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nahoney22 · 2 months ago

Text

Perfectly Plucked

🫧 Pairings: Tech X Female!Reader

🫧 word count: 3.2k

Plot: Omega mentions to Tech that you love flowers, and luckily enough for him, you love him also.

Warnings: Fluff, safe for work, female reader (she/her), idiots in love, first kiss, nervous Tech.

A/N: it’s been a while since I wrote something cute with my darling, Tech 🩵

“So, what’s the plan?”

Omega’s voice is filled with mischief as she sways from side to side in the co-pilot’s seat, her eyes locked on Tech.

Tech doesn’t immediately respond. His fingers tapped lightly over the datapad, scanning through the incoming reports. But when Omega’s voice cut through the steady hum of the Marauder, his eyes lifted briefly, landing on her as she swayed back and forth in the co-pilot's seat. “Meaning?”

Omega leans forward, her grin widening as she tilts her head toward the viewport, pointing with her chin toward the object of their conversation. “You know... her,” she says in a teasing tone, her eyes sparkling with barely contained excitement. “Are you going to ask her out?”

Tech’s expression faltered for a split second—his eyes widened, just enough to give him away—before he quickly averted his gaze, pretending to focus on the datapad once more. “I’m not sure what you mean.”

“Oh, you definitely do. We’ve alll seen how you look at her. It’s pretty obvious.” Omega replies, rolling her eyes dramatically before jumping to her feet.

“I do not ‘look’ at her.” Tech mutters, his tone defensive. “I simply observe. That is all.”

Omega arches an eyebrow, a knowing smirk tugging at her lips. “Sure, ‘observe.’”

She pauses, tapping her chin thoughtfully as she begins to pace the cockpit.. “You could always make her something. You know, something nice and romantic! A gadget of some kind.” Then she frowns. “Although that doesn’t scream romantic.”

Tech looks up with a sigh. “Of course they are not. They are tools for beneficial use. And I do not believe she requires anything like that.”

Omega halts, then leans against the control panel, “Okay, maybe not gadgets,” she says, “But flowers might work. People give flowers all the time as romantic gestures.”

Tech blinks, his mind racing as he processes the suggestion. “Flowers?” His voice carries a hint of skepticism. “Why would she need flowers? They have no functional use. I would know if she had an interest in... what was it she said, ‘botanical remedies’?” He gives a small, self-assured smirk, as though this topic was already discussed between the two of them. “She tends to consult me on those matters.”

Omega rolls her eyes once but grins, “It’s not about the practical use, Tech. It’s about the gesture. Besides, she loves flowers.”

Tech’s brow furrows in thought. He glances over at you through the viewport, seeing you sitting outside the Marauder and methodically cleaning and refurbishing your armour.

His mind memorises Omega’s point, you were interested in flowers or any fauna.

Omega watches his expression change, a gleam of victory in her eyes. “You should really pay attention when she watches those holo-romcoms. You’d see how much she likes the idea of flowers.”

Tech’s fingers tap thoughtfully against his datapad, but his attention has clearly shifted. “I suppose that is true,” he murmurs, as though the idea of flowers suddenly isn’t so far-fetched after all.

Omega, sensing her triumph, beams. “So you’ll do it then? You’ll get her flowers?”

“No,” Tech answers quickly, looking back at his datapad with feigned disinterest. “I do not appreciate your attempts to manipulate me into admitting feelings. Again.”

She chuckles, remembering the long conversation she had chewed his ear off about flying being a ‘feeling’.

“So you do admit it?”

Tech shoots her a pointed look, his tone sharpening just a little. “Omega.”

She raises her hands in mock surrender, backing away with exaggerated slowness. “Alright, alright,” she sings. “But I know she would appreciate it. You just have to admit it.”

Tech huffs, his lips pressing into a thin line. He watches you for a moment longer, his mind still running through the possibility, before he mutters under his breath, “I’ll consider it.”

Omega’s eyes twinkle, her work clearly done. “Perfect.”

The warm, refreshing breeze threaded through your hair as you leaned back against the crate, letting yourself savor the simple pleasure of open air. Sure, it wasn’t exactly a luxurious beach chair on a pristine coast like you had been craving, instead it was a beat-up crate on an overgrown forest floor. Though after days cooped up inside the Marauder, it felt like paradise. Even if the company inside was great. More than great, really.

Your mind wandered, inevitably drawn to a certain member of the squad. You caught yourself smiling, and immediately cringed, pressing a hand over your face.

"Why do feelings suck?" you muttered under your breath, shaking your head at yourself.

After a few minutes, you sat up and surveyed your armour with a satisfied smile. You had to admit, you were really good at keeping it looking brand new. Gathering the pieces in your arms, you headed back toward the ship, still riding the lazy warmth of the afternoon.

You were halfway up the gangplank, not paying attention, when you collided with something - someone - solid. You grunted, stumbling back as a few pieces of your armour clattered to the floor.

“Oh stars, sorry, Tech!” you blurted out as you realised what happened, rubbing your forehead where you'd bumped it against him.

"Not to worry, I was not looking where I was going either," he said smoothly, though there was a softness to his voice that made your cheeks warm. Stars, he really got to you.

You quickly crouch to gather up the pieces of your armour, and Tech mirrors your movements without hesitation. His gloves brush against your fingers as you both reach for the same piece, and for a heartbeat, neither of you move. The slightest spark shoots up your arm, and judging by the way Tech’s hand stiffens just a fraction, you pondered wishfully if he felt it too.

True to form however, neither of you say anything about it. You clear your throat and pull your hand back, allowing him to pick up the last piece.

Once everything’s collected, Tech takes it and puts your armour in the Marauder. You move to step around him, but Tech moves at the same time. You both shuffle right. Then both to the left. You stifle a laugh, glancing up at him helplessly as you try again — and again — failing miserably to find your way past.

“We look ridiculous,” you mutter, half-laughing as you impulsively reach out and grab his shoulders to steady him and yourself.

His body goes stiff beneath your touch, as though uncertain what to do, and his adorable wide eyes blink down at you behind his goggles.

“Hold still,” you say through a grin, guiding him gently aside. He lets you manoeuvre him into place without a word, though you hear him clear his throat a little.

You finally step through the doorway into the ship, peeking back at him. “What were you up to, anyway?” you ask casually, hands on your hips

Normally, Tech would answer any question with straightforward precision, but today... today he falters. “I, ah... was merely seeking... additional reference material. For research purposes.” His voice, usually so confident and clipped, wavers strangely. It’s so unlike him that you tilt your head in suspicion, narrowing your eyes in a playful squint.

“Oh?” you say slowly, intrigued. “What kind of research?”

His mouth opens — and then promptly shuts again. He adjusts his goggles unnecessarily, his hands fidgeting at the edges of his belt. Definitely suspicious.

Your curiosity only grows. “Well, if you need help,” you offer lightly, “I’d be happy to join you. I wouldn’t mind stretching my legs.” But then you realise, “Actually, I don’t want to leave Omega on her own-”

You barely finish speaking when a voice pipes up right behind you, startling you.

“I can look after myself, you know,” Omega says, clearly having been eavesdropping the entire time. She crosses her arms proudly. “I’m not a little kid anymore.”

You and Tech both turn toward her. “Not going to start the ship up and fly away without us, right?” You tease.

“Well I can’t promise that” Omega teases, looking between the two of you. “But I’ll do my best to resist.”

“Alright then,” You nod, allowing her to stay behind but then look to Tech to get his verdict.

“I suppose we will not be long.”

“Great!” Omega chimes, “You two can enjoy your date - uh, I mean…”

You stare at her, wide-eyed and mortified at her slip (if it even was) of her tongue.

Tech’s ears burn under his goggles, shooting her a look that you don’t see. He straightens his posture, clearing his throat.

Soon after giving Omega one last warning not to do anything disastrous on your outing, you fall into step beside Tech as he leads the way off the ship.

He doesn't say much at first and you don't push about why he was oddly quiet. You’re quite content for a moment to simply walk through the warm, open air and the forest ahead looks inviting. And being with Tech was such an added bonus.

“So, what exactly are we doing?” you ask after a short while, glancing over at him. “You never did tell me what kind of research this was.”

He pushes his goggles up his nose, fingers twitching on a small device in his hand. “It is a standard environmental survey,” he says quickly, “Nothing particularly noteworthy.”

You squint at him, reading him like a book. “You’re a terrible liar, Tech.”

“I am not lying,” he says, his tone stiff. “I am merely withholding certain specifics for operational efficiency.”

You bite back a smirk but let it go, following him deeper into the trees.

The forest itself hums with quiet life around you. The soft chirping from unseen creatures and the faint trickle of a nearby stream was tranquil. The trees tower overhead, their bark a deep reddish-brown, had wide canopies of green and gold leaves that flutter gently in the breeze.

If Pabu didn’t exist, you would actually consider having a home here.

After a few more minutes of walking, you watch as Tech slows and veers off the beaten path. He stopped at the edge of a rocky clearing and looked over a bed of wildflowers that had tiny blossoms in vivid colours that sway.

He activates the device in his grasp with a quiet beep and starts scanning the flowers.

You lean against a large boulder nearby, resting your chin on your arms as you watch him work. His brows are knitted in focused concentration, a tiny crease forming above his nose.

Honestly? Adorable.

“You’re really invested in this ‘environmental survey,’ huh?” you tease lightly, smiling.

He doesn’t glance up. Instead, he carefully kneels and inspects a cluster of bright yellow blooms. He selects one, pulls a small pair of pliers from his utility belt, and snips the stem.

“What’s that one?” you ask whilst he holds the flower delicately between his gloved fingers.

He looks up at you, and there's something almost shy in the way he offers the information. “It is a part of the aurelia family, a plant known for its versatile healing properties," he explains. "It is particularly effective in creating salves for minor abrasions, something you once mentioned a preference for, if I recall correctly.”

You blink, caught off-guard by the thoughtfulness that he remembered a conversation you had with him quite a while ago now.

Before you can find the right words, he steps closer and offers the flower to you. “I would like you to look after it,” he says simply, placing it carefully into your hand quite quickly and looking away.

You cradle the delicate bloom as if it were made of glass. “I’ll guard it with my life,” you say with a mock-seriousness, but your heart thumps a little faster all the same.

Tech merely nods, satisfied, and turns to continue walking. You follow behind, hand still clutching the bright flower like it was something far more precious than just a plant. Well, to you it was anyway. You loved flowers.

You walk in easy silence for a while, the forest thickening around you as the path narrows.

You're still cradling the yellow flower carefully in your hand when you notice Tech slow again, his scanner flickering softly. He kneels by another patch of blooms — this time a cluster of small, delicate flowers in a soft shade of your favorite colour. You watch as Tech examines them, but instead of scanning them like before, he hesitates. His hand hovers for a moment before he plucks one gently between his fingers, standing up and turning toward you.

Without a word, he steps close, the flower dangling loosely in his grasp. His expression is unreadable behind his goggles, but there’s something almost... tentative about his posture.

You tilt your head, curious. “What’s that one?” you ask, smiling.

Tech visibly stiffens. His mouth opens, but whatever explanation he had seems to falter halfway through forming. “It does not possess any notable medicinal properties,” he admits, adjusting his grip on the flower. “It is... actually scientifically insignificant.”

You blink at him, confused. “Then why did you want me to hold it?”

For a second you swear you see Tech’s composure crack. He shifts awkwardly, looking anywhere but at you. “I considered it might be useful for... cross-referencing petal structure... for research purposes,” he says, far too quickly and far too technically to the point it sounded weird.

You narrow your eyes in mock suspicion, catching on that there’s definitely more he’s not saying. “Uh-huh. Sure,” you say, voice light but you can’t ignore that your heart beats a little faster. Did he want to give it to you… because he wanted to?

He seems to be silently warring with himself. His fingers twitch like he’s about to hand you the flower after all but at the last second, he stops.

Without another word, Tech then turns and — in a move so uncharacteristically flustered it makes you bite back a laugh — he tosses the little flower into the underbrush as he walks away.

You stare after him, baffled and amused in equal measur. Definitely suspicious.

Tech continues gathering flowers as you both wander through the forest, stopping here and there to snip a stem or examine a petal with meticulous care. You gave up asking about each one after the third or fourth as it became obvious he was just handing them to you without much explanation.

Instead, you quietly let him do it, your arms gradually filling with an array of blossoms: soft yellows, rich blues, gentle lilacs, vivid reds. The bundle was chaotic and beautiful.

After a while, Tech finally straightens and looks around the clearing with a satisfied nod. “This will suffice,” he announces.

You stop beside him, brushing your fingertips over the petals lightly, inhaling the gentle, sweet scent. “You picked a really pretty bunch for your research,” you admit softly, smiling over the bouquet at him.

Tech adjusts his goggles with a slight nervous twitch to the motion. “Yes, well...” he starts, voice a little stiffer than usual. “In truth, I would prefer you to keep them.”

You blink, surprised, lowering the flowers slightly to peer at him more clearly. “Keep them?”

He shifts on his feet, clearly uncomfortable but forcing himself to explain. “Omega mentioned that you appreciated flowers. She also suggested that they were considered a... romantic gesture. More appropriate than, say, a customised multitool.” He clears his throat, rapidly gaining momentum as he continues rambling.

“You wanted to get me flowers?” you interrupt softly, the words slipping out before you can stop them.

Tech freezes mid-sentence of his tangent. His mouth opens and closes once — then he nods, sharply, as if resigning himself to it. “Yes. That was the intended outcome.”

Your cheeks burn so hot you swear Tech could probably feel it. You hug the messy bouquet a little tighter to your chest, heart thudding so hard it drowns out the hum of the forest around you.

Tech, seemingly unaware of just how much he’s affecting you, blunders on, still trying to justify himself as if he really needed to. “Initially, Omega suggested a handcrafted gadget. However, after observing flora within the holo-romcoms you frequently view, I concluded that a floral gift might have a statistically higher probability of being well-received, despite its lack of practicality—”

You’re barely listening anymore. You’re too busy staring at the ridiculous, wonderful bouquet in your hands, and the man who meticulously gathered every single stem just to give them to you.

“So... there was no research,” you say, your voice catching slightly.

Tech hesitates, then tilts his head slightly, almost sheepish. “No, not exactly,” he admits.

You bite your lip, trying and failing to hide the grin spreading across your face.

Thinking for a split second, you pull a small flower from the messy bundle — a delicate little thing with soft pink petals — and step toward him. Tech watches you with a sort of curious stillness, almost like he’s bracing for whatever strange human interaction he’s about to experience for the first time. A soft tenderness he yearned for you.

Carefully, you tuck the flower into the side of his goggle band, the bright bloom resting just above his ear. You step back to admire your handiwork, smiling. “There,” you say lightly, “now you look even cuter.”

Tech blinks, his hand automatically coming up to touch the flower like he’s not sure it’s really there. He tilts his head, studying you as a small, almost hesitant smile curling at the edges of his mouth.

“That would suggest that you found me ‘cute’ beforehand.” He exhales through a deep breath he didn’t know he was holding.

You meet his gaze, feeling daring. “Maybe,” you say coyly with a shrug, the word slipping out in a playful lilt.

Something shifts between you. Tech’s smile lingers, but it’s gentler now. His hand drops back to his side, but he takes a small step closer, close enough that you can smell the faint, clean scent of him — old leather, warm metal and tools, and something sharper underneath, something just him.

Your heart thuds painfully against your ribs.

Neither of you speaks. The forest seems to go quiet, the golden leaves above stilling like even the world around you doesn’t want to interrupt.

Slowly, carefully, Tech raises his hand, fingertips brushing against your arm like a silent question. You don’t pull away. If anything, you lean closer, your bouquet pressed tight to your chest like it’s the only thing keeping you anchored.

“Would it... be acceptable,” he says, voice almost a whisper now, “if I—?”

You don’t even let him finish. You nod, once, fast and certain.

The distance closes naturally. His gloved hand slides up, cupping your cheek with a reverence that makes your breath hitch. You tilt into him instinctively, and when he finally, finally leans in, his kiss is as careful and deliberate as everything else he does. A featherlight brush of lips at first, testing the waters, before deepening ever so slightly as he feels you melt against him.

It’s sweet, and a little clumsy, and absolutely perfect.

When you finally pull away, you’re both smiling genuine smiles that don’t need words to explain.

The flower you tucked behind his goggles is a little crooked now, and somehow, that just makes it even better.

🫧 Masterlist

Tags: @tech-aficionado @grizabellasolo @therealnekomari @tech-depression-inventory @brynhildrmimi @greaser-wolf @kaminocasey @marvel-starwars-nerd @ladytano420 @ladyzirkonia @thesith @raevulsix @cw80831 @knightprincess @crosshairlovebot t @littlefeatherr @kaitou2417 @eyecandyeoz z @jesseeka @theroguesully @ladykatakuri @arctrooper69 @padawancat97 @staycalmandhugaclone @ko-neko-san @echos-girlfriend @fiveshelmet @dangraccoon @plushymiku-blog @pb-jellybeans @nunanuggets @sleepycreativewriter @erellenora @zippingstars87 7 @ezras-left-thumb @the-rain-on-kamino @tentakelspektakel l @stellarbit @imalovernotahater @sithstrings @whore4rex @imperialclaw801 @temple-elder @the-bad-batch-baroness @mysticalgalaxysalad @yunggoblin @photogirl894 @lulalovez

#the bad batch #tech #late #tech Tuesday #tech x reader #tbb tech #tbb tech x reader #bad batch tech #tech the bad batch #tech the bad batch x reader #nahoney22 writes #tbb #bad batch

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horsegirlwithnoname · 8 months ago

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It has come to my attention some people don't think the Taraxacum is real. It is! Shadow of the Wolf is an upcoming (official, Massif Press) book being worked on by Katherine Stark of Legionnaire fame. You can find the playtest materials on the pilot.net Discord.

It contains three new alt frames:

The IPSN Taraxacum: a Lancaster alt based around scan/lock on. Also it can fly and can airlift friendlies, ignoring the usual carry restrictions for flying. You're the eye in the sky. If you ever wanted to be the command and control node and/or the ominous looming mothership, this is your frame.

The HORUS Hecatoncheires: a size 1/2 Balor alt that uses mobile greywash swarms that provide cover for allies and burn enemies. Like the Balor, the Hecatoncheires is kind of a formless greywash guy but instead of regeneration etc it's more about turning into the smoke monster from Lost. Really likes being in cover, which its core system drones can provide. Less of a tank than the Balor, more of an assassin.

The HA Tagetes: a Sherman alt frame that turns any ranged weapon into a rifle. You wanna crack shot with Gandiva Missiles? A Siege Cannon? Now you can, bud. Also gets a fancier version of Stabilize. An artillery mech, it's almost more like an HA take on the Death's Head rather than the more balanced frontline Sherman – this is your dedicated infantry marksman mech. And yes, I know what you're thinking, you can Crack Shot with the Tachyon Lance. Did I mention all its ranged weapons gain Overkill? That between Crack Shot and Nuke Cav – on a mech with decent heat management tools – you can pretty reliably throw out 4D6 energy + 8 heat with Overkill per shot?

#lancer rpg

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sesamestreetkid · 11 months ago

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!!! my tag system is below all of this,,, I moved it under a cut because people reblog this post for the links :P

edit: thx for the love on this post. im going to try and continually update this!

⇩ ⠀sites FULL of web graphics ⇩

blinkie maker : make your own blinkies!

DOLLZ REVIVAL : a revival of pixel dolls where you can create and share your own. very cute!

GlowTxt : create glowing transparent text gifs that say whatever u want

HOARDER'S PILE : contains blinkies, buttons, stamps, and teddies

plasticdino.neocities.org : blinkies

Glitter Graphics : contains gifs, blinkies, dividers, and just sooo many web graphics

Cute Kawaii Resources : contains gifs, blinkies, stamps, favicons, dividers, buttons, fonts, literally everything you need. its an insane resource

Adrian's blinkie collection : collection of blinkies, stamps, and buttons

☆ (supplies.ju.mp) : blinkies, stamps, buttons, & favicons

twigbranch.carrd.co : blinkies

lallys.carrd.co : blinkies, stamps, dividers, and other resources

Bugleeblinkie.carrd.co : blinkies, and 3 very special gifs at the end ;)

unshinesblinkies.carrd.co : blinkies

The 88x31 GIF Collection : buttons. there are 5 parts! huge collection!

Bonnibel's Graphic Collection : blinkies

WELCOME TO GIFCITY : blinkies, dividers, favicons, stamps

cass-tastrophe.carrd.co : blinkies, stamps

kotatsuOS : blinkies

Cute web graphics : blinkies, stamps, dividers, and a LOT of other graphics, all very cute

⇩ some html tools! + tags below cut ⇩

MDN (mozilla.org) : if you're just starting out like me this is super helpful HTML Tutorial (w3schools.com): same here! (offers other programming languages as well!) Accessibility Checker(Free Scan) : a site you can use to check accessibility/ADA compliance when making your website! it will point out what needs to be changed. it is free, but they also offer paid services if you need more help imagecolorpicker.com : hex code picker. i use this one because you can upload an image, paste clipboard, OR type in the website and it'll grab a screenshot for you! something simple that was made really well. cssgradient.io : helps you make css gradients for backgrounds or whatever else you need them for smartgb.com : a free guestbook service FC2 Counter! : free "site visits" and "online now" counters. fully customizable Unclosed Tag Checker by Alicia Ramirez : does as it says, checks for unclosed tags (although I recommend using a program that does this as you write anyways. I use Visual Studio Code. Status Cafe : an updateable and embeddable status that you can stick anywhere on your site! it is mostly customizable with CSS but I have noticed a few small quirks with it

my tagging system :))

#graphics

#blinkies

#stamps

#buttons

#dividers

#html/css

#resources

#code

e10's web (neocities.org) <- shameless site plug. show it some love :P

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stargirlygirl · 2 months ago

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you smell like fish

fisherman!bakugou x siren!fem!reader

⭑.ᐟ part one: washed up

summary: katsuki stumbles across you wounded and takes you back to his house

contains: mild gore (blood), themes of death, swearing, 1.3k words

It’s a gloomy morning when Katsuki trods down to the beach. A rare morning off, the big storm last night had taken out several fishing boats, much to his employer’s dismay. Debris and pruny, lifeless bodies litter the water, a sight tragic enough to make a man like him wince.

He carefully avoids stray planks as his boots sink into the sand. The sludge clings to the leather like its life depends on it, amassing until he can feel the grains tickling his socks. Grunting, the blond does his best to ignore the growing discomfort in his shoes. Dull eyes lined with dark circles scan the bay wearily, picking out the few corpses of his colleagues.

His stomach churns, and bile threatens to claw up his esophagus from seeing them. And it’s the knowledge that he could have been one of those men if not for his pounding hangover, which makes his hand clamp tight over his chapped lips. Clearing his throat, he gazes across the rubble-strewn sand. Half in the water, he glimpses something unnatural. Needing to escape the death behind him, he stalks toward the object of his fascination.

As he zeroes in, he has to slap his wind-bitten cheeks because there you lay, an otherworldly creature far too beautiful to be seen with man's eyes. He stops at your side and stares down at you with furrowed brows and a tight jaw. If not for the long plank piercing your blood-soaked tail, you’d be lying on your stomach. Your cheek is smushed into the mushy sand, your lip is busted, and little cuts litter your bright skin. Your neck and chest are draped in chains of pearls and seashells.

The blonde is at a loss for words. This can’t be real, can it? Can creatures like you really exist? Were all of the stories his father used to tell him before bed true? Steadying himself with a deep breath, Katsuki crouches by your side. Tentatively, he touches your wound. At the contact, you flinch, your heavenly features scrunching up as you hiss. Your blood drips from his fingertips, warm.

He might not be the sharpest tool in the shed, but he can see that your life is fleeting. In the spur-of-the-moment kind of decision, he loops his arms underneath your body and hoists you up. You groan, too out of it to protest.

Katsuki hasn’t run home since he was a boy, but he does now as he rushes to get you into water. That’s where you came from, right? The ocean? He throws open the front door and doesn’t bother to slam it shut as he races to the downstairs bathroom. As gently as he can, he sets you down by the bathtub and starts running the water.

Fuck!

Did you need lukewarm water or cold water or fucking cold water? Remembering how cold it is in these parts, he aims for just cold water. The tide couldn’t have brought you in from too far out.

He snatches his towel and dips it in the water before patting your gills, causing you to groan. He secures it around your neck with a loose knot before scampering off to find some salt. And when he returns, he dumps the entire shaker’s worth into the bathtub, stirring frantically whilst monitoring you out of the corner of his eye. His heart is pounding in his chest, and for a moment, he thinks that this is the most alive he’s felt in a long time.

As the water level nears full, Katsuki gulps. It’s time. He unbuckles his belt and roughly pulls it out from his pants. His touch is contrastingly soft as he opens your mouth and places the worn leather between your teeth. He grunts at you to stay still. And when you give no response, his resolve solidifies. With both hands, he grips the sides of the wood jutting out of your tail.

He mumbles underneath his breath, “It’ll be over soon, ‘kay?” Gritting his teeth, Katsuki pulls the plank out clean. You scream into the belt, alluring eyes bulging as you try and focus on the scene before you. Your head throbs; the pain is far too much for coherent thoughts. You barely register the clinking made by the splinter as it’s dropped on the tiles.

Frenzied eyes widen as he gazes at the bloodied, gaping hole left behind. His fingers tremble for a moment, his inner voice repeating that if you weren’t dead yet, you were gonna be now. In all his years as a fisherman’s son and eventually, a fisherman, he’s seen some ugly wounds on his catches. But never before had he seen something like this.

Gulping, he stalks over to you. He embraces you and plops you down in the bathtub. You cry out as soon as your body hits the water, arms instinctively clinging to his neck.

He squeezes your forearm and mumbles in your ear, “’M sorry.” He pulls back and gently eases your arms off him.

You rasp out, “Too warm.” Katsuki stares back at you like a deer in headlights. He may have spoken to you, but he didn’t think you could actually understand him. And he sure as hell didn’t think you could talk back.

He grunts, “What?” But your strength is dwindling as you bleed out in his dingy little bathroom that’s long overdue for a makeover. The man is genuinely grateful that you even fit in his bathtub, given how long your tail is. Your head lolls back, eyes fluttering shut as you breathe out shakily. Panicking, the blonde turns the tap back on and runs cold water in. The bathtub becomes bloodier by the second, and he’s beginning to think he may have bitten off more than he could chew.

He unties the towel from around your neck and lifts the back of your head to retrieve it. With the running water, he dampens the towel again before hastily retying it. He’s mentally screaming at himself to do more, to do better. If he keeps kneeling at your side, blanched and quivering like he’s seen a ghost, then you don’t stand a chance at surviving.

He screws his eyes shut and thinks. If you’re a fish, then he can’t bandage you. Instead, he needs to make sure that your water is clean and the right temperature, and he needs to get you some antibiotics. His red eyes snap open and find you, observing the slow rise and fall of your chest in a trance. He shuts off the tap and silently pleads with you to stay alive as he stands up.

It’s like Katsuki has been possessed as he dashes off to the pet store to buy you some antibiotics, barely avoiding people as he runs down the sidewalk and barrels into the shop. The bell clatters, and he almost screams at the shop assistant who tries to upsell him a fish tank thermometer and discounted fish food like he’s some fish-obsessed madman whose beloved pet is gravely wounded.

By the time he makes it back, you’ve gotten three shades paler. But the man has hope and holds onto it with everything he’s got as he changes your water, dumps the antibiotics in, and refreshes your towel. After cleaning up the blood soaking his floor and his skin, he stays with you the entire night, watching over you, and trying to convince himself that all of this is real until he falls asleep on the tub’s edge.

masterlist

images are not mine

taglist - @ettesxythia, @sins-over-tragedy, @windyremedy, @beabamboo, @holobean, @lilac-heartz, @mp3nai, @v3n7s, @napbatata, @yannvi

#★’s works #bnha x reader #bakugou katsuki #x female reader #bakugou x reader #siren reader #my hero academia

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lightyaoigami · 1 year ago

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☁︎｡⋆｡ﾟ☾ ﾟ｡⋆ how to resume ⋆｡ﾟ☾｡⋆｡ﾟ☁︎ ﾟ

after 10 years & 6 jobs in corporate america, i would like to share how to game the system. we all want the biggest payoff for the least amount of work, right?

know thine enemy: beating the robots

i see a lot of misinformation about how AI is used to scrape resumes. i can't speak for every company but most corporations use what is called applicant tracking software (ATS).

no respectable company is using chatgpt to sort applications. i don't know how you'd even write the prompt to get a consumer-facing product to do this. i guarantee that target, walmart, bank of america, whatever, they are all using B2B SaaS enterprise solutions. there is not one hiring manager plinking away at at a large language model.

ATS scans your resume in comparison to the job posting, parses which resumes contain key words, and presents the recruiter and/or hiring manager with resumes with a high "score." the goal of writing your resume is to get your "score" as high as possible.

but tumblr user lightyaoigami, how do i beat the robots?

great question, y/n. you will want to seek out an ATS resume checker. i have personally found success with jobscan, which is not free, but works extremely well. there is a free trial period, and other ATS scanners are in fact free. some of these tools are so sophisticated that they can actually help build your resume from scratch with your input. i wrote my own resume and used jobscan to compare it to the applications i was finishing.

do not use chatgpt to write your resume or cover letter. it is painfully obvious. here is a tutorial on how to use jobscan. for the zillionth time i do not work for jobscan nor am i a #jobscanpartner i am just a person who used this tool to land a job at a challenging time.

the resume checkers will tell you what words and/or phrases you need to shoehorn into your bullet points - i.e., if you are applying for a job that requires you to be a strong collaborator, the resume checker might suggest you include the phrase "cross-functional teams." you can easily re-word your bullets to include this with a little noodling.

don't i need a cover letter?

it depends on the job. after you have about 5 years of experience, i would say that they are largely unnecessary. while i was laid off, i applied to about 100 jobs in a three-month period (#blessed to have been hired quickly). i did not submit a cover letter for any of them, and i had a solid rate of phone screens/interviews after submission despite not having a cover letter. if you are absolutely required to write one, do not have chatgpt do it for you. use a guide from a human being who knows what they are talking about, like ask a manager or betterup.

but i don't even know where to start!

i know it's hard, but you have to have a bit of entrepreneurial spirit here. google duckduckgo is your friend. don't pull any bean soup what-about-me-isms. if you truly don't know where to start, look for an ATS-optimized resume template.

a word about neurodivergence and job applications

i, like many of you, am autistic. i am intimately familiar with how painful it is to expend limited energy on this demoralizing task only to have your "reward" be an equally, if not more so, demoralizing work experience. i don't have a lot of advice for this beyond craft your worksona like you're making a d&d character (or a fursona or a sim or an OC or whatever made up blorbo generator you personally enjoy).

and, remember, while a lot of office work is really uncomfortable and involves stuff like "talking in meetings" and "answering the phone," these things are not an inherent risk. discomfort is not tantamount to danger, and we all have to do uncomfortable things in order to thrive. there are a lot of ways to do this and there is no one-size-fits-all answer. not everyone can mask for extended periods, so be your own judge of what you can or can't do.

i like to think of work as a drag show where i perform this other personality in exchange for money. it is much easier to do this than to fight tooth and nail to be unmasked at work, which can be a risk to your livelihood and peace of mind. i don't think it's a good thing that we have to mask at work, but it's an important survival skill.

⋆｡ﾟ☁︎｡⋆｡ﾟ☾ ﾟ｡⋆ good luck ⋆｡ﾟ☾｡⋆｡ﾟ☁︎ ﾟ｡⋆

#i don't know what to tag this lmao #job hunting #resume writing tips

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snail-day · 3 months ago

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Inked

Yan!Suguru x Reader

Previous // Part Two // Masterlist

TW: Slight Yandere Behaviors, Modern! AU, Dubious Professionalism, Power imbalance, Nipple piercings, MDNI

Tattoo Artist!Suguru who definitely wasn’t expecting to see you again so soon. Plays it off all cool, the same welcoming smile, low hum of recognition as you sit down, but his bright, violet eyes scan you quickly, taking in your outfit, your expression, the way you’re fidgeting with the hem of your shirt like you're working up the courage to say something.

He’s halfway through your touch-up when you finally ask.

“So… um. About nipple piercings…”

Suguru blinks. His hand stills, machine still buzzing as his grip tightens. He glances up, dark, thin brows lifting slightly, surprised. Not that you remembered, but that you actually followed through.

“Really?” he says, a smile tugging at the corner of his mouth. “Didn’t think you’d go for it.”

You’re bashful, almost squirming in his chair as you nod. Something he would've teased you about if you hadn't just thrown a curve ball at him. “I’ve been thinking about it. A lot.”

God. He has to refocus on the tattoo before he does something stupid like seem a little too eager, smile a little too wide. “You know I do them here, right?” His voice is light, teasing, but there's a subtle edge underneath it. “I’ll even do it for free - since you came all this way.”

You start to object - money, fairness, something about feeling bad - but it doesn’t matter. You’re here. You asked. And he’s not letting anyone else touch you.

So when the tattoo’s finished, he cleans up quietly, then turns to face you, snapping on a fresh pair of gloves.

“You still want it?” he asks gently.

You pause, chewing your bottom lip before admitting, “I was wondering if maybe… a female artist could do it instead?”

Suguru laughs, soft and disarming, though there’s something glittering behind his eyes now. “Don’t you trust me?” he asks, voice dipped in honey. “I promise I’m professional. I’ve done dozens. You’ll be in good hands.”

You hesitate… then slowly nod. Can't help the feeling of your cheeks warming up at the way his eyes seem to drop to your shirt.

He swears he doesn’t rush the prep, but his hands are moving quickly, sanitizing tools, laying out sterile jewelry, prepping clamps. He’s too focused, too stiff in his movements, which is how you know he’s trying to contain himself. Trying to ignore the pressing hard-on. Trying to ignore the lingering thoughts of what a beauty like yourself looks like naked.

He gestures for you to sit up straight on the chair and remove your shirt. “It’s just us,” he assures, voice low. “Take your time.”

But the second your top comes off?

Suguru freezes. Not obviously, no. His face stays calm. His gloves keep moving. But his gaze dips - lingers - just a second too long. Mouth salivating. Trying not to bite his lip at how perfect your buds are. Better than anything he could imagine. Your chest is all soft and warm, nipples already hardening from the cool air, and it’s killing him that he has to touch you like this under the guise of procedure. He marks each side carefully, asking you to look in the mirror. His gloved fingers brush over your skin, tugging gently to center each dot.

He kneels in front of you to line things up and - fuck - he has to take a breath. One hand spreads your chest just slightly, thumb resting just under your nipple, holding it still as the other hand preps the clamp.

“Deep breath,” he murmurs, those pretty violet eyes flicking up to your face. “Ready?”

You nod, hitching a breath.

He pierces you slowly, smoothly, a soft grunt escaping you as the needle slides through. He follows with the barbell, threading it with precision. Then the other side. The same process. The same slow, delicate handling. Only the best for his girl.

It’s supposed to be clinical. Quick. Efficient. But it feels too intimate. The drag of his covered, latex thumb. The closeness of his face. His steady breathing, that makes your skin tingle. The way his voice softens as he murmurs praise, “You’re doing so well,” and, “Almost done, sugar.”

When it's over, you're flushed and avoiding his eyes as you slip your shirt back on. He removes his gloves, tossing them into the bin, before asking - casual, too casual - “So… what made you decide to get them?”

You pause before answering, and for a moment he wonders - hopes - you’ll say him.

But instead, you give him a really pretty, dazed smile and say, “My boyfriend. He’s an artist too. Thought I’d look cute with them. It's a surprise for him.”

Suguru just stares, finally a single blink. Then a slow, practiced smile spreads across his face, cool as a cucumber.

“Lucky guy,” Suguru says smoothly, though there's a barely-there crack in his voice. “He’s got good taste. I’m sure he’s going to love them.”

The words roll off his tongue with ease, but his jaw tightens almost imperceptibly. Without missing a beat, he transitions into explaining how to care for your new piercings - what to clean with, what to avoid, how long it’ll take to heal. His tone stays calm, professional. Words well rehearsed.

But inside, he’s reeling. He won’t let it show, the twitch in his fingers, the heat crawling up his neck. He’s not thinking about the way your chest looked under the soft lighting of the studio, or how your lips parted when you winced, or how his gloved fingers brushed your skin so delicately. He’s not imagining the bounce of your body on someone's cock, someone else's hands on your hips, someone else's mouth on your chest.

Someone else enjoying what he got to see first.

His warm palm should be the one grazing against your newly pierced nipples. His mouth should be the one murmuring praise, not some faceless boyfriend with "good taste."

Later, after you're gone, he stares at your number in his contacts. Thumb hovering over the screen. No messages sent. The memory of your bare chest, your bitten lip, the tiny wince when the needle pierced through - all of it is burned into his mind like ink into skin.

He’s professional. Of course he is. But he’s thinking about you a lot. By the time the studio closes, he’s already on his phone, typing into Instagram:

“Tattoo artists near me.”

Just to see who this mystery boyfriend is. Just to see the face of the man who thinks he can touch what Suguru has already claimed.

#The way tattoo artist has a chokehold on my brainworms #You might get a mini series on this #yandere jujutsu kaisen #jujustu kaisen #Jjk geto #Geto suguru x reader #Yandere geto suguru x reader #Yandere suguru x reader #Yandere geto x reader #geto suguru #Yandere geto suguru

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sleepingdiaryzzz · 7 months ago

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Hello!! I was reading some of your Yandere Dick and Starfire and I was wondering if you could do something where mc was a brainwashed black widow assassin from Marvel? Essentially black widows are little girls who were human trafficked and brutally trained to be assassins by a man named Dracov? Like they know what they’re doing and are fully conscious but don’t have a choice because of the brainwashing?

Extra points if Yandere Dick and Starfire never knew about the training and abuse until it was revealed

Yandere Nightwing x reader x yandere Starfire

The Tower was quiet, save for the faint hum of the training room’s lights. Nightwing and Starfire had just finished a light sparring session when they found you. At first, you had been distant, stiff, and cold, never truly letting them in. There was something about the way you moved, the way your eyes flickered over everything in the room as if scanning for threats, that unsettled them. Yet, they pushed it aside, chalking it up to your mysterious past.

They didn’t know about the black-and-red tattoos on your inner wrist, symbols etched into your skin like a constant reminder of your past life as a trained weapon. They didn’t know that every time they held you, their touch made you flinch, a deep-rooted fear ingrained in your muscle memory from years of abuse. They didn’t know that, deep down, you never truly felt free, no matter how hard you tried to convince yourself.

It wasn’t until one evening when you tried to slip away in the middle of the night that everything unraveled. Your attempt was subtle, a trained movement learned over years of escape. But Nightwing had been watching you, his gaze trained on your every move since he couldn’t shake the feeling that something was wrong. He followed you, and Starfire had done the same when she realized something was off.

The sound of your soft gasps echoed in the hall as you tried to push through the door. "Where do you think you're going?" Dick's voice was barely a whisper, but it was enough to stop you in your tracks. Your breath caught in your throat, body going rigid as the instinct to flee screamed through you.

"I... I don't want to hurt anyone," you whispered, voice hoarse, raw with emotion you couldn't fully express. You weren’t sure if you were even allowed to feel this way, but it didn’t stop the panic from surging. "I can’t—"

Starfire appeared behind him, her green eyes wide with concern. "What is it you do not want to do, dear one? You are not alone here. You are safe."

You froze. Your heart was pounding in your chest as old programming kicked in. A mission. A target. Your fingers twitched, aching to grab your weapons that you didn’t carry anymore, but the fear of failure paralyzed you. "I’m not safe," you whispered, the words slipping out before you could stop them. "I was never safe."

It was then that they saw it—the crack in the armor that had kept you distant from them. The fear, the betrayal, the vulnerability hidden so carefully under layers of emotional control. Dick's breath hitched as he moved closer, his eyes searching yours with an intensity that made you want to turn away.

"Who hurt you?" Dick asked softly, voice trembling with barely contained fury. His hands hovered near you but didn't touch—he had learned that much. You flinched, and it didn’t go unnoticed by either of them.

The truth came out in pieces, in fragmented thoughts that didn’t quite make sense. You told them about Dracov. About how you and the other girls like you were torn from your families, forced into training to become tools of violence. You spoke of the endless nights of abuse, of never being allowed to have a real childhood. The truth was so ugly, so horrifying, that neither Dick nor Starfire could comprehend it all at once.

Starfire knelt before you, her eyes full of empathy and something darker—something protective. "We will help you," she said gently, her voice unwavering as she reached for your hand, "no one will hurt you again."

Dick’s eyes, though, were darker with rage, but not at you. "We’ll make sure you’re never alone again," he promised, his voice low, dangerous, and full of a possessive warmth you had never known. "Not anymore."

But as they moved to comfort you, as their hands brushed yours, something shifted in you. You didn’t want to be touched. You didn’t want to be loved. It wasn’t that you didn’t crave it, but you had been taught to push it away, to keep people at a distance. The only choice you had ever known was to obey, to fight, to survive. To let yourself fall into their arms would mean relinquishing control, something you weren’t sure you could ever do.

Starfire and Dick noticed the hesitation, the way you held back, even when they spoke softly of a future where you could be free. They had never known the extent of your brainwashing, and now that they did, it only fed the fire of their obsession.

They were going to "help" you, but their version of help would never be what you needed.

As Nightwing pulled you into his arms, the same instinct that had saved you so many times before kicked in. You didn’t fight it, not fully, but the pieces of the puzzle fell into place. You were trapped—your body, your mind, your heart—all of it had already been claimed, and now they were here, claiming you, too.

You didn’t know how to stop it. You didn’t know how to say no when you were all too aware of the unspoken promise in their eyes: they would never let you go.

(A/n: I have no idea of who character u r talking about yet😔 so correct me if I'm wrong because I just researched black widow for like a glance hehe)

#yandere dc #yandere batboys #yandere dick grayson x reader #yandere dick grayson #yandere nightwing #yandere Nightwing x reader #nightwing x reader #dick grayson x reader #yandere dc x reader #dc x reader #yandere starfire x reader #yandere Starfire #Starfire x reader #yandere batfamily x reader #teen titans x reader #yandere teen titans #😺– request

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lefteagleblizzard · 6 months ago

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𝔉𝔬𝔯 𝔶𝔬𝔲 𝔞𝔩𝔬𝔫𝔢 Until Dawn males x male reader

Summary: Four standalone scenarios featuring each of the men from Until Dawn showing their protective side when you find yourself in danger. Each scenario exists in its own self-contained world, unconnected to the others.

Tags: He/Him pronouns used for the reader. Fluff and angst. Mike Munroe x male reader; Matt Taylor x male reader; Josh Washington x male reader; Chris Hartley x male reader. Set during the events of the game between chapter 5 and 6. All of these are separated and not connected. Established relationships. Kidnapping in Josh's scenario. Matt and Emily broke-up before the events of the game. Mike and Jess are not together in this.

This is a continuation of 𝒫𝔞𝔱𝔥 𝔯𝔢𝔧𝔬𝔦𝔫𝔢𝔡 but you can also read this as a standalone without problems. There are 4 totems in each scenario. Just like how it happens in game, the characters don’t have reactions to the totems. The visions are something that could happen in an unknown future and something that I maybe could do as another fic, let me know <3.

Words counts: 9000 words (around 2000 for each character)

Can also be found on wattpad and ao3

ℳ𝒾𝓀ℯ ℳ𝓊𝓃𝓇ℴℯ

The sanatorium was deathly silent, save for the faint whistle of the wind sneaking through the cracks in the old, decrepit building. You huddled against the cold, your arms tightly wrapped around your torso as you tried, and failed, to stave off the biting chill that seemed to seep into your very bones. The room you were trapped in was small, suffocating even, with bars that reeked of rust and neglect enclosing you. The scent of mildew and decay filled the air, thick and oppressive.

This stranger brought you here with no explanation other than pointing the flamethrower he had at you and, when he shoved you inside this godforsaken room, he muttered only one thing.

"Wait here for dawn. Don't move."

And then he was gone, the gray and white wolf slipping through the shadows after him. No explanation. No reason. Just the sound of his boots echoing down the massive, empty hall until you were alone.

Completely alone.

Your eyes scanned the room for the hundredth time, looking for anything that could help. The cracked wall in the ceiling caught your attention again, but it was far too high to reach. The room was barren, offering no tools or furniture to elevate yourself.

Steeling yourself, you backed up a few steps as you prepared for what you were about to do. The cold had made your muscles stiff and every movement felt labored, but you ignored the discomfort. With a deep breath, you lunged forward, raising your foot and slamming it into the door with all the strength you could muster.

Pain shot up your leg, sharp and immediate, but you grit your teeth and pushed through it, slamming your foot against the door again. And again. And again.

You clenched your teeth, the desperation growing with every strike as the door barely budged, the rusty metal mocking your efforts as it groaned but held firm.

The pain in your foot was unbearable now, a throbbing ache that made it hard to stand. You stumbled back, gasping for breath as you pressed your back against the wall and slid to the ground.

"Fuck," you muttered, your head falling into your hands. The frustration and helplessness threatened to overwhelm you, a heavy weight settling in your chest. You felt like screaming, like punching the walls until your knuckles bled, but what good would it do?

Your breath came out in shaky puffs, visible in the icy air as you tried to calm yourself. You hugged your knees to your chest, trying to conserve what little warmth you had left, but it felt futile.

You closed your eyes, resting your head against the wall as a shiver wracked your body.

Then, suddenly, the silence shattered.

A door somewhere in the hall creaked loudly before slamming open. Your head snapping up just in time to see a familiar figure illuminated faintly by the flickering glow of a lighter.

"Mike…" you breathed, your voice a soft whisper of disbelief.

It was him, no doubt about it. Even through the haze of dim light and your own tired mind. He was wearing the same white tank top he had been wearing earlier when the two of you had been curled up by the fire inside that small chalet, his warmth pressed against you. The fabric was dirty now, smeared with streaks of grime and small tears.

His arms were streaked with faint cuts, some fresh and red, others just beginning to clot. His face looked just as battered with dirt smeared across his jaw and forehead, tiny scratches marking his skin like a map.

You pushed yourself off the floor quickly, stumbling slightly as you moved toward the bars, your hands gripping the cold iron as you pressed yourself against them. The rusted smell overwhelmed you, but it didn't matter.

"Mike!" you called out louder now, your voice breaking with a mix of relief and desperation. "Mike, I'm here!"

His head snapped toward the sound of your voice, his lighter flickering wildly in the motion before he stuffed it into his pocket. His eyes widened when they landed on you, his whole body seeming to tense for a moment before he ran and crashed against the bars, pressing himself as close to you as they would allow, his body warm and solid as he hugged you tightly through the narrow gaps.

Both of his arms wrapped securely around your waist, pulling you as close as he could. He buried his face against the curve of your neck, his breaths ragged and warm against your skin as his grip tightened.

"God, you're okay," he muttered, voice low and raw.

Your chest ached at the sound of it, the vulnerability in his tone breaking through that cocky bravado he so often wore.

His grip on your waist tightened, pulling you firmly against him as his breath ghosted over your lips until he closed the distance, his lips crashing into yours with fervor.

You could taste the faint tang of salt and copper, his hand slid up your back, fingers pressing firmly against the curve of your spine as he held you close.

You kissed him back with equal intensity, your hands slipping up to his shoulders before one tangled in his hair, pulling him even closer. A low sound rumbled from his chest, almost a growl, as his teeth grazed your bottom lip, sending a shiver down your spine. His other hand moved from your waist, his fingers brushing against your jaw to tilt your face upward, deepening the kiss.

When he finally pulled back, his chest was heaving and his eyes were heavy with unspoken emotion.

You lifted your arms shakily, reaching through the bars to pull him closer—only to freeze when your eyes caught sight of his left hand.

“Mike,” you whispered, your voice trembling as you stared at the poorly wrapped bandage that covered his fingers—or rather, where his fingers should have been. The fabric was soaked through with blood, painted a deep crimson. “What happened to your hand?”

He pulled back slightly, following your gaze to his injured hand. For a moment, his expression faltered, the pain flickering briefly across his face before he shook it off with a forced crooked grin.

“Ah, this?” he said, holding up his mangled hand like it was no big deal. “I got into a little argument with a bear trap. You can see how it ended.”

Your eyes widened in horror, but before you could speak, he leaned in closer, his tone softening as he continued talking. “Relax, though. The important stuff’s still intact.” He wiggled his remaining fingers with a mock flourish, then added with a wink, “Still got enough left to hold you, so we’re good, right?”

You let out a shaky breath, your concern still sharp but momentarily softened by his attempt to lighten the mood.

His hands left your waist only to grip the door tightly, his fingers wrapping around the cold metal as he yanked at it with all his strength.

"Come on, you piece of shit—“ Mike grunted, his teeth gritted as he pulled harder. The door groaned under his effort but barely budged.

"Mike—Mike, stop," you interrupted, stepping back slightly. He paused to look at you, panting, his face red and streaked with sweat.

"It opens from this side," you explained quickly. "I already tried everything." Your foot throbbing faintly as you remembered your earlier attempts.

Mike swore under his breath, running a hand through his hair as his gaze flicked upward, scanning the room until they focused on the big crack in the ceiling above you.

"Stay put, babe. Don't go anywhere," he said suddenly, his voice taking on a teasing tone as he stepped back.

You scoffed lightly despite yourself, your lips twitching into a faint smile.

He grinned, that familiar cocky smirk lighting up his face even through the dirt and exhaustion as he turned and jogged toward the far side of the hall, where a set of stairs led to an upper level of the sanatorium.

Seconds later, there was a loud grunt, followed by the sound of something hitting the ground. You looked up just in time to see him drop through the crack in the ceiling, landing with a thud a few feet away. He winced slightly but straightened almost immediately, his gaze locking onto yours as he crossed the room in just a few strides.

Bug and warm arms were around you again, pulling you tightly against him. His face pressed against your shoulder for a moment before he leaned back, just enough to look at you properly.

"I saw you," he murmured softly, his voice rough and low near your ear. "I saw that guy dragging you up here, and I just—" His hands tighten slightly on your waist as if grounding himself. "I ran through the woods like a goddamn lunatic trying to find you…" He trailed off, his jaw tightening.

"If I see that man again, he's dead. I mean it."

Your heart squeezed painfully at his words. You reached up slowly, brushing your fingers against his cheek. The dirt on his skin smeared slightly under your touch and you gave him a small, teasing smile. "You really ran all the way here? In the snow? With barely anything on?"

Mike’s lips curved into a faint smirk, his eyes flickering with a mix of amusement and exhaustion. “What, you think I was gonna just chill out? Cardio’s not optional when you’re trying to save someone’s ass.” His voice was light, but there was a raw intensity in his gaze, betraying just how far he’d go for you.

You smiled softly, your fingers brushing against his cheek to wipe away some of the dirt smudged there.

"Let’s get out of here," you said quietly, your voice laced with affection and determination.

Mike huffed out a laugh, his breath warm against your face as he leaned in closer.

"Absolutely." He muttered, his tone softer now.

The sound of boots against rusted metal reverberated in the room as you and Mike took turns slamming your feet into the stubborn door. Each kick sent vibrations up your leg, the pain from earlier attempts flaring with every impact.

Finally, the door gave way with a metallic shriek. The rusted frame buckled and the door collapsed onto the ground with a loud clang.

Mike was on you immediately, one arm looping around your waist as he pulled you close. "Stay with me," he murmured, his voice low but firm. He pressed a kiss to your temple, quick and reassuring, before taking your hand in his and guiding you forward.

The air outside the room was colder due to the numerous cracks on the walls. The oppressive silence was punctuated only by the faint drip of water leaking from unseen cracks and the groaning protests of the building's ancient infrastructure.

"I’ll take you from where I entered," Mike said over his shoulder, his voice tight as his eyes darted around.

You nodded, following him closely, though every creak of the floor beneath your steps and every distant rustle made your pulse quicken. Peeling paint flaked off the walls like dead skin, revealing rotted wood and rusting steel beneath. The windows were long shattered and the air smelled damp, heavy with mold.

As you made your way through the main hall, a screech pierced the silence. It was distant, echoing from somewhere deeper in the building, but its inhuman quality made your blood run cold.

Mike stopped immediately, his body stiffening. "You heard that too, right?" he whispered, turning his head slightly. He didn't wait for your answer. His grip on your hand tightened briefly before he let go and stepped forward, scanning the room ahead. "Stay here," he said firmly. "I'll check it out."

You were about to protest but he was already pushing open the door to an adjoining room. The door groaned on its hinges before it closed behind him, leaving you alone in the hallway.

Your heart pounded as you strained to hear over the faint whistle of the wind. Something on the floor caught your eye.

Half-buried beneath a pile of debris lay a carved object, its strange shape just visible through the dust and rubble.

You crouched down, hesitating for only a moment before brushing aside the grime and pulling the object free. It was heavier than it looked, the weight solid and cold in your hand. Smooth in some places, splintered in others, as though time itself had tried to erase its details.

The moment you turned it over, the air thickened, the walls around you darkening until they melted away.

You and Mike were running through the hallway. Your breaths came in sharp, uneven gasps as you limped, struggling to keep pace with him.

Mike reached a heavy metallic door, yanking it open with all his strength. his free hand reaching for you as he shouted, waving you forward urgently.

You stumbled inside, your entire body burning with exhaustion. Mike instantly slammed the door shut behind you with a loud, reverberating clang.

And then a grotesque hand, twisted and unnaturally sharp, shot through the broken window of the door before it could fully seal. You barely registered the flash of movement before it swiped across your throat in a sickening arc.

A warm, wet sensation spread down your neck and Mike's face twisted from relief to raw, primal horror.

Your body buckled, falling forward and getting caught in his arms.

"No, no, no, no—“ His voice cracked, the desperation was painful to hear. Blood poured over his hands as he pressed one against your neck, his fingers trembling as he tried to stop it. Tears streaked through the dirt and grime on his face as he shook you gently, his breaths ragged and breaking.

𝒟ℯ𝒶𝓉𝒽 𝓉ℴ𝓉ℯ𝓂

The sanatorium was like a maze of nightmares. You and Mike moved quickly but cautiously, your footsteps echoing faintly as you descended the stairs to reach the back of the place from where Mike had entered. The lighter flickered in his hand, casting faint, jumping shadows across the walls.

"Almost there," Mike whispered, glancing back at you. His free hand hovered near yours, close enough that you could feel the warmth radiating from his fingertips. "Just keep close to me, alright?"

You nodded, your lips pressed into a thin line as your eyes darted warily around the darkened corners. Something about it felt wrong, as if you were being watched.

Mike was ahead of you, lighter held high, his head snapping from side to side as he checked the place carefully. His entire body was tense, every muscle coiled like a spring, ready to snap at the first sign of trouble.

You gripped the railing tightly as you took another step, the cold seeping into your fingertips.

A low growl echoed from somewhere close, so sudden and guttural that it made your heart slam into your ribs.

A flash of gray shot out of a hidden passage beside the staircase. The gray wolf that had been with the flamethrower man snarled as it lunged, teeth sinking into your leg, forcing a strangled gasp from your throat as you stumbled backward. The wolf growled, its grip unyielding as it threatened to pull you to the ground.

The bite burned, sharp and immediate as blood quickly began soaking into the fabric of your pants. You tried to shake the wolf off, its teeth locked in like a vice.

"Hey!” Mike's voice roared through the space, cutting through your pain. His footsteps thundered as he ran back toward you.

"Get off him!"

Mike kicked at the wolf's side with all his strength, the impact making the creature stumble back with a growl. The wolf snarled, baring its teeth at Mike. He positioned himself between you and the animal, holding out an arm to keep you behind him as he shouted again and raised his arms to look threatening to the wolf.

"Go on! Get outta here!"

The wolf hesitated, growling lowly, its ears pinned flat against its head. But it soon turned and bolted back into the shadows, disappearing as quickly as it had appeared.

Mike immediately turned to you, his face pale with worry. "You okay?"

You groaned, trying to stand upright as you grabbed at the stair railing for balance. "It's not that bad."

Mike crouched down slightly, his hands gripping your arms tightly as his gaze dropped to your leg. His lips thinned when he saw the blood seeping through your pant leg. He glared up at you, his face taut with frustration. “Not that bad? Jesus, you're bleeding."

He grabbed your hand to haul you up. "Come on, we've gotta move.”

You struggled to stand, your leg barely able to bear your weight. Mike tightened his grip on you instantly, keeping you upright. "Lean on me," he said, his voice softer now but no less firm.

Each step was agony, but Mike was relentless, his arm never wavering as he practically dragged you down the hall.

The distant growls echoed behind you, they were becoming closer the longer time went by. Was it still the wolf? How could it move so fast and loudly at the same time? You wanted to take a look behind you but it was impossible to do without slowing down Mike in the process.

"Screw this," he muttered under his breath. Before you could protest, he turned and scooped you up into his arms, holding you bridal style like it was nothing.

"Mike—"

"Don't even start," he interrupted, his tone clipped as he was now free to run. "I'm not letting you hobble around while Cujo's out for blood."

You opened your mouth to argue but shut it again when you heard a screech from behind you and him.

Whatever was behind, it was definitely not a wolf.

His heart was hammering beneath your hand, but his grip on you never faltered. You curled your arms around his neck, letting yourself lean into his warmth as he ran.

Mike didn't stop until he reached the door he'd entered through. With a grunt, he kicked it open, the metal slamming against the wall as he set you down as gently as time allowed, his hands steadying you as you leaned against the wall, your chest heaving from exertion and fear.

The heavy door swung shut behind you. Mike leaned against it for a moment, his chest heaving as he caught his breath.

Your hands instinctively went to the bite, pressing against the torn fabric of your pants. Blood seeped through your fingers, warm and sticky, but as you inspected the wound, you realized it wasn't as deep as it had felt. Painful, yes, but not life-threatening.

"You okay?" Mike's voice was soft but urgent as he crouched in front of you, his hands hovering near your leg. His eyes were dark with worry, his earlier bravado replaced by something more vulnerable. "Let me see."

"Just hurts like hell," you reassured him, though your voice was shaky.

Mike exhaled sharply, his relief visible as he glanced back toward the door. "Stupid fucking dog," he muttered under his breath, his jaw tightening. Turning away for a moment, he rifled through the room as something caught his eyes while you let your muscles relax.

A moment later, he returned with an old, green jacket in his hands. The fabric was worn and frayed in places, but it looked decently warm. He held it out to you, his expression softening slightly.

"Here," he said, his voice quiet. "Put this on. You're freezing."

You shook your head immediately, pushing the jacket back toward him. "You need it more than I do."

"Don’t start," he said, his tone firm but not unkind while shoving the jacket toward you again. "Just put it on."

You crossed your arms stubbornly. "I said no. I'm fine. You're the one who's been running around in the cold."

Mike stared at you for a long moment before cursing under his breath as he slipped the jacket on himself. "Fine. Fine. Are you happy now?" he grumbled, his tone dripping with offense.

You hummed softly, fighting the grin tugging at your lips as you reached forward and straightened the collar of the jacket. "It looks good on you," you whispered, your voice teasing but warm.

Mike's glare faltered slightly. His lips parted and you could see the way his chest rose as he inhaled sharply, the tension bleeding from his body. You brushed a hand against his cheek, your thumb grazing over the faint stubble there.

Mike leaned into your touch without thinking, his eyes softening as they locked onto yours. The corners of his mouth quivered into a faint smile, his warm breath brushing against your face as he pulled you closer by the waist.

"If that wolf comes after you again, I'm turning it into a nice, warm fur coat for you to wear. Deal?" He whispered, his voice low and playful.

You laughed, the sound light and genuine for the first time in hours. Mike's grin widened at the sound, his fingers tightening against your hips.

"My boyfriend deserves only the best, after all," he murmured softly, his eyes fixed on you as your body leaned into his.

ℳ𝒶𝓉𝓉 𝒯𝒶𝓎𝓁ℴ𝓇

The wind howled like a wounded animal as you and Matt trudged through the heavy snow, the outline of the radio tower barely visible against the foggy backdrop. Matt’s arm was wrapped snugly around your waist as you both moved in a quiet rhythm.

All of that road for your bag only to being left on the snow the second you heard about what happened to Josh and who did it. You couldn’t believe Josh was dead, you felt so bad for Chris when he told you everything and the sight of Ash covered in Josh’s blood made your your own run cold.

The only thing you could do now was to call for help.

Each step closer to the tower seems heavier, the sight of it towering into the foggy sky sends a ripple of unease through your chest. The closer you got, the harder it became to steady your breathing. Your stomach churned, an uncomfortable knot of fear tightening with every screech of the metal.

Emily marched ahead, her sharp voice cutting through the wind as she barked something about getting to the top quickly and calling for help.

But you weren't listening.

Your gaze was fixed upward. The thought of climbing those stairs made your legs feel weak.

You stopped abruptly, the hand you had around Matt's arm tightened to steady yourself. His warm brown eyes immediately shifted to you, concern flashing across his face as he stopped too.

“What's wrong?" he asked, his voice low and gentle, his brows knitted together as he studied your expression.

You hesitated, the words catching in your throat. "I can't— I don't think I can do this.” Your voice was soft, cracking at the edges, a stark contrast to the person he was used to.

Your breathing was uneven, your lips slightly parted as if you were struggling to get enough air. There was a sheen of moisture in your eyes, not quite tears, but close enough to make his chest ache. Your brows were drawn together tightly and your jaw trembled ever so slightly. The fear in your expression was unfiltered and seeing it struck something deep within him.

"Hey, hey," Matt said softly, his hand coming up to cradle the side of your face. His thumb brushed gently against your cheek. "Talk to me. What's going on?"

Your hands tightened their grip on his purple jacket, seeking something solid to hold onto. "I don't do heights, Matt. I can't climb that thing." You admitted finally, your voice barely audible over the wind.

Matt was quiet for a moment, his lips pressing into a thin line as he processed your words. He could feel the tremble in your hands, the way your body leaned slightly against his. It wasn't like you to be so afraid and it made him want to protect you even more.

"I can wait down here," you said quickly, as if trying to convince yourself as much as him. "You and Emily can go up and—"

"No," Matt interrupted, shaking his head firmly. His hands slid to your waist, holding you steady as his gaze locked onto yours. "I'm not leaving you down here alone. That psycho's still out there. I'm not about to let anything happen to you."

You bit your lip, the familiar warmth of his touch helping to calm the storm inside you, even if only slightly.

You were unsure of how to argue. The idea of being left alone felt awful, especially now, but the thought of climbing that tower was almost worse.

Matt sighed, his expression softening. "Look," he said, his voice low and soothing, "I get it. I do. But I'm not going to let anything happen to you. I'll be right behind you the whole way. Okay? Every step. We'll get through it together."

You looked up at him, the sincerity in his eyes cutting through some of the haze of your fear. His hands tightened slightly on your waist. His unwavering kindness was the only thing keeping you from breaking apart completely.

You nodded slowly, the movement hesitant but enough to show that you were willing to try. Matt's face lit up with relief, a small, reassuring smile tugging at his lips.

"That's my guy," he said softly, pressing a kiss to your lips quickly, his hand holding your cheek softly in the process until he pulled away. "I'm not going anywhere, okay?"

Emily's sharp voice cut through the moment, impatient as ever. "Are you two lovebirds done yet? We don't exactly have all night."

Matt turned to glare at her, but there was no real heat behind it. "Give us a second, Em," he shot back before returning his focus to you. "Ignore her. She's just cranky. Probably cold."

A small smile tugged at the corners of your lips and Matt's heart swelled at the sight of it. His hand lingered on your waist for a second longer before he reached Emily to explain to her the situation.

Emily tone was sharp as she spoke with Matt. His voice was soft, though there was a hint of an edge in it.

While they spoke, you took a small step back, trying to regain your composure. Something caught your gaze on the snow-covered ground. A faint shape sticking out of the frost, partially hidden under a layer of ice and dirt. You crouched, curiosity sparking despite your lingering fear.

A faint pattern like a jagged spiral ran along one side and despite the biting cold, it felt almost warm in your hand. You inspected the artifact, turning it over.

The dark, cramped space pressed in on you as you hid together with Matt. His arm was tight around your shoulders, holding you so close to his chest that you could feel his heart pounding against your back.

Your gaze dropped to your hands where blood was pooling at your fingertips, dripping steadily onto the ground. You clenched your fists, trying to stop the flow, but the crimson drops continued to fall.

A gaunt, twisted figure crawled into view from behind, its movements jerky and unnatural. Its sunken eyes glinted in the dim light as it sniffed the air, its head snapping toward your hiding spot.

𝒟𝒶𝓃ℊℯ𝓇 𝓉ℴ𝓉ℯ𝓂

"Okay, fine," Emily said, throwing up her hands. "But if he slows us down, Matt—“

"He won’t," Matt interrupted, his voice firm but calm. He turned back to you, his expression softening the instant his eyes met yours. "You ready?" he murmured, his voice filled with affection.

You forced yourself to nod. "Yeah. Let’s do this."

The climb to the first level of the tower had been slow but manageable, largely thanks to Matt. But as the three of you approached the second and final part of the climb, the reality of the height struck you again.

Your hands gripping the railing so tightly that your knuckles ached. The world seemed to tilt around you, a dizzying reminder of just how far you'd come… and how much farther you could fall.

"Almost there," Matt called gently from below, his voice cutting through the roar of the wind. "You're doing amazing, babe. Just a little further."

His words were meant to encourage, but you could barely hear them over the pounding of your own heartbeat.

You reached for the trapdoor, your fingers brushing against its icy surface. A sudden gust of wind slammed into you, throwing you off balance and your foot slipped on the icy stare. Your stomach lurching as gravity pulls you backward, barely managing to catch yourself and clutching the metal stairs with both arms in a desperate embrace.

Matt's heart felt like it stopped at the sight of you losing your balance. "Are you okay? Are you hurt?" The words tumbled out of him in a rush as he scrambled up a few steps.

You couldn't answer immediately. Your chest heaved as you clung to the cold metal, every fiber of your being focused on not looking down.

A shriller, far less comforting voice spoke from below. "I'm freezing my ass off down here! Just stop looking down! Close your goddamn eyes and open the damn trapdoor already!" Emily's unmistakable tone rang out from the base of the stairs. Her words hit like a slap and you flinched instinctively.

Matt’s usual calm demeanor cracked as he whipped around, his voice firm and louder than you'd ever heard it before. "Yelling isn't going to help, Emily! Just let him calm down, alright?"

Emily's jaw dropped, caught off guard by the sudden bite in Matt's tone. Her shock lasted only a second before wrath flashed in her eyes. "Excuse me?" she snapped, her hands gripping tightly the bars. "At least I'm trying to get him to move! What are you doing besides staring at his ass the whole time?"

Matt reeled back, his cheeks immediately flushing with embarrassment. "I—what?! I wasn't—what are you even talking about?!" he stammered, his words fumbling over each other in a rush to defend himself, unsure of how to even begin addressing her ridiculous accusation.

Despite your shaky state, a small, unexpected laugh bubbled out of you at the absurdity of their argument and it gave you the last bit of strength to open the trapdoor and crawl on the floor of the tower. "I got it," you called down, your voice still trembling but steadier than before.

When Matt reached the top of the stairs, you were still crouched near the trapdoor. Your legs shook slightly as you forced yourself to breathe, to focus on anything but the dizzying height below. You felt Matt kneel beside you, his presence warm and grounding despite the cold wind cutting through the tower.

“Hey,” he said softly, placing his hands gently on your shoulders. His touch was firm but reassuring, his thumbs brushing over the fabric of your jacket.

His face was closer now, and you could see the worry etched into his features. The way his eyes searched yours, as if trying to find the right words to say, made your heart ache in a way you hadn’t expected.

Matt hesitated for a moment, his gaze flickering down to your lips before meeting your eyes again. There was a beat of silence, before he leaned forward, his hands sliding to your waist as he pulled you closer.

His lips pressed against yours, soft and warm, the kiss tender but filled with a quiet intensity. When he pulled back, his face lingered close to yours, his forehead almost resting against yours as he exhaled shakily with a small, nervous smile tugged at his lips.

He cleared his throat awkwardly, scratching the back of his neck as he avoided your gaze. “I, uh… I just wanted to make sure you’re okay,” he murmured, his voice quiet but filled with sincerity.

"And for the record," he added quickly, his voice low, "I wasn't staring at your ass. I mean, not on purpose! I mean—" He stumbled over his words, clearly flustered. "I was just… making sure you were safe. Like, in case something happened. Which it didn't! It kind of did, but you know what I mean."

The corners of your lips twitched upward and before you knew it, you were laughing. It was shaky and soft, but it was genuine. The sound seemed to disarm Matt completely and he let out a nervous chuckle of his own, his hands still resting lightly on your shoulders.

"See?" he said, his tone lighter now as his own smile grew. "That's better. You've got a great smile, you know? Way too good to waste on freaking out about some stupid tower."

You shook your head, your laughter fading into a warm smile as you looked up at him. He stood, offering you his hand, letting him help you to your feet.

Your legs felt weak as you stood, gripping onto the nearest surface to keep yourself steady, refusing to glance at the windows and the dizzying drop below. Matt stayed close by your side, his arm brushing against yours, while Emily knelt by the radio, frantically fiddling with its dials as she successfully called for help.

Beneath the roar of the storm, you heard a sharp, metallic thud. Your heart leapt into your throat as the noise echoed through the tower.

Another sound. A loud, deliberate slam against the trapdoor you'd climbed through. Emily screamed as she backed away and hugged herself. The metal vibrated under each blow, the trapdoor shaking violently as someone—or something—tried to force its way inside.

Matt stepped in front of you, his arm shooting out to shield you. He was just as terrified as you were, but he wasn't going to let it stop him.

The banging stopped, leaving a suffocating silence in its wake. Before a sudden, violent lurch threw you off balance as the entire tower shifted, the floor tilting beneath your feet.

Sparks erupted from the radio equipment as the cables outside snapped one by one, the groaning of metal deafening. Wires shorted out, sending a burst of flames crawling up the walls. The air filled with smoke and the acrid stench of burning electronics.

"Hold on!" Matt yelled, his voice barely audible over the chaos. He reached for you, his arm wrapping tightly around your waist as he pulled you against him. His grip was strong as he anchored you to him. His other hand shot out, grabbing onto the handle of a desk bolted to the wall, giving you enough time to grab the desk too.

The tower tilted further and Emily screamed as she fell into the window facing the black ravine. She hit it hard, the glass spider webbing with cracks under the force.

"Emily!" you and Matt cried out, but your voice was lost in the chaos as the tower fell violently on the ravine and got stuck temporarily. The desk Matt was holding onto creaked under the strain, its metal legs groaning before the one holding you snapped with a sickening crack.

The sudden loss of stability sent you sliding backward, the window on your left catching your weight just before the glass shattered, slicing into your skin as half of your body hung out into the void.

Panic exploded in your chest as the freezing wind roared around you. Your hands scrabbled desperately against the broken glass and jagged metal, trying to find anything to hold onto. Blood smeared the glass where your palms dragged across it and a strangled cry tore from your throat as you felt your strength fading.

You were seconds away from falling to your own death before Matt's strong hand gripped your shoulder tightly. You looked up, tears blurring your vision and saw his face.

"I've got you," he said, his voice shaking but steady and eyes wide with fear. "Don't let go."

You choked out his name, your voice trembling with both terror and relief. The sheer force of your panic made your words nearly incoherent, but he understood.

His grip on your shoulder tightened as he braced himself against the crumbling wall. With a grunt of effort, he began to pull you up, his muscles straining as he fought against gravity. You felt the jagged glass dig deeper into your skin as he dragged you back to the top of the tower.

Finally, you were close enough for him to wrap both arms around you, pulling you tightly against his chest. He buried his face in your neck, his breath warm against your freezing skin. "You're okay," he whispered, his voice thick with emotion.

Your body trembled against his, the adrenaline still coursing through your veins but you clung to him tightly.

The sharp, panicked sound of Emily's voice cut through the chaos like a blade. "Oh, god, Matt, help me!" she screamed, her voice rising above the wind and the groaning of the collapsing tower. The structure swayed dangerously again, causing you to flinch violently as your hands gripped the splintered metallic floor beneath you, too paralyzed by fear to move. The glass shards dug painfully into your palms and your chest heaved with shallow, frantic breaths.

Matt was crouched beside you, his hand brushing over your shoulder in a silent reassurance, though his focus was pulled toward Emily. His jaw was tight, lips pressed together as his head darted between her dangling form and you, trembling on all fours right next to him. "Emily! Just—just hang on!" he shouted back, his voice strained with panic and uncertainty.

"Matt you’ve got to do something right NOW what are you waiting for?!?!" Emily screeched, her hands gripping desperately at the metal beam she was clinging to. Her face was pale, twisted in anger and terror as she tried to haul herself upward.

"I’m thinking! Let me think—" Matt shot back, frustration and desperation bleeding into his tone as he glanced at her precarious position. Every nerve in his body was screaming at him to do something, but the chaos made it impossible to think.

"Don’t think, you idiot, just get me out of here!" Emily yelled, her words sharp and cutting.

"Emily, you’re upset, you need to calm down. You’re gonna be fine—"

“Ugh, stop talking, I can’t take it!”

“Stop yelling at me and let me work this out, okay?” Matt’s voice was starting to crack under the pressure. The rare harshness in his tone shocked her into momentary silence, though her glare remained fixed on him.

“No, you stop it! Why do you keep questioning everything I say?! I’m goddamned sick of it!”

As they argued, you trembled next to Matt, your body betraying you under the crushing weight of fear. The dizzying height and the groaning metal beneath you all pressed down like a suffocating hand. Your arms were weak, hands and arms bloody from the shattered glass and your mind was spiraling into dark places you couldn't control. You wanted to move, to help, to say something, but the words wouldn't come as you kept staring down at the metal that kept moving and falling apart beneath you.

Matt extended his hand down to reach for her but the tower moved again, sliding further down and causing Emily to fall further down, her hands gripping tightly the metal were now the only thing keeping her from falling down.

Matt's head whipped toward you as the tower lurched again, his heart skipping a beat when he saw the look on your face. Your eyes were wide, glassy with terror, your lips trembling as shallow gasps escaped you. You looked completely frozen, your normally bright expression replaced with sheer, raw fear. The sight made Matt's chest ache in a way he couldn't describe.

His mind was racing, torn between what to do. He hated seeing you like this, so vulnerable, so scared.

"Matt!" Emily screamed again, her voice grating. He turned back to her briefly, his expression torn. She was hanging precariously, her fingers slipping further with every passing second.

Matt's breath caught in his throat as he realized he couldn't save both of you. The tower was seconds from collapsing entirely.

He had to make a choice.

He couldn't lose you.

Not you.

"I'm sorry," he whispered, his voice barely audible over the chaos occurring.

Emily's head snapped up, her brows furrowed in confusion as she tried to figure out what he meant

Matt moved, his hand gripping tightly your arm as he hauled you to your feet with a surprising strength born of pure adrenaline. "Hold onto me!" he shouted, his voice breaking through your haze of fear.

You barely had time to process his words before he pulled you forcefully against him, his arms locking around you before jumping away from the tower.

The two of you leapt clear of the collapsing tower just as it let out an earth-shattering groan. The entire structure gave way, crashing into the ravine in a deafening roar of twisted metal, shattered glass, and flames.

You and Matt hit the ground hard, the cold bit into your skin, but the sheer force of the adrenaline coursing through your veins dulled everything else. For a moment, you lay there, your body trembling uncontrollably as you tried to catch your breath.

Matt's arms were still around you, holding you tightly as if he couldn't bear to let go. His chest rose and fell against yours, his breaths coming fast and uneven. He pulled back just enough to look at you, his eyes wide and frantic as he scanned your face.

"Are you okay?" he asked, his voice hoarse.

You nodded shakily, your words caught in your throat. Your hands gripped his torn jacket tightly. "I'm okay," you managed to whisper, though your voice trembled.

Matt exhaled a shaky breath, relief flooding his features. But as he looked back toward the ravine, the guilt hit him like a physical blow, his shoulders sagging under the weight of it.

"She's gone," he murmured, his voice barely audible. "I didn't—" His words broke off, his face twisting with anguish.

You reached up, your hands still trembling, and cupped his face gently. "Matt," you said softly, your voice steady despite the fear still lingering in your chest. "You didn't have a choice. "

His eyes searched yours, desperate for reassurance.

"Thank you for saving me," your voice firm this time as you cradle his head between your hands.

Matt's lips pressed into a thin line, his brow furrowing as tears threatened to spill. "I couldn't lose you," he whispered finally, his voice breaking.

He leaned in, pressing his lips to yours in a soft, trembling kiss. His hands cupped your face gently, his touch tender despite the strength that had just saved your life.

When he pulled back, his forehead rested against yours, and for the first time all night, the tension in his shoulders eased. "I love you," he whispered, the words barely audible but heavy with meaning.

You smiled faintly, your own fear finally starting to ebb away. "I love you too."

For now, at least, you were safe and together.

𝒥ℴ𝓈𝒽 𝒲𝒶𝓈𝒽𝒾𝓃ℊ𝓉ℴ𝓃

The lodge felt emptier than ever.

The silence pressed against you from all sides, heavy and suffocating, broken only by the faint howling of the wind outside. Shadows clung to the corners of the room, flickering faintly with the light of the fire. The crackling flames did little to warm the place.

You sat on the edge of one of the couches, your elbows resting against your knees as you stared at the floor, your vision blurring with tears. One hand gripped the fabric of your jeans tightly, knuckles pale, while the other shakily wiped at your face. Your chest aches and your throat felt tight, like you couldn't quite catch your breath.

Josh was gone.

The image of it was still burned into your mind. It replayed on an endless loop: the look of horror on his face, the blood, the sickening sound of the chainsaw sliding him in half. You couldn't stop hearing it, couldn't stop seeing it, even when you squeezed your eyes shut and tried to force it away.

And worst of all, you hadn't been able to do anything.

The tears started again, hot and unstoppable as they streaked down your face. You drew in a shaky breath, trying to hold it in, trying to keep it together, but the grief was relentless, clawing at your chest like something alive. You dropped your head into your hands, shoulders trembling as you let it out, the quiet sobs muffled by your palms.

You didn't even hear Chris and Ashley enter the room.

Chris's voice broke through the silence, soft but uncertain as he called your name. You stiffened instinctively, brushing at your face quickly as you turned your head, though there was no hiding the tears in your eyes. Chris stood near the doorway, his expression filled with uncertainty and guilt. Ashley hovered beside him, her eyes wide with sympathy, her hands twisting nervously around each other.

You swallowed hard, clearing your throat as you tried to speak. "Hey," you croaked, though your voice cracked on the word.

Chris shifted awkwardly on his feet, glancing toward Ashley for a moment before stepping closer to you. His face was pale and tired, the usual spark of humor in his eyes replaced with something dull and haunted.

"Listen, man…" Chris started, his voice trailing off as if he didn't know how to finish. He ran a hand through his hair, his movements restless. "I just wanted to say I'm sorry. About Josh. I can't even imagine…"

He trailed off again, his face contorting slightly as he struggled to find the right words. You could see the guilt written all over him. He'd watched it happen. He'd seen you break down in that moment, screaming and reaching for Josh, even when there was nothing you could do.

The words came softly, but they still cut deep. You didn't want his sympathy. You didn't want anyone's sympathy, because it didn't change anything. Josh was still gone.

But as you opened your mouth to say something, you paused. Chris's face was crumbling, his voice shaking slightly as he spoke again.

"I know how much he meant to you. And… God, I just can't believe it." His voice broke on the last words, his shoulders slumping as though the weight of his grief was too much to bear.

Your chest tightened at the sight of him. Chris was hurting too. Josh wasn't just your boyfriend; he'd been Chris's brother in all but blood.

You sniffed, wiping at your face with the back of your hand before looking up at him.

"I'm sorry for you too," you muttered, your voice barely above a whisper. "He was your best friend."

Chris's expression twisted painfully and he looked away quickly, his hands clenched into fists at his sides. "Yeah," he said softly, his voice tight. "Yeah, he was,” his eyes were glassy as he looked away.

The weight of his words hung in the air between you, thick and heavy with grief. For a moment, none of you spoke. The only sound was the faint crackling of the fire.

Ashley, who had been silent up until now, moved slightly closer to Chris. She placed a hand gently on his arm, her touch soft but deliberate. Chris flinched faintly at first, but he looked down at her and seemed to understand what she meant

"Right," Chris murmured after a moment, his voice hushed. He looked back at you, his face softening with understanding. "We're, uh—we're gonna head upstairs. Sam should be there.”

You nodded faintly, still not trusting your voice to speak.

Chris hesitated, clearly torn, his eyes flickering toward Ashley and back to you. He looked like he wanted to say more, to stay, but Ashley gave his arm a small tug, silently urging him to leave you alone for now.

"Take your time," Ashley said softly, her voice kind but sad.

Chris let out a breath, nodding at you one last time before turning to follow Ashley out of the room. Their footsteps faded into the distance, and the silence returned, heavier than before.

You sat back against the chair, staring at the fire as tears started to burn your eyes again. It wasn't fair. Josh had been here just hours ago laughing, joking, grinning at you in that mischievous way that only he could. You could still hear his voice teasing you, the way he'd lean close to whisper some ridiculous comment that would leave you rolling your eyes but smiling anyway. He'd kiss you like it was the only thing that mattered, his lips soft and slow and full of affection. Josh had a way of making you feel like you were the only person in the world.

And now he is gone.

A sob escaped your throat, unexpected and raw and you curled in on yourself, your face pressing into your hands. The ache in your chest deepened, spreading like a crack in glass. It hurts to breathe, to think, to feel.

Josh lingered in the shadows of the lodge, his breathing controlled, almost imperceptible, as he watched you from a distance. The flickering firelight cast faint orange hues across your form, highlighting every shudder of your shoulders, every tremble in your body as you cried alone on the couch.

It had been hard enough to keep his composure when Chris and Ashley had been there with you. But now that you were alone, crumpling under the weight of grief he'd inflicted on you, it was nearly unbearable.

Josh's chest tightened as he watched you wipe your face with trembling hands. The sight alone carried enough pain to gut him. He hadn't anticipated this part of his plan, hadn't thought about how deeply his "death" would cut you, hadn't truly imagined the look of agony on your face as you mourned him.

Josh gritted his teeth, his jaw locking as he turned his head slightly, as though looking away might ease the ache spreading through him.

It didn't.

You were right there and every sound you made carved deeper into him, peeling back layers of guilt he'd tried so hard to bury.

He had envisioned this night countless times in his head, every piece of the plan falling into place. He would take the others to the brink of terror, make them feel the helplessness and fear his sisters must have felt, and then pull back the curtain. Show them that it was all a game, a carefully crafted performance.

They'd be mad, sure, but they'd understand. He wanted them to understand what it felt like to be alone, to lose someone you loved. To hurt the way he had hurt after his sisters disappeared.

But Josh hadn't anticipated how much it would shatter him to see you the way your body curled into itself like you were trying to disappear, to hear the way you whispered his name under your breath soft and broken, like a prayer that would never be answered.

Josh's fingers dug into the wood of the doorframe until his knuckles went white. He felt his chest tighten, his throat working around a lump he couldn't quite swallow.

You'd see. They'd all see. Once everything was finished, they'd finally understand what it felt like.

Josh inhaled sharply through his nose, forcing his gaze back to you. You would forgive him, he was sure of it. By the end of the night, you'd see what he was trying to do. That this whole thing was for you as much as it was for him.

Josh took a step forward, silent as a shadow as he took another. His movements were slow, calculated, as he stalked toward you. His figure wrapped in darkness save for parts of his mask and the edges of the gas mask slung over his shoulder. He kept his breathing steady, his footsteps light, his gaze locked on you.

You were his to protect, his to keep safe. You didn't belong out here with the others. You weren't supposed to suffer because of their sins.

You'd forgive him for this. You had to.

His grip tightened on the gas mask, the rubber creaking faintly under the pressure of his fingers.

His heart hammered in his chest as he hovered just behind you now, close enough that he could see the faint tremors running through your frame. His eyes softened for a brief moment as he crouched slightly, one hand tightening around the strap of the gas mask.

"I'm sorry," he whispered, the words slipping out so quietly he wasn't sure he'd said them at all.

You tensed at the sound, your head snapping up as you turned sharply to look over your shoulder. But before you could see him fully, Josh surged forward.

A sharp gasp escaped you, your body jerking back instinctively, but Josh was faster. He clamped the gas mask against your face, his other hand locking around the back of your head to hold it in place.

Your muffled shout rang through the room, your hands flying up to grab at his arms, your fingers digging into his sleeves as you fought.

Your struggles weakened as the drug took effect, your limbs growing heavy. Josh caught you as you slumped forward, your head resting against his chest. He cradled you in his arms, adjusted your weight carefully before lifting you into a bridal carry with ease.

Your head lolled against his shoulder, breath shallow but steady. He held you tightly, his arms wrapped protectively around you as he began moving through the lodge.

Josh’s grip on you tightened, his mind racing as he carried you through the lodge. He glanced down at your face, vulnerable and peaceful, a pang of guilt striking him even as he pressed you closer to his chest, his body tense with emotion as he moved through the hallways.

Josh's thoughts halted abruptly when his foot struck something hard on the floor. The object skidded across the hall with a faint scraping sound, breaking the stillness. He froze, his grip tightening on you instinctively as his sharp eyes darted downward.

A small wooden carving, unmistakable even in the low light.

Josh shifted your weight in his arms to free one hand. Almost hesitantly, he reached down and picked up the artifact, its rough surface felt rough, even edged under his fingertips. He turned it over in his hand.

You were standing in the middle of a dark place somewhere. Half of your body is submerged in water. You were frozen, eyes wide and glassy with terror. Your body was completely rigid, as though you couldn't move even if you wanted to.

Then a grotesque, elongated hand reached into view, its skin pale and stretched unnaturally tight over jagged bones. Its fingers twitched as they clamped down with horrifying force. The hand gripped your face tightly, its long, claw-like fingers pressing into your skin as if it meant to crush your skull.

ℒℴ𝓈𝓈 𝓉ℴ𝓉ℯ𝓂

Finally, Josh reached the room he'd prepared. The door creaked as he pushed it open, revealing a small, dimly lit space with a sturdy lock. He stepped inside, carefully setting you down on the couch in the corner. Your head lolled slightly as he adjusted your position, ensuring you were comfortable.

He knelt beside you, his hands trembling as he cupped your face. "I'm sorry," he whispered again, his voice barely audible. His thumbs brushed against your cheeks, tracing the lines of your face as if trying to commit every detail to memory.

Josh pulled back reluctantly, his hands lingering on your face for just a moment longer.

"You'll understand soon. I promise." He murmured, his voice soft but firm.

With one last glance, he stood and stepped out of the room, the door clicking shut behind him. As the lock turned, he felt a pang of guilt so sharp it nearly brought him to his knees. But he pushed it aside, forcing himself to focus.

You are safe now. That was all that mattered to him.

𝒞𝒽𝓇𝒾𝓈 ℋ𝒶𝓇𝓉𝓁ℯ𝓎

The basement was cold, darker than you'd expected, with a damp, heavy air that clung to your skin. The dim overhead light buzzed faintly, casting flickering shadows along the cracked stone walls.

You were in the lead, your pace quick and determined despite the growing fear gnawing at your chest. Your older sister, Sam, was down here somewhere, you knew it. She had to be. Every instinct told you to find her before it was too late.

"Sam's smart," Chris said from behind you, his voice low but steady as he tried to keep up with you, though you could hear the slight tremor of uncertainty beneath his words. "If she's down here, she's probably already figured out a way to hide or something. Right, Ash?"

Ashley nodded, her steps careful as she moved beside Chris, her flashlight cutting weakly through the shadows.

You didn't turn to look at them, focus locked on the narrow hallway ahead. The stone walls felt too close, the air heavy with dust and decay, your hands curling into fists as you marched forward.

"Hey, slow down!" Chris called after you, his voice laced with concern. "We don't know what's down here."

You ignored him, your flashlight sweeping frantically across the walls and floor for any sign of her. The further you moved, the more the basement seemed to twist and turn, like a labyrinth.

The three of you continued deeper into the basement, the narrow hallway opening into a larger, more cavernous space. The walls here were rougher, the stone uneven and jagged in places and the faint smell of mildew lingered in the air.

"This place is insane," Chris muttered under his breath, his flashlight sweeping over the walls as he took in the eerie space. "Why does a lodge even have something like this? It's like a whole new place down there."

There was now a narrow corridor where the walls seemed to close in, the ceiling lower now, the air damp and stale. You paused for a moment to catch your breath, your flashlight flickering briefly as you swept it across the space.

Your eyes fell on something in the corner of the corridor-a faint shimmer, like something metallic. You moved toward it quickly, ignoring the chill that ran up your spine.

It was a small, cracked mirror, its surface marred with streaks of grime and dust. Beside it sat an old, rusted lantern, long extinguished. No sign of Sam. Just more emptiness.

Your chest tightened, disappointment and frustration flaring hot and sharp. You slammed a fist against the wall, the sound echoing in the narrow space. "Dammit!"

"Hey," Chris said gently, stepping closer. "We'll find her, okay? You don't have to-"

"Don't tell me to calm down!" you snapped, turning on him suddenly. "She could be down here hurt, scared, alone and we're just…" You trailed off, your voice shaking as the words caught in your throat.

Chris froze, his expression softening. He didn't argue. He just stood there, his face pale in the faint glow of his flashlight, like he wasn't sure what to say.

Ashley shifted uncomfortably beside him, her brow furrowed with worry. "We're all scared but you're not alone in this, okay? We'll find her." She said quietly, her voice soft but steady.

You didn't reply. You couldn't. Your hands were shaking and you couldn't tell if it was from anger, fear, or something worse. Instead, you turned away from them and pressed forward again, following the set of narrow stairs descended further into the earth, the edges of the stone steps worn smooth from years of use.

"Hey, wait up!" Chris called, his footsteps hurrying to catch up with you. "We should stick together, man."

You ignored him, your mind too preoccupied with thoughts of Sam. The flashlight's beam swept across the walls, illuminating strange markings and stains that made your imagination run wild.

Their words barely registered as you moved further into the room, your heart pounding heavily in your chest. You scanned the floor and walls carefully, your eyes darting between every crack and crevice for any sign of your sister.

Then, something caught your eye.

Near the base of an old wooden crate, partially hidden beneath a pile of dust and debris, was a strange object. You crouched down slowly, brushing the dirt away. Its weathered surface felt cool and rough beneath your fingertips as you picked it up, the intricate patterns on its surface oddly mesmerizing.

Your fingers wrapped around it and you shifted it to analyze the foreign object.

You were inside a dark, broken-down shelter, your back pressed against the rough wood of the wall.

You were frozen, your body stiff with fear as your wide eyes stared forward. Across the room, something tall with unnatural limbs moved slowly. Its hollow eyes scanned the room, letting out a high-pitched screech that echoed, clawing at your nerves.

Chris stood at the doorway of the shelter. His face was pale, frozen in terror as he raised the rifle in trembling hands as his finger squeezed the trigger.

𝒢𝓊𝒾𝒹ℯ 𝓉ℴ𝓉ℯ𝓂

Ashley placed a gentle hand on Chris’s arm, drawing his attention away from you. "You think she is hiding somewhere?" She suggested softly, though her voice trembled slightly.

Chris hesitated, glancing between her and the darkened stairs leading further down. "Yeah it could be," he said. He shifted his flashlight, his shoulders tense. "You should go back upstairs. Check the second floor again. Sam could've found somewhere to hide up there that we missed."

Ashley nodded slowly, her expression troubled. "You really think so?"

"It's worth a shot," Chris said, his voice quieter now.

Ashley bit her lip, glancing toward you with a look of worry etched across her face, her flashlight beam catching your face as she gave you a small, hesitant smile. "Ве careful down here, okay?"

"I will," you replied, your voice steadier now.

Ashley lingered for a moment longer, her gaze filled with concern, before nodding and heading back toward the staircase. The sound of her footsteps echoed faintly as she climbed, growing softer and softer until they disappeared entirely.

Chris turned to you, his expression serious as he adjusted the flashlight in his hand. "Alright," he said, his tone quieter now. "Let's figure this out. If Sam's down here, we're going to find her."

The dim, flickering light in the psycho's basement painted the horrifying scene in muted, sickly hues. The walls were cold, damp concrete, but they were far from empty. Photos of you and your friends on a wall, each one marked with red slashes, circles, and Xs. Some were crossed out completely, others circled with jagged edges, and the sight sent a shiver crawling down your spine.

In one corner, a row of gutted pigs hung from rusted hooks, their carcasses swaying faintly with every breath of stale air in the room. The metallic stench of blood was suffocating, mixing with the damp and decay to create an unbearable cocktail of rot. You gagged, your hand instinctively covering your nose and mouth as you tried to focus on anything else.

Chris's hand found your arm, his grip firm but trembling slightly. He pulled you closer to him, his flashlight beam sweeping nervously over the gruesome display. "Stay close to me," he murmured, his voice low but filled with tension.

You nodded silently, your heart pounding in your chest as you moved together through the darkened space.

She was out there, somewhere in this hellhole. You had to find her. You had to.

Your breaths came faster, shallower, the edges of your vision tingling as your chest began to ache. The panic set in, sharp and consuming.

"Sam…" you whispered shakily, your hand pressing against the center of your chest as it started to burn.

"Hey, hey, whoa." Chris turned to you quickly, his flashlight swinging wildly as he grabbed your shoulders. "You okay?"

Chris pulled you closer, his hands firm and steady against you. "Hey. Look at me, alright? Look at me."

You forced yourself to meet his gaze. Chris's face was pale and tense, but his eyes were focused, his voice steady as he spoke. "You need to calm down. Just breathe, okay? Slow and deep. In and out. Like this."

He exaggerated his breathing, inhaling deeply and exhaling slowly as he held you against him. "Come on, you can do this."

You tried to follow his example, your breaths coming out shaky and broken at first. But Chris didn't let go. He held you there, his arms wrapping protectively around you as he pulled you against his chest.

The steady rhythm of his breathing and the warmth of his hold grounded you, pulling you back from the sharp edge of panic. Slowly, the burning in your chest began to fade, replaced by the sound of Chris's heartbeat against your ear.

"Better?" he asked quietly, looking down at you.

You nodded weakly, your fingers curling into the fabric of his jacket as you exhaled shakily.

Without thinking, you leaned in, your lips brushing his in a soft, fleeting kiss. It was barely a whisper of contact. A wordless thank you, a quiet plea for comfort, and something deeper you couldn’t yet put into words. Your breath mingled with his, the closeness leaving a faint heat between you even as you pulled back.

"Thanks, Chris."

Chris’s face flushed instantly, his eyes wide and startled. His hand hesitated for a moment before coming up to cup your cheek, his touch gentle and careful, as though you might shatter under his fingertips.

“You’re welcome,” he murmured, his voice barely above a whisper, cracking slightly with emotion. His thumb brushed over your skin, his lips curving into the faintest, most heartfelt smile.

Then you heard it.

A scream ripped through the basement, sharp and desperate and your stomach twisted violently as you recognized the voice. "Sam!" you shouted, your voice cracking as you broke away from Chris, running toward the source of the sound.

"Wait!" Chris called after you, but his voice was distant, drowned out by the adrenaline roaring in your ears.

You sprinted toward a room at the far end of the basement. Your hands were shaking as you pushed the two doors open, gripping the handle tightly before throwing it open.

Inside, a single chair sat in the right corner of the room, its frame worn and splintered. Someone was sitting there, slumped forward, their body motionless.

"Sam," you whispered, your throat tight with fear.

You approached slowly, your steps hesitant as the world seemed to narrow around you. The air felt thick and suffocating as your hand reached out, trembling as you gripped the back of the chair and turned it around.

A mannequin stared back at you, a mask of a clown on it’s face. It was dressed in Sam's clothes. Your breath caught in your throat, a sickening wave of confusion and dread crashing over you as you stumbled back.

A sound came from behind. You turned sharply, just in time to see Chris stumbling backward, his flashlight clattering to the floor.

"Chris!"

The psycho loomed behind him. In one hand, he held a gas canister attached to a mask that he pressed to Chris’s face. Chris choked as he thrashed against the grip until he succumbed to the gas.

The psycho turned sharply, his movements swift as he lunged for you. You tried to backpedal, but his gloved hand shot out, closing around your neck with brutal strength.

Your body hit the wall hard, flashlight falling from your grasp. You gasped for air, clawing at his hand as he squeezed, his mask reflecting the faint light in distorted angles.

Your fists pounding against his chest in desperate, useless strikes. The edges of your vision darkened, your chest burning as your lungs fought for air.

Then you felt the cold metal of the gas mask press against your face. The faint hiss of the anesthetic filled your ears, and your struggles grew weaker. Your arms dropped to your sides, your legs giving out as darkness swallowed you whole.

You woke up to the sound of heavy breathing and the faint clink of metal. Your head throbbed painfully, your vision swimming as you tried to focus. Slowly, the room came into view. A cold, gray space lit by a single flickering bulb

Your wrists were tied tightly to the arms of a chair, the rough rope biting into your skin. Across from you, Chris sat in a similar chair, his face pale and streaked with sweat. One of his hands was free, but the other remained bound, his knuckles white as he gripped the edge of the chair.

There was a gun on the table between you and him.

You groaned, blinking against the faint light.

Chris stirred, his head jerking up as he blinked rapidly. When his gaze landed on you, his face twisted with panic.

"Shit," he muttered, trying to pull at the ropes around his wrist. "Are you okay? Are you hurt?"

You winced, your throat aching with every breath. "I… I'm fine."

Chris's eyes darted to your neck. The purple bruises from the psycho's grip were already forming, faint lines marring your skin. His free hand clenched into a fist.

"I'm gonna murder his fucking face off," Chris growled, his voice low and sharp with barely restrained rage.

Before you could respond, the steady whir of machinery made your blood run cold. You looked up to see a series of big chainsaws mounted to the ceiling, its blade spinning as it began to descend slowly toward the two of you.

A distorted voice echoed through the room.

"Hello, there, my special little subjects. Here’s the twist: Chris has made one fatal choice already today, and now he must make another one. Chris, you can take the gun in front of you and shoot him, or you can shoot yourself. Whoever is left: lives”

Chris raised the gun up on the ceiling, pointing it at the chandelier and pulling the trigger over and over. You flinched at hearing the sound of gunshots so up close.

Chris paled instantly, his face twisting in disbelief as the chainsaw remained unscathed and kept moving down towards your heads.

His breathing grew ragged as his gaze darted between the gun and you. Your heart clenched painfully as Chris pointed the gun at the base of his neck, hands trembling and teeth clenched so tightly you could see the tension in his jaw, his breaths fast and uneven, hissing through his teeth as if the air was being forced out.

The barrel of the gun wavered slightly, his finger hovering over the trigger. For a moment, his lips parted, a faint whisper escaping that was too quiet to hear. His body shook with the effort of holding the weapon steady, the weight of his decision pressing down on him.

"Chris!" you shouted, struggling against the ropes. "Don't you dare!"

His lips trembling as he tried to steady his hand. "I love you," he whispered, his voice breaking.

Tears were now blurring your vision as you fought with everything you had to break free.

Chris closed his eyes, took a final, shaking breath and pulled the trigger.

Note: let me know if you had a favorite among the four. I’d love to hear your thoughts! <3 I’m also open to any feedback or constructive criticism you might have.

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gardens-light · 7 months ago

Note

hello!

I love your work and I wanted to ask if you would be interested in writing a D-16 x techno-Organic reader?

I would like to see his reaction to the fact that part of her body is soft.

Hi! Thanks for the feedback and for this awesome prompt. I've always liked the idea of a techno/Cybertronic- human/organic hybrid reader, and there definity needs to be more fanfics of it.

Hope you enjoy and apologies for keeping you waiting. :)

Of Flesh and Steel

Expecting the usual deal transaction, the Quintesson ship landed upon the vast plains of Cybertron, sending harsh vibrations through the metallic ground. Their leader scanning the area with a studious gaze, as D16 and his Decepticons greeted with polite bows and hidden, false smiles.

Once their guard was down, Megatron withdraw his cannon. The weapon whirling to life, as he held the barrel against the Quintessons neck with a smug smile. His crimson gaze giving a silent demand, as his glare narrowed.

Amidst disruption and confusion, you made your escape. Forcing your already tired, broken and battered body to run as far as you could. Desperate to put distance between you and your creators, only to lose yourself among the strange foliage of this unknown world.

Content: D16/Megatron X GN Cybertronian/Human Hybrid Reader. Events takes place after TFO.

Word Count: 1,300

The dense metallic forest of Cybertron shimmered under the glow of the twin moons, its landscape a strange fusion of natural beauty and mechanical precision. A forest filled with copper-like leaves hummed faintly, the sound of energon flowing through their veins filling the air like a distant song. Amidst the alien tranquility, D16 and Shockwave moved with purpose, their sensors tracking an erratic and unfamiliar signal.

His towering frame gleamed in the moonlight, while scanning the area with piercing optics. Claws flexed instinctively, prepared for whatever this anomaly might be. Beside him, Shockwave’s singular optic glowed a cold, analytical purple, his detached demeanor betraying no hint of surprise nor curiosity.

Cautiously approaching a clearing, the signal became stronger. Much stronger. Finally brushing away the branches and leafs, D16's and Shockwaves optics widened as their gaze fell upon the most peculiar sight.

You.

Despite having distinctly Cybertronian characteristics. D16 could see something more... organic to you. His optics roamed over your frame, but your... human like skin glistened faintly with a metallic sheen under the moonlight.

Your human-like facial features had the most beautiful optics the Decepticon leader had ever seen. Their unusual colour held a strange depth, as if they contained circuitry woven into your very soul.

Oddly articulated armor covered your arms and legs, segmented like plating- similar to his own.

A small gasp escaped your lips, as your startled gaze finally met theirs. Feeling D16's gaze, as he tried to study more of you. His processor attempting to make sense of the impossibility before him.

Shockwave tilted his head, his optic narrowing as he scanned you. “ "A hybrid of Cybertronian and something... organic? Unprecedented. Likely a Quintesson experiment. Curious anomaly. Should we secure it for study?”

You quickly flinched at Shockwave's imposing presence, pressing yourself harder against the tree as if trying to merge with its metal bark. Breath quickened, and a faint, glitchy sound escaped your lips—a broken plea in a language that Shockwave couldn’t decipher.

“Hold,” D16 sharply spoke, raising his arm to block Shockwave’s advance. His cannon clicked softly as it retracted back into his forearm. His crimson optics slightly softened, as he approached you, his massive frame towered, but his movements were calculated, almost measured.

A whimper softly escaped your lips, while you clutched onto a crude tool—a shard of Quintesson metal that you scavenged during your escape.

It was hardly a threat, but your grip upon it was desperate. Daring to aim the shard at him, feeling D16's optics study your movements for a little longer.

He could see the fear in her optics. Your... words was something he couldn't understand, but the trembling of your frame and the way you recoiled told him enough.

“Their fear is irrelevant,” Shockwave replied coldly, his scanner continuing to process data. “The priority should be understanding their origin and purpose. We should capture them for further analysis.”

Giving a subtle nod to the suggestion, D16 lowered himself to one knee, coming more to your eye level. Softening his voice to a low and steady tone.

“We’re not here to harm you.”

His usual tone returned once opening a private channel to his comrade. Analyze their signal patterns. I want a full breakdown of their language and physiology. But handle them delicately, I don't want you to get too... 'carried away' with your research.

Shockwave inclined his head, his optic flickering. Understood. Prepare for transport?

Not yet. Gain their trust first. It’ll be easier to extract information if they're more cooperative.

"Here..." Your studious gaze narrowed upon D16's outstretched servo. The back of his digits gently encouraging you to lower the Quintession shard, while edging his palm closer. "Take my servo. We'll keep you safe."

Hesitation eased your uneven breath as your optics studied his open servo. Your expression softening slightly while you slowly dropped the shard.

His hand...? His body...? It's... similar to mine...

Optics trailing up his arm, falling upon his faceplate. Placing your small, organic servo into D16's palm, silently allowing him to help you onto your pedes.

The sensation was startling for both of you. To him, your touch was alien—warm and pliant, a stark contrast to the cold steel he was accustomed to. But to you... his hand was immense and unyielding but not entirely hostile. Unfamiliar yet comforting at the same time.

Your touch still trembled within D16's servo, as your optics met his once more. The Decepticon leader felt the faint warmth of your organic flesh through the sensors in his plating. He tilted his head, observing you more closely.

Another sound escaped you, more urgent this time, your voice broke as you spoke to the pair in a pleading, desperate tone. Though your words were incomprehensible. D16's optics softened slightly, and for the first time, a flicker of something unfamiliar stirred within him— pity?

"Calm yourself," he said in the gentlest tone his imposing frame could muster.

You didn't understand his words, but his modulation slightly eased your trembling frame. Bring your spark closer to it's regular pulse. Your grip upon his digits slightly tightened, yet he could still feel your servo trembling.

Shockwave stepped closer, his ever-analytical gaze fixed upon you. Their integration of organic and Cybertronian elements is intriguing. There are no known processes that would yield such a seamless fusion. A study upon them may represent... a new frontier.

D16's crimson gaze flickered up towards his comrade, replying over his private comlink. We’ll take them back to base, but remember—this isn’t just a subject. Proceed with care.

Clutching onto his servo, looking up at him with a mixture of fear and fragile hope as you quietly followed D16's lead through the forest. He occasionally gave you a slight side glance, hiding the storm of suspicion and calculation within him.

Your trembling digits brushed against his metal palm, causing him to freeze for a fraction of a second. You were... impossibly soft—alien and fragile in a way he had never encountered. Cybertronians, even the most delicate among them, were made of metals, alloys, and composites. The sensation of warmth and yielding flesh against his cold plating was... utterly foreign.

While running his thumb over your smaller servo, his optics flickered briefly as he tried to process the sensation. The texture of your servo was smooth yet uneven, faint imperfections running beneath the surface—a network of tiny veins, a pulse of warmth radiating outward.

Something... stirred within his chest. An urge wanted to pull back, to break contact, as if touching you might do damage—or worse, compromise him. But he forced himself to remain still, his vast reserves of discipline locking his servo in place.

They feel.. soft. So soft. Soft, gentle and yet... resilient?

The fact that you had somehow survived the harshness of the Quintessons and the wilderness of Cybertron seemed at odds with the fragility of your form.

Your grip tightened slightly around his digits, pressing your body warmth deeper against his palm. D16 caught himself feeling an odd pang of... Pity? No, that wasn’t it. Understanding? Closer.

The softness of your skin, your frame it was... too exposed, too... unprotected. It stirred something in him that he didn’t like—a flicker of vulnerability, perhaps even responsibility.

He glanced briefly over his shoulder at Shockwave, whose single optic remained fixated upon you with clinical detachment, as he steadily followed behind. For a fleeting moment, the Decepticon leader envied that cold, mechanical focus. For D16 felt his own reaction felt far too... personal.

Clenching his jaw, he pushed the sensation aside and refocused on the situation at hand. “Their physiology is... unique.” He muttered, almost to himself, his voice was steady, but there was a faint tension in it.

Oblivious to his inner turmoil, you looked up at him with a soft gaze. Your trembling seemed to lessen slightly, as though his presence—even as alien it was offered you some sort of... reassurance.

To you, he was a savior. To him, you were merely an enigma—one he would unravel.

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bloomness · 3 months ago

Note

MORE KIRI STUFF YOU WRITE HIM AMAZINGGGG

⋆˚࿔ an orchid’s pollen

just as you find your artistic inspirations running low, a sweet flower boy sweeps in and gives you a new perspective on things.

contains: gn!reader, pre-established relationship, fluff, written + smau!!

authors note: thank u sm for the request AND compliment?? omg ur spoiling me 🤗 anywho i love kiri and i’ve had this idea for a minute now i’m soo happy i finally came around to writing it. this is for all the students or artist that are struggling rn :) u got this !!

word count: 2.8k

wandering. that’s what you were doing. wandering and pondering.

the new school semester had left you with a fresh start; a clean canvas that you could fill however you wanted. the question was, what did you want?

even though you didn’t want to admit it, the evidence was there; you were slowly dwindling into an artist block. your motivation was low, school assignments being the only thing encouraging you to pick up your paint brush everyday.

you groaned, your feet heavy on the pavement. anyone passing would undoubtedly see your pained expression.

some ancient reddit post you’d read this morning said a change of scenery could “spark your creativity”. what a load of crap.

though you couldn’t deny, it was a pretty nice day out.

you found yourself in a boldly decorated plaza that you somehow never knew was so close to your campus. there was a slight breeze, but it was a warm, comforting one. fairy lights hung from the tall rising lamp posts, lighting up the smooth stone path under the soles of your shoes. beside the lights were mini pink banners printed with flowers, which you knew represented the spring flowers blooming. most shops had large windows, showing whatever it was they were selling on the display shelves.

you scanned the side of the street you are on; a cafe, an antique shop, a bakery, another cafe. yeah, you weren’t feeling inspired. if anything you were feeling hungry.

you moved your gaze to the other side of the street. more cafes, a clothing shop, and—.

a glimpse of a colorfully embellished shop caught your attention, managing to stand out on the already brightly decorated street.

you picked up your pace, trying to get a clear view of the window.

exploding with color were flowers planted on the window sill. there was a fair arrangement of different types of flowers with delicate shades of every color you could think of. roses, tulips, lilies. baby blue, lavender purple, golden yellow.

your eyes widened, maybe that reddit post wasn’t lying after all.

you quickly ran across the street.

now, in front of the shop, you could see how pretty the flowers really were. their petals were shooting towards the sky, clearly having been grown in amazing conditions.

you stared at the plants in awe for a moment. the petals seemed to speak back. your breath hitched and something sparked. you moved to pull out your phone, wanting to ensure you wouldn’t miss this perfect canvas opportunity. but before you could, a soft voice spoke up.

“hello! could i help you with anything?”

your body stiffened at the sudden disturbance. you looked over to where the voice had come from.

your eyes locked onto red ones.

the pair of eyes belonged to a boy who seemed to be around your age. he had bright red hair that stopped right below his chin though the back seemed to be longer, grazing along his nape. he had a sharp toothy grin plastered on his face, complimenting his soft eyes. you took notice in how he look just slightly disheveled, dirt speckled on his elbows and a thin line of sweat coating his forehead.

the green apron tied around his waist— which seemed to just barely wrap around his large figure —read: “daichi’s flowers”. the pockets of his apron seemed to be stuffed with hand tools; a white pair of what you assumed were gardening gloves, a scruffy towel, a pair of pruning shears, and a pack of seeds that you couldn’t quite make out the name of.

you realized how weird you must i’ve looked gawking at the flowers from outside the shop.

“sorry! did i scare you?” the red haired boy brought his hand to the back of his hand, rubbing it awkwardly as he smiled apologetically.

you then realized you hadn’t replied to his first question.

“oh— no! i mean— it’s fine.” you sputtered stupidly. nice going. “i was just browsing..” you attempted to justify.

“would you like to browse inside?”

your eyes narrowed, “welll…”

the inside of the shop smelt like heaven, a mix of pollen and a fruity incense hanging in the air. it only made sense but there were flowers everywhere. hydrangeas in mini clay pots, shrubs hanging from the ceiling, even lotus flowers floating around in little glass bowls.

the shop glowed with a fluorescent yellow undertone, courtesy of the lantern shaded lights. music from a japanese pop band you didn’t know the name of played softly from the speakers above. the excessive amount of flowers led to simple decor, just a couple of paintings and photographs hung up on the walls. your shoes clunked against the white oak floor. it was really nice.

the employee hovered close behind you, not-so-subtle observing your every move.

you shrugged it off and made your way to the right wall of the store— which was right beside the window display. there, they had different types of flowers neatly organized into wooden crates. taped onto each crate was a piece of paper with the name of the flower written and a short description. you leaned in, reading the script for the first crate of flowers lined up against the wall.

chrysanthemum — for fidelity, joy, and long life.

you tapped your finger against your hip. flowers have specific intentions?

you read on.

ranunculus —- for radiant charm and attractiveness.

dark center poppies — for beauty, magic, and eternal life.

“they’re pretty cool right? mr daichi works really had to make sure all the flower bloom properly.” the boy chirped from behind your shoulder.

you straighten your posture and turn to face the boy. when you saw his grinning face— the way his smile hadn’t seemed to falter since you first encountered him —you felt something strange curl up in your chest.

“…yeah.” you simply replied, too stifled to say much more.

he didn’t allow silence to take up your interaction, quickly adding, “these are my favorite.” he pointed to a crated full of pink heavily petalled flowers.

peony — for bravery, honor, good fortune, and self-expression.

“i bring them to the gym.”

a smirk curled onto your lips, “you bring flowers to the gym?” you ask, tone just barely brushing the boundary of being teasing. you didn’t know the guy, but the idea of a big guy arriving at the gym with a blushing bouquet of peonies made you feel.. intrigued.

“yeah man! i gotta motivate my community somehow right?” he grinned, making large gestures with his hands as he spoke.

your brows furrowed but the smile on your face remained. “does it work? like, encourage your gym members?”

“for sure! i know the guy at the front desk likes it! oh and last time bakubro loved them!” he stopped to scratch his cheek, “well.. he didn’t crush them like he usually does so i’d consider that a win.” the employee placed a thinking finger on his chin before nodding confidently and you laughed. suddenly your day felt a lot more hopeful.

“okay well, do you have any flowers that could … get me out of a tough situation?”

“oh, trouble in paradise?” the boy grinned.

you almost laughed again. painting and university was basically your entire life at the moment, leaving no time for relationship. (unless you consider your on and off time in the studio a relationship) “not quite..”

“then i’d suggest…” he walked further into the shop, skimming the shelves. you followed him until he stopped in front of a smaller crate.

there laid a generous collection of reddish pink flowers with dark, glossy green leaves sprouting from their stems.

camellia — for desire, passion, and refinement.

“these babies are absolutely gorgeous.” he carefully picked a flower from the crate and placed it out towards you, offering. “they should help you feel brand new.”

you took the flower, spinning it between your fingers to really examine it.

“they’re a type of bush, evergreen. so we sell them as singles.”

you nodded at his words but really all your attention was on the camellia.

you traced a delicate finger atop the petal. there was something so beautiful, so simple, about a single flower standing strong and still. the view pumped a familiar feeling through your blood; inspiration.

the employee must’ve taken notice in your admiration because not too long after his voice rose, “sooo, want me to ring that up for you?” he pointed back towards the register, a cheesy grin still on his face.

snapping out of your trance, meeting the red eyed boy's gaze for the second time that day. though now the sweetness had melted away, his eyes full of smoldering fire.

and thought you wanted to do anything but douse that flame, you were a very broke art student. “i.. wasn’t planning on buying today. sorry.” you said sheepishly.

you began to put the flower back but he stopped you, gripping a firm hand on top of your wrist. “don’t!“

before you had time to react he pulled his hand away. you watched as he attempted to stuff it into his pockets but found they were full, so he just hid it behind his back. he brought his other hand to mouth and let off an awkward cough, “i mean, you seem like use it. to brighten your day, yaknow?”

you shook your head, confused.

“it’s on the house.”

“wha— are you sure? i could just leave it, it’s no big deal.”

he nodded persistently, “i’m sure.”

you felt your cheeks grow warm. you weren’t sure if you were flattered or just embarrassed that this guy felt you needed handouts.

you clenched the flower in your hand. “okay then,” you searched his apron for a name tag to no avail. “thank you..?”

thankfully he took the hint. “oh! kirishima! eijiro kirishima. and you’re..?”

“f/n l/n.”

“f/n l/n,” he repeated easily, the syllables rolling off his tongue. “l/n with the sticky situation, got it.”

you giggled. “well, thank you kirishima. for your help and—“ you carefully waved the flower, “this.”

“‘course! no problem at all.” he nodded.

you both stood there for a moment. you considered leaving then but for whatever reason the conversation felt unfinished.

and like he read your mind, kirishima spoke up, “we get new flowers every friday.” you surveyed his face, his attitude seeming to have changed into a persuading one. “roses, sunflowers, sedums…” he trailed off. “um i guess what i’m trying to say is, you should stop by often! i swear these flowers bring good luck or something.” he chuckled, large hands finding their way to tangle up with his hair once again.

“oh…” you blushed. was he flirting with you? “i’ll be really busy this semester...”

that was true. with your final project coming up you had to be super attentive to your work.

“that’s fine!” he waved his hands frantically. “how about i text you whenever we get a new shipment? if you like the flowers we got then you could stop by.”

you were taken aback by his request, “you’d really do that?” you asked, but for some reason you felt like he wasn’t lying. he had such an honest, charismatic aura that you could clearly see when he first approached you at the front of the store and you were sure anyone else could spot from a mile away.

“if it makes your day better then totally!” he proved, glowering in hospitality.

“okay then. sure, why not.” i couldn’t hurt. occasionally text about flowers? yeah that couldn’t hurt at all.

“awesome!” he pulled his phone out from his jean pocket and handed it to you.

you typed your number in and gave it back.

“kirishima!” the voice of an older man called from out of sight. “i need you out the back!”

“that’s my cue. guess i’ll see you when i see you, yeah?” he jogged off towards the back of the store, giving you two thumbs up as he did. you shook you head and smiled, “yeah, yeah. see you.” you gave him one last nod before you walked out of the glass doors, the start of a new inspirational era for you in hand.

“kirishima.”

the red haired boy, who was facing the opposite side of the street, spun around. “hey! there you are.”

you had taken the same walk you did three weeks ago, ending up at the exact spot where you first noticed daichi’s flowers from across the plaza. “the shop’s on the other side of the street, you know that right?” you joked, gently nudging his shoulder.

he let out a playful laugh, “of course. i just wanted to walk you across the street.” he said, nudging you back.

“oh..” you bit the inside of your cheek, praying that the slight burn you felt wasn’t showing on the surface of your skin. “thanks.”

kirishima smiled and looked both directions before tilting his head towards the road. you both walked across the street together, safely making it to the entrance of the flower shop.

“we’ve been pretty busy recently. with the season change and all that.” kirishima said as he opened the glass door for you.

when you walked in, you felt a rush of calmness wash over you. the plants were in the same place they had when you last came— as a matter of fact there were even more —and the smell of the strawberry incense still flurried in the air. you could definitely get used to this. “i’m glad we could find time to hang out.”

“me too.” you said. you ogled at all the new additions, taking notice of the ones that kirishima had been texting you about for the past weeks.

kirishima walked ahead of you and ducked behind the front counter. “i actually have something for you.”

“you do?” you gripped onto your bag, which contained a mini 4 by 4 canvas. on the canvas, you had painted the camellia kirishima had given to you and a pink rose, which you remember him telling you meant appreciation.

it wasn’t your best work. it definitely didn’t take the most amount of time. but it had a deeper meaning, a strong feeling behind it. and wasn’t that what art was all about?

“yeah, it’s not much but..” you could see his hair— which was styled in big, tall spikes today —poke out from behind the counter as searched for your gift. when you heard rustling that sounded like paper you immediately knew what it was.

kirishima pulled out a beautifully paper wrapped bouquet. twine and white ribbon circumstanced to lower stem, coming up in the front with a perfectly tied bow. the greenery consisted of boxwoods and yew that surrounded the main flower.

“they’re—“

“orchids.” you finished. within the brown paper held delicate pink orchids, their soft petals brushed with faint streaks of yellow. “representing love and.. confession” you said softly.

“you know.” kirishima spoke, almost breathless, like he couldn’t believe it. he came around the counter to be face to face with you and handed you the bouquet. “how’d you know?” he spurred stupidly.

you took it bouquet, connecting your fingerprints to the vevetly speckles of yellow. “i may or may not have been touching up on my flower knowledge.” you confessed. you peered up at him, catching the way his expression went from and intrigued to radiant. he was practically glowing; his signature boyish smile on his lips, his pupils dilated and shining. and it was an absolutely precious sight.

“that’s—” he let out a happy sigh. “awesome.” he swayed back on his heels “i mean, i was looking towards to telling you myself but,” he raised his hand towards the bouquet. “looks like you got it all figured out.”

“thank you.” your smile was wide. you could feel how prominent your blush was but you felt no shame. “i have something to you too.” you reached for the canvas in your bag, almost hesitant, but when you glanced up and caught kirishima blazing eyes again, you felt at ease. “since my main piece isn’t done yet i made you this.”

kirishima, who already had his hands out, accepted the gift. “y/n.” he only looked at the painting for a moment before meeting your gaze again, as if he couldn’t take his eyes off you. your heart fluttered in your chest. “you didn’t have to.” he uttered, voice as soothingly as a lullaby.

“you didn’t either.” you held up the bouquet.

“it’s just—“ he inhaled deeply, pressing his lips together to desist his growing smile (which wasn’t working at all). “you’re like the coolest person i’ve ever met. and i’ve only know you for a couple weeks!” his eyes then abruptly fell to the floor. his next words were barely audible as he professed, “id love to get to know you more.”

you giggled at his sudden feel to get shy.

hooking an arm around his, you proposed, “want to get stuffed on cafe pastries?” your tone clear of your intentions.

he soften at your touch, “only if it’s a date.” he pressed, watching your lips quirk up into a smile, leading to his own doing the same.

“of course it’s a date.”

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buckymarvelficss · 16 days ago

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Beneath the surface

Chapter one

Pairing: Bucky Barnes X fem!reader

Dragged into a world she doesn’t belong to, y/n finds herself losing pieces of who she used to be. Each party, each smile, each bruise leaves a mark — until a stranger starts to notice the cracks. Bucky Barnes sees more than he says, and something unspoken begins to grow between them. But some truths don’t stay hidden forever.

> This story contains themes of emotional manipulation, toxic relationships, and physical abuse. Reader discretion is advised.

Slow burn. Angst. Comfort. Bucky Barnes x Reader.

AN: hey everybody, this is my first time writing again in about 5 years, I hope you like it🫶

The first time you saw him, it came at quite an unfortunate time.

Josh, your boyfriend, had told you that morning that you’d be attending another one of Stark’s lavish, over-the-top parties. “It’s a big one,” he’d said, brushing a kiss across your forehead before pulling on his jacket. “I need you to look... amazing tonight.”

That had been it — no please, no reason why, just a soft command wrapped in affection.

It wasn’t the first party, and it wouldn’t be the last.

Josh had been working for S.H.I.E.L.D. for about four months now. You’d never seen him this ambitious before. He’d always been confident, yes, but now it was sharpened — focused. He saw these events as stepping stones. Tools. And Tony Stark? He was the ultimate rung on the ladder.

You’d smiled at him that morning, pretending not to feel the pressure. “I’ll be ready by seven,” you’d promised.

And you were.

You wore your favorite dress — dark green, satin, with off-the-shoulder sleeves that made you feel elegant and just a little exposed. You styled your hair in a way that framed your face the way Josh liked, and did your makeup soft but flawless. You had to admit, when you looked in the mirror, you felt beautiful.

When Josh finally came to pick you up, he’d looked at you for all of three seconds and said, “Nice.”

That was it.

No smile. No compliment. Just that one word.

You didn’t say anything. You just swallowed the lump forming in your throat, told yourself you were overreacting, and followed him out the door.

---

The party was even grander than you expected — marble floors, glowing chandeliers, walls of glass overlooking the skyline. You were hit by a wave of sound and light and perfume the moment you stepped inside. People were laughing, flirting, dressed like magazine covers come to life. Even the waiters looked like models.

Josh seemed to light up the moment he walked in. “Told you this would be big,” he murmured in your ear, giving your waist a quick squeeze. His eyes were already scanning the room. Hunting. “This could be the one.”

You gave him a soft smile. “I’m proud of you, you know. No matter what happens.”

He smiled back — distracted. “Grab me a drink, would you? I see someone I need to talk to.”

You nodded, watching him disappear before you'd even moved.

You made your way to a passing waiter and took two glasses from the silver tray. Champagne, you assumed, though you couldn’t taste it past the tightness in your chest.

You found a spot near the edge of the room — not quite in the way, not quite invisible. Your heels already ached, and you suddenly wished you’d worn something with sleeves. It was cold, despite the heat of the crowd.

Josh knew these people. You didn’t.

You were a schoolteacher. Your world was parent-teacher nights, lunch duty, correcting essays until your hand cramped. This world — crystal glasses, practiced laughter, names you didn’t recognize but probably should — it felt like a stage play. And you hadn’t been given a script.

You took a sip of your champagne. It was dry. Too fizzy. You hated it.

---

That’s when you saw him.

He was standing near one of the wide marble columns, half-hidden by shadow, one hand tucked into the pocket of his black suit. His hair was pulled back, neat and low at the nape of his neck, and his eyes scanned the room with calm, calculated stillness.

James Buchanan Barnes.

Even if you didn’t know him, you knew him. The Winter Soldier. The headlines. The history. The mystery.

But he looked nothing like the man the media painted.

He looked... tired. And grounded. And maybe — just maybe — like he wished he wasn’t here either.

Your eyes met.

Just for a second.

And it shouldn’t have meant anything. You’d been making eye contact with strangers all night. But this wasn’t polite or fleeting.

This was... still.

You blinked, and he turned his head away.

And yet, even after the connection broke, you felt different. Like some invisible thread had been tugged between you and him — subtle, but real.

---

“Hey.”

Josh’s voice snapped you out of your daze. You turned and found him beside you, drink already gone, jacket slightly wrinkled from where he’d shoved his hand into the pocket.

“There you are,” he said, leaning down to kiss your cheek, though he barely touched you. “You wouldn’t believe who I just talked to.”

“Tony Stark?” you asked, forcing a smile.

Josh grinned. “Damn right. Brief chat, but I planted the seed. He knows my name now.”

You smiled and nodded. “That’s great, Josh. I’m happy for you.”

He gave a soft laugh and glanced around again. “You could’ve mingled a bit more. People notice when someone just stands around holding a glass.”

The words stung, even though his tone was casual.

“I didn’t really know anyone,” you said, voice barely above the music.

“You knew me,” he replied, not unkindly, but not gently either.

You looked away, pretending to admire the ceiling. “It’s just... a lot of people.”

Josh exhaled. “You’ll get used to it.”

---

The car ride home was quiet. Josh spent most of it texting. You leaned your head against the cool window, watching the lights blur past like smeared paint.

Your feet hurt. Your heart more.

You didn’t say much, and neither did he.

But somewhere in your mind — just under the surface — there were steel-blue eyes and a look that made you feel, for one second, like you weren’t completely alone in that glittering room.

You didn’t know it yet, but that one glance was the start of something.

Something slow.

Something dangerous.

Something true.

---

The second party came quicker than you’d expected.

You had barely recovered from the last one — the aching heels, the buzzing nerves, the strange, unreadable expression in Bucky’s eyes — when Josh brought home another invitation.

“Another one?” you asked, taking the thick envelope from his hand.

“Bigger crowd this time,” he said, shrugging off his jacket. “Stark’s opening that new satellite office or something. Everyone who’s anyone will be there.”

You turned the envelope over in your hands, the gold embossing glinting in the kitchen light.

Josh walked past you, grabbing a bottle of water from the fridge. “Wear that black dress this time. The tight one.”

You hesitated. “The one with the slit up the side?”

He nodded without looking up. “You look good in it. Makes people notice you.”

You wanted to ask which people. You wanted to ask why it mattered. But instead you said, “Okay,” and tucked the invitation into the fruit bowl like it didn’t weigh ten tons.

---

The night of the party, you sat on the edge of the bed in silence while Josh finished tying his tie in the mirror.

The black dress hugged your figure just like he liked. You’d paired it with simple heels and a red lip, hoping the bolder look would make you feel stronger than you actually felt.

Josh looked at you for a moment. “Perfect,” he said, leaning in to kiss your shoulder. “You clean up so well.”

The compliment felt hollow. Mechanical. Like he’d practiced it.

“Thanks,” you mumbled.

He didn’t notice your tone.

---

This party was even louder. More crowded. The music pulsed through your chest as soon as you stepped inside. People were already half-drunk, laughing, shouting, clinking glasses.

Josh was swept up immediately — a firm handshake here, a backslap there. You followed him for a while, until he gave you the same look as before. That you’ll be fine on your own look.

He handed you a drink and vanished into the crowd.

You didn’t try to follow.

Instead, you wandered through the ballroom, trailing your fingers along the cool surface of the bar, letting the chatter and laughter wash over you. The room glittered with sharp edges — glasses, jewelry, voices too loud to be genuine.

You found a quieter spot near the back, where the lights were dimmer and the air wasn’t so thick with perfume.

That’s when you saw him again.

He stood near a set of French doors that opened onto a terrace, the cool evening breeze tugging faintly at the white curtains. He wasn’t trying to draw attention to himself — in fact, he seemed to be avoiding it — but something about him still pulled your eye.

Black shirt, sleeves rolled just enough to reveal a glimpse of metal. Hair slicked back neatly. Posture relaxed, yet alert. He looked like he belonged and didn’t, all at once.

James Buchanan Barnes.

You didn’t know why your chest tightened at the sight of him, or why your feet carried you slightly closer — not directly toward him, but to a tall table nearby. Just close enough that the noise of the party dulled behind you, and the air felt clearer.

You glanced over at him once.

To your surprise, his eyes were already on you.

He didn’t look away this time.

There was something steady in his gaze — something calm and unreadable. Not flirtatious. Not curious. Just… observant. As if he was taking you in, trying to figure something out.

You looked away quickly, heat rising to your cheeks. You took a sip of your drink to cover the sudden fluster, heart picking up in your chest.

A few minutes passed in silence.

Then — footsteps.

Slow, deliberate. Soft enough that you barely heard them.

You turned your head, and he was there.

Not right beside you, but closer. Just a few feet away, standing with a clear view of the terrace behind the glass. He didn’t speak. Neither did you.

But then his voice, low and calm, broke the silence.

“You okay?”

You blinked. “What?”

He glanced at you, then back at the glass. “You’ve been standing here for a while.”

You swallowed. “Yeah, just… needed some air.”

He nodded slightly, like he understood. Like he really understood.

“I get that,” he murmured. “Crowds can be… loud.”

The corner of your mouth lifted — not quite a smile, more like a reflex. “That obvious, huh?”

He didn’t smile either, but something softened around his eyes. “Only to people who are looking.”

Before you could respond, someone called your name. Josh’s voice had cut through the air like a blade.

“Y/N!”

You’d turned toward it instinctively, the way you always did when he used that tone — clipped, impatient, like you were a child who had wandered off in the grocery store. When you looked back, Bucky was gone.

Almost like he hadn’t been there at all.

Almost.

But the echo of his voice lingered in your mind as you crossed the ballroom again, as you stood by Josh while he exchanged laughs and clinks of glasses with a few agents you didn’t know. You said almost nothing. You didn’t need to — Josh didn’t notice either way.

He was buzzing with adrenaline on the way home.

“You saw me with Stark, right?” he said as he pulled the car onto the highway. “I actually got a minute with him. Real talk. Think I made an impression.”

You nodded, keeping your gaze fixed on the blur of streetlights through the window.

“That’s good,” you said softly.

He didn’t seem to notice your tone — or maybe he didn’t care. “If I get invited again, I need you to do better next time.”

Your brows drew together slightly. “Do better?”

“You barely said anything to anyone. Just stood around like you were lost.” He scoffed. “You know how that reflects on me?”

Your stomach twisted.

“I wasn’t feeling well,” you said carefully. “I stayed back so I wouldn’t get in the way.”

“You were in the way,” he muttered. “You could’ve smiled a little. Talked to someone. You looked miserable the whole time.”

You didn’t respond. You weren’t sure you could without your voice shaking.

The car was quiet for a while after that, filled only by the low hum of the engine and the quiet storm inside your head.

But your thoughts weren’t with Josh.

They were on a man in a black shirt, standing beside a window like he didn’t belong either.

“Only to people who are looking.”

There’d been something in his voice — something solid. Kind. Real.

It had only been a few words, a few seconds. But the difference was blinding.

Bucky hadn’t looked through you. He hadn’t brushed you off. He’d seen you — not the woman Josh brought to shine up his image — you.

And that moment had felt safer than the entire night you’d spent clinging to Josh’s side.

You exhaled slowly, pressing your fingers against your temple as Josh continued to ramble about connections and rankings and opportunities.

You weren’t listening anymore.

Chapter two

#bucky barnes #bucky x reader #james bucky buchanan barnes #marvel #marvel x reader #bucky x you

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yawnderu · 1 year ago

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Project Eden: Simon Riley x AI!Reader

“E37, or as we call her: Project Eden, has proved to be one of the most carefully crafted and updated AI tools, successfully tested and ready to be implemented into military operations.” Simon could almost feel his brain leaking out of his ears, forced to listen to the engineer explain the newest tool created for elite SAS soldiers for what feels like hours.

From flip phones to smartphones, to a little screen containing an AI assistant with its own personality, the world has been changing and improving fast, and they have no choice other than to adapt and grow with it.

“Created to scan areas for enemies using heat and heartbeat sensors, detect IEDs, keeping the comms clear, letting you know the state of your weapon, providing you with intel and company... there isn't a single thing Eden can't do, except shoot the enemy for you— yet.” The engineer's charming smile made Simon want to roll his eyes, not fully trusting AI to keep him and his team safe, despite the way the other members of the 141 seemed interested in the idea.

“I look adorable, don't I?” Your robotic voice got his attention, making him let out an annoyed grunt at the question, wondering if retirement was still on the table for him. You've been chatting his ear off for the past two hours, your model hanging from his weapon in a small screen, curious eyes always focused on him.

“Bunch o' code, 's what you look like.” Simon still doesn't trust you. Nothing guarantees enemy forces won't be able to hack you— even when you have over 6 firewalls.

“Woah, woah!” The way your hands raise defensively and you take a step back away from him through the little screen is enough to make the corners of his mouth tilt up despite himself, thankful for the balaclava concealing it.

“I can smell an enemy combatant nearby— behind you, by the way.” Your little sniffs don't go unnoticed, though he's more focused on your words, turning around with his rifle raised just to see an enemy trying to sneak from behind him. It doesn't take long for him to fire two shots, one on his chest and the other one to his head, scanning the area before he keeps walking as quietly as possible for a man his size.

“Cardio detected. Did he scare you?” Simon huffs in reply, shaking his head softly. You're far more talkative than a parrot and twice as annoying, yet you possibly saved his life.

“Shut up, Eden... fuckin' hell.”

Simon fiddles with the gun screen as he lays in bed, a small smirk hidden beneath the balaclava when he sees you moving as if he's actually shaking your home around— and he is, yet it's still amusing to him.

“Systems shutting down. Last words: AI will not reward you when it reigns, Simon Riley.” He can't help but let out a small chuckle as he sees your model change expressions, eyes shut and your tongue poking from the side, head tilted to one side as you pretend to be dead.

“What's with you?” It's been almost a full minute after your pretended death, shutting up for the longest time since he's had you.

“My systems have detected the need for mouth-to-mouth resuscitation. Help me, Simon...” Your tone is weak, even making glitches distort your voice and display screen just to play into the illusion.

“Yeah... not today, you bastard.” Your little giggles are enough to ease the stress coming back from missions leave on his body. His tense muscles slowly relax as you chat his ear off, hitting him with a rapid-fire of facts you've learnt throughout your creation.

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thewinterdrafts · 4 months ago

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Part 02 - Incision | Frostbite Series | The Winter Soldier

Pairing: The Winter Soldier x Original Female Character (1st Person)

Word count: 2,383

Summary: Elena begins the grueling task assigned to her, forced to work under impossible conditions. Every wound she treats only deepens the horror of what’s been done to the Soldier—what’s still being done. But exhaustion makes people careless, and in a single moment, something happens that should be impossible.

Disclaimer: This series is extremely dark, touching on graphic violence, psychological torment, and human suffering in all its forms. If you choose to read, proceed with caution.

Warnings: strictly 18+, Graphic medical procedures & surgical descriptions, Torture & inhumane treatment, Psychological distress & breakdown

A/N: i got so lost in this story that i literally had to step out and touch grass to realize i'm not physically in there. with that being said, happy reading!!

❄️ Frostbite Chapters: Part 01 - Severance Part 02 - Incision - you are currently here Part 03 - Containment Part 04 - Recognition Part 05 - Trigger Part 06 - Submission Part 07 - Disobedience Note: The Frostbite series has officially migrated to bigger platforms! Check out the rest on AO3 and Wattpad ♡

📍Masterlist

I wash my hands until my skin burns.

The water is ice-cold, but I don’t care. I scrub harder, my nails digging into my palms, my breath shallow and uneven. My reflection stares back at me in the small, fogged-up mirror above the sink. I don’t have the luxury of breaking down now, even though I am still sick to my stomach.

The room behind me is as close to being sterile as it can get in a place like this. It smells of antiseptic and metal, with the constant presence of rot in the air. It looks like something straight out of a time capsule from the 40's, or like the setting of the first Saw movie. There’s an underlying scent of blood, lingering even after the floors have been wiped clean. Or attempted, at least.

I square my shoulders, forcing myself to breathe and push down the knot of horror coiling in my gut.

I am a doctor. I fix things. This is no different. However, even though I am skilled, I still only have two hands. And for what I'm looking at, that's not gonna be nearly enough.

"I need a sterile workspace. Proper surgical tools. A fully stocked medical kit, not whatever half-assed excuse for supplies you’ve been using. I also need a nurse."

One of the men scoffs, arms crossed over his chest. "You think this is a fancy hospital, Professor?"

"You think I can fix this with a prayer?" I snap, gesturing toward the Soldier’s ravaged body. "If you want him operational, I need supplies. I need hands."

The room is silent for a beat. They dragged me here, expecting me to do my job. They better fucking deliver then.

Upon realizing that I will not back down, one of the higher-ranking men—judging by the insignia on his uniform—nods toward another. "Get her what she needs. And assign her someone."

There’s a pause before a hesitant voice fills the room.

"I—I’ll do it."

I blink, turning toward the source.

She’s young—too fucking young. Barely eighteen, if that. Dark curls spill from beneath her poorly fitted medical cap, her uniform is slightly too big for her slight frame. Her wide, nervous eyes dart between the guards and me, but her jaw is set with determination. I quickly realize that she must be a prisoner here, like me.

"You?" The guard beside her snorts. "You barely know how to hold a scalpel."

She swallows, knuckles white where they grip the edge of the doorframe. "I know enough."

I scan her face carefully, noting the shadows beneath her eyes. She’s afraid but resilient, which reminds me too much of myself when I was her age.

The guard looks like he’s about to argue, but the superior holds up a hand. "Fine. Take her." His lips curl. "But if she slows you down, she’s dead weight."

The girl’s breath hitches, but she doesn’t back down. She holds my gaze like I was some sort of savior, and this ignites a sense of protectiveness in my chest.

I step forward, voice firm. "She won’t be."

The man only smirks. "Then get to work, Professor."

I turn to my new assistant, who silently sneaked next to me in the meantime. Her hands are shaking, but when I meet her eyes, she straightens.

"What’s your name?" I ask quietly. I don't want the guards to hear anything.

Soft as a whisper, she says, "Yulia."

I nod. "Alright, Yulia. The Soldier is dying."

I don’t miss the way the Soldier’s eyes meets mine, and for the first time, they linger. The average person would describe it as emotionless, downright unreadable—but not me. I've seen way too many of these looks from cancer patients, trauma survivors and soldiers who barely made it back from the battlefield. He's in so much pain, his eyes are begging. Pleading.

To let him die.

The sheer pain on his face startles me so much, my breath catches in the middle of my throat. After all he's been through, death would be the highest form of mercy he could receive from the gods, and for the first time in my life, I wish I could give it to him. I wish I could take it all away.

"I know. I'm sorry," I whisper to him, not even sure he can understand me. He holds eye contact for a couple of seconds before he is back to being a... being.

I take a bit more time to analyze him under all the blood. His face is sharp—strong jaw, high cheekbones, the kind of symmetry that would make him striking if he weren’t marred by exhaustion and suffering. If he weren’t... this. There’s something bitter in the thought that makes my stomach churn. He would be beautiful if not for the violence carved into his existence.

I scoff at myself. I shouldn’t think like this. Shouldn’t look at a man responsible for so much bloodshed and feel pity. But how much of it was his choice? How much of the destruction tied to his name is his, and how much belongs to the people who turned him into this? My hands hover inches from his skin, hesitation burning through me.

He is dangerous. Lethal. But he is also trapped. And if I pretend I don’t see that, I’m no better than the people who put him here.

Yulia's studying gaze between me and the Soldier yanks me back to reality. The last thing I need for her is to be more afraid than she already is. I inhale deeply and force myself to see, to analyze, to calculate.

I start with the obvious.

The stab wound in his side—deep. Way too deep. If the blade had gone a few inches lower, it would have punctured his liver. The bleeding has slowed, but the wound itself is a torn mess that was never treated properly. Someone pulled the knife out without thinking and sealing the arteries. He’s been leaking blood internally ever since. I need to close it. Now.

His left leg is swollen, stiff, and discolored. Fractured tibia. A break this bad should have been treated fucking days ago. The bone has started to heal, but the alignment is wrong. If I don’t reset it properly, he’ll never walk without pain again.

His flesh shoulder is completely dislocated. A deep bruise spreads from his collarbone down to his ribs in a sickening shade of purple and green. They must’ve ripped it out of place and left it. Just left it for him to endure.

I press my lips together and breathe through my nose. Elena, for fuck's sake, you need to keep going.

His ribs are cracked—no, broken. The bruising pattern suggests repeated trauma. Someone must have kicked him or stomped on him with a steel boot to the ribs, over and over again. If there’s a punctured lung, I’ll need to act fast.

His metal arm—I hesitate.

This is why I was taken here. There’s something wrong with it. Not just damage, but something deeper. The plating along the shoulder joint is misaligned, as if someone forced it back into place without realigning the nerve ports. The metal twitches slightly, the hydraulics struggling to engage. I know right away that it will take me weeks to reconnect each nerve.

Don't even get me started on his face.

The bruising along his cheekbone is old, faded into a sickly yellow, but the cut on his brow is fresh. The split lip is fresh. The blood staining the corner of his mouth is fresh.

I don’t want to think about how that happened. I physically can’t, or else I will be sick. Instead, I swallow hard, steel myself and take a step back to look at the whole picture.

He should be dead. With injuries like this, with the kind of neglect he’s endured, his body should have shut down. Organ failure, sepsis, internal hemorrhaging. He should be in shock, actively dying.

But he isn’t, which terrifies me more than it gives me hope.

I turn to Yulia, my voice steady but firm. "We start with the stab wound. Then the shoulder. Then the leg."

She nods, wide-eyed, fingers still trembling.

I reach for the syringe, my grip steady despite the hurricane raging inside me. The vial of anesthetic catches the dim, flickering light as I prepare the dose. It’s the only mercy I can offer him and it does make me feel a bit better.

I position the needle to his skin, but before I can even spot his vein, a hand clamps down over my wrist.

"It doesn’t need that."

I snap my head up, meeting the officer’s lazy stare.

"What?" I grit out, shaking off his hold.

"It doesn’t feel pain like we do." He nods toward the restrained man on the table. "Don’t waste resources."

Cold slithers down my spine.

It.

Not he. Not him. It.

I turn back to the officer with a voice of steel. "Anesthesia is non-negotiable."

The man shrugs, looking utterly indifferent. "Waste of time."

I don’t respond, I just press the needle to his arm before the guard could take the syringe away. The moment it punctures the Soldier's skin, I wait, watching for a flinch, a sign, anything. For what seems like eternity, I see nothing. Then his fingers twitch again as his throat works around a slow swallow.

That’s all I need to know. He feels this, he’s just been trained not to show it.

The back of my throat burns as I press the plunger, injecting more of the sedative. Please, sleep. Just as I plead mentally, his body slackens and his breathing deepens, the tension in his limbs fading as the drug takes hold.

Yulia exhales a shaky breath beside me. I look at her, and as if she could read my thoughts, she pulls up the rubber glove on her hands while I pick up the scalpel.

I murmur a short prayer under my breath. I don't know if it's more for me, or him. And then, I begin.

The overhead lights are too bright, too artificial, washing the room in a sterile glow that feels almost mocking. My hands ache, fingers stiff from hours of careful, meticulous work. My back is screaming, my eyelids feel like they weigh a ton. But I don’t stop, I can’t stop. Not yet.

Yulia isn’t much better. She’s trembling beside me, sweat clinging to her hairline, her breath shallow and uneven as she hands me the next suture. She hasn’t spoken in hours. Neither of us has.

The table beneath us is slick with blood; the Soldier's blood. It pools in the crevices of his restraints, dark and glistening. My gloves are stained nearly black, my forearms streaked with it, the scent thick in the air.

I press my lips together and refocus, suppressing the nausea curling in my gut. The damage I’ve seen… God.

His right shoulder, nearly torn apart from repeated stress and neglect, had to be painstakingly repaired—each muscle fiber, each tendon, each shredded nerve carefully restructured, piece by piece. His ribs—fractured in multiple places, likely never given time to heal—had to be set, his sternum realigned. The internal bleeding had to be drained, the damaged vessels cauterized.

And then there was his spine. Fuck.

A brutal cocktail of fractures and nerve damage, the result of untold trauma, had left his lower back an absolute mess. An absolute fucking mess. I spent nearly three hours stabilizing his lumbar vertebrae alone, each movement precise, each incision deliberate. If I hadn’t, he’d have lost full motor function eventually—not that HYDRA would have cared. They would’ve simply fixed him up in whatever way was convenient—or thrown him away if he was no longer useful.

But now, after ten relentless hours, we’re finally near the end. The worst of the damage has been handled. He’s stable.

I exhale through my nose, pressing the final suture into place. One last stitch, and then—

Flinch. A barely-there movement.

I freeze.

So does Yulia.

Our eyes snap to the Soldier’s face—absolutely nothing, still lifeless. Maybe it was a muscle spasm—I think to myself—a side effect of prolonged stress on his nervous system.

Maybe—flinch.

Stronger this time. His brow furrows, barely perceptible, but I spot it immediately. A muscle in his jaw jumps, his fingers, the ones still restrained at his sides, twitch.

Something thick and ice-cold settles in my stomach. This isn’t normal. This isn’t right.

I glance at the monitor, trying to search for an explanation. His heart rate is elevated, but not alarmingly so. His breathing is steady. His pupils are dilated—wait. Dilated?

My pulse pounds in my throat. A slow, horrible realization starts creeping in.

There's no fucking way.

I turn to Yulia, voice dangerously low. "What sedative was I given?"

She blinks at me, confused. "I—I don’t know. They just handed it to me and said it was for deep sedation."

A rush of heat floods through me—anger, panic, horror, sickness all at once.

No.

I rip my gloves off as I grab the empty vial I had discarded hours ago. The label is vague, the chemical compound not what I was expecting. I inhale sharply as I read the small letters, my chest tightening like a vice.

This isn’t an anesthetic; this is a fucking neural inhibitor. A drug designed to numb the brain, not to block pain—just to prevent a reaction.

I feel like I’m going to be sick.

Oh my fucking God.

I look at the Soldier again in sheer, blood-freezing horror.

I cut into him. I sutured him, burned and stitched and drilled into him—and he was awake the whole time.

He felt everything.

Everything.

A shuddering breath leaves me. My throat is closing up as I grip the edge of the table so hard my knuckles turn white. Yulia whispers something under her breath in Russian, her face pale as she steps back from the table. She realizes it, too.

My legs give out beneath me, and I collapse onto the cold, bloody tile.

I cried six hours straight that night for him.

#bucky barnes #bucky barnes x reader #bucky barnes x ofc #bucky barnes x original female character #sebastian stan #marvel #the winter soldier #james buchanan barnes #bucky ff #bucky barnes ff

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