@summer-of-bad-batch Week 2 | Main Prompt: Tattoos | Alt. Prompt: "Don't even think about it." | Bonus Prompt: "I am seldom wrong." @summer-of-bad-batch-reblogs
Warnings: Teasing/Flirting (I'm not the best at writing banter, but that's what I was feeling for this one). Kisses, but none on the lips this time. Also, Cid is mentioned, so if you don't want to see her around, be warned!
Word Count: 1008 Read on Ao3
As the cool air of Cid’s parlor washed over your face, you took a deep breath. It was rare that you felt relieved coming here, but after a week in the scorching sun of Tatooine, an air-conditioned building felt amazing. Even if the rest of it was less than impressive.
There was one good thing about the interior, though. And he was sitting at the bar, hunched over a datapad.
You couldn’t contain your smile as you approached Tech, crossing your arms as you observed him for a moment. When it became clear he hadn’t noticed you yet, you finally spoke up. “Anything new?”
He nearly fell off his stool as he was knocked from his focused state. He blinked at you with wide eyes as he finally composed himself. “Cyare! I predicted your arrival to be 2.4 hours ago.”
“Aw, you were waiting for me?”
Tech quickly looked away before he could start to blush, adjusting his goggles to realign his focus. “I was awaiting an update. We do typically allocate our funds, after all.”
“Fine. Let me go see about those funds, then.” You pressed a light kiss to his cheek before darting into Cid’s office, smothering your laughter as you heard his indignant sound of surprise.
He shook his head lightly as he watched you go, but there was a spark of affection there, too. Mostly curiosity, though. Why you were wearing long sleeves when returning from a planet like Tatooine was beyond him.
A few minutes later, you came back from the office with a crate in your hands. You held your head proudly as you dropped onto the stool beside Tech. “One thousand credits,” you said smugly, opening the crate to display your payment. “How’s that for my first solo mission?”
Tech hummed quietly as he observed the credits. “Considering that your mission consisted of a week-long operation gathering intel on a gang-infested planet… I cannot classify your pay as satisfactory.”
Your smile dimmed a bit, but you weren’t too hurt by his disapproval. It wasn’t you he was displeased with at the end of the day. “Don’t forget, this is Cid we’re talking about.”
“An important factor in the equation, yes. My point still stands.” Tech carefully shut the crate as a patron drifted by, not wanting them to get any ideas about the small stash of credits. “Just because the pay is characteristic does not make it any more reasonable. We should be paid better for undertaking such dangerous work.”
You shrugged as you began to reach for the case, your left arm stretching across the counter to grab it. “Don’t have to convince me.”
“Of course, I don’t. I am seldom wrong, remember?”
“Oh, a rare Tech joke!” You laughed lightly. “This day just keeps getting better.”
You were about to say something else when Tech’s hand shot out to grab your wrist. Too shocked to speak, you just blinked in stunned silence as he carefully rotated your arm, giving him a better view of the thin, transparent film peeking out from beneath your sleeve. Your cheeks warmed at the curious look he gave you, but you didn’t stop him as he slowly pushed your sleeve up to reveal the skin of your forearm, allowing him to see the freshly inked lines on your inner wrist.
Tech’s head tilted slowly as he took in the shapes now forever emblazoned on your skin. A small skull. A lightning bolt behind it. A pixelated look to the whole thing. His eyes lifted to yours, amusement practically glowing in his eyes. “Well,” he said quietly. “That looks familiar.”
The smug tone in his voice made something inside you want to curl up with embarrassment, but it also thrilled a more prominent side of you. “Okay, listen. The person I was tailing stopped at a tattoo parlor for a few hours every day. He was getting a ridiculous sleeve done, and he was starting to get suspicious about why I was always there if I wasn’t doing anything.”
“So you decided to get a tattoo yourself,” Tech mused teasingly as his fingers traced along the thin lines on your wrist. “And you decided to tattoo a symbol that is exclusively on my armor?”
“I didn’t have a lot of time to think about it.” You huffed defensively, though really, you felt more shy than upset. “Do you have a problem with it?”
Tech shook his head. “As long as the parlor was fairly clean and reputable, I have no problem with it.” He met your eyes again as he lifted your hand up to his face and pressed his lips against the tattoo, kissing the inside of your wrist softly. “In fact, I think I love you more for it.”
You couldn’t stop the gasp that escaped you at that, and for a moment, his shyness mirrored your own, as if he was worried he had gone too far that time. But then you started to smile, and he mirrored that expression, too.
The sound of laughter roused the two of you from the moment, and you turned to see the rest of the squad entering the parlor. You glanced at Tech and gave his hand a faint squeeze, silently promising to continue the conversation later. The excitement in his eyes and the way he squeezed your hand in return showed that he understood. You separated as the others got closer, but your hands remained close together on the countertop.
Omega was the first to notice the mark on your wrist, and she gasped with delight. “No way! You got a tattoo?”
A wave of relief went over you when no one else raised their eyebrows at your choice of markings. “No better place to get a tattoo than on Tatooine, right?” You heard Tech sigh heavily at your terrible, terrible joke.
Her eyes sparkled with an idea that clearly excited her. “Can I get one, too?”
Hunter answered the girl before anyone else had the chance to. “Don’t even think about it.”
The tremulous voice at his back admittedly startles him. More in the fact that the girl must have intentionally walked past their three emotionally intelligent (albeit sleeping) brothers in order to come to the cockpit and find him, specifically.
She is unfamiliar with him yet, unaware of just how inept he is with the subject of nightmares. Not his own, of course. He has experienced plenty in his years. But with his brothers’. He has never been the first choice for comfort. Not even the second or third. They would rely first on their own methods of self-soothing than come to him. That is a fair and logical assessment. He understands in the same vein that it grieves him.
After all, he did not choose to be as he is. And in all his vast and impressive knowledge, he cannot seem to figure out any other way to be. He can rewire innumerable systems effortlessly, and yet his own mind is untouchable. It is frustrating, but it is a fact. He has come to reluctantly accept it.
Omega does not know that. Not yet.
But she will. She is incredibly observant. It is only a matter of time.
Tech turns to face the doorway and acknowledges her fully. “Omega.”
The little clone girl stands there, stiffly, Wrecker’s worn stuffed animal strangled in her narrow arms. They watch each other for several long moments. Tech is not sure what she is waiting for. Or what he is waiting for, for that matter.
He clears his throat. “Is there something I can assist you with?”
Omega blinks at him, and she suddenly looks all too much like a young Crosshair. Pale hair and knowing eyes, searching his face for something Tech could never hope to grasp. But Crosshair is gone, and Omega is here.
Tech moves his gaze to the ship floor between his boots.
“I dreamed I was still on Kamino,” Omega tells him.
Tech nods. “I see. That must have been disorienting.”
Omega makes a quiet noise of assent. Then, “Can I stay with you?”
Tech forces himself to look up at her soft, open expression. “If that would be helpful, of course.”
Omega smiles at him, and Crosshair vanishes behind the gentle expression. “Thanks, Tech.” She moves to the copilot’s seat and climbs up; one arm still protectively wrapped around Lula’s stuffed neck. Omega shifts and adjusts her position to make herself comfortable.
Silence reclaims the cockpit, but Tech cannot find it in himself to go back to his previous task. So, he waits attentively, should Omega want to say or ask anything else.
Tech is surprised when his own voice speaks up, unprompted. “You are here, and you are safe, Omega. I find that it is helpful to reiterate known facts when one’s subconscious has suggested falsehood.”
Omega smiles at him, and if he isn’t mistaken, there is something like relief evident in the sudden slack of her shoulders. “It helps more when you say it,” she tells him.
Surprise seems to be Tech’s other companion in the cockpit tonight. “Oh?”
“Yeah,” Omega says, but to his disappointment, she does not elaborate further.
“Any of the others would have said as much,” Tech assures her.
“But it’s different hearing it from the smartest person in the whole galaxy,” Omega returns indulgently.
A warmth of pride floods his chest cavity, even if her assessment is an astronomical exaggeration. “Well,” he tells her, chuckling. “I am seldom wrong.”
Omega’s smile deepens. “That’s why I knew you’d help me most.”
Most.
More than Hunter or Wrecker or Echo.
Gratified by this unexpected turn of events, Tech smiles back. Perhaps Omega is more aware than he initially anticipated.
Slight change of schedule…Bonus Prompts will be released on Tuesdays for optimal prompt sandwich opportunities…so they’ll be released just as soon as I can format the post after the poll ends 😇
Bonus Prompt #2: “I am seldom wrong.”
Tags: #summerofbadbatch2025 #bonusprompt2 #I am seldom wrong
Last week, we unlocked the Bonus Prompt: “It’s too early for this.”
So what’s it gonna be this week???
Choose a Bonus Prompt to unlock for Week 2!
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B1
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C1
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D1
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Voting ended onJun 10, 2025
I’ve loved seeing all the unique takes on the prompts…from sweet to humor to hurt/comfort to angst! You all are incredibly talented individuals, and I can’t get over it 🥹🧡
