

The question was casual enough, but there was an edge of curiosity in his voice. Her name had already begun to unfold something deeper—like a thread that, once pulled, could lead to something more. He was reluctant to pry, but he couldn’t help himself. There was a spark in her that made him want to know more about her, what drove her, what she did when she wasn’t here, observing the inner workings of machines.

She didn’t answer immediately, and for a second, he wondered if the question was too forward. But when she finally spoke, her voice was calm, her words measured.

"I… work on the water," Marina said, her eyes never leaving the engine as she spoke, though a small, almost imperceptible smile played at the corner of her lips. There was something about her quiet confidence that intrigued him, but it was the weight of her words that caught his full attention. "I study wildlife—mostly marine life—to ensure that fishermen maintain healthy, sustainable fishing practices for each species. Pabu is a small island. We can’t afford to deplete our resources, not like other places might be able to. If we’re not careful, we could fish a species to extinction without even realizing it." Her voice softened as she spoke, and the distant look in her eyes suggested she cared deeply for the work she did. "There has to be balance. My hope is that the research I do can shed light on the species that inhabit our waters—how they interact with each other, what they need to thrive, and ultimately, how we can be better stewards of their environment."

Tech listened intently, absorbing her words. He had heard murmurs before—brief conversations between his brothers about the importance of respecting nature’s balance. He remembered Crosshair’s annoyance at a woman who had scolded him and the others for fishing in the same spot too often, but he had never really considered the logic behind it, at least not fully. Now, hearing Marina speak with such conviction, the reason behind her frustration became clear.

Her work was essential, perhaps more so than he had initially realized. The weight of responsibility she carried in ensuring the island’s natural balance didn’t falter resonated deeply with him. As she spoke, Tech found himself thinking of the other inhabitants of the island, many of whom likely viewed the ocean as a source of food and nothing more—never thinking about the long-term consequences of their actions. But Marina? She was thinking about the big picture. The long game. She saw the fragility of their existence, and more importantly, she was doing something about it.

“That is very sensible,” he said, his voice earnest. "Not many people have the scientific mind to think of things like that—to look beyond the surface and understand the ripple effects. It’s easy to just take what’s in front of you and not consider how it impacts the world around you."

Marina’s eyes shifted briefly to meet his, and for the first time, Tech saw something like a soft spark in her gaze—perhaps even a hint of appreciation for his words. She didn’t respond right away, instead letting his statement hang in the air between them as she considered it. When she spoke again, her tone was quieter, reflective.

"It’s hard," she admitted, a small trace of vulnerability creeping into her voice. "People don’t always understand why it’s important. They see the fish, they see the catch, and they only think about today. But they don’t see the big picture—the long-term effects that overfishing, pollution, or mismanagement can have on our waters and our way of life."

Tech nodded, his hands still moving idly over the engine, but his thoughts now occupied with the weight of her words. He understood the drive to protect the fragile balance of things. He had spent most of his life in a similar way—fixing things, repairing the unseen problems, ensuring that things worked in harmony. It was not all that different from what she did.

He gave her a thoughtful glance. "It’s a necessary fight, I imagine. But I can see how it might get lonely, standing on the edge of something so important and watching others not fully grasp its significance."

She didn’t answer at first, but the way her gaze softened and her posture relaxed just a little suggested he wasn’t entirely off the mark. After a beat, she spoke, her voice quieter now, almost wistful. "I’ve learned to be patient. Most people won’t get it right away, and that’s okay. What matters is that I keep pushing for it. For the future." She paused, then added, her tone firm once more, "The ocean has its own rhythm, its own cycle. If we don’t respect that, we’ll lose it. And we’ll lose ourselves along with it."

Tech stood in silence for a moment, absorbing the gravity of her words. There was a certain weight to the responsibility she carried, one that made him think of the work he did in a new light. In his world, the pieces often needed fixing because they had been neglected or overlooked. He hadn’t considered before how Marina’s world, too, was one of repair—only the damage was less obvious, and the cost of ignoring it was far greater.

“I think you’re doing important work,” he said at last, his voice low but steady. "You’re not just maintaining things; you’re preserving them. That’s not something most people even consider."

Marina gave him a small, grateful smile, the warmth in her expression making her seem more human, more approachable. It was a rare thing to see, and for a brief moment, Tech felt the isolation of his own existence shift just slightly. Maybe, just maybe, there were people out there who understood what it felt like to be on the outskirts while trying to contribute as much as possible. 

“I’m glad to hear someone understands,” Marina said with a quiet, appreciative smile. "It’s not exactly something that goes over well with most people. I’ve been called just about every insult under the sun at this point.” Her tone was almost detached as she spoke, like these words, these judgments, were merely facts of life—inevitable, unimportant things that didn’t carry the weight of emotion for her. There was a certain strength in the way she carried herself, a level of indifference to the opinions of others that Tech couldn’t help but admire. She had mastered the art of dismissing negativity without letting it touch her.

Tech’s gaze flickered down to his clothes, and he was reminded once again that he was still wearing his dress pants. The realization hit him that, given the nature of the task ahead, these pants were woefully unsuitable for the kind of hands-on work he was about to do. He needed something more comfortable—something that wouldn’t restrict his movements or get ruined in the process. He had become accustomed to the simplicity of more casual attire, the kind that let him move freely and focus entirely on the task at hand. The dress pants, with their stiff fabric, felt like an obstacle, especially in a situation like this. On top of that, his glasses kept slipping down his nose, something that was becoming increasingly frustrating as he worked. He missed his goggles, which fit more securely and didn’t distract him from the task at hand.

“If you don’t mind,” he began, pausing as he considered his words. “I’d prefer to change into something more suitable for a complex repair like this one—” He trailed off as he caught a quick glimpse of her reaction. It was subtle, but he noticed her slight flinch, a reflexive shift in her posture as if she had misinterpreted his words for something else.

“I can come back later, if this is a bad time,” she offered, immediately backpedaling, clearly thinking she might have overstepped. “I shouldn’t have barged in on your evening like this—”

“No, that’s not the issue,” Tech cut in gently, his voice softening. He realized that he had inadvertently made her feel uncomfortable. He wasn’t used to such delicate dynamics, especially when it came to interactions like this. "It’s just… fabric like this," he said, gesturing vaguely to his formal attire, "it’s overwhelming, and I prefer to be in something that doesn’t distract me. Something more comfortable." He hoped his explanation would make sense. It wasn’t so much the idea of changing—it was the sensation of being too confined by his clothes, the lack of freedom. The weight of them made everything feel more intense, and he didn’t want to be distracted while focusing on the repair.

Her gaze softened in response to his words, and he noticed the tension that had lingered in her posture ease away. She regarded him for a moment, silent and thoughtful, as though weighing his explanation, before giving a slow, measured nod. “I see. That makes sense,” she said quietly.

Tech offered her a small, almost grateful smile in return, his appreciation for her understanding more evident now. With a brief glance towards a storage cabinet near the wall, he turned away, preparing to step out of the room. Realizing he needed a moment to change, he glanced over his shoulder, giving her a polite warning before he left. She didn’t raise her eyes from her inspection of the workspace but nodded in acknowledgement, her attention still fixed on the task at hand.

Tech hesitated at the door before leaving, reluctant to leave her alone, even though he knew it was unnecessary to feel that way truthfully. He didn’t particularly worry about her being alone in his humble space; the concern was more about her comfort. He understood how strange it could feel to be left alone in someone else’s environment. There was always that subtle sense of displacement, a quiet discomfort that could arise in such moments. He wanted to minimize that for her, even if it was just a small consideration.

Besides, the pressing need for more comfortable attire was calling out to him with every step he took away from the room. The confines of his dress pants felt like an increasingly oppressive reminder that he wasn’t quite in the right element for the task at hand.

Tech moved quickly as he stepped into the small bathroom. The soft hum of the wall light faintly in his ears as he undressed with practiced efficiency, eager to slip into something more practical. As he pulled his shirt off and changed into a simple pair of worn, comfortable trousers and a faded t-shirt, his eyes caught something on the bathroom shelf—a glint of metal, faint but unmistakable. It was his wedding band.

He paused for a moment, his hand hovering over the small shelf, fingers lingering near the familiar, weathered ring. The silver had dulled over time, the once-brilliant shine now softened with wear. Dings in the metal he hadn’t bothered to buff out, and the green stone in the center. He hadn’t worn it in a while—hadn’t needed to, not after everything had unraveled. Yet, there it sat, a relic of a past life. The sharp pang in his chest was fleeting but sharp, a reminder of what once was, of who he had been before everything had changed. He set it down gently, almost reverently, before turning away, the old memories already slipping back into their place, tucked away in the corners of his mind.

Returning to the room, he found Marina still standing near the workbench, but her attention had shifted. She was now examining something with quiet interest on the wall. She was standing in front of one of the wooden beams, her fingers lightly tracing the outline of initials carved into the wood. Tech paused in the doorway, watching her for a moment. The initials were old, worn smooth by time, but the marks were still legible—two letters carved deeply into the beam. He recognized them instantly: K + M

A strange, quiet tension filled the air between them, and he could feel the weight of the moment settle heavily around him. His chest tightened, but he said nothing, allowing her the space to observe as she continued to trace the letters, her fingers moving over them like she was seeking something, and he wondered why she bothered in the first place.

Tech cleared his throat, stepping fully into the room, his gaze flicking from the initials to her face. He forced a small, neutral smile as he moved past her to the workbench. "They’ve been there for a long time," he replied. "Before I got here." She jumped slightly, surprised at his return it seemed as she withdrew her hand from the beam, though her gaze lingered for just a moment longer. The quiet stillness in the room grew, the weight of unsaid words hanging thick in the air.

He shifted uncomfortably, the silence pressing in on him. "I—" he began, but the words stalled in his throat. "It’s nothing of importance and no reason to mention," he finished, hoping the explanation would be enough to let the subject slip away, even if he wasn’t quite sure how to move past it himself.

Marina didn’t press him. Instead, she gave him a small, respectful nod, clearly sensing the personal nature of the moment. "I am curious," she said simply, and for the first time since arriving she actually inquired something from him.

“I just felt wrong covering them up. My uh…” he trailed off, uncertain how to drop the information. Given her responses so far, he doubted she would be that judgemental, but a part of him liked the idea of not divulging his recent split. This was likely one of the only non-partial parties left on the island to his recent divorce, and something made him apprehensive to lose the nonbias so quickly. Ultimately her questioning gaze won out and he continued, “My ex wife wanted to carve over them.”  

Her gaze didn’t falter, but there was a subtle shift in her posture, something softer and almost surprised at his explanation. The quiet respect she showed was exactly what he had needed, and for a moment, it felt like she truly understood without needing to say a word. The silence stretched for a beat longer, but this time it wasn’t uncomfortable. There was a new kind of space between them—something unspoken but mutual.

“Why didn’t you?” she asked, her voice soft but curious. It was a simple question, and yet it carried a weight that felt different than the judgmental questions he had grown accustomed to.

Tech glanced at the initials one more time before returning his gaze to her, a small sigh escaping him. “Because some things… some things don’t need to be erased. And-.”

The weight of the words hung between them, filling the room with an unspoken understanding. For a moment, neither of them spoke again. Tech felt the silence stretch longer than he expected, the air thick with the weight of his confession. The words he had shared about his past, his marriage, and his pain, left him feeling exposed, though only for a fleeting moment. But there was something else—something he hadn’t told anyone. Something that he wasn’t sure he was ready to share..

The secret had been buried deep inside him, a hidden truth that only came to light in the quiet isolation of this house. As he sifted through the remains left by the previous occupants of the house, Tech had stumbled upon something unexpected. A leather-bound journal, weathered and worn, but still intact. It had been tucked away on a shelf, half-hidden behind a stack of old tools.

Out of curiosity, he had opened the journal, and the first few pages revealed something that caught him off guard—a detailed, intricate set of mechanical drawings. The owner of the house, it seemed, was a man of remarkable skill. Sure, Tech was already adept at repairing machines, his mind well-versed in schematics and blueprints, but this was different. This man didn’t just fix what was already built—he created. He designed new, innovative machines from scratch, his ideas flowing seamlessly from his mind to paper. It was a talent that Tech recognized immediately—a raw, untapped genius in engineering that left him both awestruck and envious.

As he flipped through the pages, Tech realized that this man was no mere technician; he was a creator, a visionary in the truest sense of the word. Some people were born with the ability to craft new things, to see the world not as it was, but as it could be. The way this man’s thoughts were captured on the pages of his journal spoke to a brilliance Tech could only dream of. The drawings were so precise, so full of life, each one reflecting a mind that worked differently from his own.

But then, in the midst of all the mechanical designs, Tech came across something unexpected. Scattered among the diagrams were pages filled with scribbles—small notes, seemingly disconnected thoughts, memories, or musings. As he read through them, Tech began to understand that this man wasn’t just brilliant with machines—he had a heart full of passion, too. The romanticism in his words was undeniable.

One entry stood out to him more than the others:

Snow rested upon the steadfast earth in waves of crowning glory, soft and deep,  Moonlight and the sea entwined in her gaze, where secrets gently sleep. A heart I hold, with love so tender, cherished in silence, pure and steep. Beneath the heavens’ gentle sway, the winds do whisper, soft and clear, Of fleeting dreams that dusk betrays, yet in her eyes, they reappear. The stars, like beacons, burn so bright, yet pale beside her presence here. The night, adorned in velvet dark, holds whispers of a love untold, Where time itself forgets to mark the moments as our hearts unfold. In her embrace, a warmth so kind, a solace deeper than the cold. Oh, let the snow fall ever more, a canvas pure for love’s design, For in her gaze, I see the shore where sea and sky in rapture twine. And in that gaze, I find my soul, forever bound, forever thine.

The man had written these lines next to a diagram for a new pulley system. The juxtaposition of beauty and logic, of creativity and practicality, baffled Tech. How could someone be so incredibly emotionally, artistically, and intellectually gifted all at once? It was a quality Tech had never fully understood, and yet it stirred something deep inside him.

As he read more of the journal, something shifted within him. His mind wandered back to his own life, to his relationship with Leena. In the early days, he had believed what he was feeling was love. But as time wore on, the truth became clearer—what he had mistaken for love was, in fact, a complicated mix of attraction and curiosity. The man who had written in that journal, though—he had something deeper. That was love. True love. The kind of love that transcended the mundane, the kind that grew between two people who understood each other at their core.

Tech had never felt that way about Leena. The more he reflected, the more he realized the misalignment in their marriage. There had always been a part of him that knew something was missing, something vital that wasn’t there. He had tried to fill the void with material things, with a change of scenery, with the hope that a new house, a fresh start, would fix everything. But it hadn’t.

He hadn’t understood it at the time, but now, after reading the journal, he saw it for what it truly was. He had been holding on to the idea of love, but he had never really known it. Not until he read the words of someone who had truly experienced it. The more he thought about it, the angrier he became.

That was why he had gotten so angry when Leena had suggested covering up the initials carved into the wood. They were more than just letters etched into a beam—they were a testament to something real, something that existed long before he had arrived. Love had been in these walls, in the house itself, long before he came to claim it as his own. To erase those marks, to wipe away the evidence of something genuine, would have been a violation—a moral boundary he couldn’t cross.

The initials, K and M, were a mystery he hadn’t solved yet, but he felt a deep obligation to respect them, to honor whoever they had been. He had no illusions about who they might have been, but he imagined them as an older couple, perhaps, whose love had lasted a lifetime before death had taken them away. They had left behind something priceless, something Tech could never hope to replace. In some strange way, he owed it to them—and to himself—to respect the depth of their bond by leaving the initials. 

As he stood there, feeling the weight of Marina’s gaze on him once again, searching for the unspoken reason behind his decision to leave the initials intact, Tech found himself caught in a moment of hesitation. The question lingered in the air between them, but something in her eyes made him reconsider his instinct to retreat further into silence. Perhaps it was time to let someone in, even if that someone was a stranger. For once, sharing his thoughts—no matter how raw or uncomfortable—might offer him a sense of relief. The words he had kept buried were only making him feel restless and untethered. And Marina, unlike anyone else on this island, had no ties to the chaos of his past or any allegiance to the people who had once been a part of it. There was no judgment here—no baggage. Only the space to speak freely.

He exhaled slowly, his voice coming out quieter than he expected. "I found a journal when I first began to repair this abandoned house. It was the property of the previous owner. And when I read through his writing, it felt wrong—wrong to cover up something he had etched with love." He paused, searching for the right words. "I admit, I didn’t fully understand the meaning of love until I saw it in his words. The way he expressed it, so openly, so beautifully... It made me realize that what I thought I had known, what I thought I was feeling, wasn’t love at all."

As he spoke, something inside him shifted, like a heavy weight had been lifted ever so slightly. Putting those thoughts into words, even if only for her to hear, felt like a small but significant release. For the first time, he wasn’t just ruminating on the pain in his own mind—he was putting it out there, allowing the space between them to hold it for a moment. The vulnerability wasn’t as frightening as he had anticipated. And maybe, just maybe, sharing it with someone who had no prior knowledge of his life would allow him to make sense of it all.

For a long moment, the silence between them was filled with an unspoken understanding, as though the weight of his confession had silently settled between them. The air felt heavier now, charged with something neither of them could fully articulate. He could sense her hesitation to break the stillness, but eventually, her voice broke through the quiet.

"Would it be... alright if I saw it?" she asked, her tone gentle but laced with curiosity. Her words hung in the air, almost as if she feared he might reject the request, but there was something in her demeanor—something soft yet unwavering—that told him she wasn’t just asking out of idle curiosity. There was a sincerity to her tone, a sense that she held a reverence for people who once occupied this space. 

Depending on how long she had been here, Tech realized that perhaps she did know the couple, and could provide him more clarity on them. He gave a slow nod, his fingers instinctively reaching for the drawer where he had tucked the journal away. He opened it carefully, feeling the weight of the leather-bound cover in his hands. Without a word, he handed her the journal, his fingers brushing lightly against hers as he passed it over.

Marina accepted it with quiet reverence, her fingers brushing over the cover before she opened it slowly. Her eyes scanned the first few pages, her brow furrowing slightly as she absorbed the words. It was clear from the subtle change in her expression that she was paying close attention, each line of writing seeming to draw her in deeper. She didn’t speak at first, simply turning the pages with quiet deliberation, as if allowing the emotions within the journal to wash over her in their entirety.

“Oh, Keiron…” she whispered softly, her fingers tracing the delicate script as she flipped through the pages. The name hung in the air like a soft breeze, charged with an emotional weight that both puzzled and intrigued Tech. Keiron. The man who had written all of this—Tech’s first true glimpse into the life and mind of the previous owner. His chest tightened at the realization, the unspoken connection between Marina and this mysterious figure suddenly feeling very real.

For a moment, the world outside the journal seemed to fade away, and all Tech could do was watch as Marina continued to read, her eyes flicking back and forth across the page, the weight of the words pulling her deeper into a place Tech wasn’t sure he had permission to enter.

Keiron

That name lingered in the silence, and Tech’s curiosity got the better of him. His voice broke through the stillness, more tentative than he’d like, but desperate to understand more about the person who had written those words, the man whose mind had so captivated him.

“Did you know the man who lived here?” he asked quietly, the question feeling too blunt, too direct, but his need to know couldn’t be contained any longer.

At the sound of his voice, Marina’s head snapped up, her wide eyes locking onto his with a jolt of shock. Her mouth parted in surprise, and for a moment, the air between them crackled with tension. Then, as if she were physically shaking off the sudden rush of emotion, she blinked rapidly and refocused on him, her composure returning as quickly as it had faltered.

“I would like to hope I did,” she replied simply, her voice steady, but her eyes were guarded, as if her words held more than she was willing to say. Her cryptic response hung in the air, thick with implication, but she didn’t offer more.

Tech’s brow furrowed. He could sense there was more to the statement, something unspoken that she wasn’t ready to share. But what did she mean? The question echoed in his mind, unanswered for now. Did she mean she had known him well, or was her answer steeped in more regret, or perhaps loss? For a moment, the silence stretched between them, thick and loaded with questions.

Marina broke the silence before he could decide, her gaze drifting once again to the wall, focusing on the carved initials. Her eyes softened as she stared at them, and her voice, when it came, was quieter, tinged with an emotion that had been carefully hidden until now.

“We were so young when he insisted on doing that,” she murmured, almost to herself, her fingers once again tracing the patterns on the wall. The words were like a crack in a dam—small, but enough to let the flood of memories surge.

Suddenly, it all made sense to Tech. Her quiet familiarity with the house, the way she had seemed to almost own the space, as if it had once been hers. The way she had observed everything so intently—almost as if she were measuring it, wondering what had changed. The way she had wanted to know about the marks left untouched. It wasn’t just curiosity—it was something personal, something deeper.

M. Marina.

“This was your home once,” Tech spoke softly, stepping closer, his voice quieter now, almost reverent. It was clear to him now, but saying it aloud felt like acknowledging a sacred truth. The house had been hers. The space, the memories, the echoes of love and life—it all belonged to her.

Marina didn’t respond immediately, but her eyes met his again, and with a quiet nod, she confirmed what he had already guessed. Her face was open now, but the layers of emotion she carried were still carefully folded beneath the surface.

“And…” Tech hesitated, not wanting to rush into the next question, yet unable to hold back the final piece of the puzzle. “Keiron?”

Her breath caught, and when she spoke his name this time, it was louder, more certain. The name had power, weight, history. And with it came the quiet ache of a love lost.

“Keiron,” she repeated, her voice thick with memory. Then, without hesitation, she met his gaze fully. “He was my husband.”

Tech’s heart skipped a beat, the depth of her words sinking in like stones in still water. She had been married to Keiron, the man who had crafted the journal, the man whose intimate, tender writings had resonated so strongly with Tech. Now it all made sense—everything from the journal to the carved initials on the wall. The connection, the emotional undertone in her voice when she spoke of him… it wasn’t just the story of a stranger to Tech. It was the story of someone who had once shared his own kind of love with Marina, someone whose presence lingered in the house even now, despite the passage of time.

The silence stretched between them again, but this time it wasn’t oppressive. It was filled with the weight of understanding, a mutual recognition that neither of them had to speak further. The room seemed to hold its breath, as if the house itself, with all its memories, was bearing witness to this quiet exchange.

Marina seemed to struggle for a moment, her lips pressing together as she looked down at her hands, fingers still lightly brushing against the journal’s pages. Tech knew she was far from finished, that there was more buried beneath the surface. But for now, the revelation hung in the air, and neither of them seemed ready to push it any further.

“I’m not entirely sure how to respond,” Tech admitted, his voice steady, though the weight of her words seemed to settle around him, heavier than expected.

“That’s okay,” Marina replied softly, her voice carrying a certain quiet strength, as if she had come to terms with the uncertainty long ago. “No one really knows how to respond, especially when it’s someone like Keiron.” She paused, as if weighing her thoughts carefully before continuing. “Keiron was adored by nearly everyone he met. His energy, his ideas… they captivated people, and they still do, even after all this time.”

She trailed off for a moment, eyes drifting down to the journal in her hands. A brief flicker of something—a mix of longing and sorrow—crossed her face before she refocused, meeting his gaze again. “I was... on the outskirts. I was never a part of that. Not really. I didn’t fit in the way people expected me to.”

There was a quiet vulnerability in her words, something she rarely allowed to show. But now, in the stillness of the room, with the journal in her hands and the memories clearly flooding her mind, it felt as though she could no longer keep the walls entirely intact.

“When Keiron died,” she continued, her voice steady but tinged with something raw, “I... I just wanted to remove myself from all of it. From the well-meaning words, the empty gestures, the apathy thinly disguised as empathy.”

Her gaze hardened slightly, a subtle bitterness creeping into her tone. “Everyone around me acted as though they understood. As though they cared—but I knew better. They were offering their sympathy, but none of them truly saw me. They couldn’t, not in the way I needed them to. So I stepped back. I kept my distance from their hollow kindness.”

Tech listened in silence, his expression softened. Her words carried a weight of grief that she had clearly carried alone for far too long. He could sense the pain behind her detachment, the desire to find some kind of solace away from the world’s expectations. It struck him then, how much she had endured, not just in losing Keiron, but in the isolation she had been left with after his death.

It was a sorrow Tech could understand, in his own way. The loneliness of being misunderstood. The exhaustion of pretending to be okay when everything inside you was breaking apart. The quiet realization that no one could truly fill the spaces left behind. He didn’t know what to say. Words felt insufficient in the face of what she had revealed. But he couldn’t just let the silence stretch between them either, not after hearing her truth.

“I feel like everyone’s silently blaming me for not doing enough to save my marriage,” Tech confessed, his voice quiet but laced with an underlying tension. “It’s as if I could have done more, should have fought harder, but the truth is... the marriage was doomed from the start. We were so fundamentally misaligned. The chaos, the uncertainty, the aftermath of nearly dying myself—it pushed us into a place we never should’ve gone. We tried to force something that was never meant to be.”

He exhaled slowly, as if letting the weight of the words out of his chest might make them easier to bear. “No matter how much I try to explain it, to make them understand that I wasn’t blind to it, that I felt the disconnect from the beginning, I can’t shake the guilt. Guilt for letting myself fall into something I knew wasn’t right, for indulging it, for allowing myself to pretend everything was fine when it was so far from it. But the worst part is… I still feel like it’s all my fault. That somehow, if I’d fought harder, if I’d been someone else, things could’ve been different.”

There was a long pause as he let the silence stretch between them, a quiet that felt oddly heavy, but also a little freeing. Sharing this with Marina wasn’t something he had planned on, but now that he had spoken it aloud, there was a sense of catharsis. He hadn’t realized just how much he was carrying until he voiced it—how much guilt, how much self-blame.

He glanced at Marina, unsure of how she would respond. Sure, he hadn’t lost Leena—she was still out there, still a part of the world. But in the end, he had lost something far more significant in that marriage. He had lost sight of who he was, what he wanted, what he needed. In the process of trying to make it work, he’d buried pieces of himself, sacrificed his identity to fit into a mold that wasn’t his. And when he tried to reclaim that lost part of himself, to become whole again, he had been vilified by those closest to him.

It was a struggle he wasn’t sure anyone could fully understand. How do you explain the complexity of something so personal, so raw, without being judged or misunderstood? How do you explain the self-doubt and the heavy weight of knowing you were both the architect and the casualty of your own mistakes?

Marina’s silence gave him the time he needed to process it all, but also, her quiet presence seemed to make him feel less alone in the weight of it.

“People don’t get it,” he murmured, almost to himself. “They see the end result, the way it fell apart, and they think they understand. But they don’t see the months, the years, the silent erosion of everything you once thought was solid. It’s not just about losing someone; it’s about losing yourself in the process. And when that happens, there’s no easy way back.”

She broke the silence with a lighthearted remark, the sound of her voice easing the tension in the room. "It sounds like you need better friends," she said, placing the journal carefully on the workbench and turning her gaze toward him.

Her attempt to lighten the mood was clear, and Tech found himself quietly grateful for it. The somber conversation had been heavy, and he was relieved to have the atmosphere shift, even if just a little. He let out a soft breath, shaking off the weight of his thoughts. Taking the conversational olive branch, he responded with a hint of a smile, "It sounds like you do as well."

She raised an eyebrow, her tone playful, though there was a quiet intensity to it as she leaned in just slightly. "Is that an offer to fill a vacancy, or is it rhetorical?"

Tech smirked at her response. "Could it not be both?"

"I suppose you’re right," she replied with a soft chuckle, her eyes flicking back to the engine, which they had both been working on for what felt like hours. The work was slow, but there was a certain satisfaction in the process, even if neither of them had made major progress yet.

After a beat of quiet contemplation, Marina shifted slightly, crossing her arms as she looked at him with renewed focus. "How about we make some caf, and burn the midnight oil trying to get this thing running again?" Her voice had softened with resolve. "I meant what I said earlier—I’d like to learn. Keiron, he was always the one better at this kind of thing. I do my best with what I know, but... it would be nice to have the knowledge on my own."

There was a quiet vulnerability in her words, a sincerity that made Tech pause for a moment, taking in the weight of what she was saying. She wasn’t just asking to learn mechanics; she was seeking autonomy, a sense of agency over her own life, something that had been influenced and shaped by the void of someone else for so long. It also sounded like a request for some companionship in their shared loss. Hers much more substantial, but his more raw.

Tech nodded, his gaze softening as he responded. "I think that sounds good. It gets quiet out here, and I wouldn’t mind the company either. I’ll get the pot started, and we can dive back into this mess. And who knows, maybe we’ll even get it running by sunrise."

Marina nodded, her eyes brightening with a flicker of something—perhaps a spark of hope or even a touch of excitement for the night ahead. "We’ll see," she said, a small but genuine smile tugging at the corner of her mouth. "But I’ll take that challenge."

With that, the silence between them lost its tension. It became a quiet hum of possibility, the gentle rhythm of two people, each in their own way, seeking to make sense of the fragments they held, working toward putting the pieces back together again.

Art but the wonderful @leenathegreengirl!

Next Chapter HERE

A peek...

Alright I’m bored, needing depth for my Fanfic, gonna analyze the Bad Batch’s barracks.  

It’s a mess, clear cut right off the start which shows how little Kaminoan  discipline of cleanliness (conditioning) was in affect in these particular clones.  

Echo has the hammock near Tech’s bunk and surrounded by his equipment.  Tech has hacked into the power conduits over his bunk to have all these mechanical arms and tools added so he could probably work on tinkering something by his bunk.- noted by @1fineslytherin​.  The lights here are dim, then after the Batch escapes Kamino and Crosshair moves in with his new squad the lights are restored to the typical Kaminoan illuminating fashion.  This may have been done for Hunter to ease his senses, POSSIBLY.  

As for that smell...

Wrecker has food on his bed, which has been left rotting and festering for about 206 or whatever rotations since the last time they were there.  No wonder it smells.  Along with a clothes line along the back wall which I guess is a step towards some sort of cleaning process?  Boy’s a wreck. - I am not sorry for that pun.  

Crosshair has a perch at the top left hand corner, it is level with Tech’s workstation from across the room.  He has three posters of droids on his back wall, each have distinct holes in the papers resembling the proper kill shots necessary to put down a droid.  Through the holes you can see the wall that they are pinned against, he used these for practice and brought them back to look at / show off / be his intimidating toothpick suckeling self.  As pointed out by @yavielin-feanarien, the center poster spells the letter ‘C’ in Aruebesh.  He also has 2 sets of fresh blacks folded neatly sitting on his sheets.  

I do believe given Wrecker’s messy manner and Tech’s clutter, Crosshair and Hunter decided to take opposite sides to keep the room in some sort of balance.  I say this because honestly I would want a roommate who is clean, not a slob, so in this kind of rooming situation I would want to be on the side with the other clean individual.  But I can see why they would take opposite sides to maintain some sort of “Order” within the room.  

Tech’s perch.  💕

-Tech states that he doesn’t want to sleep next to Wrecker’s junk in their opening episode...bro use those goggles to look at your own room first.  

-Wrecker definitely stole that couch from somewhere.  It’s a BIG couch for a BIG man such as himself.  They have their bunks, benches with no backs to lean into, and crates are all that can be sat on in this room.  Can definitely understand why Wrecker would bring this piece of furniture into their barracks. 

Tech’s bunk is made, and adorns his scribbles of equations.  With all this wall art, makes me wonder who drew that Padme nose art in the deleted reel.  😀  My credits on Tech.  

Hunter’s bunk is made and tidy. he is definitely a boot man, called it!  He has medals pinned to the backboard, no idea what that thing is in the corner, it might be a canteen.  He’s got the iconic Bad Batch 99 skull on his wall, I just dig this man.  

One last thing that I see a problem with as a collective, is that they don’t bring gonky into the room with them.  I like to think that because he is a defective unit that the facility would snatch him up and decommission him, or that he would be bullied by other droids.  So they agree that he’s gotta remain on the ship but still!  

Anyways....I would still like to be their shared barrack hoe.  No lie.  

Star Wars: Revelations: Crosshair x Ottehok

TCW Fanfic: Crosshair x Ottehok

Norsik Language is called Norslyr:

Ottehok- Shade in Russian

Forbandet Afkom- Cursed Offspring in Danish

Alfodr- Meaning All Father/Odin

Pabbi- Daddy in Icelandic

This is the first sexual encounter between these two characters in a series I am writing 

based on the aftermath of TCW.

WARNINGS:  NSFW, explicit 18+, cursing, P in V, protected sex, butt stuff, rough sex, gagging, slapping, pet names, male Dom, female Sub (kinda), allusion to past trauma. (Both individuals are slightly emotionally fractured, also the cleanest characters who have the nastiest sex;).  

4.3K word count.  

Crosshair x Ottehok

The Norse Executioner, Lone Ranger; Ottehok. A rather stunning peach colored Zebrak/Trandoshan female. The oracle of her field.  She must continue to slay Forbandet Afkom believed to be the blooded kin of the Goddess named Hel.  It has been said that Ranger, Ottehok; is the God Heimdall incarnate, the Great Watcher for Bjornheim.  She remains chained to the grounds of the spreading Ragnarok Ranges until the Afkom have been Cleansed from the terra. 

Crosshair demands to taste this caliber of woman.  

The Scourge Sniper, the Overwatch for his Troop, Crosshair.  A recognized Wingman; a Norse position given to the sharpest of Gunsmen.  Ottehok witnessed his capabilities when it came to the Cleanse of Thovid.  How he strangled a Zerbrak Cannibal with just his bare hands, smiling while doing so.  How he takes the rear path to watch over his Troop, hence Overwatch.  Unlike some members of his crew, he participated in the Cleansing of the cannibal younglins.  Did not hesitate, no remorse, delivered a swift and painless death upon them and moved on for that was the task that needed to be done.  

Crosshair’s actions reflect his forging, qualities Ottehok desires in a mate.  

But this encounter is not about love, affection, or breeding; this is about a deserved release.  A needed break from the ten-year expanse of isolation this woman has endured for the sake of her people.  Who either respect or reject her.  Either way she goes about her tasks, her way, the way that things need to be done for her people.  Her resolve is gleaming in her rust-colored eyes as she removes her helmet in front of Crosshair.  

In the hull of the Solar Scourge Ottehok places her helm on a crate alongside her pack.  Crosshair observes her motions as she reaches up and releases her pine green hair from a low bun and shakes her head.  He split tongue tasting the air.  He removes his helmet along with his gloves and meets her level of resolve as their lips collide.  

Crosshair dominates the kiss.  She desires pleasure from him, and he will deliver it to her, his way.  Her arms hook around his neck as they kiss.  She raises her height just an inch on the tips of her toes to reach his lips more comfortably.  Her hands glide through his soft hair while his graze along her sides to pull their midsections closer together.  The sounds of their armors rubbing against each other fills their ears.  Ottehok stands flat on her feet to break the kiss and take a breath.  Her hands sliding down his chest plate as her eyes stare up into his, admiring his stature.  His gaze is soft but not unguarded, attentive to all her movements, keeping wary of this Executioner.  But neutrality floods her gaze, a hand gently cups the right side of his face to feel the shadow of a beard and the bottom portion of his tattoo.  

Ottehok drops her guard entirely in this moment.

Crosshair slightly tilts his head into her touch.  Her fingerless gloves allow him to feel bits of her skin against him.  Ottehok begs for a break from everything for just this moment with her eyes.  But he wants to hear her ask for it.  

“What do you want?”  His voice a low rasp as his hands come around her waist to hold her close to him.  

“Your cock…”, her voice breaks with need as she continues.  “To writhe underneath you…marked by your teeth…to have every hole in me used by you.”  She finishes with her hand moving to cup his jaw with fingers parting his lips to inspect his perfectly aligned pearly whites.  He allows this touch to occur, far to used to being inspected in such a manner on Kamino.  Her hands trail down his chest plate with fingers grazing at his codpiece.  She knows well enough to wait for his permission to begin removing it for him.  

She knows what she wants.

Of all the remaining men on Norsik, this devout Pagan comes to surrender herself to an Off-Worlder.  Crosshair takes great consideration if he should indulge this woman.  This planet has rules that these people must follow or else his crew may be banished from the planet with the Norse participant being written off as a sacrifice to atone for their sins.  He must decipher if this woman is setting him up; thus, banning himself and his crew from this system that they helped liberate or if she really is just in need for a good thrashing.  He confirms that it is the latter as she removes her wrist comm and throwing her harness with holsters containing blasters and knives.  She is completely bare of any sort of possible recorders or weapons.  

Crosshair releases a chuckle as a hand comes up to brush a lock of hair behind her ear and swiftly takes her chin into his hand.  “Want to be used in any particular order?”  He purrs whilst stepping forward to press her back against a storage crate to box her in.  He makes it clear that he wants to absorb all her focus.  A knee rises between her legs to nudge at her core which she instinctively begins to grind upon.  

“I do not like a-t-m…”  She says shyly, batting her eyes up at him.  

“I wouldn’t do that to you…Peaches.”  Crosshair knows full well that Ottehok despises this nickname.  Anyone who mocks her with it ends up shot or wounded in some form or another by her hand.  It is always thrilling to witness her exact justice upon those who slight her or her comrades.  But in this instance, she bites her bottom lip and her fingers curl into the front of his chest plate to signal for undressing as her walls drip hot nectar at his voice using that name.  He drops his knee while their deft hands work away at their armor straps stripping to their under clothes.  “So begulling…”  He admires her body with a step backward to take in her full frame.  Ottehok stands at 6’1, slender build with divine muscle tone true to her Zebrak genetics.  She is quite the attractive creature through and through.  The Trandoshan heritage is identifiable with her eyes, voice, and tattoos which just add to her allure.  

Ottehok is the most unique being Crosshair has ever had the pleasure to work alongside.  

Crosshair aims to make her steady eyes roll into the back of her skull.  Maybe he can make her croak within the hull for all to hear.  Make them all hear how she likes to be used by an Off-Worlder; implying that this fornication is a testament to any men that hear their sex that Norsemen do not suffice to satisfy her.  The filthy things Ottehok craves from a man with the resolve to do it too her…  

Crosshair grabs a few condoms from a pack strapped to his armor and sets them atop a crate.  He leans back against a tall storage box with his arms folded across his chest, eyes fixated on Ottehok.  The lights are dim within the hull, he watches her from the surrounding darkness just outside the rim of light as she remains under a faint glow.  The shadows accentuate her womanly curves and brighten her peach-colored skin.  

“Strip.  Show me that pretty little peach of yours.”  He speaks with a smug smirk.  Ottehok gives him a show with bedroom eyes and a soft pouty look.  All being fueled by the ache between her legs.  She stands before him naked, taking it upon herself to follow his request to show him everything.  She hops onto a crate behind her and opens her legs, licking her fingers with her split tongue to spread her neatly tucked folds.  Crosshair is beyond pleased with the view.  

He inspects Ottehok further, he has been aware of her split tongue the first time she removed her helm to speak the night she had to explain the situation at the Ranges.  But now he can see everything.  Her nipples and navel are pierced, tattoos cover much of her body from her toes to her fingers reaching up to her neck.  Norslyr text etched into left side of her scalp that reads, ‘Take No Prisoners’ when her hair is arranged in fierce battle braids.  Her breasts are void of any ink; her solar plexus has an extremely detailed dagger pointed up towards her neck.  That is a very intense part of any anatomy to receive a blow let alone hours of ink.  His sights fall to the vivid red orange color of her pussy, the delicate skin there matches the color of her nipples and lips.  

Delicious.

Ottehok is built to endure the harshest of elements that Norsik has to offer.  Crosshair wants to see if she can withstand an element from the Void.  

Crosshair licks his lips and steps forward to place his skilled hands on her warm body.  They share a deep kiss before he breaks away and kneels to take in the sight of her peach.  His hands cup her breasts to tease her nipples as he dives in with his tongue to taste her decadent nectar.  She is touch starved, reacting to everything he does wherever his touch wanders.  The shivers he delivers through her body feel much like she was a virgin once more.  His tongue dips inside and then back to her clit spelling his name in Arubesh eliciting the lewdest of noises a woman can make.  Ottehok falls backward while gripping at his hands and hair.  He adds a finger and pumps it a few times before adding a second as her peach floods with juice mixed with his saliva.  

“Pabbi!”  She whines as her back arches off the crate and her legs begin to tense.  He rises to look her over, watching her orgasm erupt through her body as he keeps the pace with his fingers to thoroughly work her through it.  Her feet find purchase on the edge of the crate with her eyes glued shut as the comets stream across her vision.  His pace quickens and he angles his precise fingers to rub that special little spot inside her which forces her peach to overflow with sweet nectar onto the floor.  Crosshair removes his fingers and shoves them in her mouth as she tries to catch her breath.  

“What did you say?”  He asks near her ear then bites her neck.  She winces but gives her response through the action.

“Pabbi…daddy…”  Tears leave the corners of her eyes as he looks down upon her and removes his fingers from her mouth.  He licks away the streaks with a pleasant hum.

“Mm, I like that.  Call me pabbi or sir from now on, understand Peaches?”  Her body tremors at the pet name, from now on Crosshair is the only one allowed to call her that.  She nods and sits up to meet his lips again but he stops her with a hand to her shoulder.  “And… you need to ask for my permission to cum.”  Her lust filled gaze diminishes and she cups his jaw with knit brows.  

“I will play the name game, swallow your fluids, take your punishments.  But I will never ask for permission for my own orgasms.  Sir.”  This is the most she has ever really spoken to Crosshair in Arubesh, she is improving.  

“So, you are not going to comply?”  His eyes narrow with a sharp edge but Ottehok sneers and pushes him back for her own space.  She hops off the crate and nearly topples over as her legs are still shaking from her orgasm.  She bites her cheek to force herself to stand up as to not appear weak in front of him any longer.  Crosshair’s cock is a painful throbbing rod that is clearly visible to both people.  But now she has apparently received enough of a release to tap out, leaving him out to dry.  Crosshair is flooded with dangerous emotions, things he shouldn’t be feeling or thinking of.  

“You have no jurisdiction over me Voider.  This is my terra, my body.  We can continue but as I submit to you, I expect for you to make me cum.  As much as I want, as much as you can make me, and I do the same for you.”  Her trigger finger jabs into his chest with every point she makes, wearing a scowl that equally rivals his own.  “The hunt for orgasm is what keeps me submissive, Wingman.”  She finishes and crosses her arms with a face of determination he recognizes from her 116,400 hours of footage while in the Ranges when fighting Afkom.  Ottehok views Crosshair as a predator invading her hovel; a man pushing a set boundary.  Too not be snuffed he must respect her grounds.  

Crosshair sighs and his lip twitches for a second as if he had a toothpick between his lips.  “Very well.”  He acknowledges her terms and steps forward and places his hands on her shoulders.  He peers down at her with a softened gaze fixated on her stern look.  He wants to melt that look away and replace it with the face she had earlier when she was unraveling on his fingers.  “I will make you erupt with pleasure my sweet peach.  I just like to hear you beg for it…”  He admits lowly and kisses her forehead.  Her arms drop to his waist band pulling him flush against her as they embrace for this moment between them.  

“I can beg, sir.  I promise you; I will beg…”  Her sultry tone is silenced with a deep kiss and his cock is freed against her stomach.  She pulls up the hem of his undershirt and he removes it while her hands run down his body as she drops to her knees to pull his bottoms down to strip him naked with her.  

A hand strokes his shaft while the other cups his balls.  Her mouth laps at the bead of precum at the tip and her split tongue runs over his frenulum in a widely new sensation that forces a shallow groan to leave his chest.  Both hands fist her hair and has her mouth all to himself now.  She can take most of him in her throat, a hand comes to rest on his hip to push against it when he tries to get the last few inches inside her mouth.  Her eyes are wide with tears in the corner which is an erotic sight to Crosshair.  The sloppy gagging noises she makes fill the hull.  He continues to fuck her throat by just having his hands bob her head, if he were to start thrusting his hips, he’d most likely cum too soon.  

“Suck me harder…”  he coos brushing hair from her eyes so she can clearly look at him from below.  Messy noises come from her as she gags, bile comes up to coat his cock and down the front of her body and onto the floor.  He pulls her off with a click of his tongue and she coughs for air.  “You just love making messes, don’t you?”.  He says taking a fistful of hair to pull her up to her feet and guiding her back to the crate she was on earlier.  

“Always…p-pabbi…I’m sorry…”  She wipes her mouth with the back of a hand as he lifts her onto the crate to spread her legs.  She is soaking wet all the way down her legs, just a complete mess that this Clone Commander must clean up after they are done here.  Crosshair grabs a condom and rolls it on, he quickly glazes his cock in her nectar placing the head at her opening.  Before he plunges inside he anchors her down with a firm grip to her neck.  She replies with a devious smile and a pleading glint.  He smiles and gently pushes inside her in a fluid motion that has Ottehok moaning like a whore.  

Her toes curl, her eyes darken and squeeze tight, she nearly screams when he pulls back and thrusts back in a few times to penetrate her more deeply.  She is unbelievably tight, very closely to the feeling when she was a virgin and being…used…by members of Irrek Hall when she was young.  The very blistering pain of those memories that she has buried for so long come welling up and she starts to cry.  It is unnerving to Crosshair; he releases her throat and almost pulls out when she grasps his shoulder to stop him.

“No!  No please!  Please pabbi- Crosshair!  Don’t stop…”  While sobbing.  “I need this…”  

“Gah fine!  Just take it like this then!”  He berates impatiently and flips her onto her stomach to pound her from behind.  “But if it becomes too much you better say something or I will just keep going, understood?”  Ottehok nods her head wiping her nose with her hand as he bares down inside her mercilessly.  His hips snapping into her ass to make up for the loss of her warmth for those few seconds.  He grunts into her ear, her back arching whilst continuing to cry.  This feeling much better than all the past times, his girth stretching her open, length piercing her deeply, slapping her ass with an exciting ferocity that makes her cunt twitch around him.  Crosshair bends forward and hooks an arm around her neck to choke her in a new fashion.  His mouth nips at her ear, his grunts filling her canal as his cock fills her pussy like no Norseman has ever done before.  His hand comes to cover her mouth with his precise fingers covering her nose as he flexes his arm around her neck to near suffocation.  

One of her hands comes to his that is cupped to her face and the other slams the top of the crate to signal for air.  His fingers lift off from her nose and mouth, but his palm still presses to her cheek.  When he feels she’s caught enough air his fingers return to smother her again.  His fingers dive into her mouth to slicken them up for his next approach.  He pulls off her back releasing her from his grip and looks down at her round little ass.  His trigger finger pokes into her anus.  Her head pops up from the crate and she props her upper body up on her forearms and the back of her head is met with his left hand which forces her forehead to the crate.  Then he slides the rest of his long slender finger into her ass.  Her walls clench around his cock, triggering another eruption of nectar to spill from her splitting peach.  

“Such a dirty girl…”  He growls as she comes undone.  Her legs close together and with a disapproving click of his tongue Crosshair forces her legs apart with his feet and quickens his movements in her ass.  He drips a clear strand of saliva from his mouth to coat her anus to keep it lubricated for easier pleasure.  He fucks her again through another orgasm, Ottehok sobs and whines underneath Crosshair.  Her arms reach out to grasp the edge of the crate to anchor herself down as her stomach keeps rubbing against the rough surface of the crate in an uncomfortable manner.  Crosshair adds his middle finger to her ass as she begins to quiver around his cock, he needs to relax her.  He pulls himself out of her entirely, his arms wrap around her hips to lift her off the crate and lay her on the floor.  He rolls her onto her side, he comes to her back to take her from behind.  She purses her lips wanting a kiss which he obliges, then nudges her ass with the head of his cock.  Her hand grips his thigh as she takes him in, he nips at her ear and buries his face in her hair while slowly pushing his way into her tight cavity.  His hands roam her body to grasp her nipples and gently roll the nubs to stimulate her.  Ottehok feels like her body is burning, she is no longer crying now.  Crosshair has fucked the memories out of her mind for good.  Using every part of her like this, it is what she needed to forget the past.  She knows that she has control over her body, her own pleasure, how she needs it to be.  Her skills and what she has done for herself have afforded her the respect necessary to get what she wants, who is going to refuse an Executioner?  

No one.

Crosshair pushes in slowly; he makes it halfway in before she winces, nails dig into his thigh eliciting a slap to her face to ease the digging.  He quickly cups her throat to choke her and pulls back and thrusts back in trying to get deeper before a choked croak ripples through the column of her neck.  Her hips jerk away but he follows her movement to remain inside her and he ends up rolling on top of her to pin her down.  

“Too much!  Ah too much pabbi!”  She gasps out.  

“Then hold still and let me find a balance for us both!”  He shouts over her cries.

Crosshair rolls off her and back on to their sides.  His hands grasp her hips to keep her in place and his tongue trails up her neck.  He lightly bounces his cock inside her ass with half the length in.  It is warm with much more pressure around his cock than her pussy.  It is much easier to slide in and out of her pussy than her ass, but it feels great nonetheless.  “H-how does this feel Peaches?  Is this good?”  He asks trying not to sound like a little boy about to burst for the first time.  He’s never had the opportunity to try anal, he’s played with ass before but never got to penetrate it with his cock.  

Ottehok releases a beautiful sound from her chest as his cock splits her ass in two.  It begins to feel so pleasurable that he can start moving deeper inside as she relaxes with this gentler pace.  Quick and shallow, equivalent to rabbits.  Crosshair sees a smile spread across her face with a pink hue glowing on her cheeks.  She looks delighted.  

“I’m going to cum again, sir…”  She moans as a hand comes down to play with her clit.  He swats her hand away to take over for her, rubbing tight fast circles on her clit as she bucks forward from the quick stimulation.  

“Mm ahhh!  Slowly please pabbi!  Slowly…”  She ends her sentence with a shush while guiding his fingers to the rate of speed that she wants.  Her ass relaxes and she can take his entire cock now with ease.  Her moans grow in volume as she experiences yet another explosive orgasm from her ass this time.  

“Are you cumming?”  

“Ja!”

“From your ass?”  His voice a smooth husky tone.  

“Ja ja!  From your cock sir!  Alfodr!”

“Oh Peaches…”  His final words before she lets out an arousing croak while her ass contracts around his sheathed mass.  Her eyes roll into the back of her cranium as her core gushes with emanation.  He works her through it again followed by pulling out of her as she lays there seeing comets burning through atmospheres.  He rolls the condom off and sticks himself back into her ass with a few more pumps sending devastating aftershocks through her writhing body.  He bites her shoulder with a grip around her throat making her release choked gasps as his cock twitches, spewing hot molten cum inside of her.  

Ottehok reaches back over her shoulder to caress the heaving man behind her.  Arms gripping around her like a vice.  Cock softening inside her ass.  His eyes open to look at her, his arms lessen their grip, and she moves to separate from him.  They pick themselves off the ground to sit on an elongated crate on the floor.  Ottehok feels comfortable enough to lean against Crosshair’s shoulder, to reciprocate the closeness he rests his chin on her head.  Naturally they both scan the area around them to see if anyone had snuck in to watch them.  

Crosshair’s post nut clarity kicks in and he moves to stand first which he does with ease after only cumming once.  Ottehok remains seated, panting by herself as Crosshair begins to redress in his blacks and gathering her under clothes to bring to her on the crate.  

“We should shower.”  He says first to break the silence.  

“You can.  I must start my trek back to the Ranges.”  She says pulling her clothes back on.  

“You can’t be serious.”  He stops all movement to gawk at her ridiculous statement.  

“Ja.”  She nods and moves to pick at pieces of her armor.  

“You are going to start your trek…a fourteen-rotation journey back to the Ranges like this?  A complete filthy wreck.”  He folds his arms looking down at her from above.  

She looks up at him with a cocked brow,

” Ja.  This is my penance for taking an extra day for myself.  I should have left yesterday immediately after Phara was put down.”  She breaks eye contact to strap her plates on with more focus.  Crosshair just stares, baffled by her resolve and the sudden realization that she just used him to punish herself for selfishness, if it can even be called that.  From her decade in the Ranges, to the March to Cleanse Thovid and the March back to Bjornheim, then the Liberation of Bjornheim…just to take twenty-four hours for herself to rest, eat, and be fucked before trekking back to that Helscape.  

Kriffing Norse.

Star Wars: Revelations Tech x Natelyte

Now Revised

This is the first sexual encounter between these two characters in a series I am writing based on the aftermath of TCW.

I revised this encounter because after re-reading it a few weeks later it did not capture the vision that I have for the start of their romantic relationship.  

WARNINGS: Rated MA +18, Explicit, NSFW, P in V sex, protected sex, during office hours, Auralism (sound kink), recorded encounter, feelings.  

5K Words.

Norslyr Translations

Sonval: Sun drop in Afrikaans

Sonskyn:  Sunshine in Afrikaans

Lokacinka: your turn – Hausa

taa ya nyota: starlight – Swahili

Zub da hasken rana a cikina: Pour your sun flares into me - Hausa

Haskaka ni da farin dodo: Spark me with a white dwarf (baby) – Hausa

Gee nog een uitbarsting my sonskyn:  Give one more eruption my sunshine – Afrikaans

Star Wars: Revelations: Tech x Natelyte

Tech turns on his helmet audio function to listen to Natelyte’s special recording.  The audio is Natelyte masturbating, moaning, and whining his name as she uses a high-powered vibrator on herself.  

“Tech...!”  She whimpers.  His eyes widen at the sound of her voice calling his name.  This recording was unexpected, it appeared in his room upon the Solar Scourge before leaving to complete a job.  Tech knew well enough to listen to the audio in private in case it was something meant just for him.  Nat’s voice breaks again as she nears release.  

Tech checks over his shoulder to confirm the door is locked and proceeds to remove his cod piece.  He takes it a step further and removes all his armor except his helmet, he lays out on his bed. He pulls up innocent images of Natelyte on his screen to look at as he strokes himself.  Tech isn’t one to take this kind of time to himself while on a job; but the crew are already on their way to return to Norsik.  He isn’t going to be needed anytime soon.  Tech let’s out a groan at the lack of fluid friction he could do to himself alone.  He grabs a sock from his bed side and slicks his cock with lube and proceeds to jerk himself with the sock around it.  The vibrator takes on more of the volume in the background of Nat’s whimpering.  Tech begins to visualize how she does it to herself, just from this audio clip alone he can deduce that Natelyte is more about clitoral stimulation than penetration.  

“Make you...cum on my piece...”.   He goes on babbling about all the dirty things he wants to do to Nat.  

“Nat...!”  He yelps at the violent ejaculation that glazes the inside of the sock.  Feeling himself need more of her to get his nerves right he continues listening to Nat.  Her voice breaking in high pitches that he has never heard her voice achieve before, at least not around him.  

“Tech.!  Oh, I miss you already.”  She coos, he can envision the devious smile on her lips.  Then she orgasms whining his name.  He sits up tossing the sock to the floor.  

“She’s so enthralling”. He sighs still thinking about Natelyte.  All the things he wants to do with her...and too her.  Thinking of the moans and whines she let out while calling his name, the actions she took to make this for him.  It all started so innocently, she is making it clear that she’s not teasing anymore, she wants Tech.  

Both of these geniuses make a schedule nearly every morning to let the others know when and where they will be throughout the day so if and when anyone needs their help, they can always find them based on the schedule.  When they put it together that they both do this type of time management technique they began to plan their days to intersect every now and then just to get some time to work together, take breaks that overlap with one another’s time. Then one day, Tech cleared his schedule and he sent just ‘Natelyte’ for the whole day, to not only her but to everyone in the crew.  When she saw this, she too just wiped the day away and plastered Tech’s name across the planner and they went out together for the day doing fun things instead of work.  Then this job came up a few weeks later and he had to go with the Scourgemen, she slipped this audio recording in his room before they departed.  Now he isn’t going to hold back what he wants to do with her.  Natelyte is a beautiful and intelligent woman, a rebellious danger, something he admires most about her.  The ship came out of hyperspace, Tech redresses and went out to the bridge.  The crew is eager to get back to the surface to see their perspective counter parts.  None of the women came along for this delivery job, it wasn’t out of disinterest, they just have much more pressing matters that require their presence to maintain at present.  Hunter walks out onto the bridge to oversee the dissent to the surface being performed by Wolffe.  He looks Tech up and down with a sly grin and a raised eyebrow, knowing full well that Tech is a horny little bastard right now.  Tech shrugs the look off, at least he is getting something from his girl.  

The crew land at the platform and Tech was off the ship and dashing towards Natelyte’s office building.  Assuming she would be walking from that direction, he turns a corner and there she is.  Her face brightens with a smile to see him alive and in one piece.  They briskly walk towards each other and embraced.  Their armors clad against each other couldn’t stop the feeling of the other’s warmth.  

“I listened to your message.”  He says with a soft smile.  

“Oh ja?  Did you enjoy it my sonval?”  She asks and leans into him with her breast plate more against his chest plate.  His hands move further down her back to hold her more closely.  

“I loved it so much that I want to participate with you my sonskyn.”  He rasps lowly in her ear and nibbles at her lobe, wasting no time as always.  Nat breaks away from him still grasping his hand to walk to her office together.  They continue to converse about the job he returned from and high lights of events happening on Norsik.  

Her office is open and organized, Nat closes the door behind her and activates the glass clouding feature so no one can see through the glass.  Tech steps forward and cups Natelyte’s face, their eyes transfix on each other searching for the next move.  Nat takes notice of Tech’s posture, now straightened and taller due to the posture correction patch Ottehok slapped between his shoulder blades to correct his hunching.  Their lips connect, her arms wrap around his neck, she introduces her tongue into the mix and Tech hums with delight.  Tech steps forward to press Nat to the glass wall and the kiss deepens, their heat begins to overtake their minds, instinct begins to override logic and focus.  

Heat swells like a roaring star.  

“Tech….”  Natelyte moans when their lip’s part for just a moment.  Her lust lidded hazel orbs focus on his wide brown irises shielded by his specs.  “We should move from the glass.  I heard someone enter the lab.  People can see our figures against the glass wall…”  She speaks with a reluctant smile.  She did not want to pause in the moment, but privacy is priority in regard to this encounter.  

He is a Voider after all.

“Ah well, to your nook then?”  He smirks and pushes his frames up his bridge.  He takes a few steps back to get distance from the glass.  The disinterested look in Natelyte’s eyes is quickly noticed by Tech.  He comes forward to take one of her hands to spin her around the space between them, so her bottom is pressed against a desk that was behind Tech.  “Or I should we continue right here?”  He queries in her ear with his crotch piece pressing against her apex.  

“Ja right here, sonval.”  She mewls as he nips at exposed flesh on her neck.  His hands come down to her thighs to lift her onto the desk.  Her hands push aside monitors and a keyboard to make room for their encounter on the desk’s surface.  Teck kicks away a swivel chair just a foot away from their coupling.  “I’ve always wanted to be taken in this office.”  She lets out as Tech sucks away at her neck leaving hickies carelessly across her supple flesh.  “To be railed by a man of your faculty.”  

“You give me too much credit my taa ya nyota.”  He smiles as his hands come down to unhook his utility harness and comm link.  Nat follows suit and begins to unclasp her armor plating.  They strip down to their under clothes and eagerly entangle once more to explore each other’s forms.  

Natelyte’s full feminine curves draw the attention of his hands immediately.  First her thighs to then fearlessly cupping her breasts.  Her hands roam over his upper body memorizing every muscle groove, feeling his solid frame tensing beneath her touch, she catches notice of his flushed complexion, how pink his ears get when he blushes, it’s adorable.  He is touch starved, ravenous for physical contact of any manner possible, his throbbing member sandwiched between both their thighs is evidence of his physical needs.  His unbashful expression to her acknowledgement of his arousal has him take a moment and clear his throat.  

“Ahem.  With your permission Natelyte, I would like to record our coitus?”  His query is collected and serious.  She knows damn well that Tech exhibits Auralism; where one is aroused by sound; not that just any sound arouses him of course, but just the sounds that he desires to hear when in need.  Hence why he has a habit of recording nearly everything; he does it for his own reasons, from safety to necessity for assignments, for proof or for study.  But of course anything remotely having to do with sex, you best bet it will grab his attention for a moment before he remembers his surroundings and task at hand.  Nat knows all too well he is not referring to just audio recording their encounter, he will be recording everything.  

“Ja, the more angles the better actually.”  She halts her movements across his body and reaches back behind herself to activate a monitor.  Tech’s eyes narrow in bewilderment before she speaks again.  “I can capture more than just the angle of your frames.”  She speaks in a low sultry tone that rivets in his ear canal sending shivers down his spine and goosebumps to rise across his body.  She opens an application that allows her to wake all of the surrounding monitors in the office, activating a recording feature.  The cameras all blink with a red light signaling the start of their first coitus session.  Tech stares in awe at Natelyte’s expanded reach into this kink, and his cock throbs with gratitude.  “Perspective on all sides…”  her tongue slips into an ear, her hands return to his body with a fiery intensity making Tech’s knees weak.  His fingers brush along his goggles to begin recording their steamy encounter, and for Tech to get to work on his sonskyn.   

“May we disrobe?”  Nat nods and lifts the hem of his shirt first; she wants to see what this Techno Master looks like underneath everything.  She is not disappointed.  Tech is sporting a healthy muscle tone, a cog and skull tattoo on a shoulder and left pectoral muscle, several others accented with blaster scars and a stunning set of abs that has Nat bite her bottom lip in arousing admiration of Tech’s physique.  Tech’s hands come back to Nat’s body, he lifts off her shirt and pulls down her pants, panties, and socks.  His darkened brown eyes scan across her chestnut skin, her red curls complement the flecks of green in her brown pools.  Navy blue and crimson red runes line across her body, markings of achievements and lessons she has mastered throughout her life.  Her body is a sculpted masterpiece, Tech is far from being a religious man, but he’d be dammed it he didn’t want to worship the ground that this woman walks upon.  

He worships her in a different manner.  

Tech lifts her left foot into his mouth, slipping her toes between his lips, his tongue sweeping between her toes.  Nat slips onto her elbows to watch Tech do his thing.  He sucks on her big toe and releases it with a pop.  

“That was really nice.”  Nat says with a pleasant smile.  

“Your clitoris looks much nicer…”  Tech purrs planting a kiss to her lips first to then trail down her body.  Kissing each dark nipple, her pierced naval, down to her darkly pigmented clitoris.  Spreading her opening with his thumbs he inspects her coloring; it becomes pinker towards the center, her skin is smooth and tender, with arousal dripping from her.  His hands glide along her thighs, his warm breath fans over her apex, he witnesses her opening contract, the slit rising and falling in a slow motion, his places a slow wet kiss to her button.  Nat’s head falls back, she lowers from her elbows, to lay flat on the desk, she props her legs wide on the desktop.  His hands come up to her torso, pinching and rolling her nipples with his skilled fingers, burring his face between her legs focusing all of his affections on her clitoris.  Slow and featherlight ministrations, spelling his name and number in her folds, drawing all the sinful noises from Nat.

“Aw jaaa…”  She drabbles on babbling words in Norslyr, pleading for Tech to go just a tad lighter when pressing onto her clit.  His hands freely graze along her body, memorizing her form, her curves, down to the last scar.  Heat begins to form in her core, quickly building from Tech’s touching.  She takes one of his hands and sucks on the fingers, drenching the digits with her saliva for her own benefit.  Tech knows exactly what she wants him to do now, and he does it when she releases his fingers.  He fills her opening with one finger with a few pumps for her to adjust, to measure her readiness, and then he adds the second and her moans grow louder.  With raised brows he looks over his shoulder to look at the door, but what does looking at the door solve?  So he reaches up and covers her mouth to hush her lewd noises from prying ears.  Natelyte giggles and sucks on his fingers again whilst hooking a leg over his shoulder to lock his mouth back onto her clit.  “No one can hear us.  Not behind this glass.  I promise...!”  She sucks in air through her teeth and lets out a choked cry, her hips buck against his face.  Nat stands to her feet with Tech plastered against her clit from below.  His brown orbs open wide to take in the sight of her standing over him, hands fisting his hair to pull him into her with more pressure as his mouth opens wide to swallow her pussy.  She pulls on his hair from side to side to have his mouth swipe her opening, his hands come to her ass to hold himself steady on his knees.  Then she gushes with slick from above and he gulps down every last drop like a parched man drinking from a spring.  

The light of the amber screens drapes her body in a golden light personifying her as the physical embodiment of solar radiance.  

Nat’s legs shake, Tech’s strong hands support her at her rump, he pants for air and rises to his feet to seal their lips together.  Tongues dance frantically as she takes in her own taste glistening across Tech’s face.  

“That was an exquisite view, Nat.”  

“Lokacinka.”  She says breathlessly and pushes him down into the swivel chair behind him.  Tech scans the monitors around the room, he rolls the chair pushing with his heels to the center of the room, so each screen has an angle on them both.  Nat smiles with his attention to detail, but now she wants all his focus again on her instead of the technology around them both.  

All.  On.  Her.

Nat crawls between his legs and rubs his clothed bulge straining to be set loose from its prison.  The heat radiating from his crotch is intoxicating, drawing her in, mouth pooling with saliva, with want.  “Take this off.”  She pats his thighs and Tech stands before her and peels off his blacks.  Tech catches this next moment on his lenses, Nat’s eyes wide with shock, and an ambitious smile spreads across her face taking in the sight of Tech’s massive cock.  The veins raised almost perceived as being angry, but Tech is far from any sort of antagonized emotion.  His cock twitches at the first sight of Nat’s tongue darting out to swipe across her lips.  She presses his thighs for him to sit back down in the chair

“Are you hungry my sweet?”  Tech rasps as his hands find purchase in Nat’s thick curls.  

“Ravenous.”  She sighs and wastes no time in drooling over his cock.  She pumps him a few times, feeling the girth, watching a bead of hot precum spill from the tip down the shaft to mix with her saliva to be smear by her chestnut hands along his tan meat.  Sweet soft sighs leave Tech’s chest.  She brings the hot tip to her plump lips and kisses it a few times.  Dragging her lips down the shaft, licking her way back to the tip, slipping it between her lips for her tongue to swirl around the head.  Tasting his early seed and the salt of his skin.  

“Please…”

“Hmm?”  She hums with a full mouth sending vibrations around his solid member making his toes curl at the sensation.  

“Please be sloppy.  Make it loud and messy ta ya nyota.”  His grip tightens in her hair.  Nat knows what he wants, how he wants it, and she will do it only for him.  Nat chuckles with him in her mouth and she slides down his shaft swallowing him whole.  

Natelyte can deep throat.

Tech’s eyes fixate on her motions.  Her head bobbing up and down to suck him from tip to base, nose pressing to his pubic bone, throat expanding and contracting around his cock.  She gags and coughs while still managing to keep him stuffed inside.  She slurps and sucks loudly, her tongue swirls around the head and base.  She has his tip hit the back of her throat; she opens her mouth wider to let the wet sloshing sounds of her throat to echo within the room and fill his ears.

And for the cameras to hear.

Tears fall from the corners of her eyes; Tech pulls her hair to have her face look up at him, snot drips from her nostrils.  He can feel her swallow, it causes her to cough, she pulls off him, so she does not bite him.  As she coughs Tech stands up and takes her hand to have her sit on the desktop again, he separates from her as she wipes her eyes and nose.  Tech reaches down to pick and open a condom from a pocket of his belt and rolls it on.  Natelyte watches him do this and the puzzled look on her face has him smile in slight embarrassment.  

“Is that the fabled con-dom I’ve been hearing about from you Voiders?”  She smiles bringing a hand down to his now covered member to feel the rubbery barrier for herself.

“It is not a fable if it is real, my sweet.”  He smiles whilst cupping her face and kissing her deeply to commend her erotic blowjob.  

“What is a con-dom?”  Her accent while speaking Arubesh made it hard to speak that unfamiliar word.  

“It is a thin latex polyurethane barrier that goes on a male’s member to capture the sperm.”  He smiles at her with a flushed expression.  Drunk with need.  Burning with desire.  Yearning for release.  

“Oh…will it...still feel the same or?”  

“Yes, yes it will still feel the same for you.  I will lose much of the sensation, but it is worth it.  I wouldn’t want to risk impregnating you, Natelyte.”  Their foreheads pressing together, staring into each other’s eyes with understanding and adoration.  

“I could take my own protection.  An after pill.  That way you don’t need to miss out…”  She says pumping his shielded cock, gathering the strange lubricant that covers the outside.  

Tech wants to, he wants to feel her from the inside, her hot moist walls clenching around his throbbing mass.  But he cannot.  He must do it this way, he cannot risk the possibility of spreading his genes among the Norsik population, not even if it is with Natelyte.  

He just can’t.  

Nat sees his internal confliction, then his resolve as he clenches his jaw and lines himself up with her entrance.  Pumping himself and coating his cock with her juices.  “I want to, but I cannot.”  He says and cuts off any more of her pleas as he plunges inside her warm depths.  A loud moan escapes her chest as Tech thrusts inside her a few more times to sheath his piece within her, coating every last inch he has to give with her slick.  Then he holds himself still to look upon Nat, to see her already ruined around him.  Her legs wrap around his waist, her arms tighten around his shoulders, head buried in the crook of his neck groaning from the stretching pleasure of his cock.  

“You feel so good sonskyn.”  He purrs in her ear and begins moving a fast pace.  Every time he bottoms out inside her a beautiful gasp leaves her chest.  The sting of her nails digging into his broad shoulders fuels his need to fuck her harder.  Demanding that he fuck her hard as to wash away her previous thought of the barrier affecting her end of the pleasure between them.  His pleasure is surely dulled, but he uses that dullness as an advantage to last longer.  To fuck her for all that she is worth here and now.

Nat’s heels dig into his lower back, her breathing is ragged, she peels an arm from around his shoulder to vigorously rub her clit.  Tech growls at this action and replaces her hand with his own thumb.  She mewls at the harshness of his touch, she lays flat against the table, her breasts bounce in rhythm of his thrusts.  The monitors all shifting from the weight of his pounding, moving their angles around without touching them, it’s maddening.  

“Don’t stop!”  She cries out as her legs begin to tense around him.  Her hands come down to grasp his forearms to anchor herself to him.  Tech leans back with their arms locked together to press as deep as he can reach within her.  And she cums with a mighty cry as a wave of the most intense internal orgasm crashes within her.  Tech fucks her through it, unable to yield to his better judgement to slow down or cease his movements to allow her to settle once more.  He presses on, heeding her command, doing what she says, what she wants, he’ll do anything, everything for Natelyte’s pleasure.  

She deserves the stars.

Nat’s legs go limp around his waist, his arms release hers and return to the underside of her thighs to keep her legs at his sides.  Her eyes return from the back of her skull and come to refocus on the man fucking her into oblivion.  The aftershocks of electricity brought on by his unyielding movements makes her back arch and body jolt.  She whines his name and praises, how perfect he is, what he does to her, and how he keeps fucking her with a pleasant ferocity.  Her body returns to be flush against him, her hands combing through his hair, licking his neck, biting along his structures, marking him in the same careless manner he had done to her in the beginning.  He lets out sweet moans and sighs at her efforts.  Then Nat pulls herself close to his ear and speaks in a complete wrecked manner that has him obey every next word.  

“Sit in the chair and let me ride you like a wild Scorp.”  

Tech pulls from her and finds his place in the swivel chair quickly to be mounted by Natelyte’s thick thighs.  Her body is so soft and supple, covered in a sheen of sweat that has her glowing in the amber light of the screens.  She lines herself up and sinks down on him quickly to regain the fullness that he fulfills within her.  Tech can feel her entire body working on top of him, all of her weight, her skin, her scent, her muscles.  

“Da rana!  Zub da hasken rana a cikina!  Haskaka ni da farin dodo!”  Nat shouts like a battle cry.  Her movements are rocking the chair, making it squeak with every harsh landing of her hips against his.  The chair begins to feel as though it may break from their use of it.  Tech hopes that it does, all for that camera value.  How hard she can fuck him in return.   Her walls clench around him, her nails dig deeply into his shoulders to then release him and run her hands through her hair.  She leans back to give Tech a full view of the goddess riding him as she takes another orgasm for herself.

“Cum my darling.  Cum all over my cock again.  Take it all for yourself!”  he babbles.  His hands gripping her sides to support her as her bounces begin to become uneven and ill timed.  The tight coil within her snaps and her walls quiver around his shielded cock again.  This time she stops to take it all in, lifting her feet from the ground to have all her weight fully bare down on Tech which he handles with ease.  She sobs into his neck, holding her he stands with her in his grasp to lay on the floor, this will be his last bout, he is nearing his own limit now and wants to ejaculate while drowning in her hazel pools.  In missionary he begins to move slowly, pumping in and out from tip to base, scooping her out with his cock.  Her back arches from the tender aftershocks that sweep across her nerves, which he attempts to drown out with sweet kisses.  

Tech removes his goggles for this last bout, placing them near their heads to continue filming, but he wants to see her face to face.  

Nat is moved by this action, a clammy hand comes to cup his face, fingers tracing along his temple without the interruption of his goggles.  He is handsome.  Her hands come to wrap around his back, a hand grazes over the posture patch between his sharp shoulder blades.  His sweat drips down onto her which she revels in; the fact of knowing how hard Tech works in all aspects of his character in everything he does, it is admirable.  He plants kisses to her forehead and cheeks, nibbles at her neck as his chest falls to rest upon hers.  Natelyte takes a moment to acknowledge how Tech’s frame can easily cage her in beneath him, his heat enveloping her body, his sweat claiming very square inch of her body, as his cock lays claim to her internally.  Tech can feel her depths, no longer limited to physicality, but intellectually, emotionally…he can see it all in her eyes.  How much he means to her, the mark he has left on her brain, her heart, and now all over her body.  

“Gee nog…een uitbarsting my sonskyn…”  He speaks with a heeding tone to what is coming soon.  Nat reaches down to rub her clit, hearing the sounds of their wet skins squelching drives Tech up a wall.  Her moaning increases with pitch, her breathing quickening as she cums again on his cock.  

“Jaaaaa!  Ja! Ja-ah-aah!”  He fucks her again through another deeply felt orgasm which spurs him finally into his own.  

“Ah, yes!  Oh yes!  Karking hell!”  He shouts into the air with quick deep jabs into Nat’s core.  Pouring his unfelt seed inside of Natelyte, a Norse Valkyrie.  As they cum together, they kiss.  

They lay in heaving silence for a few moments before Tech pulls from her and rolls the condom off.  He reaches out for her canteen that had been knocked to the floor from off the desktop earlier and takes a sip for himself then relinquishing the rest of its contents to Natelyte.  She takes a few savoring gulps and hands it back to Tech.  They sit up together and lean against the desk for support.  

“That was awakening.”  Nat chuckles breathlessly looking to Tech for affirmation.  

“I agree.  I wonder how the recording is going to turn out.”  He says dryly and glances down at Nat with a teasing smile.  

“Oh I promise you it will turn out grate after I’m through with it.”

“Just you?  I assumed we would both work on it together…”  His voice cracks from parched vocal cords.  

“I think that is the first time you included someone in your assumption Tech.”  She looks him in the eyes with surprise.  He stares back at her; filtering through his stored memories like a data bank to find any other instance he had done this.   Assuming people already knew what was going to happen but did not know anything until he explained it aloud.  For once he hopes that this assumption would be correct.  Natelyte caresses his cheek fondly and places a chaste kiss to his lips to break his filtering.  “Of course we will work on it together, sonval.”  

Vessel — Chapter 1: The Snow

Here we go! I am pretty excited about this series.

Join my writing taglist here :)

Summary:

Hunter leaves every piece of himself in the snow. And of all the sensations that surround him, the stench of death cuts the deepest.

What if Hunter was the only one to survive Kaller? How does he navigate a new universe while figuring out how to care for a kid?

taglist: @eternalqueenofthemyscira @maddpotatoxd @theeasternempress @just-another-dreamerr @ninisartlife15

War

Omega has concerns, and Echo can’t sleep. Their conversation leads to talk of a certain teenager Echo hadn’t heard about in a long time.

(This summary sucks, just read the fic)

Keep reading

fall back into place - Chapter 4: Hunter pt. 2

Read on AO3 ⚘ ❀

masterlist

Summary: Hunter and Omega come to terms with multiple truths following the removal of the inhibitor chips. Watch episode 7 before reading.

Part 4 of 5 times the bad batch learns something from Omega and the one time Omega learns from them. (Can be read as a stand alone)

Warnings: very emotional? thoughts about death

Rating: T

Word Count: 2315

Hunter almost died today. 

Keep reading

fall back into place - masterlist

on AO3 ⚘ ❀

masterlist

Description: There is no limit to the indescribable comfort he feels when Omega rests her head on his shoulder and her hair tickles his neck. This must be all that he has ever fought for.

OR

5 times the bad batch learns something from Omega and the 1 time Omega learns from them.

Rating: G or T (idek)

Part 1 - Tech

Part 2 - Echo

Part 3 - Hunter

Part 4 - Hunter pt. 2

Part 5 - Tech pt. 2

Part 6 - Omega