Hey, I'm in the mood for some Tech fluff! Would you mind writing a y/n fic where reader and Tech are captured and have to escape. One is wounded on the way out and the other panics! Thank you, your work is AMAZING!
Oh this request delights me! I just finished one major exam, so this will be AWESOME. I'm gonna make this one a little fluffy and fun and silly because we all need some optimism! GN reader and Tech finna break out!
(no reason in particular for this gif I just watched Oceans 11 and I love it)
“This is all your fault.”
“By all calculations, it is actually all your fault, my dear.” Tech snorted from the other side of the cell. Granted, that was only about four feet, but it was far enough for you. You scowled at him and stared at the door, hard.
Your foot tapped on the wall, the soft leather of your workboot boot sounding dull thuds. “What calculations?”
“The ones I have. In my head.” Tech tapped his fingers as he counted. “The probability of my capture rates plus that of yours, my survival training, the amount of training I assume you have had as a mechanic-”
“Which is none.”
“- Which is none, and the odds of us being outnumbered. And now we are on a Separatist warship and must somehow escape.” Tech paused, thinking through any other mind muddle, and then dropped his hand. “Nonetheless, we are here now. And we may as well work through it.” His knuckles rapped on the metal hull of the floor in the most annoying possible rhythm.
You groaned and rapped your head back on the wall. “For the love of the Gods please stop.”
“The Gods are dead.”
“You killed them with your voice and general... annoying-ness.” You sighed and stood, reaching down to help him up after brushing your hand off on your work coverall. “Come on. Let’s see if we can hatch a plan to get out of this dungeon. The last time I was in a situation this uncomfortable, I would up in a rancor nest and I was pissed on. Too much.”
Tech blinked. “By the rancor?”
“No comment.” You stared at the ceiling, squinting. “Say, Tech. How tall are you?” Your arms crossed as your eyes picked out each ceiling corner, all the blueprints you had studied slowly rolling out in your head. “Five foot, four foot?”
“... I am six-foot, four inches.”
You nodded. “Right. Six and a half feet.”
Tech’s frown was annunciated, the lines on his . “Six four.”
“Eh.” You wagged a hand and pointed above at the vent. “Close enough. Our heights combined should be enough for me to get up into the vent.” You ignored Tech’s massive sigh, but even so, he squatted down and patted his shoulders. Without missing a beat, you strode over and stepped up, boots landing solidly on his sturdy shoulder plates. You rose, easily, standing straight as Tech slowly straightened his back. You had stood on many a wobbly ladder, droid, or ship, and you had journeyed into many small spaces.
You got this.
___
You didn’t got this. You didn’t, in fact, got anything at all. Tech inched along behind you, huffing at the effort. “Can you move any faster?”
“Well, we aren’t all genetically modified.” You grimaced and tugged yourself around the corner, your coveralls shockingly slick on the cool metal of the vent pathway as you made your way through.
Tech scoffed somewhere in the dust behind you, but it was lost among a jarring pang of the metal. Your body froze, and you inhaled until the vent went quiet.
Tech broke the quiet. "Did you hear that?"
"No."
"It was a loud- oh, you were being sarcas-"
The vent gave way, crashing down. Your world collapsed as you rammed into the floor, somehow colder than the vent you were just in. Tech landed somewhere next to you with a grunt.
Your brain whirled, smacking against your skull as you sat up. You blinked, eyes bleary at the battle droids that were standing before you. You were pretty sure that if they could have changed expressions, they would have been gaping at you and the soldier.
"Aw, kark." You groaned and stood.
"Hey! You're not supposed to be out of your cell!" One of the battle droids' voices spurted to life. "Why are you out?"
"Look. We just wanted a stroll." Tech said, calmly, moving forward next to you. Even so, his knees bent, ready to pounce.
The battle droid's hand scratched the yellow insignia on its head. "Oh. Uh... That's fine, I guess."
"Sir." The droid next to him warned. "I don't think they're supposed to be out. They're prisoners-"
Tech lept forward, grasping the commander droid and yanking it back. He forced the gun in the robotic hand at the droids, shooting rapidly. You dove down behind Tech, glancing around for a weapon. Your fingers wrapped around a droid arm and you quickly separated the forearm from the joint, standing once the firing had stopped. Tech grabbed the commander Droid's gun and reached for a second one. "Grab a gun."
"I, uh..." You tucked the droid arm into your belt. "I can't shoot."
"No time like the present to learn." Tech tossed a gun towards you. You grabbed it, yanking it close. It was bulky and awkward in your hands, and you turned it over. The cogs in your brain spun, analyzing it.
You tucked the blaster next to the droid hand in your belt. "Mmkay. Just point and shoot?"
"Well, I thought it was at least that obvious."
You frowned at him as he jogged the other way, but ran to keep up with him. "Tech!" You yelled. "Slow-"
He stopped and turned, his hand landing over your mouth. "Don't yell. Don't be loud. The droids are stupid, but they still have auditory receptors. Understood? Good." He dropped his hand and grasped your free fingers, racing down the hall. "If we can make it to the escape pods or podracers, we can get away and make contact with the Republic." Tech turned a corner. "According to my calculations, the escape pods should be-"
The both of you skidded to a halt. You grabbed Tech’s arm again as the droids stared blankly at you both, before raising their blasters.
"Hey!" The droid at the ground pointed. "You're the prisoners!"
"How do you know that?" You moved behind Tech. "We could be... Other droids. Maybe this is all a dream."
"Battle droids don't dream!"
"Easy for you to say. I have dreams." The droid next to the first one muttered.
"Shut up and fire!"
Tech ran, still grabbing your arm as you moved, firing at random at the droids, body taking over. "This blaster isn't as bad as I thought." You yelled as Tech pulled you behind the wall nearby. He moved around you, shooting at the oncoming crowd of metal soldiers.
"It gets better as you shoot it. I'm surprised you adapted so quickly." Tech pulled back around, ducking from plasma fire.
The droid chitter continued. "I told you I wanted to be a pianist! But no, you never listen-"
"We are currently in the middle of executing orders!"
"You've executed my dreams!"
Tech tugged you further down the hall. “Well, we appear to have two problems.” Tech panted. “First, I have been shot. Secondly, we are lost, somewhere in the back hulls of the ship, and stealth appears to be impossible-”
“You’ve been shot?”
“Yes. Now, don’t interrupt.” Tech stopped and moved into a small alcove, glancing at his arm, the armor scraped with plasma. You gasped, drawing a hand to your face. What?” He glanced at his arm again and sighed, rotating it. “It’s but a flesh wound.”
“Well, it looks like a deeper than flesh wound!” You snarled, running out again after him.
Tech threw a singular, “I thought it was obvious!” Over his shoulder as you raced down the hall, after him.
The weapon was hot in your hands, and you managed to somehow keep pace. This was what camaraderie was about- fighting, again and again, and surviving, and then a drink afterward. The ship blueprint laid itself out in your head, and you slowly took the lead over Tech, and he followed you.
A mechanic you were, but it was time to survive.