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dronebiscuitbat · 1 month

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This took... so long to rewrite, but this is an old one-shot that I wanted to see the light of day. Enjoy!

“Flash Frozen”

N was pacing a hole within the corpse spire, and had been the better part of the day, mumbling to himself, wringing his hands together and flicking his tail as if he was irritated.

It was driving V up the fucking wall.

“N! If you don't stop pacing I will cut your legs off!” She finally broke after he started whimpering like some stray puppy who'd lost it's master. And she'd had her limit of N being pathetic today.

“S-sorry V, it's just… this is the second day in a row that Uzi's not stopped by, I'm getting worried.” He explained, holding himself as he eagerly looked out of the corpse spire while she hung from the ceiling, looking down at him while crossing her arms.

“It's only been two days. She's probably busy, don't be so clingy.” V grumbled, trying to tuck herself into her wings further so she didn't have to hear his incessant pacing. She wanted to sleep! It was too early in the night! The sun hadn't even fully gone down yet!

“But she's always here at least every other day, and if she's not, she at least tells me beforehand… what if something happened?” He asked, throwing his hands out, clearly voicing his pent up thoughts, his tail swayed nervously.

“Maybe she finally decided to leave us alone. Got too scared and scampered back underground where she belongs.” V smirked, relishing in the thought of the stupid purple toaster cowering from them somewhere.

“Uzi's not scared of us. She has no reason to! I really think something happened.” He ignored her tone, taking it as a normal suggestion instead of the mocking one is actually was, she huffed.

“I don't care! Just stop talking and pacing, so I can get some sleep!” She turned away from him, curling up tight into her own wings to block him out and discourage him from talking to her anymore. He sighed, looking down at his hands in his worry.

It really wasn't like Uzi to not show and not give a reason for it. But he didn't want to be weird and show up in her room unannounced if she really was just busy…

He just… couldn't shake the feeling something was wrong, and that feeling only got stronger every passing minute.

He tapped his foot, unable to keep still as his thoughts ran away from him, what if she was hurt somehow? Or trapped somewhere? What if she needed him and he was just sitting here, on his thumbs?

He made up his mind, slinking up through the spire and using the long shadows cast by the broken cityscape to make his way to the bunker doors without getting burned by the sun, he was just going to check on her, if she was there, he'd just leave.

Neglecting to use the door and instead ripping open a newly installed vent and crawling inside, he used his target lock system to remember where her room was… he'd only been in it once, breifly, right after prom.

It took a bit, slowly making his way through the ventilation system bit by bit, but when he heard a familiar masculine voice speak, he knew he was in the right place.

“Calm down Khan… it's not unusual for Uzi to be gone for a couple days… she's probably at that murder drones place…” N heard Khan mutter under his breath, backing up slightly, so he could peer through the grate right above the elder worker drone, he noticed Khan was pacing, much like he had been doing.

“She's not.” N replied, leaping down from the vent and scaring Khan out of his shell as he lept back from the fallen grate and the tall, perturbed looking disassembly drone in front of him.

“U-Uh, y-you? What are you-?”

“Uzi's not at the spire, but… she's not here either, is she?” N cut him off, worry only growing as he realized that if she wasn't here, she likely wasn't in the bunker at all.

“When did you last see her?” He asked, stepping one step closer to Khan who took several steps back as he trembled in fear, stumbling over his words.

“Uh, w-when she came home from school yesterday. I f-figured she was with you!”

“Your daughter doesn't come home and you don't think to at least stop by and check?” N felt extremely upset by this, perhaps a bit more then he should, because he took another step forward, his voice raising slightly.

“She's done it before!” Khan defended, but by then he was speaking to a brick wall, N had already jumped back through the vent to make his way back outside, far far more quickly then he'd come in.

Oh Uzi… where are you?

…

Uzi shivered as she sat in a fetal position on the bottom level of some random parking garage, half buried within the snow and ice. Her limbs had already shut down to conserve heat and power, leaving her trapped against the wall as warnings invaded her visor. Her vision would be next, if her calculations were correct.

[Warning: Core Temperature Falling]

[Extreme Cold Detected: Seek Shelter]

A shaky breath that released a cloud of fog left her mouth, ice already building up on her extremities, another shiver wracked through her, there was very little she could do now… but wait.

…

By the time He erupted out of the vent, night had begun in proper, pale light filling the night, the temperature dropping even further then it had been during the day making it safe for him to investigate around the bunker and spire.

If anything had happened to Uzi, it would have been between the bunker doors and the spire, that was the only place where she was exposed enough to be hurt or caught off guard.

So he started on foot, dropping in front of the bunker and starting towards the spire, to see if he could spot tracks, or oil, or just find her passed out in a burned out car along the road.

At first there was nothing, the light dusting of snow doing it's job of erasing any tracks from time, there was no heat trail either, either she hadn't used her normal path for a least a day, or she was freezing cold when she did…

But… he did eventually find half buried boot tracks, about halfway between the bunker and the spire that went off towards his and V's home. They had to be Uzi's, she was the only drone brave enough to head towards the thing instead of away from it.

He followed them, worry and relief mixing into a jittery emotional cocktail now that he'd found some sign of her, his core had begun to beat out of his chest, what had happened? The tracks continued until he was able to see the spire in the distance, meaning she'd been within eyeshot of it when..they stopped suddenly.

It didn't make sense, it was like Uzi suddenly vanished into thin air. And if she'd been this close, He or V would have definitely seen her coming.

Unless… V did see her coming. And perhaps Uzi hadn't disappeared, but instead been lifted up out of the snow and carried somewhere.

Dread filled every microprocessor in his system as he thought back to all the threats V had made since they'd met the spunky purple worker drone. He'd always assumed those threats were mostly empty. Things said to rile Uzi up, or just to scare her.

V… wouldn't actually make good on those threats… would she?

Anger replaced dread, and he released his wings to fly off towards the spire as fast as his anti-grav could carry him, purple eyelights permeating within his mind.

V was awake, sitting in the landing pod with her arms crossed, a worker arm in her mouth as she chewed on it, it wasn't fresh, but it would do. She was facing away from the door, legs propped up on the console, relaxed, for the most part.

Until something opened the pod door, letting the sound of the wind break through the hum of the florescent light inside the pod, and she rolled her eyes, and spoke through the worker arm still in her mouth.

“Ugh, do you ever-”

“Did you kill Uzi?” N's voice was strained, his breath slightly ragged, but she didn't turn to face him. Still under the impression he was just worried.

“Oh, I wish! I would've bragged about it… if… I…”

She slowly turned around, fave to face with N standing in the doorway, a clawed hand gripping onto the frame hard enough to make deep groves, the other transformed into a sword, hanging down at his side, one of his eyes was an ‘X’ and the other glaring at her so intensely it almost made her core flutter. His mouth turned into a fierce, angry frown, baring his fangs.

“No.” She said abruptly, standing up at attention. She wasn't scared of him, bit she'd never seen him display anger or aggression in such an obvious way. “No, I didn't, what happened?”

He looked at her for a few moments, as if he was deciding of she was lying or not. (A few moments that were filled with a tension she wasn't sure what to do with) before his sword became a hand again and he released to doorframe of his claws as that too returned to normal.

“She's missing, she hasn't been in the bunker for two days. I found tracks that just… stop- I don't know what happened.” His voice broke, anger breaking down into a broken sob, that he tried to cover up with his mouth. V's eyelights went hollow, not sure how to react at all to an emotionally unstable N.

“Let's find her then.” She stepped forward, surprising even herself, N looked up at her confused and lost and such a far away look in hid eyes she felt a twinge of sympathy in her core. Which was probably why she offered at all.

“You don't even like her.”

“Yeah, but you do. And I am not dealing with you being all sad and shit. Let's go.” N shook his head, trying to stave off the emotional breakdown for a bit longer as he gave her a thankful smile, which she ignored apart from the smallest of golden blushes.

“Where do the tracks stop?”

…

Uzi had just lost vison in her visor, her eyelights blinking off as she was locked into the cold metal that was her slowly freezing body, her core dim with it's temperature much lower then it should ever be. This was her own fault, an accident, if not a stupid one.

She'd been heading to the spire as usual, she'd had a particularly rough day at school, with Lizzy and Rebecca teaming up to give her shit, she guessed she needed a new bestie after Doll went nuclear on the prom guests. But now it meant she had two horrible valley girl impressions hurling insults at her instead of just one, at least Doll was a silent antagonist.

So… her mind was a bit elsewhere. She'd been spitting fire at them to herself, walking her usual path up to the spire after a fresh blanket of snow had just fallen, when the ground gave out underneath her, and she was sucked into an icy hole, the snow covering the opening.

It was freezing! And the sides were too high and too slick to just climb out of, so she just started digging, using her hands to carve out a tunnel so she could get out. It had just… taken longer then she'd ever thought to dig herself out, and by the time she finally breached the surface, her core temperature had fallen under safe levels.

And so she crawled over to the closest structure and tried her best to warm up… until her limbs locked up, ice getting in-between her joints and she'd gotten trapped here, locked against the wall of a stupid parking garage.

Drones were built for extreme temperatures, but even they weren't immune to long exposure to it.

With the night growing ever colder, the chances that anyone would find her before her core hit critical and shut off was slim, her father wouldn't even notice anything was amiss until she didn't come home after a week, and nobody else would even care.

Except for N… he was probably worried about her, he would probably be the first to notice and come looking, she just had to hope she still gave off enough of a heat signature for him to find, otherwise by the time he found her, she'd be nothing but another frozen corpse.

She hoped he wouldn't be too broken up over it…

…

They had looked everywhere. Under cars, in buildings, up on roofs, even digging through snow, but they had found no sign of her, there was no heat signature anywhere nearby, N had resorted to flying around, shouting her name from the top of his lungs until his voice was horse. Still nothing.

They grouped up back where Uzi's tracks suddenly disappeared, snow had begun to fall again, quickly erasing the last trace of her they had, a lump had formed in N's throat, was she gone? had she gotten injured and bled out somewhere? cold and alone, without anyone there? without anyone noticing?

She was his freind, his best freind. The person he shared everything with and would trust with his life. To think that she had died without anyone giving it a second thought made his core feel like it was about to be ripped in half.

She'd made him… so happy, to feel more like himself then he ever had in his entire life. Thinking about those memories, those warm happy memories that were held so close to his core, was the only thing keeping him from breaking into a thousand tiny peices. They had to find her, they had to.

There was so much he wanted to say

…

Uzi began to feel her systems shutting down, one by one, her hearing cut out, leaving only the sound of her own thoughts to accompany her, then her sense of touch. Her conscious retreating inwards to the last warm places it could find. Memories of childhood, when her mother was still alive and when her father actually cared, small moments, big moments.

It was those memories, hanging out, fighting, small hugs and laughter, that felt the warmest against her quickly chilling core, his beaming smile and his golden eyes providing the same warmth in her processors that they did in reality. She held onto them, playing them over and over as a last ditch effort to hold out just a little bit longer.

Their dance at prom, short lived, but even so it had made her feel so special. Like she mattered to at least one person in her life. Even now, in the absence of it, N made her feel warm.

There was no way anyone would find her in time, when N did find her, and he would, she was sure of it, he wouldn't rest until he did. There would be nothing but a dead core and a robotic shell. He'd probably cry, he'd probably drive V crazy with how much he'd grieve. But he would move on, she hoped, for his own sake. He deserved that, to be happy.

If she could cry, she would be.

…

“We've looked everywhere! She's not here N!” V yelled, the wind had started to pick up, howling around them much like the tornado within him. She had to be somewhere! She didn't just dissappear!

“You can go home… I'm not going to stop looking.” He looked up at her, determined of nothing else, but V shook her head.

“I'm not leaving you alone in this storm.” V looked down at where the tracks used to be, now blown away by the wind and covered up by snow, she thought to herself, before charging up her cannon and shooting where the tracks disappeared. Sending snow and ice in all directions.

And revealing a hole, and a thin tunnel leading away from it.

N's eyes became hollow, core lurching as he looked at the tunnel, as it went off into the distance, he took off in a dead sprint, using the eyes on his head to keep track of the tunnel as he followed it deeper into the city.

As he got further, he noticed small black spots covering the inside of the tunnel, oil spilled from clawing at the ice, and his core felt like lead, he somehow ran faster, coming up to a destroyed parking garage, half buried in the snow.

“Uzi! Uzi?!” He shouted, looking around frantically, flickering to thermal to try and get a glimpse of her core heat.

His eyes trained on the back wall, a speck of yellow showing heat, but not very much. And that's when he laid eyes on her, back against the concrete wall, ice over her entire body save for her core, which was barely glowing.

“Uzi!” He launched himself foreward, taking her in her arms and cradling her head, he brought her visor up to look at him.

[Core Temperature: Critical, Shut Off Imminent]

Her hands were spotted with her own oil, and her hair covered in ice and snow, he brought her close to his core, the warmest place of his body, and rocketed towards the direction of the spire.

“V! I found her!”

…

Uzi continued to replay thoughts of N, hanging by a thread as those thoughts themselves became disjointed, and fuzzy, still she gripped onto them, their warmth the only thing keeping her thinking, keeping her alive.

At first, she thought the warmth was placebo, something that came before she shut off completely, or due to her desire to see N again, replaying their dance, their hangouts, his golden eyes and warming smile, but soon enough she realized she was actually getting warmer, her consciousness becoming more and more lucid as her processors warmed back up.

Her sense of touch came back on first, she was… not in her normal clothes, at least it didn't feel like it, it was too big for her, and heavy too, there was also something incredibly warm pressed up against her, radiating an intense sort of heat.

Her hearing was next, suddenly picking up the hum of florescent lightning and light breathing next to her, she could pick up a slight thumping noise, erratic, but deep and rhythmic.

Then, her eyelights flickered on, and she was able to slowly take in what was directly in front of her. Sleek white plating and a glowing golden core, that her entire being was pressed against.

“Uzi?” He seemed to notice her eyelights moving and sat her up, gold meeting purple as he let out a shaky, relieved sigh and wrapped her in a crushing hug before pulling back.

“Oh thank robo-god, I thought- you were so cold.” He was tearing up, but a smile was on his face as he looked her up and down, her head was still locked in place however, as was her mouth.

“Uzi?” He questioned, and all she could do was blink in response, her body still resetting after so long being locked in the same position. He felt her head.

“You're still really cold…” He brought her down near his core again, blasting her with a wave of heat that normally would probably feel unpleasant, but right now felt heavenly. Although that came with the harrowing observation that he was completely naked.

So the heavy clothing around her was probably his, her clothes were probably soaked from being covered in ice, so it's not like she could be mad… just flustered with no way to show it.

Her core temperature slowly rising, she just listened to him breathe and his core beat, feeling his arms wrapped around her protectively, it took a moment, but she realized he was gently rubbing her back as well, she could just barely feel through his heavy coat.

Something clicked inside her throat, and she opened her mouth.

“N?” Was the first word out of her mouth, sounding thick, full of static and distant, and in response N sat her up again, holding her close as he looked down at her.

“You're awake! I wasn't sure… you're eyelights were on but you weren't responding.” He still looked incredibly worried, eyelights knitted together, she could still feel the warmth wafting off him.

“Y-you found me…” She could barely belive that she was alive right now. With how cold she was she definitely should have been dead, N had actually saved her.

“Yeah, yeah I-I did.” He brought a hand up to her cheek, thumbing over the crease of her visor, the look on his face was… indecipherable.

“How are you feeling? I gave you my coat, if you couldn't tell.” He asked sheepishly, rubbing the back of his neck, and she grumbled and hissed as she tried to move her head, weakened ice breaking from the joints as she could finally look around.

They were on the floor of the pod, every single blanket, pillow, plush, or other soft object both below and around them, her arms and legs were still frozen tight, but N was doing a decent job of holding her upright.

“Still a little frozen… but I'm okay.” She replied, looking back at him and feeling some of that newfound internal heat explode into her face.

While his legs and lower half were covered in a blanket, he was indeed completely and utterly nude, including his hat. The pearly white casing exposed for all to see, broad shoulders leading to arms that were exclusively holding her.

“I'm so glad you're okay… I don't know what I would have done if… you weren't.” He wrapped her in a hug again, notching her into his shoulder, pressing them together as closely as he could, her blush grew. But she did cuddle into his shoulder slightly, basking in both his warmth and affection.

“Yeah, thanks to you…” Oh, that was sappy, but she did almost die so… she could give herself a pass just this once right?

When he pulled back they made maintained eye contact again, staring into the others visor as neither knew exactly what to say, both also not wanting to look away.

Uzi broke first, looking away and clearing her throat, making N blush and look at the floor instead.

“My uh… limbs are still frozen… I think there's ice in them.” She pointed out awkwardly, how was one supposed to act in front of their best friend/savior?

“Oh uh… here.” He took both of her hands, and gently pulled them up to rest on his core, inadvertently pulling her onto his lap, both blushed again, but it seemed N was quick to be overwhelmed with emotion, because his arms were around her once more.

“Uzi… I-I” He started, but gave up after whatever we wanted to say died in his throat, instead, all he did was purr as he held her, and Uzi didn't dare break the silence, resting her head on his shoulder as she closed her eyes.

Maybe she'd cry after she got warm, but right now, this felt nice, being so close to the thought that kept her fighting the cold. More heat radiated off him.

“Why are you so warm? You don't normally run this hot…” She asked, getting a little worried when she noticed the air slightly warping around him. He backed away a little bit.

“Oh, I'm fine. I'm overheating a little bit, but I'm not in any danger, I did it on purpose.” He admitted bluntly, smiling.

“W-what? Why?”

“To get you warm faster! V already went out to get me oil, so I'll be fine!” And then he was back to hugging her like he was magnetized to her, she felt the lock on her arms finally release and she sighed in relief.

“So long as you're okay.” He mumbled, nuzzling into her neck and causing yet another blush to bubble up into her visor, she pushed him back, her legs still frozen but… that could wait.

“N. I…” She looked up at him, watching as his eyes went soft and he leaned into her, looking at her as if she was the other thing in the universe. “I-”

“Alright, here's your dumb oil.” V burst into the pod with a worker head in her hand, before pausing at the doorway and looking at the scene before her, with both guilty drones pressed up against each other and visors inches from each other.

“Gross, at least warn me if you're going to bang in the pod.” She groaned, throwing the head in his direction and knocking him over with it.

“Thank you V!” Was all he said before V scoffed and shut the door again, leaving them alone, Uzi just stared. Blushing.

She was alive, and… may have new feelings to address.

#murder drones #uzi doorman #serial designation n #nuzi #biscuitbites #n and uzi #fanfic #oneshot #angst and fluff #feelings realization #for both of them

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visit-new-york · 1 year

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Has the Brooklyn Bridge ever undergone significant renovations?

The Brooklyn Bridge, an iconic symbol of New York City, stands as a testament to engineering brilliance and architectural marvel. Since its completion in 1883, the bridge has played a crucial role in connecting the boroughs of Manhattan and Brooklyn, witnessing the evolution of the cityscape over the decades. In its long and storied history, the Brooklyn Bridge has indeed undergone significant renovations to ensure its structural integrity and adapt to the changing needs of a bustling metropolis.

Initial Construction:

Designed by renowned engineer John A. Roebling and completed by his son Washington Roebling, the Brooklyn Bridge was a groundbreaking feat of engineering in its time. However, even with its sturdy construction, the bridge needed to adapt to the increasing demands of a rapidly growing city.

Early Renovations:

In the early 20th century, several renovations were undertaken to enhance the bridge's stability and accommodate the ever-increasing vehicular and pedestrian traffic. The original wooden walkway was replaced with a more durable concrete surface, and the bridge's cables and support structures were reinforced to meet modern safety standards.

Mid-20th Century Upgrades:

As the mid-20th century dawned, the Brooklyn Bridge faced another wave of renovations. The emergence of automobiles as a dominant mode of transportation prompted the need for wider lanes and reinforced roadways. The bridge's signature Gothic towers underwent meticulous restoration to preserve their historic charm while ensuring they could withstand the test of time.

1980s Rehabilitation:

In the 1980s, the Brooklyn Bridge underwent a comprehensive rehabilitation project to address the effects of wear and tear from decades of heavy use and exposure to the elements. The project included the replacement of deteriorating stones, repainting of the bridge's steel components, and the installation of modern lighting to enhance visibility and safety.

Post-9/11 Precautions:

In the aftermath of the tragic events of September 11, 2001, the Brooklyn Bridge, like many other landmarks, became a focus of heightened security measures. The city implemented additional safety features, including surveillance systems and increased police presence, to safeguard this critical piece of infrastructure.

Contemporary Maintenance:

Even in the 21st century, ongoing maintenance is crucial to preserving the Brooklyn Bridge for future generations. Regular inspections, repairs, and technological upgrades ensure that the bridge continues to serve as a vital transportation link while retaining its iconic status.

Conclusion:

The Brooklyn Bridge stands not only as a physical link between boroughs but also as a symbol of resilience and adaptability. Over the years, the bridge has undergone significant renovations to keep pace with the evolving needs of a dynamic city. From its initial construction in the 19th century to the comprehensive rehabilitation efforts of the 1980s and the ongoing maintenance in the present day, the Brooklyn Bridge remains a testament to the commitment of New Yorkers to preserve their heritage and ensure the safety of this architectural masterpiece.

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reasonsforhope · 5 months

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A reef that has been degraded—whether by coral bleaching or disease—can’t support the same diversity of species and has a much quieter, less rich soundscape.

But new research from Woods Hole Oceanographic Institution shows that sound could potentially be a vital tool in the effort to restore coral reefs.

A healthy coral reef is noisy, full of the croaks, purrs, and grunts of various fishes and the crackling of snapping shrimp. Scientists believe that coral larvae use this symphony of sounds to help them determine where they should live and grow.

So, replaying healthy reef sounds can encourage new life in damaged or degraded reefs.

In a paper published last week in Royal Society Open Science, the Woods Hole researchers showed that broadcasting the soundscape of a healthy reef caused coral larvae to settle at significantly higher rates—up to seven times more often.

“What we’re showing is that you can actively induce coral settlement by playing sounds,” said Nadège Aoki, a doctoral candidate at WHOI and first author on the paper.

“You can go to a reef that is degraded in some way and add in the sounds of biological activity from a healthy reef, potentially helping this really important step in the coral life cycle.”

Corals are immobile as adults, so the larval stage is their only opportunity to select a good habitat. They swim or drift with the currents, seeking the right conditions to settle out of the water column and affix themselves to the seabed. Previous research has shown that chemical and light cues can influence that decision, but Aoki and her colleagues demonstrate that the soundscape also plays a major role in where corals settle.

The researchers ran the same experiment twice in the U.S. Virgin Islands in 2022. They collected larvae from Porites astreoides, a hardy species commonly known as mustard hill coral thanks to its lumpy shape and yellow color and distributed them in cups at three reefs along the southern coast of St. John. One of those reefs, Tektite, is relatively healthy. The other two, Cocoloba and Salt Pond, are more degraded with sparse coral cover and fewer fish.

At Salt Pond, Aoki and her colleagues installed an underwater speaker system and placed cups of larvae at distances of one, five, 10, and 30 meters from the speakers. They broadcast healthy reef sounds – recorded at Tektite in 2013 – for three nights. They set up similar installations at the other two reefs but didn’t play any sounds.

When they collected the cups, the researchers found that significantly more coral larvae had settled in the cups at Salt Pond than the other two reefs. On average, coral larvae settled at rates 1.7 times (and up to 7x) higher with the enriched sound environment.

The highest settlement rates were at five meters from the speakers, but even the cups placed 30 meters away had more larvae settling to the bottom than at Cocoloba and Tektite.

“The fact that settlement is consistently decreasing with distance from the speaker, when all else is kept constant, is particularly important because it shows that these changes are due to the added sound and not other factors,” said Aran Mooney, a marine biologist at WHOI and lead author on the paper.

“This gives us a new tool in the toolbox for potentially rebuilding a reef.”

Adding the audio is a process that would be relatively simple to implement, too.

“Replicating an acoustic environment is actually quite easy compared to replicating the reef chemical and microbial cues which also play a role in where corals choose to settle,” said Amy Apprill, a microbial ecologist at WHOI and a co-author on the paper.

“It appears to be one of the most scalable tools that can be applied to rebuild reefs, so we’re really excited about that potential.”"

-via Good News Network, March 17, 2024

#coral #coral reef #marine life #marine biology #conservation #ecology #environment #environmental news #endangered species #coral bleaching #virgin islands #science and technology #climate action #climate change #climate hope #soundscapes #sound therapy #good news #hope

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jpitha · 2 years

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Humanity is old.

Streaked between the stars at relativistic speeds, trips taking decades, or in rare cases centuries.

Tried out every different kind of travel method, governance, and community group. Wrote what happened down too, so when people next thought of it again, they were able to iterate.

Found no friends between the stars, so made their own. They gave their AIs agency, authority and sapience. They declared them people and gave them a part in civilization.

They had millennia of learning how to live with people back when they were thousands of disparate tribes, towns, cities, countries and so - with a few growing pains - were able to live with their creations in harmony - most of the time.

They fought, lived, loved, and died under strange suns.

All millennia before we met.

And still, when they met us, we had things to show them.

They never learned about the Warp Gate system; their worlds were too far away from it. They didn't even know it existed until we showed it to them. Their engineers swarmed it, learned all they could, dutifully built a few and installed them around their worlds to assist in transit...and then mostly continued to use the wormhole generators they've been using for the last seven hundred years.

They learned that their world is larger, heavier, harsher than most other sapients' worlds. Their bodies evolved to live on that harsh world and as a result their reflexes are excellent, they can eat nearly anything, and they can withstand almost an unimaginable amount of damage while continuing to fight. To watch a human do these things seemingly without even trying is an amazing thing to watch.

By pure coincidence, our worlds have similar enough day cycles that we're comfortable with each other's day/night cycle. We're awake when they are, they sleep like we do for about the same amount of time. We live around the same time, and so we can share lives together.

Like others have said, really it's amazing that they and us have so much in common, being originally hundreds of light-years apart. It's probably why we get along so famously. For nearly the entire time we have known about each other, we have been close.

They tell us that the greatest thing we have shown them is friendship. Humans crave it. It's odd to see. They'll make friends with anyone. They'll bond to inanimate objects, to sapients, to ships. Humans work in groups and if there aren't groups already they will make their own, the minute they arrive.

We are a social creature too, perhaps not to the extent they are, but being social as well meant that we understood their overtures, wanted to be in groups too and were able to help them meet that need they had.

The need to be friends.

Humanity is old. They are old, old friends.

#humans are deathworlders #humans are friends #humans are space orcs #humans are space australians #humans are space capybaras #humans are space oddities #worldbuilding #sci fi writing #scifi writing #writing

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jlfletcher · 6 months

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All I Really Want Is You

Pairing: Miguel O'Hara x fem!reader

Warnings: bullet wounds, mentions of potential death (no one dies, just a small injury during a mission). This is told in 3rd person limited POV (of Miguel, mostly?). One-sided kind of. Reader can speak Spanish (is that considered a warning?).

Summary: This is how it all began for Miguel. From mere coincidence to something more. (Fluff/Romance)

Excerpt: "He realizes something and it’s inarguable in his mind... Out of all the Spiders, you’re the anomaly."

A/N: This narrative is actually repurposed from my friend's spidersona story. It didn't have any romance in it originally but my version does and the more I wrote, the more it diverged from their initial story. They said they liked this version and gave me the go ahead to post it because they'll probably never share their's anyway.

Special thank you to my friend who edited this thing. I'm grateful that they were able to help me turn my messy notes and ramblings in a cohesive story.

I get really inspired by music. So, if I do continue to publish installments of this story, they'll most likely be written with songs included.

Also, I'm sorry if there are any mistakes. I've never had to format such a long post like this on here before.

Word Count: 13.9k (This is a slow burn)

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Breakdown

I'm overworking 'til the sundown

Don't see the light inside my head now

There’s a faint buzzing sound that fills Miguel’s workspace. His eyes are a bit bloodshot and itchy from his lack of blinking. He’s grown irritated by now after hours of surveillance and Lyla badgering him to just take a break already. He keeps swatting her away with languid flicks of his wrist while sighing and rubbing his temple. There’s an ache in his head that’s dull yet ever-present but he feels like rest will not come to him anytime soon. He also remembered that he wanted to run diagnostics on a few of his lab’s systems that would ultimately take a while. The testing is usually run automatically but he’s disabled the scheduled maintenance cycle in order to have tasks to do when he's restless like now. Unfortunately for Miguel’s overactive mind, things have mellowed out in the multiverse for the time being. He's been trying to fill his time as he waits for something, anything to happen. It's caused him to grow a bit on edge as of late. Yes, there are still plenty of anomalies to be dealt with but he’s found the late hours to have grown more quiet. It seems that the uncharacteristic silence has planted an eerie feeling in him that he just can’t shake. What if the moment he steps away, something arises? Lyla calls him paranoid but truthfully, he can’t take the risk of complacency.

Eventually, he plops into his chair and prepares to stare at the monitors for another who knows how many hours. He glances over the society’s various CCTV displays in a sluggish attempt at monitoring the building. Yet, something catches his attention. His eyes zero in on a lone figure in the engineering lab. He blinks a bit slowly and scoots closer to take a better look while disregarding the buttons on the control panel in front of him that actually allows him to zoom in on the feed. The thought had completely escaped his foggy brain thanks to his chronic sleep deprivation. Languidly, his eyes flicker to the time and back up. 4:13 am.

I need to see you in my window

There’s not a doubt in Miguel’s mind about what or more accurately who it may be. It’s your form hunched over the workbench. Your signature pair of shoes gives you away entirely. Frankly, it’s not a surprise at this point. This may be the fourth or fifth time he's noticed your presence at such an unorthodox hour. You always tend to stay late at HQ because of your own odd sleeping schedule. He’s overheard you mention to Jess that your universe has a slight daytime shift compared to the others but he didn’t consider it to be by this much. This was nonetheless a preferred choice of company, albeit in an entirely different area of the building from him, because you're quiet and focus on your work. He's not entirely sure if the two of you have interacted for more than a single minute. Perhaps, that's why he prefers you over others. He's never actually spoken to you outside of very few mission assignments and reports. You've caught his eye before. At first, he noticed you were a bit too quiet. It initially caused suspicion to sew itself within his brain. However, after a brief investigation into you performed by Lyla, he concluded that it's simply the way you behave. Now, when you catch his eye he assumes it's due to how you carry yourself relative to others, professional and efficient. Despite the distance between you two, both figurative and literal in this moment, he finds himself watching you through one of the many floating windows before him. His fingers finally slither among the control panel to switch to a different camera in the lab. After flicking through a couple of feeds, the screen changes to an angle that shows your face. Perhaps he's a bit too tired in this instance because his hazy brain barely registers the way his breath hitches in his throat momentarily.

He's seen your bare face only once before and it summoned the same reaction from him. He's taken aback by how you look. It's a bit of a surprise in all honesty. You're so, for lack of a better term, different. And that's not claimed in some common colloquial way. You are literally different. Here at the society, a handful of faces are circulated between the Spiders. However, yours is unique and undoubtedly you. He's only ever come across one of you, the one that's sitting and tinkering in one of his labs. The last and only time he saw your bare face was a fleeting glance before you quickly shoved your mask back on. He assumes you're a bit shy because of it. However, now he can take his time to really analyze your features. He sees how your brows pinch in concentration and how your eyes look a bit red. Ah, it appears you haven't been blinking properly like him either. He sees how your tongue gently swipes out from your mouth before you nip at your bottom lip. Your hands work on repairing a circuit board with your eyes focused on the corrosion you wipe off. He watches you for a while as you work, finding intrigue in the way you do such mundane tasks as repairing a PCB and reassembling a gadget. Eventually, you sit up and stretch a bit, before rubbing your face in what he collects as either exhaustion or boredom. He understands the feeling, truly. Yet his eyes widen a bit as your eyes look at the camera and he finds himself perking up when he sees you smile. He then zooms out to see that you’re conversing with Lyla. Despite the quick misunderstanding, he finds himself enjoying the scene before him. You speak to her so calmly and casually. Do you often speak with her? Many thoughts start to pop up in his mind about you and your overall enigmatic behavior. Your smile triggers hyperactivity to blossom in his mind, his thoughts reeling at the way you look. Your lips pinch together softly as one side of your mouth curls a bit more than the other. Your brows raise as you speak with Lyla, your contentment is evident. He's caught up in the details of your face and it's nearly instinctual the way the corners of his lips twitch in a subconscious attempt to mirror yours.

And I whisper

All I really want is you

What would you do?

He has formed this habit of watching you in the late nights and early mornings. At first, it was mere coincidence when his eyes lingered on you, maybe even out of some sense of caution, but now he finds himself seeking you out after a month of noticing your constant presence. Lyla teased him about being a creep but he usually just replies with a grunt or the occasional snarky comment. Every night you’re working on something and his curiosity is piqued. However, it appears you work efficiently given how it seems to be a new project every few nights or so. His eyes flutter a bit as he sees Lyla appear next to you. Judging by the way you react to her arrival, it’s just for a chat. He notices how your hands rest over one another in front of you as you nod at what Lyla says, laughing and blinking softly at her. You’re polite when listening, putting down whatever you’re working on to give her your attention. The only assumption he's made from it being that you're simply kind. His eyes are attracted to the way your thumbs twiddle around one another absentmindedly. Do you often fidget like that? He tries to think back on the previous times he witnessed your hands when they were not busy, which is not a common occurrence. And as he watches you, he strokes the panel button under his own thumb subconsciously as if it were the back of your hand. He’s only managed to conclude one thing about them and it’s not about how you fidget.

He mutters to himself deeply in observation, “Pequeñas.”

He looks at your hands, pixelated by the monitor, and then down at his own much bigger ones. He ponders momentarily about just how small they truly are. He's certain that if he were to measure them, the entire length would barely reach 7 inches while his are well past 9, probably even past 10 in actuality. If you placed your palm against his, his hand would completely dwarf yours. If you placed your palm against his... what would it fit like? What would it feel like? What would you do if he held your hand? Wait… why is he thinking about that?

“But,” he mumbles softly as he watches you walk off with Lyla in tow, “I think…”

Laying in the rain with you

Middle of June

It’s been two months since he fully took notice of you that night with his full attention; the night he seen you truly as yourself for the first time. From what Lyla has mentioned, you’ve been here almost every night since you joined the society. It doesn’t bother him that he hadn’t noticed you for so long. To him, it made sense. He often found himself drowned in work. Things were hectic for a while, a long while, but luckily during these past few months, things have been relatively easy. Emergency missions in the middle of the night have been few and far between and usually required only one person to complete them which is why Miguel has been manning the fort all by his lonesome for some time now. However, the only other spider permitted to be at HQ during the overnight hours is you thanks to your completely reversed day-night schedule. The two of you have been on a handful of late night missions together throughout this time but he has yet to speak to you about anything not regarding work. It’s a bit strange if he’s being truthful. You may be the only spider that has never spoken to him casually, ever. Sure, he’s suspected you are antisocial but he hadn’t anticipated it to be by this much. You don’t stand out, you stay focused on your work, and you never talk to anyone. Well, that last one isn’t too unbelievable given the fact that you’re only ever here when everyone else isn’t. Miguel can’t help but wonder if you have ever spoken to anyone in the Society without the intention of completing your professional duties? The closest to such an instance was the one time he heard you speak to Jess which was also the first time he had ever seen you. Jess was going to introduce you to him but he was busy having an argument with Hobie. It never grew to be physical but his shouting certainly must have put you off considering he never saw you around again after that. It makes sense, truthfully, since that was your first impression of him. You must think he's always shouting, irritated, and highly intolerant of disobeying his instruction. That is what he was yelling about at the time after all. Well, that is until he noticed you lingering around the building at night. Honestly, you weren’t even a thought in his mind until Lyla sent him a debriefing of you just before Jess officially assigned you to the night shift. He was going to protest, citing that you have no meritorious experience to do so or something like that but he found out that you don’t actually bother him like everyone else. However, he’s grown very aware of your presence as of late thanks to his more unoccupied overnight schedule.

He even has time to just sit and think about anything other than the multiverse now. Usually, this spare time is occupied by observing you. He likes to sit back and watch all the tasks you do with no one around. He finds it relaxing in a way, which is something he’s grateful for. He’s discovered many things about you through this newfound hobby. You tilt your head with a small pout when you’re confused. You often have music stuck in your head which is made evident by the way you nod your head rhythmically. You rub your face with both hands when you’re tired and only one hand when you’re bored. You like to take power naps under the workbench specifically in the left corner of the lab, closest to the door. You usually wear civilian clothing around HQ at night but always wear the same shoes. You don’t like coffee. You drink tea but it has to be hot with steam billowing from the cup. You drink water more often than tea though, but only at room temperature. You crack your knuckles in 30-minute intervals when you type or tinker for long periods of time. You yawn frequently when the air-conditioner is pointed at you… The list could go on. Honestly, he’s a bit taken aback by how much knowledge he’s retained of your behavior and mannerisms. Why is that exactly? He can’t just claim outright boredom. Watching you is something he avidly chooses to do because he likes it. Bored certainly isn't the word he'd use to describe how observing you makes him feel.

“Why am I doing this?”, he mutters deeply as his eyes watch you type away on a computer. Maybe it’s like a child with an ant farm. It’s simply interesting. No, that doesn’t quite sound right. Even ‘interesting’ doesn’t truly capture how he feels watching you every night.

Soon a bright search window pops up in front of him, making him flinch aggressively. “Lyla!”, he shouts in annoyance as he rubs his stinging eyes; already knowing the culprit.

She pops up next to him with a shrug, “What? You asked a question and I’m answering it.”

He squints softly, his eyes focusing on the window presented to him. There are multiple articles listing words that make him furrow his brows. Intrigue, infatuation, sonder, escapism, comfort-watching. To Lyla’s surprise, he mulls them over but she chalks it up to his sleep deprivation. Some words stick out to him, finding himself unfamiliar with them.

“Comfort-watching.”, he states slowly as he selects the article. It explains what it is and what it stems from, denoting its connection to escapism. “The habitual diversion of the mind to purely imaginative activity or entertainment as an escape from reality or routine.”, he reads aloud, words muffled by his hand stroking his chin. Well, that didn’t make sense, watching you is his routine at this point.

He wouldn’t describe what you do as entertainment in theory and it’s certainly not imaginative. It’s just him watching how you do normal things. He softly chews his lip as he glosses over the other articles.

Lyla mimics his actions and strokes her chin, opening another article in front of her form. “Oh? This’ll be interesting.”, she thinks before speaking to Miguel, who’s now distracted by both the articles and his occasional glances at you. “Why do you like watching y/s/n?” [your spider name]

He replies with a sigh as he waves his hands around, positioning the articles around him, “That's what I’m trying to figure out, Lyla.”

“Just think for a moment. Off the top of your head, what’s one thing you like about doing this?”, she gestures to the monitor containing you. The two of them glance at you through one of the screens standing from your seat and stretching your whole body in an attempt to reduce your exhaustion.

Miguel’s inquisitive eyes soften a bit as he responds earnestly, “It’s familiar.” Lyla’s face flashes a bit in curiosity as she observes his expression. Before she can speak again, he continues, “This is calm and… warm.”

“Warm?”, Lyla asks curiously, her eyes fluttering over the chart in the article she opened. She's notated a couple of checkmarks now, in places she hadn't expected.

His eyes just can’t leave you as he thinks about what he’s said. It’s hard to put exactly into words, “I… appreciate her presence. She’s always there and it makes me feel comfortable.” There’s a strange feeling that stirs inside him upon hearing the words he formulates in response. You, a complete stranger, have somehow become a totem of routine in his eyes. Because after watching you nearly every night, you are always there working. Always. Despite the strange and unpredictable multiverse the two of you reside in, you sit in one of his labs, typing away on a computer. In a sense you’ve become the embodiment of normal.

Lyla repeats quietly but not lacking the casual tone she usually holds, “Her… Do you ever want to talk to y/s/n?”

He hums in thought before replying with an unsure shrug, “Honestly… I never even considered that. I don’t think I need to.”

Lyla glances back at the article and then back to Miguel, “But do you want to?”

His movements stall as her question hangs in the air. He takes a moment to apprehend what she’s asking. His eyes trail slowly from the articles floating around him to you on the CCTV display. You're crawling under that specific workbench in the left corner of the lab for what he knows is a power nap; he finds himself almost smiling at that. Does he want to talk to you? He ponders a situation in which he finds himself conversing with you casually. What would you talk about? He knows you like tea. Would you talk about your favorite kind? What is your favorite kind? How would you pronounce it? How do you pronounce certain words like caramel or aluminum? Maybe like aluminium? Maybe you say it differently than he does. He can imagine a light-hearted debate over phonetics, the two of you drowsy from the late night hours. Maybe you’ll tease him about the way he says it. How would you say… his name? You’ve spoken his name before on missions with a professional tone, always addressing him by his surname. It irks him a bit but he's never gotten around to informing you to just call him Miguel… How would you sound calling out to him in a tone that's amicable and familiar?

He’s broken out of his thoughts by Lyla waving her pixelated arms in front of him and a shout of his name, “Miguel!” He jolts at the sound of an alarm beeping around him. Bold words pop out in front of him, “ANOMALY DETECTED”. He hears his family name called out and straightens at the sound. That’s not Lyla's voice. He turns around to see you in your suit, tucking the hem of your mask into your collar as you trek to his platform. His hand waved behind him, minimizing the displays floating around him to hide the clues to his distraction with a single motion.

He hears you speak in a sober tone as you stand before him, “Lyla informed me that we’re both needed for this one. There’s an anomaly running around a metropolitan area on Earth-26. It travels quickly so we'll have to chase after it. Also, there doesn’t appear to be anyone to help.” He nods quickly, navigating through the multiversal map on his watch to open a portal. He nearly flinches as you gently grasp his forearm, looking up at him slowly.

“O'Hara,” you said calmly, which made him look at you curiously, “full stealth on this one. I’m uncertain how this universe would respond to… our kind.”

His lips nearly press into his natural pout under his mask as you address him by his family name but quickly absorbs what you're truly saying to him. He’s had a couple run-ins with a universe like this before and understands your concern entirely. He slowly pulls your hand from his forearm. The size difference doesn’t skip past him and makes something buzz in the back of his brain. Yet it’s subconscious, the way his fingers linger around yours before he releases them and states firmly, “Stay close to me.” You nod in understanding which he reciprocates before opening a portal. You flip open your watch and quickly calibrate your interface and send sync data to his watch to stay connected during the mission. It’s strange how ready you appear to be but it’s greatly appreciated. He hadn’t realized that he was staring before you turned towards him. You tilt your head softly and unbeknownst to you, he knows without a doubt that it’s out of curiosity. He gives you a nod, hoping it didn’t look as strange as he felt doing it. You step through the portal first and he’s quick to follow after as Lyla observes it all with an inquisitive squint.

All I really want is you

This was an uncommon feeling. You two chased after the anomaly, zipping through the sleeping city's skies quickly. Luckily, you both haven’t been spotted by anyone as you swing through the late-night drizzle. He started feeling a bit… he supposes ‘at ease’ is the best way to put it. He’s not foolish enough to grow complacent mid-mission but being on mission with you, working so seamlessly with him, made this feel easy. You’re professional, giving clear cues and staying on the same page. It’s as if you can hear what he’s thinking. Sure lego Spider-man is a good teammate but you’re a good partner.

The anomaly made its way to a rooftop with you right on its tail. You landed quickly with a soft roll before keeping low to the ground while Miguel landed behind you with a soft grunt. You crouched a bit as you tiptoed around gently, trying not to alarm the anomaly located somewhere nearby. He waits on standby, keeping a lookout for anyone who might see you two while you try to catch the small creature. You freeze as you see the silhouette of it, patting the ground with stubby limbs, seemingly ready to take flight again. That is until you squat down and pat the ground too. It looks at you and tilts its head, another action that you mimic before removing your mask. It slowly walks to its right and you gently shuffle to your left. You release a chuckle as you can see something that looks like a tail wagging. The noise meets Miguel’s ears and he turns to find you squatting and maskless. His eyes widen at the sight, fighting the hitch in his breath as he sees your h/c hair, it looks much softer in person. His eyes narrow is realization as he quickly replaces his intrigue with his usual pragmatism.

Crossing his arms over his chest, he speaks monotone, “What are you doing?”

You release a slow and soft, “Shhhh.” You then gently raise your hand, motioning him to approach you. His fingers twitch instinctively as he looks at your flopping hand and surprises himself by reaching out for it. However, his mellow emotions are doused in confusion as you tug him down quickly. He nearly falls on top of you, clearly not anticipating such sudden strength from you. Luckily, he manages to brace himself, kneeling behind you, and leaning a bit over your shoulder. He’s about to ask what the hell you’re doing when you point to the far corner of the rooftop. His eyes widen as he watches the dark creature slowly slink toward the two of you.

You breathe out quietly to Miguel, “Deactivate your mask.” He turns to you in shock despite you not looking at him. He’s about to protest before you whisper, “It needs to see your face.”

He acquiesces your command and slowly retracts his mask. The air nips at his warm face as he spies the creature tilting its head. You tilt your head too while whispering to him, “Mimic what it does.”

Miguel begins to protest but you quickly cut off his words, “Why-?”

“Just do it.” He nearly rolls his eyes at your sudden command but finds himself following suit as he tilts his head too. He watches curiously as the creature pats the ground with its left paw and you mirror it with your right hand. He grows a bit amused watching the two of you continue this little dance until it slowly crawls closer to you both. Miguel can hear your breath hitch as the creature steps into the light shining from over the door to the rooftop you all are on. It’s dark and covered with scales, with large blue eyes and bat-like wings. Your hand is still placed on the ground as the creature cautiously closes the distance between you. You cautiously turn your hand palm up, Miguel is confused by this but continues to watch nonetheless. The creature's eyes look up at you warily with tightly constricted pupils. You then turn your head, facing away from it and toward Miguel quickly. He barely manages to lean back enough to avoid you smacking your head into his shoulder.

He looks at you quizzically as you whisper to him, “Keep your eyes on me.” His brows furrow which indicates his clear confusion at your command. You respond cautiously yet softly, “Don’t look it in the eyes. It’s still scared.” Miguel slowly nods in understanding as his eyes stay on yours.

There’s something that fizzles in his ears as he stares at you. Your eyes are oddly… calming. He’s never thought of looking at them before. At least not in an intentional way like this, unlike the usual polite eye contact you’re obligated to give someone you work with. It's so strange seeing you in person up close like this. He also has to fight the heat he feels making its way onto his cheeks at your close proximity. Your eyes sparkle a bit from the dim moonlight and there's drops of rain littered around your hair. You look so soft and inviting. There's not a sliver of malice anywhere across your features. He's sure this small anomaly is smart enough to come to you.

Soon he feels his lungs quiver in his chest as he watches your eyes crinkle as you smile. You’re chuckling. Why are you chuckling? His ears are roaring by the time you turn back toward the creature. His gaze lingers on the side of your face before looking down at the little one who’s currently licking and nuzzling into your hand, giving it playful nips. He smiles at that, grateful that this mission will end easier than expected.

The creature jumps on you and licks your face with a happy warble. Miguel tenses, worried that it may be attacking you until you release a giggle as you coo warmly, slowly standing with the creature wrapped in your arms. The sound tingles in Miguel's ears and he can’t help but watch you almost mesmerized as you carry the creature carefully before he stands back up next to you.

You comfort the creature with soft words as your nimble fingers quickly fashion a tracker to the little beast then click your watch. You speak calmly as you stare down at the baby creature with a smile, “Lyla, may you please check for any residual anomalies?” Lyla appears behind the creature and gives you a little salute before her visage flits around and scans the area. Miguel approaches to inspect the animal but leans back when it attempts to sniff at him which makes you chuckle at his stiffness. Then, you gently scratch between the animal’s horns as you walk closer to him to let it smell him properly. He stands awkwardly, watching its nostrils flare with each sniff of his arm.

You look around at the skyline behind him with a sigh, “What a view. Do you ever-”. Your voice fades off quickly as you squint, looking at something in the distance. Miguel notices as your hand stops moving and you cradle the creature protectively. Before he can even look at you, you shout while shoving him to the ground roughly, “Sniper!”. You yelp as something pierces your forearm violently, making your knees wobble. The creature jumps out of your hold, having sensed your body going limp before you slump into Miguel’s arms. The creature nuzzles into your dangling hand with a sad whine.

Miguel immediately enters high alert. He stays low as shots ring out above you, dragging you behind a structure to obstruct you all from whatever the hell is attacking. You're slumped against him as he shakes you softly with a tense voice, patting your face anxiously, “Y/s/n? Y/s/n wake up!” He sees the creature standing on its hind legs pawing at your thigh, looking up at him with scared eyes. Miguel shouts out into the air, “Lyla!” Immediately, a portal opens in front of you three.

Lyla speaks in a rushed tone, looking down at you worriedly, “I didn’t detect any more anomalies. Hurry.” Miguel scoops up both you and the anomaly, holding you tight as he jumps through the portal quickly.

What would you do?

Sleeping outside, the moon

Tripping with you

Miguel’s quick as he carries you to the med bay, the anomaly’s little legs trying to keep up with his long, wide strides. He places you on a bed and pulls up a med pod. He runs a full scan of your body and finds a bit of relief when it is concluded that you got dosed with a tranquilizer but he’s still tense. Usually a tranq doesn’t work that instantaneously; nor does it cause a strong shift in your blood pressure like this… It’s almost as if it’s thinned your blood. He sanitizes and gloves up quickly before grabbing some supplies to remove the projectile lodged in your arm. Fortunately, it doesn't take too long to remove all the pieces of the dart that broke apart. There's a bad feeling in his stomach as he does. He's never seen a tranq dart do such a thing. Why is it so fragile? Miguel has Lyla analyze the fragments while he cleans the wound.

He steals a glance at the little creature sitting in the doorway, its eyes watching you intently. He speaks evenly as he floods the wound with saline, gently patting it dry, “Don’t worry, she’s okay. She’s just sleeping.” He finishes wrapping your arm gingerly with a bandage and pulls the bed sheet over you, raising each of your arms to rest over the sheet. He stares at your hand in his for a moment. It’s warm. Your hands are warm and tiny compared to his. So, that’s how they feel… He blinks himself out of his thoughts and gently sets your hand down by your side to let you rest.

“You can come over. I’m done but she won’t be awake for a while.” Miguel says before looking over at the little beast. He’s almost surprised when it appears to understand what he’s said. After all, you did mention during the mission that it seemed highly intelligent relative to other wild animals. It stands, slowly trudging over before hopping onto the bed beside your leg. It looks at you and then turns to crawl on you cautiously as if it’s afraid of hurting you. After a few moments of hesitation, it pats the bed, circling a few times before settling down between your feet. Finally, it rests its chin on your leg, looking at you with large eyes while its tail curls around itself, and releases a soft bleat.

The display of how gentle it acts with you nearly makes him scoff in disbelief. It’s hard to believe that this is the same angry little beast that tried to claw at him earlier in the night. He's almost offended, truthfully. Why was it so mean to him? It seems to act like a cat, aggressive one moment then clingy the next. Miguel's eyes drift back up to look at you as he works around the room. He thinks for a moment to himself, "I guess between the two of us, I'd go to her too." He shakes the thoughts from his head. Miguel plops back onto the stool beside your bed with a sigh, having just finished cleaning up the soiled supplies. He yawns and scratches his jaw tiredly before he crosses his arms over his chest. The adrenaline that was once in his body is now long gone and his prior exhaustion floods him tenfold. However, he’s able to mutter with droopy eyes that watch your peaceful sleeping face, “What were you going to ask me?” He soon couldn’t keep his eyes open any longer, his body feeling heavy and slowly slumping over as he drifted off to sleep.

Head down

Miguel groans as he feels something slimy on his forehead. He squints harshly at the light that penetrates his eyelids but before he can get up to stretch he freezes at what he hears.

"Hey, hey. Don't do that, little one. He needs to rest."

He's about to just sit up to explain that it's too late but your voice breaks through with a gentle coo. "Oh. Look what you did, honey. You messed it up…"

Before his mind can propel itself into countless thoughts of hearing you say the pet name in such an endearing way, he feels something gently card through his hair. There's something that erupts down his spine at the sensation and that faint fizzling in his ears returns. Especially when he can feel your fingers graze against his helix as you sweep some strands of his hair behind it. He feels his body melt at your ministrations.

Now, he chooses not to move or open his eyes. He pretends to be asleep on what he can blindly tell is the edge of the bed you’re resting in. He enjoys this, the sound of your voice as you comfort and hush the little anomaly the two of you caught. He hears sad warbling and feels the bed move a bit. He manages to cautiously crack an eye open to peek at you cradling the creature close as it sniffs and licks your bandage gently.

You speak softly to it, "Hey, shh-shh. It's okay, I'm okay. See?" You poke the bandage, not where the wound is but the edge of it, to prove that it's fine. You point at Miguel which causes him to shut his eyes quickly before you speak again, "He protected me and helped me get better. So, it's okay." He feels the bed shift as you quietly chuckle, "Ah, ah. Don’t do that, love. I don't want to wake him up, he was really tired." He can sense you stopping the creature from approaching him further as you stand.

There's a soft shuffle that can be heard around him before he feels something drape over his shoulders. You speak so delicately near his ear as you cover him, “Thank you for taking care of me. Sweet dreams.”

He hears the rustling of fabric and the soft plodding of your feet along the floor accompanied by your voice, "Okay, baby. Let's go." Miguel's eyes peek open to see you walking out of the infirmary with the little creature trotting next to you.

Once you’re gone he turns his head, pulling the fabric off his back. It's your cardigan. The one that you were wearing earlier before the mission. His eyes still feel heavy as he bunches up the fabric under him. His nose is flooded with a scent he's unused to. It smells warm and comfortable and soon he drifts off again with his arms wrapped securely around your cardigan below his head.

That’s what you are, he thinks. Warm and comfortable.

I don't know when to come up for air now

It's been a couple of days since your e-26 mission together and you haven't spoken since. Like usual, you spend the night in the lab and Miguel busies himself with some backlogged reports. However, his eyes still glance over to the monitor displaying you occasionally. He's noticed that you haven't worked as much as before. Sure, you’ve tinkered with a few things but you mostly just write in a notebook and slump over the workbench now. He pauses to inspect your face then switches to a camera angle that shows what you're writing. Oh. You're not writing, you're sketching something. He zooms in to see a picture of the anomaly you two sent back after Miguel woke up that morning. Just as he thought, you were depressed because your little friend had to go back home. That’s a lie, he hadn’t actually thought of that at all. Truthfully, he was starting to grow concerned that something was wrong with you… He watches as you add detail to the eyes, the tip of your pencil faintly tracing along the paper to simulate each streak across its irises. It's this that reminds him of when he stared into your eyes. They're much richer than expected, drowned in a color that is so… you. It's you because it's comforting and relaxing and deep. Comfortable and warm. He remembers the words with a soft hum.

He catches something bright appearing next to you. It's Lyla. He's found that you two converse almost every night. What do you two talk about? How many things have you discussed? There’s something unknown that bubbles in the pit of his stomach as these thoughts fill his head. Eventually, his curiosity gets the best of him and he switches on the audio feed. The thought of this being a violation of your privacy, completely slipping past him. He gently sits down as he listens to the two of you talk.

"Raon? What does it mean?", Lyla questions curiously.

You rest your chin on your hand as you lean against the table, looking up at Lyla with a warm smile as you reply, "It means joyful. He looks just like… ah, it’s nothing." You trailed softly but soon chuckled with a wave of your hand.

The scene before him makes Miguel smile softly to himself. It’s such a mundane conversation yet he finds enjoyment from it. Especially from the soft chuckle that comes from you.

"Hey, did you ever get around to-" Lyla begins but is cut off by your quick response.

"Nope… sorry.", You apologize with a bow of your head, realizing you interrupted her, "I should probably soon, huh?"

"Uh, yeah. The window of validity is closing, bud.", Lyla conjures up a window beside her before shutting it slowly as she raises a brow at you.

You nod and sigh, standing from your seat before turning to leave, "You're right. Thanks for reminding me, Lyla."

She hums to you before disappearing off the screen. She soon pops up next to Miguel who’s watching the feed of you walking through a corridor. She leans over his shoulder and speaks near his ear, "Stalker much?"

Miguel jolts at that and quickly exits off the camera display. He grunts and pulls some reports in front of him in a feeble attempt to cover up what he was doing, "I'm not a stalker."

She smirks and sings with an almost smug tone, "Ah, c'mon. It's just a joke, Miguel. Don't pout."

He states evenly as his eyes glance over the files presented before him, “Not pouting.”

“You never answered my question, y’know?”

“What question?”

“Do you want to talk to y/s/n?” She emphasizes her words with raised brows as she slowly orbits around his head to face him.

He blinks in thought, recalling the recent mission. You’re unfinished words wading upon the surface of his mind and truthfully they have been in his thoughts ever since you first uttered them into the night air. It wasn’t in your usually professional tone. It sounded more casual and unfortunately, you were cut short before finishing your sentence. “Do you ever… Do I ever what?”, he muses as his fingers rub at the side of his chin. He nods slowly before mumbling, “Yes… I think I do.”

Lyla bends down to smirk smugly at him with her arms akimbo, “Good.”

He squints at her and voices his confusion, “What do you mean? Why are you looking at me like that?”

“O’Hara?”, he stiffened as his eyes went wide at the sound of your voice. He composes himself quickly with a low grunt before turning to you.

Unfortunately, you misunderstand this, “Oh, I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to interrupt you.”

“You’re not interrupting me. I just remembered something. Did something happen?”

You absorb his fast-paced sentences, “No, I just wanted to talk to you.”

He’s shocked by this but his face doesn’t show it. If only you knew of the discussion you just interrupted by coming here.

“I wanted to formally thank you for taking care of me.”, you spoke calmly while looking up at him on his platform. He noticed your hand resting over your bandaged arm, confusion taking over his features. You noticed this and looked down at your arm too, nodding before your gaze returned to him. You subconsciously rub the bandage as you speak, “Ah, this. I don’t… heal as quickly as the rest of you.”

He mulls over your words, the rest of you. You speak in a way that alienates yourself from the Spiders. It’s a phrase he can understand due to him constantly being put in his own category relative to the other spider-people. Other… He supposes he speaks about himself the same as you. So that’s that sense of familiarity explained, albeit partially. He asks with his naturally stoic expression, “Why is that?” He watches with furrowed brows as you think of how to respond.

You softly shake your head with a shrug, “I just don’t.”

Before either of you can speak again, Lyla questions while pointing at you next to Miguel. There’s a small smirk on her face, “Hey, y/s/n? What’s that?” Miguel looks at her curiously before looking down at the box in your hands.

“Oh, this is just… This is for you, O’Hara.”, you take a step forward towards his platform. Miguel’s brows shoot up not only at what you say but at his now descending platform. He looks over to Lyla who smirks at him, clearly the cause. He clears his throat as his workspace reaches your level, “Is it something to sign off on?” He thinks that maybe you’re ready to beta-test new equipment that needs approval first.

You shake your head and hand the box to him with a small smile, “No. This is a thank you.”

He furrows his brows again as he slowly opens the box with his words trailing off, “A thank you?...” It’s… they’re empanadas. You just gave him a box of empanadas as a thank you?

“I heard Jess mention you liked empanadas. Sorry, they’re not the ones from the cafeteria though.”

He stares at them for a few more seconds. They’re warm. Are they fresh? How? It’s almost 3 am. Did you pick them up from your universe? “You didn’t have to give me this. I didn’t really-”

“You saved my life.” His eyes widen a bit as they meet yours. Ah. So you found out…

Your hands wring together nervously as you speak, “Lyla showed me the analysis of the fragments you pulled from my arm. Etorphine is a strong agent as is but it was formulated into a high-dose soluble projectile. If you hadn’t helped me so quickly, it would have dissolved into my blood and…”

“Thank you.”, Miguel all but whispers with his head down.

“You don’t have to thank me for thanking yo-”

“You took that shot for me.”, he quickly cuts you off. His eyes slowly trailing up to meet yours with firm sincerity. “Why did you take that shot?”

You rub your nape as you avoid his gaze and reply in an almost soft voice, “Ah. I didn’t really think about it… my body just moved on its own.”

There’s a bit of an awkward silence that spreads between you two as you both avoid each other’s eyes. Miguel stares back down at the food before speaking, “You really didn’t have to give me these.”

You speak with gentle hand gestures, a trait he didn’t know you had until now, “No, no. Please take them. I made them to thank you. It’s how I show proper gratitude. Honestly, I don’t think it’s enough.”

He looks at you in thought before looking back down at them with raised brows and a gentle smirk, “You made them?”

You tense, eyes darting to Lyla but she only offers you a quiet snicker. You sigh before nodding slowly, “Yes, I did. I’m sorry if you think they taste bad.”

He’s amused at your word choice. You didn’t say if they taste bad, you said if he thinks they taste bad. So you cook. And it sounds like you cook well given how confidently you speak about what you make.

Before he speaks, Lyla asks you something and motions you toward the control panel, “Y/n/n, come take a look at this.” [your nickname]

You bow your head briefly at Miguel with a modest smile before making your way to the screen Lyla opens for you. That’s another habit of yours he wasn’t fully aware of. He stands back and watches as you point at the screen and discuss it with Lyla. Your arms cross as you stand before the monitors, your face morphed from your inquisitiveness as you inspect the blueprint Lyla shows you. This makes him calm again. Watching you always made him calm and relaxed. However, it feels a bit stronger when you’re standing just a meter or so away from him. With you here now, so close to him, he actually feels warm. There’s a heat that surrounds him that he just can’t really explain. He continues his musings before taking a bite of the empanada absentmindedly but his eyes shoot down at the food as he tastes it. These aren’t like the ones from the cafeteria, they’re far better. The cafeteria carries standard beef empanadas. Beef and seasoning, it’s hard to mess it up. But these? Is this stew? This is honestly the best thing he's eaten in a long time. His foot stutters as he prevents himself from stepping closer to you and swallows the delicious bite before mumbling, “Are these-”

“Salteñas, sí.” His eyes travel up to see you looking back at him with a warm smile and nod. The way you say it is so natural. It rolls off your tongue so smoothly. Do you speak Spanish?

“Wow, it eats!”, Lyla cheers sarcastically.

“Lyla!”, he groans in annoyance.

“What do you-”, you unfurl your arms and look at him with what he recognizes as concern, “Sir, are you not eating properly?” You turn to face him completely and approach him slowly when all he returns is silence.

Lyla floats over to you, her voice laced with a haughty tone as she tattles, “No. No, he is not.” He grunts and tries to snatch her holographic form. His hand just misses her as she teleports to your other side with a giggle.

“O’Hara,” you call to him in a tone that’s so soft while still holding firmness. That’s new. It’s not as casual as he imagined and you’re still addressing him by his surname but he’s still pleased with how it sounds coming from you in that tone. “How often do you eat?”

He tenses a bit and looks away from your eyes before he gets lost in more of his thoughts. “I eat.” His brows furrowed as he mentally berates himself for his obvious statement. Of course, he eats. Estúpido. His embarrassment quickly triggered his next words despite how unexpected they are, even to him, “What does it matter to you?”

He feels an odd sense of uneasiness as he notices your lack of reaction. He’s quick to attempt to amend his words, “It’s appreciated but it’s none of your concern when I do and don’t eat.” Then there is more silence. It weighs heavily in the air awkwardly. He realizes his words may seem a bit harsh given how tense his voice is. He’s unsure what to say now and for once the silence from you isn’t so comfortable.

“O’Hara.”, you say more sternly as you cross your arms. He can’t help the way he feels like a child being scolded by their teacher. What truly catches him off guard is how firm your tone is despite how gentle you look at him, “Stop deflecting.”

It all makes him feel a bit small despite him being the one looking down at you due to your apparent size difference. He’s never been fond of his height. It’s annoying and cumbersome but the way your body positions itself to stare at him makes him think that it’s not that bad. Your head has to tilt back for your eyes to meet his. Those rich eyes of yours… The e/c encompasses your pupils in such an inviting way [eye color]. And each time you blink he catches a glimpse of how your lashes flutter against your skin. His eyes slowly travel along your features. Your forehead creases softly as your brows raise. The action makes your eyes appear larger as you look up at him. Then he sees your lips moving slowly. They’re not shiny nor are they chapped. But they do look smooth as he sees the tip of your tongue softly curl behind your teeth as you speak. Your words slowly grow less foggy before he flinches at the feeling of your hand gently holding his forearm. There’s a slight ringing in his ears as your voice finally reaches him.

“Mr. O’Hara, are you okay? You’re flushed.”

“What?”, he breathes out in a rushed tone before his eyes focus out to see the entirety of your worried expression. He gently tugs at the collar of his suit uncomfortably. He actually feels the heat now, it’s more intense than before.

“You’re burning up. It’s warm in here too…”. You quickly grab the box of food from his hand and place it on a nearby tabletop before pulling him toward the entrance of his work area. “Here, come with me.”

You take my hand like there's a way out (way out)

And we're escaping through the window

Miguel isn’t sure how but he now finds himself in a rather unfamiliar situation. You’re dragging him around by the wrist. However, it’s apparent that he follows seamlessly behind you. It feels natural for him to just maintain your lead, especially when there’s very little energy within him to resist. He watches how you walk in front of him. You walk in a way that makes you look smaller than you actually are. It’s as if you’re trying to hide. Why is that? Your shoulders are slouched a bit forward as you guide him through the corridors. His eyes drift to the back of your head, watching the way your hair gently bounces with each one of your steps. You halt for a moment which causes him to nearly stumble into you. Your grip on his wrist falters briefly before sliding down to take him by the hand. The action completely slips past you as you decide where to walk next, but it surely does not get past him. He has to fight the urge to squeeze his hand around yours but utterly fails. He’s not too upset about this. Truthfully, most of his awareness was occupied by trying not to let his claws protrude from his fingertips. You turn back to look at him but he’s quick to avoid your eyes, oscillating his head mindlessly.

You must have taken this as a sign of his unwell state because soon you're tugging him through the cafeteria with a firm whisper, “Over there. You need fresh air.”

His red face and his lack of words must make him appear as though he won’t be able to last the trek to the infirmary. You gently squeeze his hand which makes his eyes snap back to you quickly. Making your way to the large terrace, you push the glass door open. The air sweeps past you both as you guide him to sit on one of the patio chairs scattered among the outdoor area. His eyes are dazed as he looks up at you standing in front of him but they haven’t left you for even a moment since you squeezed his hand. But now your hand is no longer in his. He’s surprised to find himself a bit annoyed at that. You’re moving too fast, he thinks. All your actions are slipping away from him thanks to his hazy mind and he doesn’t appreciate it. You pull a handkerchief out of your back pocket and pat his sweaty forehead. His eyes watch you as you do. Your lips press into a line as you gently bite your bottom lip. Your eyes are full of concern as they roam over the sight of his flushed face. You remove your hand from his space as you step back a bit, wanting to let him feel the light breeze.

He spies how your hands start to reach out but retract back to your side, settling on your hips instead. You speak evenly as you look at him, “Are you okay? Does that feel better?” It’s gradual as he breaks out of his cloudy stupor, the wind finally cooling him down. He nods slowly before something slithers out of his brain and past his lips.

And I whisper

“What?”, you tilt your head curiously.

“Miguel….”, he breathes out, “My name is Miguel.”

You blink at him and speak with a bit of concern, “I know tha-”

“I don’t like being called O’Hara or Sir or Mr. O’Hara. Call me Miguel.”

You nod softly as you take in his words before giving him a small smile, “Okay. From now on I’ll call you Miguel.”

He almost smiles at the sound of his name rolling off your tongue but catches himself before it’s too late. His brows furrowed in confusion as you gently extended your hand toward him. You smile softly as you gently grasp his hand and shake it with a kind tone, “My name is y/n. It’s only fair that you address me as such.”

His brain stalls for a few moments, absorbing your name. It’s so fitting in a previously unknown yet expectedly pleasant way. Of course, that’s your name. He looks up at you in thought as you gently pull your hand from his, “Y/n, huh? It’s… pretty.”

He tenses in realization for a moment before slowly speaking, ensuring that his own curiosity remains undetectable, “The other night on e-26, on the rooftop. What were you going to ask me?”

You’re taken aback and stand back up, your lip jutting out in a pout as you try to remember. Your eyes wander to the table beside the two of you in thought but Miguel’s eyes stay on you. He takes in the sight of your face morphed in contemplation. It’s the same look he’s seen countlessly through the late nights. Except this time, it’s not pixelated or blurry from his monitors. Now, he can see you up close. He can see clearly how your chin softly wrinkles as you purse your lips and the way your eyes crinkle at the outer corners. It’s almost comical how earnestly he takes in such ordinary features with the same scrupulousness as a lab experiment.

“Do you ever look out at the skyline… and feel at peace?” The words flow out of you softly as you move to sit on the patio table next to him. Your eyes glide up to look at the lights below that decorate the horizon.

Miguel finally tears his eyes from you to look at the skyline before you both. It’s hard to hear the vehicles from up here but he knows they’re there. He can see the lights flicker and wane in the distance as his body relaxes into the chair. He realizes how familiar he is with the scene and breathes out lowly, “Yes. I do.”

He can see you smile in his peripherals before your voice fills the space between you, “I’ve always found comfort in the horizon and the view of the land below. The sunrise and sunset. I think Raon would have been mesmerized by this view of the city lights.”

He turns to look at you curiously, “Raon?” Truthfully, he was a bit curious about the word you mentioned to Lyla earlier.

You nod with a hum, crossing your legs and propping your chin on your elbows as you get comfortable. “The baby creature from our mission. Raon.”

Miguel notices how the word our rattles around his brain but pushes that feeling aside. He attempts to overpower it with a wry remark, “Did you name the anomaly?”

You release a breathy chuckle and nod, “Kind of. There’s a story from my universe that had a baby dragon named Raon Miru in it. Looked exactly like him too, blue eyes and all.”

He finds relief now not just in observing you but in your close presence and words. He’s intrigued by what you say. He can’t quite place the origin of such a unique name. He knows Japanese but he’s unsure if that is its correct origin. He takes a moment to look at you in thought, certain that he wants to hear more, “That name, what does it mean?”

“It’s a bit on the nose, truthfully. It means ‘joyful dragon’.”

“Raon Miru.”, he repeats to himself as he turns back to look at the skyline with you. There’s a comfortable silence that swells between you both. It takes a few more moments before your voice slithers into the empty space.

“Do you truly not eat well?”

He turns to look at you again but immediately regrets it. Well, not really. Your eyes are full of concern as they meet his. He sighs and shakes his head, “No. I don’t.”

“Why?” You ask so simply as your eyes never leave him.

He bites the inside of his cheeks and contemplates whether he should brush this off and lie or just tell you the truth. He chooses the latter, citing that he genuinely enjoys your consideration. “I’m busy. I lose track of time and just forget.”

Lyla finally decides to pop up next to you, “Hey, y/s/n. You actually remember to eat stuff. Mind keeping Miguel in check for me?”

Miguel stiffens quickly shaking his head to protest but before he can, you respond. “Sure, I don’t see why not.”

“Cool.”, Lyla nods and disappears having completed her job as instigator.

His eyes travel to yours in question only for you to smile gently at him with a tilt of your head. “I need to make sure you’re properly taken care of.”

Need, you say. Not want. The way you say it so matter-of-factly makes his lungs quiver, just like that night. His mouth shuts as he slowly leans back in his chair. The way you look at him lets him know that there’s no room for debate. You nod with a smile as you watch him acquiesce your response. “Good. So, did you like the salteñas?”

He nods and speaks with a low hum, “Yes, they were good.”

You beam at that and lean toward him unconsciously, “Really? I was worried there for a second. By the way you heated up, I thought you had a bad reaction.” You straighten up as your features quickly morph in realization of something before speaking, “That reminds me. Lyla?”

“Yo.”, she appears in front of you like a pop-up ad.

“What’s the temperature in Miguel’s work area?”

She conjures up a thermostat and squints at it, “Yeesh, 85°F and climbing. At the time of reporting, it is approximately 20 degrees higher than average. Excessive heat appears to be emitting from a ground-level display console.”

“Oh, may you please-”

“Filtering and cooling as we speak, captain.”, her little hand bumping her forehead to salute you in assurance. “I’ve shut off the machine since it’s under minimal usage priority. Consider this a work order.”

You chuckle at her antics, “Thank you, dear. I’ll be sure to repair it asap. It also sounds like your active monitoring is on the fritz, I’ll check that too.” You then turn to Miguel, leaning in inquisitively to see if he’s cooled down enough.

He questions absentmindedly with an almost gravelly mumble, “Hablas español?” [Do you speak Spanish?]

You're taken aback but smile softly, “Sí, pero no lo hablo con fluidez.” [Yes, but I’m not fluent in it.]

He finds the corners of his mouth gently lifting at your words, “Me suenas fluido. Tu acento es natural.” [You sound fluent to me. Your accent is natural.]

Your smile seems to grow ever so gently as you nod, “Thank you. I grew up in a diverse place. Lots of people spoke languages other than English.”

Miguel found himself completely relaxed as he spoke with you about anything and everything. Like that, the conversation flowed between you for a long while.

All I really want is you

What would you do?

Your brows shoot up in shock before a small smile blooms on your face. “Good. Let’s meet out on the terrace at 3 am. You better not leave me hanging.”

He smirks at your warning in amusement, you said it in such a way that carries no real malice. He nods in understanding as you two walk side by side languidly, back to his work area. The conversation hasn’t stopped. Miguel thinks this is the longest he’s ever talked to someone, speaking more words in these last couple of hours with you than he has to anyone in months. It’s odd to him how easy it is to talk with you. It makes him feel like he’s conversing with an old friend.

He’s lost in content conversation with you as you two enter back into his lab and continues even after you begin to work. He leans against the main control panel on his platform as he watches you repair the display console that practically turned his work area into an oven. Miguel’s arms are crossed over his chest, somehow unsure of what to do with his hands. He speaks with a more calm tone, “So you’re the one who does repairs around here? You’d think I, of all people, would know that.”

“I actually did think you already knew that but I suppose me coming in here and working on your tech while you’re out during the day is a bit of a clue as to why you didn’t.” You calmly respond to him. Your voice is just a bit louder than normal in order to ensure he can hear you properly. After all, half of your body is inside a relatively large electronics console.

“So what’s the issue here then?”

"Just a basic issue. Overclocked GPUs and faulty heatsinks don't really mix well.", you sigh with a shrug after gently crawling out of the unit to drop some screws into a small tray beside you. You present a damaged PCB to him and point at a burnt section of it with the tip of your screwdriver, “See, a few of them have blown fuses.”

He’s tuned into what you say and nods in acknowledgment. He knows what you’re talking about and enjoys it because it’s not rushed and not frantic like during the day. It’s calm and comfortable.

"Although I told Pete to run manual diagnostics on this which he said he did. Liar."

Miguel is amused by your annoyed grumble as you work. He’s a bit curious as to why you refer to Peter by nickname when you’ve only started calling him by his given name a couple hours ago but he figures it’s fine since Peter is the one who initially recruited you from what he can recall.

Miguel leans a bit over to peek at the mess that is the internal hardware before you crawl back inside. "I'm going to guess that he didn't even look at this at all."

"Yeah, pretty safe to assume that. I should have known better than to ask him. He's been preoccupied lately.", you groan from inside the panel. You look a bit funny like this, with half your body inside the console.

“Why did you ask Peter to look at it then?”, Miguel asks a bit curiously.

“Um, my arm was still messed up, Sir. I couldn’t really pronate it without feeling uncomfortable.”

He hears how nonchalantly you say it and senses that you don’t want to bring up the injury again. He nods curtly to himself and continues while changing the subject, “Don't call me Sir. It makes me feel old.”

You smile softly to yourself as you respond, “Sorry, it’s a hard habit to shake. I mean, you are the boss. But you shouldn’t worry, you’re not old by a long shot. In fact, I’m your elder…”

Your last few words are muffled but he manages to pick them up. His brows raise in intrigue as he asks, “Is that so?”

The way you tense at what he says doesn’t slip past him but you soon answer in a calm voice, “My universe’s present year is several decades earlier than here. So despite being biologically younger than you, I am chronologically n/y years older than you.” [number of years]

Miguel turns to work on some reports as he says, “Well, you still look spry enough to handle the duties of a Spider.”

You nearly snort at his comment. You must have not expected it, judging by your reaction. You continue to work, your eyes focused on the components you inspect as you jest in a sardonic tone, “Thanks, jefe. I’m glad to know you think my body is still young enough to be thrown around on missions.”

He has to bite his lip to contain the chuckle that he feels vibrate in his chest. He didn’t expect you to respond so sarcastically but he’s glad that you did. If anything, it makes him want to continue talking with you, “So why haven’t I been formally notified of your work here?”

“Well, if something breaks or needs general maintenance, Lyla is informed and she then passes that information to me. She typically deals with software issues and I’m the hardware person. We don’t usually bother you with these things because you’re always so busy as it is.”, you offer with a shrug as you crawl out and sit on your heels, inspecting yet another PCB.

“It wouldn’t be a bother. I need to know about these things.”

You look up at him and chuckle quietly with a soft shake of your head, “There are reports on file of every single repair I’ve done but… the last thing you need to worry about is a coffee maker gone haywire or someone’s empty web cartridges.”

“Aren’t you busy too? You take missions yet you still pull the Society’s odd jobs. Why?”

“Not really. I’m active mostly at night or in the early morning hours. Even when there is an active mission, I’m D-team at best.”

“D-team? Why do you think that?”, Miguel is genuinely confused by what you say. After all, the two of you worked so well together during the missions you have been on with one another.

“I’m just not that capable when compared to the Spiders.”

There’s that phrasing of yours again. It paints a clear separation between you and the society. Why are you so unwilling to include yourself with them? What exactly makes you speak this way? Miguel then thinks back to your first mission together, when it was just the two of you. Although it felt foreign at first, you two completed it quickly and efficiently. He speaks in a tone that leaves no room for rebuttal, “You are very capable.”

“Yeah, you think so?”

“You wouldn’t be here if you weren’t.”

You sigh casually as you stand up, carrying a small tote against your hip of damaged hardware to be further inspected, “Well, I could just be pleasant to be around.”

He releases a breathy laugh at your arch remark with a shake of his head. If only you knew how important your presence has become to him over all these late nights.

You perked up at the sound as you placed the tote on a nearby desk, turning to him as you asked, “Did I just make you laugh?”

He was about to groan in annoyance on instinct but caught the look in your eyes before he did. Your face didn’t show a single sign of ill intent. Rather, it carried what he identifies as wonder. His lips purse a bit as he looks away from you, trying to avoid your gaze to spare himself from how overactive he’s found his mind becomes when gazing upon your bare face.

“Oh, now you’re pouting.”

“Not pouting.”

“Yes, you are.”

“No, I am not.”

Miguel’s brain stalls as his ears pick up a previously unknown yet gratifying sound. Gentle giggling slips from you and it makes that buzzing sensation in his ears return. But he's not upset because he knows you're not laughing at him. It’s that kind of laughter that isn’t rude nor teasing. It’s kind and full of joy. He can’t help the upturn of the corners of his mouth, finding your delight somewhat infectious.

“I’m sorry, I’m sorry. It’s just too cute.”, you wave your hand softly as your other hand attempts to muffle your chortling before grabbing the tote of hardware to repair again. You turn to leave to your usual lab to work but your joyful sounds have yet to cease.

Miguel’s frozen by your comment. Cute? In reference to him? That’s not… that’s implausible and honestly, unprecedented. The more he speaks with you, the more he learns just how strange you are. You’re different in not only appearance but behavior as well. He's sure now that you are unique to the Society in such an eccentric way. He realizes something and it’s arguable in his mind. It makes sense why you exclude yourself from them all. Out of all the Spiders, you’re the anomaly.

Laying in the rain with you

Middle of June

“Miguel O’Hara! Get your butt out here now!”

He groans and rolls his eyes with a smirk as he looks at the time. 3 am, on the dot. It’s time.

The two have grown very well acquainted with each other over the past 8 months. There was a stint of anomalies surfacing during the early overnight hours. For a while, it seemed you and Miguel were dispatched nearly every night but now the instances have slowed to every week or so. You’ve learned a lot about each other and have acclimated well to each other’s presence. His hands swipe away the monitors floating around him as he calls over his shoulder, “Yeah, yeah. Just a second, needy.”

“Needy?! Puh-lease, you would waste away without me.”, you chuckle as your body swings around the entrance to his work area. You cross your arms and lean against the doorway, “Ven a comer.” [Come eat.]

“Sí, Mami.”, he mumbles amusedly, stroking his chin as he stares at the monitors in front of him. [Yes, Mom.]

You chuckle and walk over to him, “Don’t make me drag you out of here.”

He closes the floating screens around him with a flick of his wrist before turning to you with a smirk. His hands rest on his hips as his platform descends to meet you. The soft fizzling in his ears returns as you look up at him with a small, playful smile. The sensation is no longer foreign to him. It’s welcomed now. Warm and comfortable. “Yeah, uh-huh. And how do you suppose you’d do that?”

Your grin is almost mischievous as he finally stands in front of you, “I’d figure it out. I’m very resourceful, you know?”

He nods and begins to walk with you to complete your late-night ritual. “Oh, are you now?”

“I wouldn’t be here if I wasn’t.” You repeat the words he told you from your first night together. At this point, it’s more of an inside joke; a reference that often appears as you two converse.

“I thought you said it was because you were pleasant to be around.”, he hums amusedly.

“Well? Am I?”, you look up at him through your lashes. Your eyes gleam with warmth and he’s not sure if you truly know just how beguiling it is.

He mutters as he avoids your gaze, knowing damn well he wants to say yes, “Don’t fish for compliments.”

“But you would compliment me.”, you state in a way that’s laced with playfulness. You bend a bit at the waist to catch a glimpse of his face with your hands resting neatly upon your lower back.

He meets your teasing gaze for a moment before rolling his eyes, “What’s for dinner?”

He sees your lips curl up in his peripherals before you state nonchalantly, “It’s a surprise.”

“A surprise? What do you mean? What for?”

“What? Don’t you trust me?”, you chuckle in amusement after he rambles a bit. You managed to identify that habit of his despite his general seriousness after the many nights you've spent working together.

“I trust you as far as I can throw you.”, he replies collectedly, or so he hopes.

“Liar.”, you hum with an amused smile on your lips, “Nonetheless, I suppose it’s good that you’re an incredibly strong man that can throw me very, very far.”

You chuckle again as he groans beside you. You’re far too sharp for your own good, having seen right through his strategic word choice. You two enter the terrace and something feels different. The air is a bit warmer tonight. Miguel supposes it’s just that kind of summer night. One where the heat from the day lingers into the late night and rekindles the following morning. His eyes shut for a moment as he absorbs the scent floating around. It’s familiar, it’s… enticing. He blinks softly before turning to you, eyebrows lifting in surprise as he sees that setup you’ve made. Upon the ground is a large blanket with a couple of small pillows. There are a few containers of what he knows is your cooking placed in the center. It’s not extravagant but something does stir in his stomach as he sees you turn to him. You almost look coy as you gesture behind you but your eyes never lack that warmth he knows as yours. “Yeah, it’s a bit silly but… happy 50th successful mission, partner.”

He stiffens at your calm yet happy proclamation. The word partner rattles around his brain for a few moments before the gears in his brain turn again. 50 missions? Have you two truly been on 50 missions already? Oh, who is he kidding? Of course, he knows that already. The two of you have actually been on 58 missions to be exact but they can’t always be successes.

You walk over to pull him gently by the wrist to the blanket, “Come on already. Food’s getting cold.”

He rolls his eyes with a smirk as he indulges your command with reluctance, but only externally.

You let go of his hand and sit at one end of the blanket, “Mira, I made some of your favorites.” You remove the lids of the containers presenting a small variety of his preferred dishes. There’s a smile on your lips as you pull out the final container, presenting it to him with a kind tone of voice, “I even made Stobhach for you. And I’ll let you know I’ve perfected my recipe.”

He can’t help the small curl of his lips as he sits opposite of you. You seem so excited to show him all that you prepared for tonight. It all almost makes him blush. He’s learned fairly early on in your acquaintanceship-turned-friendship that you show affection through care. Especially, by giving someone a home cooked meal. He stares down at the food and hums, “Thank you.”

You return with a hum of your own. Besides the banter and wry humor, words aren’t really necessary between the two of you. You’ve learned to read each other well. Body language, quirks, and even the noises that rumble from each of your chests. It’s almost animalistic in its simplicity. Miguel has come to realize how truly perceptive you can be, similar to himself. You two actually share a lot of similarities like your inquisitive nature and reclusive behavior. And he’s come to the conclusion that that is why you two can exist so harmoniously together. It’s not hard to be around you. To him, your presence is easy.

All I really want is you

What would you do?

You two have been talking for a while, the food long gone and your bellies satiated. There’s a bubble around you two as you converse like you’re in your own little world.

“Come on. Lay with me.”, you look up at him with warmth in your eyes as you pat the space next to you. He truly can’t find it within himself to deny such a gentle command. He moves to lie next to you and stares up at the few stars that manage to make it through the city’s light pollution. It’s times like these when he ponders upon his actions and realizes how easily he finds himself following your instruction. He’s not upset about it. He just finds it odd although certainly not unwelcome. Truthfully, he’s grateful that he can take your lead and not have to be in charge, even if only for a moment. But these moments fill his chest with something warm. Warm and comfortable are his two choice words to describe you in any situation. Whether it be as you two work in silence in one of the labs or when you patch each other up after rough missions.

Sleeping outside, the moon

Tripping with you

He hears a sweet sigh from your lips as you relax on the blanket next to him. You whisper into the night air with the same gentleness one speaks a secret, “This reminds me of one night when I was a teen. In my universe…”

Miguel’s ears perked a bit as you began. It was very rare for you to speak of yourself, your experiences, or your universe. Every time you did, he was sure to pay attention and commit each word to memory because if you ever spoke of it like this, earnestly and unprompted, it meant you were revealing a part of who you are. That you were trusting him with a part of your very essence. To keep it safe.

“California isn’t gone. There’s a coastal city there called San Francisco that my friends and I traveled to. We spent hours there. We watched the sunset on the bay and the evening fog that rolled in. And eventually, we laid back on the sand and looked up at the stars. Just like this.”

He didn't say anything or make a noise. He just stared up at the stars with you, listening intently.

“I felt so calm that night. I knew in that moment that nothing else mattered. And for the first time, I felt at peace. My whole life I didn’t do much. I stayed at home filling my time with random knowledge and tricks. I avoided people and kept to myself as best as I could because I had learned very young that people were not to be trusted.”

Miguel feels his chest tighten at your words but keeps silent. There’s a darkness that barely laces your voice but it is there. He picks up the sound of hurt in your tone and it grips him tightly. There’s a tumultuous feeling in his stomach. He’s eager to preserve the pieces of yourself that you delicately hand him but it doesn’t change the feeling of helplessness that floods him. Your honesty is encased in sadness, a build-up of fears and insecurity that he’s far too late to have prevented. So he listens because maybe, just maybe, something you reveal to him in these genuine passages of your lore can help him protect the parts of you he keeps.

“I learned that family was everything because family would never hurt you. It’s funny now… Now, I think I’m nothing but a memory yet to be forgotten by them.”

He turns to look at you curiously but the concern is unmistakable in his eyes. Of all the countless nights you’ve spent together, you’re finally revealing why you are the way you are. Why he feels like he knows you without words. Because loss and loneliness radiates off you like bittersweet perfume yet you contain it with walls built of sufferance and capability. He’s always held a certain affinity to you that he could never quite describe until now. Before his thoughts submerge his consciousness, he notices how your eyes are screwed shut and the way your fist is squeezed tightly around the strings of your hoodie. Your clenched fingers resting above your heart almost as if you're quelling pain into passivity.

You sigh quietly as if to prepare yourself for what to say. “Things happen. At one point you think you know where you are. Then you blink and wake up somewhere else entirely.”

There’s a brief pause before your next words. Your eyes slowly flutter open to look up at the stars with glossy eyes and a gentle yet certain voice, “I’m here now and I’m actually very grateful for all that has happened. I’ve learned things I never thought were possible, about reality and the world. About people and about myself.”

He’s a bit surprised as you speak to him with sincerity, “I know I’m strange, Miguel. I know I don't make sense and that I don’t really fit. But you make me feel understood. And you make me feel like I’m not really alone… Thank you.”

You turn to find him staring at you in surprise. Your smile is small but your usual warmth has returned, and truthfully, he thinks that it never left. “Sorry. That was a bit heavy, huh? Just forget I said anything.” You offer with a chuckle before laying back.

All I really want is you

Your eyes are closed as you bask in the moonlight and his eyes travel over you. He takes in the soft curl of your lips and the faint flush on your cheeks from the cool air and candid words. The temperature isn’t too bad but thanks to the extreme altitude of the building, it’s crisp yet foggy. It’s an odd feeling, the air is damp from the clouds rolling through the skyscraper but Miguel feels warm. So soothingly warm. Especially, with you laying so close to him. So earnest and so true. He finds it odd how comforting this feeling is despite it being foreign to him, or rather dormant. He’s astonished by your trust in him. It fills him with something that he wasn’t entirely sure he was missing. Suddenly it's apparent what exactly this feeling is. The same feeling that he's felt for months. And it finally sparks in his mind as you look at him with tired eyes and a warm smile.

I love you.

All I really want is you

What would you do?

He can nearly taste the words on his tongue but he remains silent as your eyes stare into his. Suddenly he feels very awake as his own thoughts dawn on him. Managing to tear his gaze away from your familiar e/c eyes, he finally speaks as he closes his eyes with a coy smirk.

“Never.”

It’s you. Now, it’s something that’s as certain as fact in his mind. He feels the heat of your hand resting on the blanket between the two of you, right next to his. Right where you belong, he thinks. Right next to him.

All I really want is you

Is you, is you, is you

Appearing near you two and out of sight is Lyla. She watches you two and makes a final checkmark on the chart she pulled from an article months ago, when Miguel was initially questioning his interest in you. She smiles to herself as she looks over the chart then back at you two as you exist in your own little world. The words softly illuminated in the window beside her, Infatuation vs. Love, with all her markings under the latter.

Thank you, thank you, thank you to everyone who took the time to read this! Also, big thanks to everyone who voted on my poll regarding this fic. I am open to your opinions and questions! Please feel free to ask me anything!

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ak-vintage · 1 month

Text

Quarry - Chapter 22

Pairing: Din Djarin (The Mandalorian) x f!reader

Summary: Din Djarin is on what he expects to be his last bounty hunt for Greef Karga. After all, Nevarro is swiftly moving away from its previous reputation as a Guild member’s paradise, and Din has more important concerns now, like finding a Jedi to train his mysterious foundling. However, after capturing a wanted starship engineer who would rather go anywhere other than “home,” the Mandalorian is forced to reassess his priorities.

Your taste of freedom had been brief but glorious. Now you are a prisoner of the most infamous bounty hunter in the Outer Rim – it’s only a matter of time before he turns you in. There isn’t much you would not do to keep from being sent home, but as you find yourself growing closer to your captor and his strange little companion, you start to wonder whether escape is really what you want.

Set after Chapter 13: The Jedi but before Chapter 14: The Tragedy.

Chapter Tags & Warnings: 18+ MDNI! Reader is Mando's live-in starship engineer, second-person, no use of Y/N, minimal descriptors of reader character, light angst, canon-typical violence and peril, lots and lots of mostly made-up Star Wars technobabble

Series Masterlist | Read on AO3

Note: This chapter features events from season 2 episode "Chapter 16: The Rescue." You will notice borrowed dialogue and synced plot points.

---

Of the seven-person team that Din had assembled to rescue Grogu, you were the only one who had never had the experience of waking for the day only to immediately begin preparing for battle. However, as a pale sunrise bloomed over the horizon of this nowhere planet where you had found Bo-Katan, as the inhabitants of the Firespray all began to roll out of their bunks, you could feel the shift in energy like a tangible thing. The comfort and the softness of sleep, the comradery of your friendships, even the tender intimacy of your shared quarters with Din all dissolved as the ship’s lights flickered on and instead were replaced with an intensity of focus you had never encountered.

It was militant and almost entirely silent, the way each party member prepared themselves, and the lack of easy conversation that had become so normal on the Firespray over the last weeks set you on edge. Blasters were wiped down and loaded, armor was donned, and every belt, pocket, and holster was filled with backup supplies and secondary melee weapons. Everyone took turns in the mess, moving around one another quickly and efficiently like a well-oiled machine. They all seemed to favor light, nourishing breakfasts of nutrient-dense ration bars, canteens of water, and – in Fennec and Cara’s case – strong carafes of caf. You, however, could barely stomach your food, so tied up in knots was your body at the thought of the approaching challenge, but you forced down a few mouthfuls anyway at Din’s insistence.

“Epar, cyar’ika. Eat,” he bid you, hitting you with a hard stare through his visor. “You will need your strength.”

You did not have the same arsenal of supplies as the others, but you did take some time to back up your schematics of Gideon’s light cruiser onto a palm-held holoprojector you borrowed from Boba’s supplies. You also tucked a couple of datasticks into your pockets with some cyphers you recalled from your days of installing and configuring starship security and defense systems. Other than that, all there really was for you to do was to lace up your boots, whip your hair into a tight braid, and wrap your beloved scarf around your head like a headband. You didn’t really need it here, you knew, but at this point, it felt almost foreign to dress without it.

Just before you disembarked to board the Lambda shuttle with the rest of the group, Din took you aside and inspected your blaster while Cara Dune fitted you with a slick black leather utility belt from her own wardrobe. She fastened it snugly around the flare of your hips before slipping a matching leather holster onto the strap.

“Safer than keeping that thing in your pocket,” she quipped with a wry smile, nodding toward the blaster Din was currently polishing and reloading for you. You huffed a laugh and thanked her, but not before she slid three additional tibanna cartridges into your belt loops.

“You really think I’m going to need all this?” you asked warily.

The dark-haired woman shrugged, and you noticed that she had lined her deep brown eyes with kohl this morning, giving a fierce, predatory look to her striking features. “Maybe not, but better to have it than wish you did.” You swallowed thickly, nodding, and she clapped you warmly on the shoulder. “Don’t worry. We’ve got your back.”

“Cyare.”

At the sound of the endearment, you glanced over at Din and found him extending your blaster back to you. You took it with a murmured “thank you” and slipped it into the holster, feeling the cool, steady weight of it against your thigh. It was already more comfortable than having it shoved in your pocket.

“Are you ready?” the bounty hunter rasped.

“As I’ll ever be.”

Inclining his helmet at you solemnly, he pressed his hand into the small of your back and steered you toward the ramp. “Then let’s go.”

---

Mere hours later, in the depths of hyperspace, the boarding party clustered around the helm of the Lambda shuttle as you neared your destination. The recycled air was thick with anticipation, with the knowing that the moment you dropped out of light speed, there would be no more time for preparation. Of course, this was precisely the kind of thing that everyone had been trained for.

Everyone but you.

Shifting on your feet, your palm fell to the grip of your blaster, and you could feel the sweat on your skin slip against its textured surface. Your heart was hammering against your ribcage, your stomach heavy and acidic in your abdomen, and you struggled to keep yourself present – in the moment rather than in your head, lost in your anxieties. At the heart of it all, however, was frustration with yourself. You had fought for this chance, this opportunity to exercise your skills, to contribute, to be kriffing useful for once, and you refused to throw all of that away out of fear. This team needed you; Grogu needed you. You had to get it together.

And so instead of hyperventilating, as you thought you might have done otherwise, you focused on taking deep, steadying breaths and drying your palms against your boilersuit.

“Moff Gideon is mine,” Bo-Katan emphasized from her seat at the helm, hands steady and sure as she manipulated the controls without even hardly looking. “Got it?”

“He’s ex-ISB. He’s got a lot of information.” Cara adjusted her grip on her heavy-repeating blaster rifle, the butt of which sat propped on the toe of her boot. “I need him alive.”

Bo-Katan smiled icily. “I don’t care what happens to him as long as he surrenders to me.”

At that moment, Boba Fett’s low, gravelly voice crackled through the comm system. On one of the readouts on the console in front of you, you could see the vague outline of the Firespray pursuing you through the hyperspace tunnel. “Prepare to exit jump space.”

“Copy that,” the red-head replied. “Get the hell out of there as soon as they clear us to dock. And your shots have to look convincing.”

“Power up those shields, princess. I’ll put on a good show.” You smirked at the sound of his gentle condescension in spite of yourself.

The expression was echoed on Bo-Katan’s sharp-featured face. “Watch out for those deck cannons.”

There was a brief pause, and Boba sounded genuine this time as he responded, “Don’t worry about me. Just be careful in there.”

On the console in front of Koska, you watched as the glowing icon indicating your target coordinates grew ever larger in size.

This was it. It was time.

On instinct alone, you reached out, took hold of Din’s hand, and squeezed, suddenly desperate for something to ground yourself. All broad palms and long, thick fingers, he gripped you back with a ferocity you didn’t expect from his calm, collected exterior. Somehow, knowing that he was just as strung out as you over this eased your fears even more than the touch would have otherwise.

Koska, however, was the picture of composure as she narrated your approach. “Exiting hyperspace in three, two, one…”

The tell-tale, stopped-time sensation of dropping out of hyperspace tugged at your navel, and then –

Bright red blaster cannon fire lit up the forward viewport, Bo-Katan poured on the acceleration, and you took off at the fastest sub-light speed the Lambda shuttle could handle. Dodging Boba’s attacks with expert precision, you noticed that each round only narrowly missed the long, fin-like wings of your hijacked Imperial shuttle. The proximity of a few of them had your heart jumping into your throat, but each time, she managed to evade them.

Up ahead, looming pale and angular and absolutely massive against the inky blackness of space, precisely as you had pictured her, was Moff Gideon’s Imperial light cruiser. And you were headed straight for her.

Bringing her palm down on the comm controls, Bo-Katan hailed the cruiser and shouted into the receiver, affecting a distressed tone, “This is Lambda shuttle 2743, requesting emergency docking!”

Her distress call was met only with silence, and you couldn’t help but glance around at the others’ faces as the subspace connection remained dormant. Would the cruiser really ignore them? They looked like an ally, why would they not –

“Repeat – requesting emergency docking. We are under attack!” Bo-Katan echoed.

This time, a commanding, feminine voice responded. “Copy, Lambda shuttle. Request received.” Another pause, this one much shorter than the last, and then, “Stay clear of launch tube. Deploying fighter squadron.”

Bo-Katan shot a significant look at Koska, and the dark-haired woman clenched her jaw and nodded once. You realized they must have come to the same conclusion – the plan would need to remain the same even in the face of this new hurdle. In order to board the ship where it was most vulnerable, the Lambda shuttle would be facing down the TIE fighter squadron head-on – at the mouth of the launch tube.

Just as this thought occurred to you, a single silver TIE fighter streaked from the opening of the launch tube, rocketing out into space through the narrow walls of the aperture. Through the viewport, you watched as the fighter drew closer, closer, closer still. Bo-Katan held her course, however, continuing to dodge Boba’s cannon fire while never once wavering in her aim. For a moment, you thought the fighter might not adjust course in time, but then, at the last second, it veered hard to starboard and only barely missed clipping wings with the shuttle.

You swore you could feel a collective breath of relief being released across the room, but the feeling was short-lived as another TIE fighter appeared at the mouth of the launch tube.

If the first of the squadron had cut it close, this one was downright reckless. Blasting at top speeds through the narrow mouth of the tunnel, you were certain you could see the black reflective surface of the pilot’s helmet through his own transparisteel viewport before he finally dropped into a steep dive and ducked beneath the Lambda shuttle.

And still, Bo-Katan and Koska held steady. The aperture of the launch bay glowed bright blue in the distance, visible through the long, thin tunnel right at the nose of the light cruiser. Another fighter was being brought out – you could see it clearly now; another was about to launch, and the shuttle was nearly at the tunnel’s mouth.

You were coming in too hot. If Gideon’s crew launched that fighter, you would meet in midair, trapped in the restrictive space of the launch tunnel with nowhere to go, and no dodging or maneuvering – no matter how expertly done – would be enough to stop a collision.

The crew on the light cruiser seemed to have noticed the same. Bursting through the comm lines with urgency, the communications officer barked, “Request denied! Please clear launch tube until fighters deploy!”

Bo-Katan grit her teeth and responded, a bit of real anxiety beginning to creep into her façade. “Negative! Negative! We are under attack!”

You braced yourself against the nearest bulkhead as the shuttle dodged another volley of rounds from the Firespray, and in that moment, bright green blaster cannon fire joined the red. The two TIE fighters had joined the fray. Your pilots were left then to dodge both assailants and somehow still thread the needle into the mouth of the launch tube.

Gripping Din’s hand in yours even harder, you swallowed the ball of fear that had begun to build in your throat.

You had talented pilots at the helm of your ship – experienced fighters, cunning warriors both with nerves of steel, you told yourself. You had to trust their timing, their skills. Otherwise, you would be a harried mess before you even had the chance to step foot out of the shuttle and begin the mission in truth.

“Clear launch tube immediately!” the comm link commanded, and although she knew they could not see her, Bo-Katan shook her head, red bob dancing along her jaw.

It was miraculous, truly, what the would-be Mandalorian ruler was able to accomplish over the next few seconds. The sequence of events began to blur together, dissolving into one long, chaotic moment, but the next thing you knew, the entrance to the launch loomed directly in front of the viewport. You felt the ship shift with the mechanical vibration of the shuttle’s wings lifting into their vertical position, narrowing the ship dramatically, and just as they locked into place, you breached the mouth of the tube with mere inches to spare on either side.

But you were still coming in too hot, too fast. The short distance between the mouth of the tube and the ship’s shield-guarded launch portal was quickly disappearing, and there was no way the bulky wings of the Lambda shuttle were going to make it into that tiny opening unscathed.

“Hang on!” Fennec warned, seeing the same thing you did. Din dropped your hand and wrapped his arm around your waist, pulling you into his side as though preparing to shield you against the inevitable collision. You hid your face in the crook of his shoulder, unable to watch, as the aperture swallowed the shuttle whole.

The impact was immediate and brutal, clipping the edge of the portside wing and sending you, Din, and Cara all flying across the cabin and slamming into the unforgiving deck plating. Din cushioned your fall somewhat, though you couldn’t say the beskar was a much more comfortable place to land. The shuttle trembled violently around you, and bright sparks flew as both wing joints dragged along the inside of the launch tube. The belly of the ship bounced once, then twice, the vibration ringing through your teeth, and finally – after what felt like an eternity but in reality was a mere handful of seconds – you skidded to a stop at the end of the launch tube.

The moment the shuttle stopped rumbling beneath your bodies, Din and Cara were on their feet, and you scrambled to follow. This was the moment – time to execute the next phase of the plan. And time for you to leave the bounty hunter’s side and pray that you would reunite on the bridge unharmed.

Gripping the side of your face in one hand and drawing his blaster with the other, Din yanked you to him and pressed his forehead to yours one last time.

“K’oyacyi, cyare. Come back safe.”

“You, too,” you whispered, breath fogging his visor. “Go get him. Bring him home.”

“We’ve got her, Mando,” Cara assured him as she raised her blaster rifle, pushing her dark, disheveled hair out of her face. “C’mon. Time to go.”

You nodded once, drew your own blaster from your holster, and stepped back as Fennec shouldered her way to the rear of the cabin. With sharp, determined eyes, she did a quick inventory of the room, ensuring that all members of the boarding party were prepared to disembark.

When her gaze landed on you, she said, “Remember the plan, girl. Keep to the center of the formation, wait for clear windows to shoot, and for kriff’s sake, don’t try to be a hero.”

Releasing a huff of laugh, you agreed with a glib “yes, ma’am,” and then Bo-Katan’s sharp voice rang out behind you, the sound modulated by the sudden addition of her helmet vocoder.

“Drop the ramp – let’s go.”

As the ramp began to descend, dense, white coolant steam billowed from the shuttle’s undercarriage, obscuring your view of the bay ahead. In the distance, you could hear a Storm Trooper shouting, “Clear the launch tube! What are you doing? Get that thing out of here – ”

Whatever he was meant to say next, he never got the opportunity. With steady precision, Koska raised her blaster pistol and shot twice through the fog, and instead of more protests, all you heard was a pained “argh” and the sound of two armored bodies hitting the deck.

Then chaos erupted.

Shoulder to shoulder, Fennec and Koska led the charge down the ramp while Bo-Katan and Cara brought up the rear. You stayed tucked between them, blaster drawn, head down, the marshal’s broad form shielding you from the bright red bolts of light that filled the air. In the distance, you could see more than a dozen Imperials charging at the shuttle – some in full Storm Trooper white, others in officer gray, all with blasters drawn, raining fire on your boarding party.

But the women who surrounded you moved as a unit – like one that had been fighting arm-in-arm for years rather than days. It was tactical, the way they divided the oncoming hoard of combatants, and in perfect synchronicity, they cut through the launch bay like a hot knife through butter. The sound of it was overwhelming – the overlapping shrieks of volley after volley of blaster rounds, the whip of a grappling line from one of the Mandalorians’ vambraces, the flare of heat from a jetpack, the echo of heavy boots sprinting across durasteel deck plating. You kept your head on a swivel, your own blaster at the ready, but by the time your party had made it to the far side of the launch bay – leaving a trail of Imperial bodies in your wake – you found that you hadn’t even needed to fire it.

They had eliminated everyone in their path with such deadly precision, your presence had been entirely superfluous.

However, you hardly had the opportunity to feel self-conscious about that fact. Just as you had predicted, just as Mayfeld had warned you as you sat huddled over datapads and schematics in the depths of hyperspace, the moment the ship’s internal sensors detected blaster energy signatures, the launch bay doors slid shut. Emerging from the depths of the bulkheads on either side, two blast doors slammed closed over them, and a series of forbidding red lights flared to life around the metallic doorframe. The control panel to the right of the door also glowed red, and you felt the faintest surge of satisfaction at the sight.

The first security checkpoint had been activated. No one would be leaving the launch bay without passing a genetic scan and a chain code verification. You had been right.

“You’re up,” Fennec beckoned as the group approached the foreboding door, and you nodded silently.

This was what you were here for. This was something you could do.

Slipping to the front of the group, you took notice of how the other members closed ranks around you, placing their own bodies between you and any potential threats. The room around you was silent, almost eerily so, and you knew that none other than your team had been left alive. But still, they protected you.

For now, however, you shoved all of the warm feelings that realization elicited to the side and instead dug one of your arsenal of datasticks out of your pocket. You gripped it between your teeth to free up your hands, and then, digging the tips of your fingers into the frame of the control panel, you wrenched it open, exposing the inner workings of the terminal. The wires and switches and flashing lights before you might have looked anonymous and random to others, but to your eyes, it was a puzzle waiting to be solved.

Plugging the datastick into the open port, you went to work.

Slice into the internal security system. Access the secondary protocols. Isolate the launch bay terminals, cut them off from the rest of the system. Identify the unique override sequence. You frowned, drawing your lower lip between your teeth in concentration. The press of bodies around you shifted restlessly as the seconds ticked by. You resisted the urge to reassure them – you were close, you were almost there, just one more redirect and –

“That’s it,” you breathed, removing the datastick, replacing the control panel cover. With quick fingers, you entered a series of commands into the panel, and suddenly, all of the lights surrounding the blast doors flickered blue. With a loud, mechanical thunk, every layer of the barrier retracted back into the bulkheads, and the path ahead looked back at you, clear and open.

Behind you, Cara released a breath of relief, and Bo-Katan swept an impassive stare from the bottoms of your boots to the top of your head, as though appraising you. “Well done,” she said, brusque but earnest. “Now fall back.”

You tucked your datastick back into your pocket and withdrew your blaster from your holster as you retreated back into formation. Koska took point once again as the party charged down the open corridor, and you encountered no enemies along its length. After a handful of minutes, you came upon a path that branched perpendicularly to the left, and Koska held up her fist for you all to slow to a stop. Blaster drawn, she peeked around the corner and scanned the area quickly. “All clear.”

Bo-Katan rounded the corner ahead of her, taking in the new corridor for herself. “A little too clear,” she agreed. Beckoning the group forward, she proceeded cautiously, and as you advanced, you realized that you had come upon an open-air catwalk connecting two sections of the ship. Above and below the narrow strip of decking that stretched out before you was nothing but open, vacuous space, and if you dared to glance down, you could see the infinite blackness twinkling back at you from beyond the life support system’s ray shields. Swallowing the wave of anxiety that washed over you at the sight, you kept your eyes on the back of Bo-Katan’s helmet instead.

“Keep your eyes open,” she cautioned as you began to traverse the catwalk. You were back to the center of the formation, as planned, allowing the others to keep themselves between you and the unfamiliar surroundings, but your blaster remained firmly gripped in your hand anyway, ready to defend yourself should you need to.

You made it about halfway across the catwalk unmolested. Just as you were beginning to think that this leg of your journey might prove to be blessedly simple, four Storm Troopers emerged from the open door ahead.

As if they had planned such a synchronous maneuver in advance (which, to be fair, they probably had), both Koska and Bo-Katan fired up their jetpacks and dove off opposite edges of the catwalk, leaving you, Cara, and Fennec to face the oncoming assailants alone. The marshal was quick to dig her fingers into the back of your boilersuit and tug you bodily behind her, but that didn’t stop you from raising your pistol. On instinct alone, you thrust the muzzle of your blaster into the space between the other two women’s bodies, and your fire joined theirs in gunning down the troopers. You couldn’t be certain whether any of your rounds landed, but by the time all of them had either crumpled to the floor or fallen off the edge of the catwalk, the unlucky Storm Troopers had only managed to get off a single round. No one from the boarding party had been harmed.

“Freeze! Drop your weapons!”

A sharp, modulated voice rang out behind you, and your stomach dropped, all of the bravado you had felt mere moments ago slipping away as quickly as it had come. Turning slowly, you found six more Storm Troopers equipped with sleek black blaster rifles spilling onto the catwalk.

“Dank farrik,” you swore under your breath, icy, paralyzing fear gripping your spine for the first time since leaving the shuttle. There had to be too many of them. You didn’t have the element of surprise like you had with the others; these troopers already had their weapons trained on you, and on this narrow walkway, there was nowhere to hide.

Should you surrender, you wondered? Drop your pistol to the floor, put your hands in the air? The idea had your stomach rolling. No, you couldn’t give up, not now –

The distinctive rumble of jetpacks reverberated off of the nearby bulkheads, and a rush of relief so powerful it nearly had your knees buckling washed over you as both Koska and Bo-Katan shot out from their hiding places under the catwalk. From several feet in the air, they rained blast fire down on the unsuspecting troopers, red light and white sparks flying with each impact, and in a handful of seconds, all six of your would-be captors had collapsed into white plastoid heaps on the deck.

You sent the two Mandalorians grateful smiles as they landed smoothly back on the surface of the walkway, and then you were off again, proceeding with haste through the open archway ahead.

---

The deeper into Moff Gideon’s cruiser the boarding party penetrated, the more confident you became. The adrenaline racing through your veins felt less unsettling, rattling on your nerves; instead it seemed to focus you, blocking out all other concerns and fears and narrowing your field of vision to just the mission at hand. Keep your head down. Shoot when you have to. Override every barrier, disable every checkpoint in your path. Trust your comrades to keep you safe, but watch their backs, as well. It reminded you a bit of the Razor Crest’s pursuit of Kevok Teklolq, the way you found yourself able to sink into this role, to concentrate only the task in front of you to the exclusion of all else.

As you made your way across a densely-packed cargo bay, surrounded on all sides by Fennec and Cara’s blaster fire and crumpling white-armored bodies, you felt as focused and in-control as you did behind the helm of a starship. So when one of those anonymous plastoid helmets rounded the corner in front of you, blaster at the ready, you didn’t hesitate, and at this close of a range, even you couldn’t miss.

You shot once. Twice.

The soldier let out a pained grunt and toppled to the floor, and if bile rose in the back of your throat at the sound, you were too focused on reaching the next checkpoint to notice.

Unfortunately, that next check point appeared to be at the far end of an endless series of corridors, and each one seemed to be filled with more Imperial forces than the last. The closer you drew to the bridge, the tighter the defenses. Keeping tight to your formation, the five of you cleared each hall as you entered it, the occasional round bouncing off of Bo-Katan and Koska’s armor as you advanced. It wasn’t until you reached the last turn that the endless wave of combatants became too much to bear.

“Split up!” Cara barked, breaking away from the group. Her massive blaster rifle propped firmly under her arm, she placed herself in front of the rest of you, strong shoulders broad and centered as she took on the oncoming troopers like a force of nature. You tucked yourself behind a support beam, pressing yourself against the bulkhead to steady your aim and did your best to back her up, but next to her oversized rounds, the ones coming from your little pistol seemed to almost inconsequential.

However, as Cara reached the end of the corridor, you heard a distinctive whirring, seizing sound coming from her rifle, and you watched as she quickly found her own support beam to take shelter behind as she cried, “My gun’s jammed!”

Fennec was quick to jump to her aid, yelling, “I got you!” The assassin was nimble, light on her feet, dodging shot after shot as she cut down the corridor toward where Cara had hidden. She was good, great even as more and more Storm Troopers fell at her feet, but it wasn’t enough. The two Mandalorians were occupied with forces approaching from behind, and while the marshal wrestled with her uncooperative weapon, Fennec was outgunned.

A sickening bolt of fear broke through your concentration as you watched yet another trooper round the corner into the corridor, raise his blaster, and take aim directly at the Rebel dropper at his feet.

“Cara!”

Again, you didn’t think, didn’t hesitate. You shot off three rounds, two of which arced wide, but the third one kept true and collided with the trooper’s chest. He staggered back with the force of the impact, a hollow “ugh!” ringing out through his helmet, and then Cara Dune was on her feet once more. Having given up on repairing her blaster rifle, she deftly spun the thing around and wielded the stock like a bludgeon. Lifting the gun high, she shattered the trooper’s helmet in a deadly blow, and white shards of plastoid sprayed through the air as the man collapsed, motionless on the ground.

The marshal shot a wild grin over her shoulder at you, pride gleaming in her dark eyes. “Thanks,” she huffed breathlessly.

You weren’t certain how you felt about that sentiment just now, knowing that you were being thanked for helping her to take a life, even if it had been to save hers. But you could unpack that another time, you decided. Now, your expertise was needed at the doors to the lift that loomed ahead – the lift that would take you to the cruiser’s bridge deck. You were nearly there.

You didn’t wait to be prompted. While the others polished off the remaining troopers, you darted over to the lift, outlined as all the other checkpoints had been in bright red lights. You got to work immediately – peeling back the control panel cover, plugging in one of your datasticks, everything just as you had done for the previous checkpoints. However, as you felt the rest of the boarding party fall into formation behind you, you noticed that each time you thought you had disabled a set of protocols successfully, the effects seem to only last for a moment or two. The layers of security would fall away, and then they would surge back into place, as if you hadn’t just spent long, precious seconds systematically taking them apart.

“Fuck.” The curse came out breathless, and you could feel sweat gathering on the back of your neck and across your forehead as the realization shot down your spine like a livewire. “They’re changing it.”

“What is it?” Bo-Katan asked sharply, her modulated voice sounding just over your shoulder.

“The ship’s crew is countering. The security algorithm has started to vary – they’re trying to stop us from reaching the bridge.”

“Can you compensate?”

You weighed your answer only briefly before nodding. “Yes.”

The new cypher was complex, more nuanced and layered than the first, as though designed to test the limits of your knowledge and see how far you could push them. As you keyed through the terminal, you dug through your memories, your experiences with programs like this one. You pictured your father’s starship database, the endless stores of information, wishing you could remember even half of what you had studied at his side. You had always been more of a hardware girl, anyway; more than anything, you wished you had your plasma torch just so you could see how the security team on the bridge would respond to you simply cutting through the doors they erected in your path.

“Not to rush you, engineer, but if we need to find an alternate way to the bridge, we need to know now.”

“Shh,” you whispered, keeping your eyes on the open terminal before you. You were so close. You could feel it, you just needed to focus, you just needed –

There.

Your hands flew to reassemble the control panel, dropping your datastick back into your pocket once more. One quick command sequence, the foreboding red lights flickered blue, and the lift doors slid open without prompting.

All of the breath left your lungs in one loud exhale, and then you were all piling into the lift car. You input the bridge level number before anyone could ask, and as the car began to rise, you collapsed back against the durasteel wall in relief.

That had been too close for your comfort.

The near-complete silence in the narrow walls of the lift was jarring after the sounds of battle. You could hear the pounding of your heart for the first time since you had left the shuttle, and your own breath sounded too loud in your ears. In the quiet, Bo-Katan turned to you and demanded, “Did you shush me back there?”

Stars, had you? You supposed you had. Perhaps not the wisest choice – to be so disrespectful to the future Mand’alor. It hadn’t been consciously done, but still…

Thankfully, you were saved from needing to answer for this slight by Marshal Dune banging the butt of her blaster rifle on the floor and cursing loudly. “Dank farrik!” She fussed with the action, opening and closing it multiple times, blaster parts clanking against one another in a way no one in the lift could have ignored. “Son of a mudscuffer!”

“Are you sure you don’t need any help?” Bo-Katan asked wryly.

With gritted teeth, Cara slammed the stock of her gun down once more, this time with enough force that you could feel the vibration of it through the floor. A distinctive whirring sound emanated from the depths of the rifle, and you breathed a sigh of relief as she said, “I think that did it.”

Just then, the lift arrived at the bridge level, and the marshal swung her oversized weapon around toward the opening lift door. “Excuse me,” she muttered under her breath, and then she was leading the charge, teeth bared, pouring a never-ending stream of glowing yellow blaster fire down the enemy-filled hallway.

“Hostiles! Stop!”

The command from one of the Storm Troopers ahead did not deter you. The four of you followed in the marshal’s wake, unleashing every ounce of aggression you had left, and just as before, the dense press of armored bodies fell in the face of your party’s sheer force. However, as you gained ground toward the bridge, which shone in the distance, you watched as one final security checkpoint – one you hadn’t planned for – flared to life around its entrance. Warning lights glared red in the frame, two layers of blast doors slammed shut at the end of the corridor, and you swore you could feel the leaden finality of them reverberate through your bones.

Somewhere off to your right, Fennec shouted your name through the deafening roar of blaster fire.

“Go! Get that door open!” she shouted, her low, warm voice hoarse and strained. “I’ll cover you!”

Wordlessly, you nodded, and then you were off like a shot, sprinting down the remaining distance between you and the door with single-minded focus. You did not allow yourself to look as troopers fell around you at the end of Fennec’s rifle, did not allow yourself to hesitate as you jumped over their bodies, as you ducked their flying blaster bolts. You trusted the assassin. Your teammate, your friend. She would keep you safe as you ran. She had to.

You nearly skidded to a stop by the time you made it to the bridge’s entrance. Bracing yourself with your palms against the durasteel, you curled your shoulders inward and tried to make yourself as small a target as possible as you got to work. There was no four-fighter squadron shielding your back this time. You would need to be fast.

As you sliced into the system, you found even more modifications to the algorithms than you had seen on the lift. Brows pulled low, lip between your teeth, you took deep, steadying breaths as you worked. You kept the peril of your situation at arm’s length, knowing that if you allowed yourself to experience it, to really hear the fight going on around you, you would freeze. Instead, you kept your eyes on the terminal, and you ripped the protocol to shreds.

You were putting the control panel cover back on when you heard it – Cara’s voice, then Fennec’s, then even Bo-Katan’s cutting through the chaos. Your name, repeated over and over. “Get down! Get down!”

You hit the deck on your knees, legs collapsing beneath you.

And three blaster bolts collided with the durasteel blast doors right where your head had been.

You felt as though your stomach had fallen clean out of your body as you stared up at the glowing hot dents in the metal, all clustered together right where you had been standing. Sweat poured down your face, fatigue settling in your bones. Stars, that had nearly been the end of you. Your mind flew to Din and then to Grogu, thankful down to your core that you hadn’t seen the last of them.

So overwhelmed were you that you barely noticed Cara coming up behind you until she hauled you to your feet.

“You’re all right, sweetheart, shake it off,” she encouraged, brushing imaginary dust from your shoulders. “We took care of that guy, don’t worry. Let’s get in this room, huh?”

You nodded gratefully. With the other woman’s arm still tucked protectively around your shoulders, you entered the final command sequence, and the security system disarmed.

The party made quick work of the few Imperials left on the bridge when the doors opened. Fanning out across the room, it took only a handful of quick, efficient shots to have the entire bridge crew on the ground.

Koska charged straight for the security station, withdrawing an abandoned code cylinder from the console. “Weapons systems disarmed,” she said. “Secondary security protocols also disabled. Everyone should be able to move freely now.”

Thank the Maker. All that was left now was to wait for Din to rendezvous with you all, and with any luck, he would have Grogu in tow. Your relief was all-consuming, and you found yourself sinking into one of the officers’ chairs with a sigh.

However, there was one member of your party who did not seem especially pleased with the results of your efforts. After taking a full tour around the perimeter of the bridge, Bo-Katan Kryze came to stand in front of the viewport, confusion and fury pouring from her in palpable waves even through her impassive helmet.

Shoving both of her blaster pistols into her holsters with force, she hissed, “Where’s Gideon?”

You glanced around at the bodies that littered the floor, seeing a handful of troopers, a couple of officers in gray... But no one in command black.

Moff Gideon wasn’t here.

---

Mando'a Translations:

epar - eat k’oyacyi - Cheers! Hang in there! Come back safely. Literally, "stay alive"

#din djarin #din djarin x reader #din djarin x f!reader #din djarin x you #the mandalorian #din djarin fanfiction #the mandalorian fanfiction #pedro pascal #pedro pascal characters #pedro pascal character fanfiction

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werebothdoingareallygoodjob · 7 months

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Natasha brings her motorcycle to a slow roll down the alley and backs it against the brick wall of a building. She cuts the headlamp and the darkness off the alley floods in. A tropical storm has just passed over Madripoor and the city's usual thrumming nightlife hasn't had a chance to crawl it's way back into the streets. The storm leaves a thick, sodden feeling to the air.

A little over an hour ago, she received an alert that the security system in her Lowtown safehouse was disarmed and the pressure sensors she installed in the floor registered a presence. She removes her helmet and the alley's wet pavement reflects back pink and blue neon onto Natasha's vibrant red hair. Now that she is stationary, the humidity has Natasha peeling off her riding jacket and stashing it in the panier in exchange for her firearm. She tucks it in the back of her leather pants, more for convenience than to actually conceal it. The cropped black halter top highlighting Natasha's toned torso doesn't do anything to hide the gun. It's not as if Madripoor dress code calls for being discreet either.

Natasha walks around the corner and down the block to a different alley. The block heel of her boots clacks with each step and she feels suddenly aware of just how weird a quiet Madripoor is. She approaches the back door of the safehouse. There is moss growing at the bottom of the wooden door frame and several large native plants climb up the walls adjacent to the door on either side. Warm yellow light faintly illuminating the gauzy curtains of a small widow to the left of the door divulges a presence inside but Natasha can't hear any noise.

She reaches for her lock pick kit from her back pocket and hunches a bit to get a better view of the lock. The door is slightly ajar, which would normally be a little unsettling to Natasha, but she has a feeling she knows who is inside. She nudges the door open, forgoing the lock pick.

Natasha steps inside and closes the door behind her with a soft thump. There is a mostly empty bowl with chopsticks resting in it, a carafe of old coffee, and an ashtray on the table in front of her. The kitchen is empty but she wraps her fingers around the butt of the gun resting at her lower back as she approaches the doorway to the bedroom just off the kitchen.

Before Natasha rounds the corner, she hears a loud gulp, followed by a heavy sigh. The left corner of Natasha's mouth curls into a knowing half smile and she relaxes her hand from the firearm.

"You know, I think you've gotten a little rusty in your espionage skills," she greets him warmly as she leans against the doorway. "I'd be happy to give you a few tips."

Bucky is sitting on the edge of the bed facing the doorway, his legs stretched out in front of him and metal arm resting between his thighs. He blinks up at Natasha blearily and the yellow light from the kitchen exaggerates the sharp planes of his face. There is a gash on the corner of his mouth that still looks fresh. Bucky's right hand grips the neck of a bottle, which rests on top of his right thigh.

"Hmm," he hufs. He pulls his left leg under him and goes to stand unsuccessfully. A hiss of pain passes through his clenched jaw.

"At ease Sargeant, I'm not here to evict you," she quips, still leaning against the doorway. "What happened?"

"Power broker goons. Turns out I'm no good on my own these days," he says and turns his head from her gaze.

"Turns out," Natasha echoes. "Let me get a look at you."

Natasha pushes away from the door to approach Bucky's still seated form. He leans down to set the bottle on the floor and it clinks against another one, empty and previously discarded.

"I thought you super soldiers couldn't get drunk," Natasha questions as she presses her palm to his shoulder to encourage him to lay back. The intense heat radiating off his body sounds at least one alarm in Natasha's mind.

"M'not drunk, just needed something to do," Bucky protests as he complies to her gentle touch and lays back with his legs still off the bed.

"Hmm," Natasha suspects that might not be entirely true.

She notices Bucky's shoulder holster is still on over his red henley. Definite sweat rings have formed around the collar and underarms of the shirt and he doesn't appear to be using his left arm. He must've been in pretty bad shape when he stumbled into the safehouse a few hours ago.

"You feel feverish," Natasha states flatly, even though she meant it to be a question. "Stay there."

Bucky grunts lowly in response.

Natasha takes four strides into the bathroom right outside of the bedroom door and doesn't bother turning on the light. She yanks open a stuck bathroom drawer that has been warped from the humidity. She jiggles it forward once more to reach the first aid kit stashed at the back of it. Natasha brings it to the kitchen and sets the first aid kit on the table. The warm yellow light helps her locate a syringe and a small gauge needle inside of it. She retrieves a glass vial from the dated avocado-green fridge and sets about attaching the needle to the syringe. Natasha punctures the foil top with the needle, flips the vial upsidedown, and draws a suitable dose of the liquid into the syringe.

Natasha strides back into the bedroom with the first aid kit in her right hand and the syringe in the left. She sets the kit down on the bed near Bucky's side and straddles his outstretched legs. She gazes over his supine form, watching his broad chest rise and fall with deep breaths. After a moment of consideration, she hikes one knee up on the bed to better lean over him. Natasha puts the barrel of the syringe between her teeth and presses the palm of her left hand into the top of Bucky's thigh to steady herself. She reaches for the bottom hem of his shirt with her right and attempts to make eye contact with Bucky for his consent to lift his shirt, but his head has lulled to the side.

"James," she calls softly around the barrel of the syringe as to not startle him if he's drifted off. He doesn't respond.

Natasha slowly begins to lift his shirt and can feel it sticking to his skin with blood from a recent wound just below his ribs. Bucky suddenly snaps to awareness and lurches up. The abrupt contraction of his abdominals causes fresh blood to seep from the wound.

Bucky is inches from her face and his eyes are darting rapidly between hers. His top lip curls into a snarl and his right hand grips the bedsheets below him. His gaze breaks to look down at the syringe between her lips and then immediately back to her eyes.

"Relax," Natasha hisses behind the syringe, drawing out the last syllable.

"Natalia?" Bucky whispers. His brow is furrowed and eyes are rapidly scanning Natasha's face. A hiss of pain escape him as his abs pull in protectively. He briefly closes his eyes, snarl still firmly in place. Natasha's insides briefly constrict. She reaches up to safely remove the syringe from her mouth before anymore sporadic movements are made and swallows roughly.

"Yeah, it's me."

Bucky relaxes his mouth and exhales. His right arm buckles and he falls back to the bed. Natasha briefly considers that bringing a syringe around a fever addled former assassin was probably not the best course of action.

"I'm giving you something to help with the infection," she says and adds for reassurance, "It's just me here."

Bucky has gone back to his semi-catatonc state, head lulled to the left. Natasha pulls the neck of his shirt and shoulder holster down to access the muscle of his right shoulder before swiftly puncturing it with the needle and depressing the plunger with her thumb. She withdrawals the needle and releases the over stretched fabric.

Natasha returns to the task of lifting Bucky's shirt to asses his injuries, but decides against it. Instead, she removes the knife secured at Bucky's hip, bunches the fabric in her left hand and pulls the knife through it. She tears the shirt the rest of the way up to the neckline.

Fresh blood bubbles out of the poorly sutured wound on Bucky's right side. The skin around it is inflamed and several smaller cuts adorn his torso around it. What's more concerning to Natasha though is the massive deep red coloring that takes up the entirety of his left pectoral.

"Lucky me, you're too stubborn for that," Natasha's half smile returned as she met his eyes.

"Barnes," Natasha tries to rouse him. He doesn't respond immediately and in the stretch of silence, Natasha can hear his shallow breathing. She reaches up to press two fingers into the pulse point of his neck.

"M'not dead," Bucky grumbles. "Yet," he finishes as his eyes find Natasha's soft gaze.

#buckynat #bucky x natasha #natasha romanoff #bucky barnes #winterwidow #yay i did it #said through gritted teeth #my writing

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startrekfangirl2233-writes · 1 year

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Wake Me Up Before You Go Go

Mickey 'Fanboy' Garcia x Reader

Description: Mickey Garcia has always had dance in his soul. It shocked everyone he knew when he didn't follow the music and dance in his soul for a career. Instead he became a Naval Aviator - a Weapons Systems Officer, in fact, and didn't regret that decision even once. Some part of him knew that he would find his dance partner one day. After the Uranium Mission, the restlessness in his soul lead to Mickey going dancing, and that's where he'd found you. At first things between the two of you were just fun. But what happens when Mickey wants more? Can he convince you just how good the two of you could be dancing in step for the rest of your lives? Disclaimer: Female!Reader Word Count: 2947 Author’s Note: Hiya! I wrote this fic as yet another installment for @roosterforme's Top Gun Rocktober Event. This time, it's based on the song Wake Me Up (Before You Go Go) by Wham! This is my first official oneshot for Fanboy and I really love it! I hope you all do too! All of the bold and italicized parts are lyrics from the song! My Masterlist

Miguel Garcia has always had a dancer’s heart. Growing up in Miami, Florida, he’s been surrounded by music since the day he was born in an inner-city hospital to two people with pure music in their souls. If you asked either of his parents, they’d have thought he’d grow up to be a Merengue, Cumbia, or Salsa dancer. Instead, Miguel chose to join the Navy. When he was so serious, so sure of the decision, who were they to stop him? He’d worked incredibly hard to climb the ranks, but he’d never lost the rhythm in his heart. What was harder to find was the girl who dances in a complimentary rhythm to his own.

It hasn’t helped either that he’s been deployed around the world for most of his career. It has been an incredibly fulfilling life, but a solitary one. Sure he has Reuben, who Mickey can unequivocally class as both a best friend and a brother, but it's not the same. A part of him has always wanted the kind of love his parents share, the kind of love he'd grown up with. The Uranium mission had seemed like the turning point in his career. The admiralty had formed a new squadron, electing to keep the Daggers together, and he was (he is) happy to have a permanent place to call home. It had finally felt like he had a family again. But something was still missing - someone was still missing.

He'd started up his old habits from his youth once more. Weekend after weekend he'd hit the dance clubs of San Diego, dancing with everybody who wanted to, until the nervous thrum in his veins had quieted once more. That was the only way he’d been able to fall asleep with the new monotony his life had taken. It had been one such night after a terribly boring week when he saw you for the first time. You were laughing and carefree, each elegant movement looking like poetry on the dance floor of the small salsa bar. It was the first time all night he’d felt the incessant energy thrumming under his skin grow quiet.

"Hi, can I cut in?" He'd asked.

"Sure," You'd giggled. The minute you put your hand in his, he'd been lost to the music in your eyes and the rhythm of your soul. You'd felt like sin under his fingertips and your smile had been brighter than the sun. Mickey had not wanted to let go of you all night.

That rhythm had translated into what was the best sex of his life in the months following your serendipitous meeting. But night after night he always woke up in his simple, shitty little base apartment to the sight of you slipping out of the door like you'd never been in his bed to begin with. Just like that, too, he'd stay awake an hour longer to see your posts on social media about dancing in the Gaslamp Quarter. And every night he'd fall back to sleep wishing that one day soon your heart would beat to the same rhythm as his own. He'd known you'd wanted something light, "Just fucking, just for fun", you'd murmured in your musical voice that first night. And just fucking, just for fun was where he'd stayed.

Mickey isn’t sure when it happened, but you've been haunting his every thought. He only needs to blink and he can see your smile, your sparkling eyes, and everything about you in technicolor swimming in front of his eyes. All of a sudden, your arrangement isn’t enough. He wants to dance through life with you, not just waltz you into his bed every few nights. It’s no lie that work keeps you busy, just like the Navy keeps him. He knows you love it, dancing by night and during the day writing reviews of the places you danced at for one of San Diego's travel websites. But Mickey can't help wanting more of you.

Even when he's supposed to be flying, he's only thinking of you. His inattention could cause him to make some serious mistakes, but he can’t stop. The one time he’d mentioned it to Payback, he’d regretted it too. Reuben was no help. His advice had been, "Just tell her how you feel. Then you can woo her!"

Well, Reuben may know exactly what to say to Emily, his wife, but Mickey still has no idea what to say to you. Or when, to be honest. You're barely around for more than a few hours at a time. And when you are, your pretty mouth is too occupied to do much talking.

After months of trying and failing to tell you how he feels, Mickey's decided he has to take matters into his own hands and track you down at one of these clubs. He has to dance with you, take advantage of the close proximity and your body pressed against his to tell you the truth. But he has no idea what your schedule is. So Mickey does what he does best, analyzes all of the facts. If he can do it in the back of a jet, he can track you down, right? The first thing he does is call your best friend.

"Hey, Maria. Do you have any idea what Angel's doing this weekend?" Her response had been vague at best, something about a themed dance night at one of the clubs in the city. Okay, it's a start. But it's October. Nearly every dance club in the city is throwing themed dance nights Friday through Sunday. That's not going to help much.

You'd mentioned something to him a couple of nights ago, about reviewing the theme night happening at one of the newest clubs in town. It was one of the few words of pillow talk he actually remembered before your mouth was doing wicked things that made his heart rate skyrocket. Now if only he could remember what kind of theme night. Not hip hop, funk, or soul. It could've been a kpop night, but you'd mentioned something about lycra? What the hell does lycra have to do with dance? Before he can update his list, his phone gets snatched right out of his hands. It's Hangman, because of course it is, and the nosey fucker's already looking into Mickey's phone like it's his god-given right to do so.

"Well, well, well, Fanboy. You like going dancing on weekends? Picking up the ladies?" The glare Mickey levels at the obnoxious blond could have been powerful enough to set him up in flames.

"Can I have my phone back, please, Bagman?" But Hangman just keeps scrolling, quite gleefully ignoring his pleas.

"Nah. This is too interesting." He squints at the screen. "What do dancing and lycra have to do with each other?"

"I wish I knew. My girlfriend, I guess, mentioned going to one of these Halloween theme dance nights this weekend. And she mentioned something about lycra and one of the places she's going this weekend." Mickey should not be grateful to have his phone back, not when Jake just slumps down on the sofa and starts brainstorming out loud. Most of his suggestions are frankly ludicrous and the longer Mickey hears him talk the more his head pounds.

By the time training is over for the day, every single Dagger knows and has contributed their two cents. Mickey's more than exhausted and all he wants is his Angel, but you're not there. But as it stands, there is a monster in his stomach growling loudly and he’s covered in sweat. So into the locker room he goes, praying that the guys have something, anything to talk about other than his Angel search.

Of course the minute he walks into the locker room he’s bombarded with even more suggestions. At that moment, Mickey has to remind himself that he likes these people. They may be pains in his ass but he likes them.

"Aww, c'mon Fanboy! This is your girl we're talking about. So what's she like in bed? She has to be a bombshell in and out of bed to keep your attention." Mickey's not quite sure what to say to Jake's comment because you are. He calls you his Angel for a reason after all. But he's never once indulged in locker room shop talk and he isn't going to now. Not when he's not even sure how you feel about him and everything.

So he just shrugs and turns on the shower. With the hot water pounding down around him the tight band of pressure across his temples eases. It helps that Hangman has finally, finally shut up about Angel's weekend plans, too.

But it feels like it's nearly too good to be true. Because the squadron is at the Hard Deck later that night, and Mickey gets cornered by Natasha and Bob.

"So, Fanboy." Bob's smiling good naturedly as he pushes a soda towards Mickey. "What's your girlfriend like? The other guys probably just want the dirty details but you look happy, man. I'd love to know more about her if you'd like to tell me about her? Nix and I both would."

Under their gentle smiles and easy demeanors it's almost too easy to state all of the ways Mickey adores you. He probably sounds like a broken, stuck record, prattling on and on about your soft hair, sweet smile and your big brain. He even pulls up one of your reviews to share and oh. Oh. He's in love with you. But he’s not sure how he’s going to tell you, not at all.

“Okay, you obviously love this girl.” Mickey can only nod at Natasha’s fondly amused tone. “So why aren’t you tracking her down to tell her so?”

For the first time in weeks, an idea starts to crystallize in his mind. “Would you guys be able to help me find her? She’s supposed to be reviewing one of the Halloween theme nights this weekend. But all Angel told me is something involving lycra.”

"Maybe she is going to wear lycra? Like for eighties jazzercise?" Mickey’s so excited he could kiss Bob for that suggestion. Sure enough there is only one place hosting an eighties theme night this weekend. It would be too much to hope that he could manage to go alone. Because the minute Bob’s found the club, Hangman is right there to start planning a night of it. Before too long, Mickey’s quest to tell his Angel how he really feels has turned into a Dagger’s night out and a complete and total mess.

Come Saturday night, Mickey’s one of the first Daggers ready to leave base and head out for the night. He's not wearing anything too out of the ordinary, opting for a wide collared shirt, and trousers. The one difference is how his curls cascade over his forehead and the retro shades covering his eyes. It doesn't surprise Mickey at all to see Natasha appear in the parking lot minutes later dressed in lycra and a leotard, big puffy hair, sweatbands, leg warmers and all. Bob wearing a turtleneck and slacks and Reuben when he finally drives up is dressed like Mickey is. But the true surprises of the Daggers seem to be Rooster and Hangman who walk up side by side in matching leggings, leotards, wristbands and headbands. Javy appears sedately behind the duo, dressed similarly to Bob.

Mickey feels kind of like the Ringmaster of a particularly rowdy circus as he leads the way into the club not longer after. It feels like entering an alternate universe. The music is so loud he feels it in his bones. Everyone’s wearing bright colors and dressed like they stepped right out of the 80s. There are more than a few people wearing lycra like Nat, Hangman and Rooster. Already, Mickey can feel the thrum of the beat in his blood. But as much as he’d like to dance, he’s a man with a mission.

He melts into the crowd before Nat and Hangman are back with the first round. If he knows you correctly, and he thinks he does, you’ll be right in the middle of the dance floor. You’ve said it a hundred times, that the center of the dance floor is where you can get the best idea of what the mood is for a club. Sure enough, he finds you in the center of the dance floor.

The sight of you, it takes his breath away. Lit up by the glow of the lights, you look ethereal. Your eyes are closed as your body moves to the beat. Much like Nat, you’re in leggings and a leotard too, your hair a halo of curls around your head. But your leotard is more than a little sexier, only a scrap of fabric covering your breasts. You look like sin, your bare arms sparkling under the neon lights as beads of sweat drip down your neck. It’s obvious all the other men on the dance floor want you for themselves too, because one after the other, they keep trying to grind up on you.

When your eyes open, they glimmer with rage, rage you rightfully use to push the wandering hands off of your skin. Rage that melts into a sweet O of surprise when you see him standing there.

“Miguel?” Here’s another reason why he loves you. The way you say his name is like music. He takes your hand just as the beats of an all too familiar song pound through the speakers.

Jitterbug

"Hi, Angel." Mickey's voice would be barely audible were it not for the way he murmurs the words right into your ear. "I missed you."

You look flattered at his innocent admission, and Mickey's not sure why.

"I remember you saying something about an Eighties Dance Night. It didn't take long to find this place."

To your credit, you let Mickey twirl you around the dance floor for a few more seconds before you pretty glistening lips part.

"Why do you miss me, Miguel?" You look like you're almost scared of the answer you're going to get. So instead, Mickey croons the lyrics of the song playing into your ear.

"You take the grey skies outta my way (ooh-ooh)

You make the sun shine brighter than Doris Day

You turned a bright spark into a flame (yeah-yeah)

My beats per minute never been the same"

Now there's understanding in your beautiful eyes and as much as Mickey wants to turn tail and hide, instead a glorious smile takes over your face. He doesn't object at all as you drag him outside. In the quiet, he finally, finally hears the staccato rush of your frenzied breaths, calming in tune to your own.

“Mickey, I …” You look lost all of a sudden and Mickey can’t stand to see that look on your face. So he steps forward and kisses you, slow and sweet, pouring all of his pent up feelings into the soft, tender kiss.

“Angel, please. This once, can I talk?” At your nod, he continues. “I know you just wanted some fun, and that was what I wanted too. But sweetheart, I can’t do this anymore. Cielito, it hurts too much.”

Your face falls at his words, and he can almost see the walls come up around your heart.

“I’m almost certain I’m in love with you, and I can’t stand that you’ve left me sleepin' in my bed. I was dreamin' but I should've been with you instead. Wake me up before you go-go. Don't leave me hanging on like a yo-yo.” Your giggle when Mickey starts singing the song is far better than your tears would have been.

“You’re a sap, Miguel Garcia.” But even as you say the words, you’re stepping into his arms. You taste like strawberries as he sucks on your plush lips and it's a taste he's not sure he'll ever get tired of. “I’m pretty sure that I’m falling in love with you too.”

"Come home with me, baby? And stay the night?" Your grin and nod makes his smile feel like a mile wide as he calls an Uber. You’re all over him on the drive to the base gate and all of a sudden it feels like the world is still. Because you’re in his apartment, and then on his bed, the scrap of fabric covering your tits riding up until it’s not covering anything at all. Your moan is musical, too, as he leaves wet kisses over his skin. But Mickey’s sure he likes you best when you’re completely naked and in his arms, a sheen of sweat over your soft skin as you pant against his chest. Your mind looks to be finally, completely silent, and your lips are pillow soft as you press soft kisses over his heart.

“Miguel?” Your voice is a little rough, vocal cords rubbed raw as you snuggle in closer.

“Yeah, Angel?” Mickey’s sure he’ll never get tired of you, not when you’re blinking sleepily at him.

“Take me out for brunch in the morning?” For some reason your sleepy words make him happier than he’s felt in a long time.

“I can do that, beautiful. But you’ll have to wear my clothes. I don’t think that lycra set of yours should be worn in public, ever again.” He has to stifle his chuckles when all he hears is a soft snuffling snore. There’s no way you’re going out dancing without him tonight. You’re too worn out. Is it a crime that he likes you that way?

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