#when lights and power systems turned on and off. when doors down the hall opened. when footsteps came or went.

[ru5t]

scale of 1 to 10 how unsettled would your character be if Tech recognized them by footstep and/or another movement sound of theirs?

[fayes-fics]

Impertinent

2k Celebration Masterpost

Pairing: Anthony Bridgerton x fem!reader

Summary: Sneaking around Aubrey Hall in the dead of night brings you right into the path of one Viscount...

Warnings: very suggestive content, nudity, teasing and touching, Viscount being a total menace but mostly a gentleman.

Word Count: 1.4k (250-word drabbles... I'm HILARIOUS)

Authors Note: Seventh in my 2k follower celebration drabble request fills for @colettebronte with the prompt “You heard me. Take. It. Off.” (ask here). This ended up quite tame, but I enjoyed writing him as a tease. Unbetaed. Enjoy! <3,

You know it's not the right thing to do. To be snooping around Aubrey Hall in the dead of night. But you cannot resist it. As everyone sleeps, you wander silently, tiptoeing around in just your nightgown, the light of the moon streaming through the large windows to guide you. It feels elicit, exciting even. Exploring the home of the man you hope to marry, Viscount Anthony Bridgerton. You have danced and promenaded a few times; this early invitation to spend time with his family ahead of the rest of the Ton bodes well.

You pause at the door of his private study, then, with a fortifying breath, turn the handle and slip into the room. Warm embers glow in the fireplace, and the smell of cigars and expensive whiskey hangs in the air. It is so masculine and so Anthony you can't help but drift to the sizeable imposing desk and take a seat, fingers running over the wood, picturing him sitting right where you are, working hard on something important or other. It makes you lean back, something stirring in your body, just the thought of him arousing.

It's then you notice there is material draped around the back of the large leather chair—one of his velvet, tailed jackets. It smells of spicy cologne, and before you know it, your nose is buried in the material, drawing deep breaths, the scent making your thighs rub together. Something compels you to want to wear it, to feel it against your skin. 

With a boldness you thought yourself scarcely capable of, you stand up and whip off your nightgown, reaching to slip on the jacket. You luxuriate in the feeling of the luxury satin liner against your bare flesh, how it cools your back, snags your pebbled nipples, and how the velvet collar tickles your neck. The front may sit at waist height on him, but on you, the material skims the apex of your thighs, catching deliciously in the patch of hair you have there.

So wrapped up in the sensation of being surrounded by him, by his scent, you don’t hear the door open until it's too late.

“What in the…?” 

You startle and spin around to see there in the doorway is the man himself, Viscount Anthony Bridgerton, casual in just a loose white shirt and his britches with braces slung around his legs. You are caught, red-handed. The power of speech has abandoned you, so you just stand there, a rabbit caught in his crosshairs, guilt, fear and shame flooding your system.

He stalks into the room further now and inhales sharply when he rounds a chair to see an unencumbered view of you, entirely nude except for his jacket. His gaze is heavy, sliding down your body sweeping your bare legs, then fixing on where the fabric only just covers you.

“Take it off,” he orders. 

You almost jump out of your skin at the tone and the gruffness. Your arms and hands incapable of moving; there are few charged moments when Anthony just stares at you.

 “You heard me. Take. It. Off.” This time it's even lower, a growl, predatory, enthralling.

And you scramble to obey, shucking the jacket from around your shoulders and letting it hit the floor with an audible thump. Entirely naked now, his responding noise has your thighs instantly damp.

“How impertinent to let yourself into my private study,” his voice surly as he prowls towards you. You freeze to the spot, your hands flying to protect your modesty. “Oh, it’s a little late for that now,” he chuckles darkly, “put your hands back at your sides right now.”

And you do. Casting your gaze to the floor as your cheeks heat. His stare is so heavy it feels like a robe you wear. Soon he is so close you can smell the same cologne that clung to his jacket but this time from his skin.

He circles behind you, and you gasp as he crouches down; it takes you a second to realise he is picking up his jacket, where you carelessly disposed of it onto the floor.

“Tell me, why would you put on my jacket while nude?” he queries, lingering there, and you shudder as his hot breath glances over your bare bottom cheeks as he does so, still behind you.

“I…I… I wanted to try it on,” you stumble, your voice far too quiet.

“And you had to take off your nightgown to do so?” he snarks, and both of your eyes cut to the side where your gown lays in a heap.

“It seemed like luxurious material,”  you confess, head still bowed, starting at the rug as if it fascinates you. “I wanted it against my skin,” those last few words are barely audible.

“You do not have velvet clothes of your own you could try this with?” he throws out, still behind you, that breath still hot over your cheeks; in fact, you swear it’s closer now.

“Yes, but…” you trail off, having no good excuse. Unable to think of a lie, you screw your eyes shut and decide on the truth “... they do not smell like you.”

You jolt and make a noise of sheer surprise as he pitches forward, and his teeth land on your cheek, inhaling deeply.

“At last…” he growls, scraping his canine over the globe of your bottom, “she admits to it.”

“To what?” you murmur as his wet tongue pokes out, soothing the spot he had touched with his teeth as you tremble.

“That you want me just as much as I want you.”

Your whole body shudders as he runs his tongue up the length of your spine, climbing to his feet, your toes curling, scrunching into the thick wool pile, as he unfurls to his full height behind you. You wish you had something nearby to grab onto; it feels as if you could topple over, the rush of blood to your head so intense.

“Are you a maiden?” his mouth is now hot on your ear.

“Yes.”

“And you have never had a man run his tongue over your body like that before, have you?” his voice dark and laced with bemusement.

“No,” you admit.

A warm hand lands on your shoulder as he stands behind you, and again you jump—your body aflame, your nipples pebbling hard, goosebumps breaking out down your arms.

“And I presume no man has touched your naked body?” 

“No, my lord,” your addition of his title makes him take a sharp breath.

“Good,” he snarls, sounding possessive,

His hand rounds your shoulder and starts to sink lower, mapping over the outer end of your clavicle as you try to school your body, trying to stay still, so completely overwhelmed by what is happening. When warm fingertips brush the top of your breast, you begin to tremble.

“Do you know what could happen to mischievous young maidens who break into men’s offices?” It's just a deadly rumble now while his fingers inch fractionally lower, so close to your nipple that it aches to be touched.

You are incapable of answering, so you shake your head a little, his nose bumping your ear.

“You are lucky, Miss y/l/n, that I am mostly a gentleman,” he purrs, “mostly.” 

You shiver as he circles your areola with featherlight touch but never crosses onto it, your heart pounding from the tease.

“I suggest you grab your nightgown and run now,” he advises, sounding like he is fighting his urges, his hand stilling in its motion.

“What if that is the opposite of what I wish?” you can barely believe you found the gall to utter your thought aloud, staring straight ahead at the bookcase, not daring to look down at his hand on your body.

His lips brush the shell of your ear, and it's like being struck by lightning.

“Leave now,” he whispers, “you may return tomorrow evening. Exactly as you are.”

“Why then?” you frown, disappointed as his hand drops from your flesh.

“Because then we shall be publically betrothed… and nothing should stop us.”

Your world spins, and you have to lock your knees to stop your swoon. “What…?”

“You heard me,” he says for the second time tonight, this time with a smug tone, stepping away and handing you your nightgown over your shoulder.

You take a faltering step forward and quickly pull on your nightgown, finally turning to face him again, and it steals your breath. His pupils are dilated, his cheeks flushed, his mouth damp and open.

“Until tomorrow, Miss y/l/n….” he gestures to the door and still utterly dumbfounded, you stumble towards it.

You cannot wait for tomorrow. 

Anthony Taglist: @makaylan @foreverlonginguniverse @iboopedyournose @colettebronte @aintnuthinbutahounddog @margofiore @writergirl-2001 @heeyyyou @enichole445 @enchantedbytomandhenry @ambitionspassionscoffee @chaoticcalzoneranchsports @crowleysqueenofhell @bridgertontess @queenofmean14 @fiction-is-life @lilacbeesworld @eleanor-bradstreet @divaanya @musicismyoxygen84 @benedictspaintbrush @sorryallonsy @lilithseve @cayt0123 @hottytoddyhistory @elizah99 @fictionalmenloversblog @debheart @malpalgalz @amanda08319 @panhoeofmanyfandoms @delehosies

[iamnotoriginalphil]

Nothing is Black and White (Leonora Lesso x f!Reader)

Synopsis: Lesso never thought evil could have a soulmate. Luckily, you were there to prove her wrong

Words: 2.6k

Warnings: swearing, blood

The black fleck on Lesso’s cheek had been mocking her for the entirety of her life. She’d known, deep down in her blackest of hearts, that the black would never explode into a galaxy of colour over her cheekbone. True love was insipid and stupid and only for the good. Evil was not given a soulmate, only the tautening of the mark left unfulfilled on their skin.

It’s what drove evil to destroy the happiness of all those awful princes and princesses.

She swept out of her quarters, avoiding looking at any reflective surface. She’d done her best to avoid looking at herself since she’d arrived at the school all those years ago. All that did was make her stomach feel as if it was trying to escape her body.

The school was changing. Her lip curled up as she saw the sheer amount of pink now littering her halls. The smiles, all beautiful and kind. The way the dark and the light was beginning to curl around one another in her school.

So many fucking shades of grey.

She stormed through the halls, forgoing breakfast, making for her office. Students jumped out of her way, melting into the shadows to keep from feeling her wrath. She slammed the door to her office open, enjoying the way some of the students jumped.

Settled behind the desk, she could feel the power coursing through her veins. She lent back, surveying the paper work on her desk with a critical eye. Still in charge, still in control, this change of the system was not going to drive her crazy. She was better than that.

Her eyes flicked up when the door was opened, depositing a smiling Dovey in her lair, glancing over her shoulder. She sighed, placing her pen down, sentence unfinished, thought broken off. Her sigh was enough to bring the godmother’s attention to her.

“There you are,” she said, practically trilling it across the space.

“In my office,” she said, sarcasm dripping from every word, “how surprising.”

“When we didn’t see you at breakfast we began to worry you’d hauled another student down to your doom room,” she said.

“We?” She raised a singular eyebrow.

Her face fell as you walked in, the end of a laugh lifting your lips, making your eyes sparkle. The smile didn’t dim as those sparkling eyes landed on her and her blood froze in her veins. Because there was another reason just the thought of soulmates made her want to retch. And it was staring right at her.

“Did you need something?” she drawled, tearing her eyes away from you.

“I was wondering.” Her eyes darted up to you as you spoke, “if maybe I could sit in on one of your classes today? You’re so good at commanding a room.”

“You want to watch me teach?”

You nodded, bridging the space between her desk and the door. Dovey, always more reticent in Lesso’s space, hung back but you’d never had such compunctions. It was one of the things that infuriated her so much. The way that she seemed to scare of everyone but you. Where people kept their distance from her, you seemed to be drawn into her personal space.

“I know I’ll never manage to capture your whole…” Your eyes ran over her body then back to her face, “everything but if I watch I might be able to pick up on some tricks for my own classes.”

She considered you. Your smile was unmoving and your face was so open with hope. She wanted to crush it. That would destroy the odd feeling in her body, like her heart was growing too big for her chest. You in your stupid little dress and your pretty hair and your beautiful face.

“No.”

She turned back to her paperwork, assuming that would be the end of the discussion. Feet shuffled in front of the desk. She glanced up. You were still there, looking down at her, smile a little dimmed but no less alluring.

“Please,” you asked, and she could see what it would be to have you on your knees begging. Just the thought made her heart beat a little harder.

“What’s in it for me?” she asked.

The smile on your face settled more comfortably on your face. She stood, just as you began to make your way around the desk. You paused, eyes gliding up her body, lips parting before they stretched back into a smile.

“What do you want?” you asked.

Oh, how she could answer that question. With you standing in front of her, the only kind of want filling her mind was one that led to you screaming her name. Your eyes found hers and there was something so addictive in the way you looked at her. She scoffed.

“There is nothing you could give me,” she said, turning her head away from you.

“Are you sure?”

Her eyes flicked down to you again. Your teeth had sunk into your bottom lip, stopping that smile from spreading further. Her mouth grew dry at the sight, wanting to do the same until she tasted your blood. You were far too tempting, and you seemed to know it.

“Fine,” she snapped, “observe my class. But don’t come back afterwards.”

“Thank you.” You made it sound like she’d given you something more than permission to watch her teach, “oh.”

Your hand reached up, brushing against her cheekbone. She shuddered, something warm sparking from that touch. Her breath caught just for a moment. You held up your fingertip.

“Eyelash,” you said, “make a wish.”

She managed to drag her gaze down to it, eyebrows drawing together when she saw the dark lash resting on a rainbow on your skin. A horrifying realisation was dawning on her. She knocked it aside, snarling at you. Your eyes widened before you drew back, averting your gaze.

“Sorry,” you muttered.

“Get out,” she growled.

You nodded, turning on your heels, brushing past Dovey to leave. The other dean offered her a disapproving look before sweeping out of her office, closing the door politely. Lesso waited a moment, long enough to be sure you had left, that there was no chance of being interrupted again.

With a flick of her finger the door locked, ensuring no one would be able to surprise her as she did what she had to. She sat behind her desk again, hand rummaging through the drawer until her fingers closed around something small and cold. She pulled it out, leaning back in her seat as she spun the small hand mirror, considering it before she could bring herself to look into it.

If those colours meant what she thought they did… They couldn’t. There was no way.

She flashed the mirror up, reflecting her cheekbone back at herself. A splash of colour, small and insignificant if she couldn’t still feel your finger brushing over it, following the line of it exactly. She ran her own finger over it, her insides beginning to feel as if they were eating themselves.

Evil didn’t have soulmates. Just like they didn’t get true love. That was what made them evil.

She pressed her lips together. She had no idea if you’d noticed but she was going to do everything in her power to make sure you never did. She picked up the black pen from her desk, inking over the mark until it looked just as it had that morning.

She cursed you and your inability to do as everyone else did and keep your distance from her.

When you walked into her last class of the day, the unsettled feeling that had begun in her stomach when she’d looked in the hand mirror had grown into something intolerable. She needed it gone and she needed it gone now. But there you were, standing at the back of the room, that same smile on your face that made her heart beat fast and her skin feel warm. You straightened your spine when her eyes alighted on you.

“Keep quiet and don’t interrupt,” she snapped at you, slamming the door to the room closed.

She then spent the entire hour ignoring your presence hovering just on the periphery of her vision. It was as if you demanded her attention, desperate for her to remember the matching rainbow on your fingertip. She kept averting her face from you, refusing to give in to the tugging in her chest.

Because it was wrong. It had to be wrong. Evil wasn’t given a chance at happiness.

She ended the lesson, dismissing the students. With her back turned to the room she could listen to their chatter as they left, assuming you’d slip out with them. Silence descended and she let out a long breath.

A warm hand touched her shoulder, practically burning her through her coat. She spun, face turning into a snarl. You blinked up at her but didn’t flinch back the way any normal person would have. It left her feeling on the back foot.

“Watching you is like a masterclass in being the boss of a classroom,” you said and she had to do her best to not allow herself to bask in the compliment.

“You would be too if you were a better teacher,” she said.

You shouldn’t have laughed but you did.

“Ouch.” You were still laughing, “but I suppose that’s a fair assessment.”

She gave you what she thought was a withering look but you were still laughing. She could not understand you. You were like a puzzle that she hadn’t worked out yet, something to pull apart to see if she could put it back together again. She shouldn’t want to, but it burned through her veins with an intensity that was hard to ignore.

“So,” you said and she didn’t like the way your voice changed. Not so light and yet still playful, “are we going to talk about what happened this morning?”

She stiffened.

“I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

Your smile turned indulgent and you took a step back, fingertips trailing over the surface of one of the small students’ desk. You looked away, turning your gaze to the chalkboard and the notes she’d left written on it but she got the feeling it was to give her privacy. She didn’t like that at all.

“Nothing happened this morning,” she growled.

“Okay,” you laughed.

“It didn’t,” she snapped.

You circled around her, fingers still trailing along the surfaces you passed until you were standing behind her desk like you were the teacher and she was the student. Something about it felt wrong and yet the way you were looking at her was also thrilling.

“So if a certain mark on my finger changed colour this morning, right after my meeting with you, you’d say that was nothing?” you asked, said finger resting on your chin in a mock thoughtful position.

“It could have happened any time,” she scoffed.

“It made me realise that we’d never had skin to skin contact before,” you said, beginning to circle back around the desk, “all this time and it’s not as frequent as the stories suggest. You keep everyone at arms length.”

“For good reason.”

You were advancing on her and she was backing up. Giving up ground was not something she enjoyed doing, but having you so close to her was also unacceptable. Her head never worked right when you were in her personal space.

“It makes me wonder if you’re afraid of finding your soulmate,” you said.

“I’m not afraid,” she snapped.

Her back hit the cool metal of the window. Your chin tilted downwards, eyes sparking when they met hers, lips curling up at the corners in the most enticing manner. Her breath left her as you closed the final foot of distance.

“Then why have you covered it up?”

She froze when your finger ran over her skin, in the exact same place as that morning. It still sent heat coursing through her veins. When it drew back she could see black ink staining your skin, hiding the colours she’d seen that morning. Your eyes flicked down to it then back to her.

“Well, would you look at that,” you murmured.

“You don’t know what you’re talking about,” she said but her voice had lost the edge she wanted.

“We can play this game of pretend for as long as you want,” you said, leaning towards her until she could feel your breath ghosting over her skin, “but you and I both know what this means.”

“No,” she growled.

Her hands landed on your shoulders, nails digging in and she spun you until it was your back against the window, pinned to it as she stared at you. You said nothing as her eyes roved over you, taking in all of you. Taking in everything. And you just let her.

She crushed her lips to yours, needing to take control back of the situation. But then you sighed into her mouth, and your hands pressed into her lower back, soft and sweet and she needed to stop it. Or else you’d drag her under and she’d drown.

Her teeth sunk into your lower lip, waiting for you to begin to struggle. Instead, you arched towards her, submitting as the coppery tang of blood coated her tongue and you whimpered. Your hands pressed her to you more insistently until there was no space between your two bodies.

“Evil doesn’t get soulmates,” she hissed into your mouth before you kissed her again.

“Then maybe you’re not as evil as you thought,” you murmured.

She kissed you again before the thought could burrow too far into her brain. With her lips on yours all thoughts faded away. It was so easy to focus on how soft you were, how malleable, how warm. When she was kissing you something within her chest ignited and she wasn’t sure she wanted to put it out.

“We’re not soulmates,” she groused.

You pushed her back, just a step. With your own blood smeared over your lips and your eyes blown wide you’d never looked so delectable. She just wanted to taste every inch of you.

“Keep telling yourself that,” you replied, “I’ll let you pretend whatever you want as long as you keep kissing me.”

“We’re not,” she insisted.

“Of course not.” You were smiling again.

“We’re…” You brushed your finger across her cheekbone again and her heart thudded hard enough to make her feel winded, “we’re…”

“Soulmates,” you whispered.

“Soulmates,” she echoed, more mouthing the word than vocalising it.

Your finger was still running along her cheekbone, following the line of her soul mark. She caught it, staring down at the swirl of colour. You held still as she considered it, taking in what the knowledge actually meant to her. She had a soulmate. It wasn’t a myth. Evil could have soulmates and she’d found hers.

You lent up on your tiptoes, lips softly brushing against her cheekbone, right over the mark. Her heart fluttered, such softness still strange to her. She couldn’t look away from you when you drew back. You were so beautiful it was almost physically painful.

So instead of telling you, she kissed you again, leaving you pinned to the window, her fingers in your hair, your arms around her waist. But she thought you might have known what she was thinking. And she thought you might have been thinking the same thing.

[heartfullofleeches]

(Idk Exael’s pronouns so I’m using It/They right here, hope that’s okay)

I like to imagine that someway somehow Exael got itself a body by lying to the reader and telling them that it was making some extra parts/upgrades for Mono as a surprise and said that reader just needed to push a few buttons on the control panels so Exael can get the go ahead and create the parts

Then next thing you know Mono comes back to the ship and sees reader being aggressively hugged by Exael’s in their new body

[.- .-. . / -.-- --- ..- / … . -.-. ..- .-. . ..--..]

You wrestle against your bindings - blankets and sheets tucked just so to pin you snuggly to the mattress with enough breathing and wiggling room to free yourself if needed. "Think so. Thanks, Mono."

The alien brings their hand down to your head, flicking their translator back on as they smooth your hair against the pillow.

[No need to thank me. I enjoy the route. It eases me to be the one at your side when most vulnerable. Safe travels, Starlight.]

Mono hovers two fingers to their lips and rests them on your forehead. The lamp at your bedside flickers off as they turn to leave, projections fading into apparency overhead as the door shuts behind them. Blankets pulled to your chin, you melt into the oversized mattress as your eyelids flutter transfixed on the stars illuminating the ceiling. The same stars shining bright right outside your window every night back on earth. It's crazy to think how drastically your life had changed from one eve to the next. A relatively normal life and in the blink you're exploring the galaxy with a robotic alien almost three times your size. There were hurtles, but you've made your peace. Still getting through the language barrier, but at least you'd picked up a couple key phrases.

Exhaustion laying claim to your tired mind, your eyes weight heavy as sleep takes hold - torn open by a loud thud rippling through the vents and floor of your room.

Bang!

The sound chatters through your teeth, channeling the anxiety running through you as a monitor lowers from the ceiling. Its screen glows a calming blue that doesn't make you feel as warranted. A hairline crack across the length of the screen spilts into a wide smile as a voice speaks from within the walls.

"C-c-o-pilot Y/n. Please exit your bed and board in an orderly fashion and make your way towards the nearest laboratory. Captain Mono has been thankfully executed by their mortal enemy and likely needs your assistance to transfer to a new body before their memory is destroyed."

In your panic and sleep depraved confusion - you struggle to proceed the monitor's words. "Mono has been what by who?...."

"My apologies! I'm still navigating through all the bugs and firewall implemented in my system. What I mean to say was -"

The screen flashes red.

"THE WASTE OF SCRAP WAS EATEN BY METAL EATING SHARKS AND IF YOU DON'T GET TO THE LAB RIGHT NOW THEY'LL BE DEAD..... FOR GOOD."

You don't need to be told a third time. Shimming free of the blankets, you race for the door - cold, hard tiles slapping against your feet as had no time to dress. Loud Banging and animalistic roars echo throughout the empty halls. Each thud drumming strong throuth your ears, you begin to pick up on the rhythm they follow. Short, short, short, long, long....

… --- …

It's the first code they taught you. You stop dead in your tracks. "....Mono?"

The dull edge of the monitor drives into your spine as you're flung through the laboratory door. "No time - get in."

The temperature drops below freezing - clammy skin clinging to frosted tiles as you step. The lights and machinery power on without your input, a metal tendril retreating into the shadows as you glance at the light switch. The room is mostly the same as you remember with the addition of thin claw marks in the walls and papers scattered across the floor. The broken glass from a beaker had been neatly swept beneath a run. The most notable difference was the slightly opened hatch left ajar from its placement behind a shelf and the still body within.

Upon closer inspection, the body turned out to be some sort of android. It lacked skin on its face and limbs, but the flesh graphed tp its torso looked so real. A small purple heart had been tattooed to its left breast with written text impossible to make out through the thick layer of glass encasing the body in its frozen cage. You pick up a notebook on the table. Lists of different hairstyles, types of clothing, and popular earth attractions written as far back as before you formally met. The stick note on the books cover falls as you flip through the pages - you pick it up.

"B.."

In all the rush you never really stopped to think about Mono really being gone. It wasn't long ago that they had quizzed you on constellations and their placements while tucking you into bed. Could you actually do something to save them.. Would this... thing be the new them?

"Oh! Good, you made it. Great job so far. Real proud of you - and the captain too I guess for taking you. Now - on to the hard part. It might be a little tricky, but I know you can do it. Walk over to that panel over there."

You do as instructed, picking up the tablet and examining its buttons. "Now what?"

"Okay... Stay with me, now... I need you to enter your date of birth."

You gaze up at the monitor. It flickers bright pink.

"Hey! Don't give me that look!- There are a lot of days in your calendar and centuries more years get off my.... actually you can sit wherever you want once we're done. Just hurry up!"

As if reiterating the urgency of your situation, a loud crash and the scrapping of metal booms outside the lab door. You quickly punch in the numbers and hurry over to the bookcase just in time to see the door blown off its hinges. Smoke builds as you close the bookshelf and the pod opens - glitch laughter bouncing from every corner.

"You did it. You actually did it."

You're too focused on the bookshelf to notice. It's like the force on the other side knew exactly where to go leaving you unable to set up a barrier for their act. Wires slither discreetly across the floor, inching towards exposed circuitry in the android's neck and squeezing until the head pops clean off. The thick wires then make home for themselves in the double's throat - linking and hooking the grinning monitor into place as you're knocked backwards from the bookshelf being torn from your grasp.

Strong arms prevent you from sustaining more damage than this night cycle as already caused. A guttural purr sounds from your savior as they hold you to their fleshy shell. Free from containment, the word on their chest is finally legible.

"Starlight."

"Mono?..."

The figure chuckles. "Guess again, babe. God, you don't know how good it feels to finally have a body. I've been wanting to do this for so, so long. Humans are a lot squisher than I imagined. I love it~"

Their arms press tighter against your ribs. If whatever was coming didn't kill you - the android's smothering would. You watch as the shadow lurches through the fog. Towering build, talons like razors. A chipped horn on its helmet.... A single eye - glowing violet with rage.

"Mono!"

["I'm going to tear you apart with my own hands.... and devour whatever code that made you think for a second you could put your hands on my Starlight. Let. Them. Go. NOW."]

The android hops to their feet, using your body as a shield between the snarling Mono. "Look - I know you're upset, but look on their bright side!"

[There is no bright side to this... I've tried fixing you, I've tried deactivating you - yet you always turn out to be the same annoying parasite that you are. There's nothing you or anyone could do to stop me.]

"You're alive..."

You tear yourself free using your lingering strength, stumbling into Mono's hardened body as your legs give out from what you've put them through. Mono is quick to catch you - the blinding shine of their eyes shrinking as you take their large hand in yours. "There's not even a scratch on you. What happened to the shark?"

Their visor clouds as they breathe.

[Whatever it told you was a lie. I'm certain you'd never betray me on your own volition, but did you do this to save me somehow?]

"Exael said you'd been seriously hurt and it was the only way to save you. I was panicking so much I didn't think to ask any questions. I'm sorry...."

[Don't be. You did a noble thing, I couldn't be prouder to have you as my right hand. We will talk more once you're rested. As for you....]

Mono peers over your shoulder to find Exael gone. They groan, fearing the headaches to come- but onto more important matters. As Mono carries you to your room, you can't help but wonder..

"Hey, Mono - what was that body for anyway?"

[Apologies. It was supposed to be a surprise. I've been working on a vessel to make it easier for us to be seen as a pair on your planet. I fear with my size I'll end up getting my horns stick in a light fixture.]

Mono chuckles at their own attempt at humor.

[I had hoped to have it finished by your birthday so we could celebrate a night as you once did, but the work flow has obviously been... interrupted. Fortunately, I have a spare that isn't too far back in production. Enough talk for now. It's well past when you were intended to rest.]

You yawn at the mention. Sleep alludes you once more as you enter your bedroom. Exael lays out on your bed with a journal Mono had given you, reading aloud as their legs swing back and forth behind them. They toss the book under your bed and waves as Mono taps their hoof expectantly.

"Oh, heyyyy Roomie. Great to see ya. Would you prefer the left side of the bed or the right?"

Mono gently places you on your feet.

[Sleep in my room tonight. Do not leave no matter what you hear. Do as I say - and you may spend an extra hour in the relation chamber tomorrow.]

You sprint off without another warning. Mono removes their translator entirely and sets in on your nightstand as they remove their arm bands. Sweat appears on Exael's screen.

"Heh heh..we can share, y'know.. you wouldn't kill their favorite bot, would ya?"

--. .-.. .- -.. .-.. -.--

[kissingghouls]

The Prince

Part Three: The Heart (ao3 // Part One // Part Two // Part Four)

Vampire Terzo x Female Reader

Summary: You and the vampire have some unexpected visitors. (8200 words)

tags: NSFW, MDNI, 18+, horror themes, vampire violence, violence, fighting, blood, injury, SMUT, and more tags on ao3

banner by @ramblingoak - Thank you for everything 💜

Terzo’s hold on you was anything but comforting. The way his arms wound around your ribs was quickly growing painful, yet he was hesitant to release you. When he finally let go, you turned to face him and instantly understood. Even in the dim light you could see the fear in his eyes.

“How many?” you whispered.

“Maybe ten?” he answered uneasily. “Inside at least. I—”

You pressed a finger to his lips. “Are they upstairs yet?”

He shook his head.

“Stay here.”

“Bellezza, no,” he hissed as he grabbed your hand. “You can’t go out there.”

“Terzo, my weapons are across the hall,” you explained calmly. “It’ll take me two seconds—"

“Please don’t,” he begged, a nervous tremble in his voice. He squeezed your hand tight. “I can’t—You can’t—”

“Woah, hey.” You brought your other hand to his face, tracing his cheekbone with your thumb. “It’s ok, Terzo. We’re gonna get out of this.”

He shook his head violently as his grip on your hand tightened. He began to shake, staring at your intertwined fingers and you realized you might be the only thing keeping him grounded.

“Hey, hey, look at me,” you requested softly. “I have a plan. How much cash do you have access to? Right now?”

“I don’t know. There’s a safe in the closet—”

“Terzo, I need you to get dressed and grab as much cash as you possibly can, ok?”

“No, you can’t—”

“I’ll only be gone for two seconds, I promise. And if the next person who comes through that door isn’t me? Rip their fucking head off.”

It was a subtle shift, hardly more than a flash of his white eye catching what little light came in through the windows. But it was enough. That soft, gentle version of the man you were growing to understand was gone. In his place stood an angry vampire who bared his fangs at you.

“Go,” he snapped. “I’ll know if it’s you.”

You didn’t need to be told twice.

The smell of smoke hit you as soon as you stepped into the hallway, only this time it wasn’t laced with the sweetness of burnt sugar. The alarms remained silent as you crept into your room. It wasn’t surprising. The system was old and anyone with the right blueprints and an afternoon could figure out how to disable the entire thing. No smoke alarm. No motion detectors. No intruder alarm. These things were mostly for show when Terzo was in town, but now there was no way to alert anyone to the danger in the house.

Maybe it was better if the local humans stayed away.

Halfway through a quick change of clothes you heard it—the unmistakable sound of the entire house losing power. Whatever move the hunters were planning, they were ready to execute. You loaded your backpack with anything in your armory that could injure a person before arming yourself for that short walk across the hall. You tried not to think about how unbelievably fucked you were. Yes, you could fight your way out if you had to, but that was the worst case. You’d only prepared to take out a single vampire on this trip, not a potential army of angry hunters.

You pressed your hand against Terzo’s door, slowly urging it open only to be pulled nearly out of your boots by the vampire. He set you down on the other side of the room, carefully guiding you over a growing pool of blood on the floor. His eyes had kept their predatory glint as he watched you assess the situation: the headless corpse at the foot of his bed.

“Ter—”

“You said—”

The two of you were cut off by the sound of footfalls making their way up the staircase. They were trying to be quiet, but not nearly as quiet as the man on the floor had been. Terzo growled as he turned toward the door, ready to attack. You reached for his arm, wincing as he jerked away from you.

“We have to go,” you insisted in a harsh whisper.

“No, you have to go. I’m going to kill them.”

“Terzo, you can’t—”

“Can’t what?” he snapped. “Can’t fight them? Can’t kill them? Why? Are you going to stop me?”

“Please just listen to me. The house is on fire and you have no idea how many hunters are actually out there.”

He shrugged and gestured to the body at his feet. “One less than before.”

You shook your head. “It’s your fucking funeral then.”

“I can’t die, remember?”

“Yes, you can!” you argued. “And there’s what, ten guys outside who all know exactly how to do it? If you really want to find out how painful that poison is—”

He surged forward with a growl. “I already know, principessa.”

“What does that mean?”

He smirked and reached toward the end of the bed. Without looking, he tossed a heavy duffel bag at you. “You wanted money? There. Now get out of my house.”

“Terzo, wait,” you begged. “Please listen to me—ah!”

The house shook so violently you lost your balance. Before you could hit the ground Terzo was there to pull you upright, his fingers holding you in a bruising grip. Underneath you the house jerked again as the windows of the library burst outward followed by the flames of the blast.

You saw the fear return to the vampire’s eyes as he drew his hands away. He reached down to retrieve the duffel bag before offering you a sheepish look.

“How do we get out?”

You glanced over your shoulder toward the balcony.

“You can’t make that jump, bellezza. You’ll break your legs.”

“Well, then I guess you’ll have to catch me. Can we please get the fuck out of here?”

He nodded before moving toward the balcony and leaning over the railing. He sat and swung his legs over the carved stone before sliding off the edge completely. It was close to a 20 foot drop—nothing he couldn’t handle—but you expected him to be slightly more dramatic about it. You looked over the edge and rolled your eyes as he gave you a thumbs up from his landing spot.

Your actual plan was 100% simpler and safer. There was no fucking way you were about to throw yourself off a building and hope that Terzo would catch you. Instead, you dropped the bag of cash—which he missed—before sliding to the edge of the balcony to climb down the wrought iron trellis full of ivy.

“I thought we had to jump,” he hissed.

“Why would we have to?” you sassed back.

Below, the vampire began to pace as a long string of Italian phrases, mostly swears if you had to guess, came shooting out of his mouth. He seemed to forget his current predicament and those swears quickly rose to shouts.

“Terzo, shut up!” you whispered harshly as you tried to free yourself. The farther down you climbed, the thicker the ivy became. In some spots, it was too thick to find a place to rest your feet.

“No, bellezza. You shut up. What’s taking so long?”

As you tried to kick a hole in a thick tangle of vines, another explosion erupted from the other end of the house. What used to be the kitchen windows rained broken glass across the peonies in the garden as the house lurched once more. You watched as the kitchen filled with orange light and black smoke in slow motion, unable to look away as your hands grabbed at nothing.

He was right. You were going to break your legs.

Instead of slamming directly into the ground something, someone broke your fall. Terzo let out a sharp breath as his back hit the lawn and your elbow jammed into his ribs. His swears were quiet as he groaned and rolled you safely onto the grass.

“A little more warning next time, eh principessa?”

“Terzo, I—”

“It’s nothing,” he ground out as he sat up. Something popped loudly as he reached over to pat your knee. “Happy to sweep you off your feet.”

“I—”

Again, your voice died under the sound of glass breaking. In a blink, Terzo had thrown his body over yours, shielding you from the shards that fell from the second floor sitting room. There was still fear in his eyes, but now it was mixed with an emotion you couldn’t read.

“We need to go,” you whispered softly when he didn’t move away from you.

He nodded once and scrambled to his feet, pulling you up by your arms like a toddler. “Which way?”

“The car.”

The two of you skirted the edge of the garden, staying as low as possible in case the hunters were watching the outside. You suspected they were far more concerned with destroying the house since they had started with the main floor. In the distance you could hear pieces of the house falling apart and Terzo winced with each crash.

You clambered into the car, angrily punching the push to start button as the vampire hesitated outside. The sky filled with a rolling black smoke lit by the bright orange flames as the kitchen of Meliora House collapsed and swallowed the guest room above.

“Terzo?” you asked carefully.

He was silent as he climbed into the passenger seat. He shot you an impatient look as you slammed your foot on the gas. As the tires kicked up a hail of gravel behind you, you realized the Terzo you were familiar with was gone again, replaced by an angry vampire grinding his teeth in the seat next to you.

You let the silence sit and simmer as you maneuvered the car through the narrow streets of the picturesque seaside town. Keeping your eyes forward was all you could do to avoid the ball of flames rising in the rearview. Terzo flexed and clenched his hands, nails digging into the fabric of his pants as he watched his home burn in the side mirror.

“Are you going to tell me what that was all about, or do I have to guess?” you dared to ask once the two of you were safely on the highway.

He bit the inside of his cheek and turned in his seat, facing away from you as much as he could. His white eye glowed every time you passed under a streetlight.

“Terzo?”

“They’re going to burn it all, aren’t they?”

The tone of his voice clearly indicated it was meant to be a rhetorical question, but you went ahead anyway. “What do you—”

“Secondo’s clubs! Now my house!” he shouted as he counted the incidents on his fingers. “You guys aren’t going to stop until we’re all dead, right?”

“Terzo, I had nothing to do with this—”

“Oh? Didn’t you come here to kill me?”

“Look, I—”

“If you hate me enough to want me dead, why did you fuck me?”

“I’m so sorry, Terzo,” you whispered.

“For what?! Huh?” he screamed. “What could have possibly changed so much for you? Why should I ever believe anything you say?”

“I didn’t expect you to be so—”

“So what? Vampirey?” he snapped.

“So this. You’re so fucking insufferable it drives me insane! But then you turn around and you’re charming and kind and soft. And maybe even a little bit sexy at times, ok? There, I said it.” You shook your head, tears slipping from the corners of your eyes as your anger got to you. Realizing that the things you’d said and tried to do had hurt Terzo felt like a slap in the face. Because of that, because of who you were and why you came here, he had no good reason to trust you.

No reason not to kill you, either.

“Why are you crying, cara?” he asked, his voice wavering with surprise and that same hint of terror he’d had in his bedroom.

“Because you’re fucking human, ok? You’re a moody little shit and you have the worst taste in everything, but you’re not a fucking monster.” A heavy sob wracked your body as the guilt and shame began to taste like bile.

“Everything they said was wrong,” you mumbled. “Everything was a lie and we just believed it. I believed it! Oh god—”

“Bellezza,” he started softly. He reached across the car and placed a hand on your knee, giving it a gentle, reassuring squeeze. “Pull over.”

“I can’t. We have to get some distance between us and them or they’ll—”

“Tesorino, you need to calm down or you’ll kill us both.” He began to laugh to himself. “Unless that was part of your grand plan?”

You turned and narrowed your eyes at him. “It wasn’t.”

“Bellezza, watch the road!” he howled, gripping your knee and the handle above him tightly. “What exactly is your plan?”

“Not killing you,” you sniffed.

“Bene! Glad to hear it, cara. But…there is a plan, right?”

“Well…” you trailed off and stared at the stretch of highway in front of you. The plan was to get out alive; you hadn’t thought further than that.

“Oh, Satanas,” he groaned and swiped at his face.

“Look, my place isn’t that far—we can get there in a couple of hours. And then we can figure out what to do.”

“Hours? Bellezza—”

“Just…can you please try to trust me?” you asked softly.

“Do you trust me?”

“In the week that we’ve known each other, you’ve saved my life more than once. Even when you knew I would try to take yours. So, yeah, I do.”

He bit his lip as he settled back into the seat. “I am sorry for the things I said before, cara.”

“What? You don’t have to—"

“Tell me again how you think I’m sexy, eh?”

“Oh, fuck off,” you huffed as you tried to conceal a laugh.

A comfortable silence filled the car as mile markers and exit signs passed and faded into the distance. It might have been ten minutes or a hundred miles before Terzo reached over to turn on the radio. He kept the volume low, scanning the stations for something acceptable to hum and quietly sing along to. Turning away from you he focused on the surroundings, his pale face only an inch or so from the glass.

You were so focused on the stretch of cracked and overused asphalt in front of you that it barely registered when he stopped singing. But the chatter of morning radio DJs discussing traffic patterns and local news was nowhere near as pleasant as the vampire’s voice. You pulled your eyes from the road for a split-second, smiling to yourself at the sight of him.  He was fast asleep, facing toward you with his body folded awkwardly in the seat. His face was smushed against his shoulder, pieces of dark hair falling over his closed eyes.

Seeing him like this reminded you of the long road trips you’d been dragged on as a kid and the tiny, fleeting fragments of normalcy in your youth. There were so few pieces of your past that felt as innocent and simple as falling asleep in the backseat. Because the origins and destinations of such trips were never about family or friends—they revolved entirely around moving from one threat to the next.

You sniffed hard, fighting back the tears you no longer wanted to waste on your stolen childhood.

The sun rose in the distance staining the sky with pink and orange smears between tall buildings as you entered the heart of the city. The start-and-stop traffic of the morning commute shook Terzo from his nap and he woke with a loud, exaggerated groan. He stretched his arms as high as he could before dipping forward to peek through the windshield. Around you people busied themselves with their normal little lives, swarming the sidewalks with coffee and smoothies on their way to work while they crossed the busy streets. He flinched and nearly crawled into your lap as a city bus came to rest within inches of the car, the hydraulic brakes heaving a breath loud enough to wake the dead.

“I hate the city,” he grumbled under his breath and shifted into a more comfortable position.

“We’re almost there,” you assured him as you steered the car down a narrow side road past a couple of alleyways. The quick shortcut allowed you to squeeze the car into the last available space along the street with Terzo watching your movements with confusion the entire time. A quiet “this is it,” was all you offered in return.

He grabbed the duffel bag and your backpack from the backseat and climbed out of the car. With a yawn, he shook his head and declined your offer to carry your own bag as you led him to the little door between shops. The two of you made your way up the old stairs on tired legs, the wood groaning underneath you as the night’s events finally caught up with you.

The smell of dust was everywhere, scratching at your eyes as the tight feeling of something like shame squeezed at your insides. Your home was nothing like the ornate gardens or grand rooms that made up Meliora House. It was a dark, poorly ventilated old building that swelled with humidity in the summer and never, ever got warm in the winter. It wasn’t the kind of place to entertain guests.

You were exhausted by the time you reached the third floor and quietly grateful Terzo had insisted on carrying the bags until the telling creak of the wood floor stopped you in your tracks. Cursing Terzo for having your weapons, your body tensed ready to strike until a tiny voice called out, “Piccolina? Is that you?”

Down the hall, a tiny elderly woman hung halfway out her front door still in her very pink dressing gown.

“Yeah, it’s me. Good morning, Mrs. G,” you replied as you relaxed. You continued to your own door and hoped that would be enough of an answer for the woman.

“You’re back early? And…with a man?” She wrenched open the door and flew across the hallway, grabbing your left hand to look for a ring.

“Oh, no. I’m not—he’s not—”

“Bellezza, you did not tell me you had such a beautiful sister,” Terzo chided as he took the little old lady’s hand and kissed the top of it. “Buongiorno signora.”

“Seriously?” you muttered and pinched the bridge of your nose.

Mrs. G patted his cheek lovingly. “Such a handsome boyfriend you’ve brought home, Piccolina.”

“No, no. We are just friends,” you clarified at the same time Terzo said, “lovers.”

She gave you a knowing smirk before turning and whispering something to Terzo in Italian that nearly made him double over with laughter. He responded in kind, the two of them now engaged in a rapid-fire conversation in a language you couldn’t follow. You rolled your eyes as he carried on, wandering the short distance across the hall to unlock your door.

Before you could step inside, Terzo wrapped an arm around you and pulled you close to him. “Always trying to get away from me, this one,” he said with a laugh. “It was so lovely to meet you Mrs. Giordano. Ciao bella.”

Mrs. G swatted at him and shuffled back to her apartment to hide the pink blush that had bloomed across her face.

“Shall we, bellezza?”

You shook your head and pulled away, quickly slipping into your apartment with the vampire at your heels. The air inside was stagnant and hot and you rushed to the window to hopefully create enough circulation while Terzo hovered near the front door.

“Could you not flirt with my neighbor?” you requested as you fought with the swollen wood of the old window. Finally, it gave way and a rush of fresh air flooded your lungs. “She’s like 80—”

“And how old do you think I am, bellezza?” he asked with a grin. “Besides, you don’t get to be jealous if we are just friends.”

“I take it back. The plan is to kill you again.”

He laughed loudly as he moved past your kitchenette to explore your home. Of course, there was only so much to see. The small studio held more than enough room for you, your things, and your solitary life, but the entire place could have easily fit inside his bedroom. Possibly just one of his closets.

With a furrowed brow he whipped around several times before turning to you. “Where…”

You crossed your arms over your chest and leaned against the wall. “Yeah, sorry. Not everyone has an eternity to amass a fortune.”

“No, bellezza. I know this. I am looking for—” he trailed off as he drifted through the apartment.

It was odd seeing him in your space, to watch him carefully consider the little fortress you’d built for yourself. It wasn’t anything like he was used to. There was no historic value or well produced videos about the architecture and people certainly didn’t use your home as the backdrop for their elaborate weddings. The extent of your garden was a succulent next to your tv and the empty plant pot on the “balcony.”

His fingers traced lightly over a shelf, coming to rest around a scented candle you forgot you had. He brought it to his nose, eyes fluttering closed as he inhaled the soft scent. The hint of a smile graced his lips as he set the thing back in its place. He was as careful with your things as he was with you, like you were just as fragile and breakable as the cheap glass around that candle.

“This smells like you,” he said quietly.

“It does?”

He nodded but didn’t elaborate as he moved through the room, opening every cabinet and door he came across with the same excitement and curiosity each time. There was no way to tell what exactly he was looking for; he seemed content to just look.

“Ah-ha!” he shouted excitedly as he stepped inside your neatly organized closet. “So, you do have more clothes.”

“Did you think I was lying?”

“Bellezza, you started lying to me the second we met, remember?”

“Yeah, well, you knew better, and you still let me lie to your face. Do you plan on staying in there?”

He emerged with his hands on his hips. “I was hoping for the sofa, actually.”

“Oh, you can take the bed. I’ll be fine.”

“Absolutely not. You will not be sleeping on the sofa—”

“Look, technically you’re the guest here—"

“Guest or not, I am a gentleman.”

You snorted loudly at that. “Right, and I’m a fucking princess.”

“Sì, principessa, you are.”

You rolled your eyes. “Fine, we can share the bed. Ok?”

He smiled far too happily at that.

With Terzo’s help, you covered the windows with the few extra blankets you had laying around. It didn’t give you complete darkness, but it was a suitable compromise that made the vampire look less uncomfortable. There was also an added layer of protection from prying eyes in case anyone had managed to figure out where the two of you had gone. With any luck, the hunters would be combing through Meliora House for at least a day or two.

You each picked a side of the bed and settled in, careful to leave enough space between you. Seconds after you closed your eyes, you began to drift peacefully. Terzo was not so lucky. He seemed to toss and turn roughly every thirty seconds, somehow managing to kick you a few times while kneeing you in the back at least twice.

“Terzo?” you whispered. “Do you think you could be still for a minute?”

“I’m sorry, principessa,” he mumbled tiredly and shifted restlessly once more. “It’s too…quiet for me to get comfortable.”

“Too quiet to get comfortable?” you repeated slowly to be sure you’d heard him correctly.

He sighed and turned to face you, propping himself on his elbow. He idly picked at the small patch of exposed bedsheet with his free hand while chewing his lip. “I don’t like the quiet,” he admitted finally. “It’s too much.”

You studied his face for a moment. Even half-asleep in the manufactured dark of your apartment there was a sadness in his expression that made your chest hurt. “Terzo…”

“It’s fine,” he said quickly and flopped onto his back. “I’m sorry.”

“Don’t be sorry. Would I be ok if I turned on the TV? After a week with you I think I need the noise as well.”

“My tv wasn’t that loud,” he pouted.

“Yes, it absolutely was. And don’t get any ideas. We are definitely not watching any of your romance movie nonsense.”

He sighed dramatically before smiling at you. “Your house, your rules.”

You slipped out of the bed and tiptoed around the room, searching for the most likely place you would’ve left the remote. For the second time in the last several hours, you could feel Terzo watching you as you moved around pants less in the dark. This time there would be no awkward conversation while he tried to get you not to leave. Instead, you suspected he was content to appreciate your form.

You found the device and flipped on the tv before climbing over him to settle on your side. At the foot of the bed sportscasters recounted the last few hockey highlights of the season. After a particularly hard hit that resulted in a boarding penalty, Terzo frowned and turned to you.

“This is what you like, principessa? This—this violence?”

“Just imagine them wearing aprons in a small town or something,” you suggested tiredly.

“These men do not seem interested in baking, dolce.”

“People can be more than one thing, you know.”

“Yes, I’m well aware. Do you know this?”

“Terzo I am way too tired to fight with you. Can we please just watch these men fight each other instead?”

He just grinned at you. “So that’s what turns you on.”

You hit him with a pillow.

A few hours later you woke up completely surrounded by Terzo. His face was buried against your neck, his dark hair tickling your skin. Somehow, he’d wound both of his arms around you and pulled you close enough to throw his leg over yours. You squirmed, trying to ease yourself away from the vampire blanket that enveloped you, but it was no use. He only held on tighter.

“Terzo?” you asked with that lazy, just-woke-up scratch to your voice. Prodding at him with your fingers, you tried again to adjust under his dead weight. “Terzo.”

“Mmm, five more minutes, dolcezza,” he whined and held you tighter as he pressed his lips against your neck.

Your eyes flicked toward the tv. You sat up, freeing yourself of his hold as you watched a horrible, fiery scene unfold on the screen. Shaking the man next to you with one hand, you covered your mouth with the other.

“Terzo!”

He shot up, a low, protective growl rumbling in his chest as his eyes swept the room. When he found no threats, he turned to you and followed your gaze toward the TV. His hand clasped yours, squeezing tightly as Meliora House was swallowed by flames. The segment was live, some reporter standing just outside the gates with a microphone and a camera while a banner flashed across the bottom of the screen: HISTORIC HOUSE STILL ON FIRE.

“Terzo,” you managed to whisper. Behind the reporter, the house began to collapse. “Oh, Terzo. I’m so sorry.”

“I guess they got what they wanted.”

“Are you ok?”

“It was an old house, bellezza,” he said with a shrug before patting your hand. “Could we go back to sleep now?”

It was the “we” that pierced through you like a hot needle, a searing stab to the stomach that sent you scrambling from the bed. You fumbled your way through an excuse as you collected your clothes, telling him to stay in bed as long as he liked. Disappearing into the bathroom, you dressed quickly and used those few short moments alone to internally scream at yourself. You weren’t sure what he was doing. You weren’t even sure what he really meant by any of it, but the thought was enough to send you spiraling out through familiar fears and what-ifs.

Terzo was still in the same spot when you emerged, a blank look on his face like you’d slapped him before you wandered off.

“I, uh, I have to go take care of some stuff—”

“Stuff?” he questioned.

“Stuff,” you agreed with a nod. “I have to make sure that we’re safe here, for now. Just…can you stay in the apartment until I get back?”

“Sure.”

“Awesome, ok. Um, don’t try to cook anything.”

“Bellezza—”

“I’ll be back in an hour. Two at most.” You didn’t give him the chance to respond before you flew out the door. Mrs. G called your name as you passed her on the stairs, wondering where you were going in such a hurry without your principe.

Once you made it outside, you tried to come up with a worthy distraction. There were things you could do, a long list of steps you could follow to make sure you and the vampire would be safe for a little longer. It couldn’t last forever—once those hunters figured out your remains weren’t in that house they would come for you again. You hoped the two of you had enough of a head start. It may not have been the smartest decision to bring him straight to your home; it was probably the easiest place to look for the two of you. But the city always felt safer to you. That blanket of anonymity in a large population who minded their own business couldn’t be a bad place to hide in plain sight. As long as you were careful not to do anything they could track.

Your stomach growled angrily, indicating you had a much more immediate concern. You ducked into the nearest corner store, relieved to find a crumpled ten dollar bill stashed in the pocket of your jeans. Darting through the aisles, you grabbed a couple of protein bars and headed toward the cashier.

Your boots clipped the edge of a display bin, the metal rack clamoring loudly as several DVDs fell to the floor. You bent down mindlessly to pick them up but froze when your eyes caught the titles. You looked up at the piece of paper taped to the display, its corners trimmed into a starburst shape. Scribbled hastily in black marker were the words ALL ROMANCE FILMS 50% OFF.

It was as though someone had let the air out of your lungs and pulled you underwater. The crushing weight of guilt pressed heavily on your chest as several copies of low-budget romance films lay scattered at your feet. Pictures of nondescript actors with squarish heads and poorly designed title graphics stared back at you. Mocking you.

Terzo would’ve found it hilarious.

Behind you, the cashier loudly cleared his throat.

“Yep, sorry,” you muttered and hurriedly set the movies back in their respective positions within the display.

How could you be so stupid? So fucking selfish? Why was your reaction to even the slightest bit of barely even implied closeness to fucking run from him?

You paid and bolted out of the store, never slowing until you reached your front door. You stumbled into the apartment, lungs burning as you tried to catch your breath. Terzo shot up from the sofa and rushed to your side, his odd eyes wide with concern. A tinny voice rang from the phone in his hand.

“I’ll call you later,” he said quickly and tossed the phone back to the sofa. “Bellezza? What’s wrong?”

You shook your head and turned away, finding it easier to slowly twist the deadbolt in your fingers than to look at him. “I—” You struggled to find the right words, not knowing exactly what you wanted to say. “I don’t—”

He moved behind you and placed a hand on your shoulder. “Bellezza, you’re shaking,” he whispered.

You nodded as you fell against him, your body finally giving out after everything.

“Hey, it’s ok,” he soothed as he wrapped his arms around you. “What happened?”

You shook your head again, sighing as you turned in his arms. “I don’t want to talk.”

“Ok. We don’t have to hmph—"

You reached up, pressing your lips to his in a needy kiss that quieted the vampire. He held you there, your mouths slotted together as you took from him desperately.

“Please,” you begged. You pushed toward him, urging him to shuffle backward toward the bed until the backs of his knees hit the mattress. He sat down, hands clutching at your hips as you climbed up to straddle him and continue your attack. “Please.”

“Bellezza, tell me what you need.”

“Just…touch me,” you pleaded, pressing his hands against your body. “Please.”

Terzo’s fingertips slid under the hem of your shirt and pressed softly against the small of your back. Your mouth claimed his again, teeth and tongues clashing in frustration as you couldn’t get close enough to him. He let you get away with it, let you push him down into your bed and pull at the collar of his oversized hockey sweater—your hockey sweater—to attack his neck.

“Are you wearing my clothes?” you asked against the spot just under his ear, his grip tightening.

“Ah—I—yes. You told me to get money, not clothes.”

“Smartass,” you grumbled and pulled the sweater up around his shoulders. You dipped your head, your mouth trailing over the now exposed planes and soft hair of his chest. “That sweater is…limited edition…”

“Ah, mi dispiace, cara.” He let out the most beautiful little whine as you closed your teeth around his nipple and tugged at the little metal bar that adorned the spot. “I didn’t know it was special,” he explained, almost panting now. “Would you like me to change? You do have some quite sexy options in that closet of yours. Honestly, I’m a little hurt that you didn’t bring that one with the fringe to my place.”

“And why would your assistant need an outfit like that?”

“I don’t know. For fun?” he replied with a grin. “Death by sexy.”

“You are—”

“Insufferable, yes I know,” he sighed.

“Not what I was going to say.”

“Oh? What am I then?”

“Pretty cute like this.”

He smirked and lifted his hips, using the momentum to pin you beneath him. “Are you sure about this, bellezza?”

“That you’re cute?”

“Not what I meant.”

You sighed. “I know. I’m…sorry about before. I’m just…I’m used to being alone.”

“Bellezza—”

“I don’t want to talk about it, ok? I just want you.”

“Hmm, no talking?” he mused and pressed a finger to your lips. “Dolce, I don’t think you can do it.”

“That’s not—”

He shushed you and crushed his mouth against yours, trapping you in a passionate kiss. Slowly, he dragged his hands over you, tugging at your clothes until he freed you from them. Your jeans lay in a heap atop your treasured team’s colors as Terzo reached between your legs. His fingers brushed through your folds, collecting your slick while he teased you about your desire for him.

“Thought you weren’t going to talk,” you groaned.

“Not me, cara. I said you couldn’t do it.”

You narrowed your eyes and pressed your lips into a tight line to defy him. It lasted only seconds.

“Fuck,” you moaned loudly as he swirled a finger around your clit.

He dipped his fingers into your entrance, gently stretching you as his thumb took over the assault on your sensitive spot. He lowered his head, whispering something that sounded beautiful in your ear that you hoped you would remember to ask him to translate later. For now, you were too focused on the feeling of him. The weight of his body on yours. The slow, steady moves of his fingers and the breathy little moans he made as your cunt tightened around him.

“Tell me, bellezza,” he hummed against your neck. “You are sure?”

You nodded a few times before giving in. “Yes.”

“Bene,” he said with a grin as he pulled away from you and withdrew his fingers. He sat on the bed, leaning back on one hand while the other traced over his achingly hard cock. “Come here, bellezza.”

As you raised an eyebrow, he sheepishly added the word “please.” You straddled his hips and looked straight into those odd eyes of his.

“You take what you need from me,” he offered as he brought his hand up for caress your cheek.

“Terzo, I don’t—”

“It’s ok, cara. I am here with you, sì? We are both alive and well. Let me make you feel better. You say touch you, I touch you. You say stop, I stop.”

You fought back tears as you leaned forward to kiss him. “Ok.”

You reached between the two of you and guided his cock through your folds. You rocked against him, gasping each time the head caught against your entrance. When you finally sank down, you both moaned so loud you were sure the entire building would hear.

Terzo leaned up and dotted kisses across your collarbones and breasts as you eased yourself lower on his length. You pressed your forehead to his, stilling yourself as he filled you completely. The stretch of him burned just the right amount, an increasingly familiar and welcome feeling no matter how much you had tried to deny it. You began to move, pacing yourself as you lifted your hips up and back down, letting him fuck you—or fucking yourself—so slowly.

His hands trailed across your back, gently pressing you against him as he looked up as if to seek permission. You nodded and closed your eyes, your pace speeding up as he sucked a mark into your neck. Instead of pulling away, he grabbed your chin and fit his mouth against yours. He kissed you hungrily, desperately as he thrust into you. He held you there, tongue tangled with his as he fucked up into you, growling at each tiny sound you made.

It was easy to forget how strong he was, but as he locked his arm around your waist you wondered how you ever thought he couldn’t fend for himself. How you’d been so naïve and overconfident to think you could have ever taken him out.  It was funny how things change and how fast it could happen. And now as he pumped into you, his cock hitting that place that made you see stars, you couldn’t imagine feeling that way toward him again.

But that was far too much to think about at a time like this, so you begged him to go faster, to fuck you harder. To touch you. To kiss you. And he did everything you asked, smiling as you screamed into his mouth. He didn’t stop, didn’t slow down until he pulled that second orgasm from you and a couple of tears dripped onto his chest. You buried your face against his shoulder as you told him to keep going. You held onto him so tightly as his hips snapped over and over until they began to stutter. You moaned as your name fell from his lips with his own release.

The two of you stayed locked together, trying to catch your breath as the sweat began to cool on your skin. He rested his head on you shoulder, keeping a tight grip on you through your little aftershocks. His hair was slightly damp from your activities, pieces of it sticking to your skin as he panted.

When you stopped shaking he looked up at you with the softest expression, warmth emanating from his eyes. He kissed each corner of your mouth, your nose, and your forehead, treating you with that same tenderness he had in his kitchen. Like you were something rare and breakable, but priceless all the same.

Hard to believe that was only yesterday.

“Don’t do that,” he whispered.

“What am I doing?”

“You’re running away already. Just stay with me a little longer.”

“I’m not going anywhere,” you assured him. “I mean, maybe to go get cleaned up, but—"

“Shh, let me take care of you, mia principessa,” he said and pressed a finger to your lips. He waited a beat for you to argue, but when you stayed quiet a tiny smile crossed his face. He kept his arms around you as he pulled out, biting his lip at the sensitivity. You locked your legs around him as he stood and carried you into the bathroom to set you on the counter.

You watched him move through the small space and fuss with the knobs of your shower with a fondness that made you feel warm.

You showered together, all shy smiles and soft touches with barely-there kisses while Terzo made sure not to pull you too far from the hot stream. It was such a simple, subtle thing but it almost felt too big. Before you could dwell on it too much, he spun you around and pressed his thumbs into those horrible knots that seemed to live in your shoulders. Carefully, he worked each muscle until you relaxed against him, sighing with relief.

“That is such a pretty sound, bellezza.”

“Don’t let it go to your head.”

“Never, cara mia. Shall I go lower?” he offered suggestively.

“The water bill is high enough, you perv.”

“Ah, but it’s ok in my house?”

“You’re an immortal millionaire—and that was your idea!”

He huffed and reached around you to shut off the water. “You didn’t object.”

“Well, we were both covered in blood,” you reasoned as you stepped out and wrapped a towel around your body.

“Doesn’t really bother me, bellezza.”

“Of course, it doesn’t.” You rolled your eyes and threw him a towel as you left the room. “Get dressed.”

“With what clothes?”

“Pick something,” you called back. “Not the fringe.”

He emerged from the bathroom with the towel tied around his hips. “Why do you hate fun?”

“Shut up.”

He grinned at you as he passed and dug through the small pile of clothes on the floor. He paused for a moment, watching you intently as you ran the towel over your hair and squeezed out the excess water. As you caught him looking, he blushed and turned away, pulling the hockey sweater over his head to hide from you.

You dressed quickly, barely getting your t-shirt over your head before a loud knock at the door startled you.

“Who the hell?” you grumbled.

“Ah, Signora Giordano offered to cook for us while you were gone. It’s probably her.”

“Really? Why would she do that?”

“She found the irony amusing,” he replied with a laugh. “A hunter, a vampire, and a werewolf.”

“She—what?! Mrs. G is werewolf?” you hissed.

“It’s pretty obvious.” He shrugged. “I thought you knew.”

“How would I—nevermind.”

You crossed the room and turned the deadbolt. As soon as the lock clicked home, the door was shoved open violently. It smashed into your face and sent you stumbling backward until you lost your footing and landed on your ass. Shit. Shit. Shit. A man with a stocky build stomped through your living room, his heavy boots thumping hard across your floor. He raised his arm, the blade of a knife catching the light as he stormed past you. You reached out, throwing yourself forward to grab at his knees. He faltered, unable to shake you off as your momentum brought him down, but not before he whipped the knife across the room.

“Look at you now, shacking up with a vampire,” the hunter growled before kicking at your head. He wasted no time scrambling across the room and pinning your shoulders to the floor.

All you could do was spit into his face.

He pressed a hand over your nose and mouth as he bent down and whispered in your ear. “I’m going to kill your little boyfriend and I’m gonna make you watch.” He paused to laugh at the tears forming in your eyes. “Then I will drag you back and they will all know what you are.”

Your screams were muffled by his calloused hand.

“What’s that?” he asked. “Oh, sweetheart. He can’t help you.”

The man hauled you up and grabbed your chin, forcing you to look across the room. Terzo had slid down to the floor, his body slumped over with his arms now too weak to push himself up or pull the knife from his chest.

“No, no, no, no, no,” you mumbled quickly, tears streaming down your face as you fought against the hunter’s hold.

The man shifted behind you, keeping you in that horrible spot as Terzo slowly blinked at you. “Do you know how much the poison hurts them?” the hunter asked in your ear. “You think we should ask him?”

A sick cracking sound echoed through your apartment. The man’s now lifeless body fell to the floor next to you and a pair of tiny, paper skinned hands pulled you up.

“Go,” Mrs. G snapped. “Take him and go. I’ll get rid of it.”

You rushed to Terzo’s side. So many questions bounced around in your head you weren’t sure what to do. You turned back to find your elderly neighbor dragging a dead man into the hallway.

“Cara,” Terzo said weakly. “D’you think you could—”

“Oh, fuck. Oh my god. I’m so sorry. Do I just—do I just pull it out?”

“Sì, por favore.”

You place both hands on the handle and closed your eyes as you pulled. Terzo made a wounded sound as the knife came free and you tossed the horrible thing across the room before pulling him into your lap.

“Mi dispiace, cara mia.”

“What? Why?”

He groaned as he lifted his arm and flexed his fingers with great difficulty. His hand dropped to the bloody space on his chest. “I ruined your special sweater.”

“Oh, for fuck’s sake I don’t care about that,” you cried, trying not to laugh.

“It’s limited edition,” he mocked.

“I just saved your life, again and you’re mocking me?”

“Bellezza,” he ground out as he sat up. “I think Signora Giordano saved us both.”

“Are you—”

“I’m fine, dolce. I am healing quickly.”

“We can’t stay here.”

He nodded. “If you help me to the car, I know a safe place we can go.”

You helped him stand and grabbed the duffel bag from the floor before slipped your arm around his waist. Together, you hobbled out your front door. Mrs. G was standing in the hallway, her eyes glowing yellow in the dim light.

“Go,” was all she said as she urged you both toward the stairs.

Clumsily, you made it to the car and managed to get Terzo into the passenger seat without anyone noticing. You pressed the car’s start button and peeled out into the street, heading for the nearest highway on-ramp. You fidgeted in your seat, your hand clamoring around in search of your phone as Terzo fixed his eyes on you.  Once you found the thing, you let the window down and chucked it into the road.

“What on earth are you doing?”

You bit your lip, eyes sweeping the street in front of you. “He found us too fast, Terzo. He found us and you could’ve been killed because they tracked my fucking phone.”

“Oh.” His voice was tiny. “Was I not supposed to—”

“Did you call someone?”

“What?”

“When I came back you were on the phone! Who the fuck did you call?”

“I—I didn’t! Reginetta called me! Secondo saw the news about the house and—oh, god. This is my fault, isn’t it?”

“Hey, no. No one is at fault here, ok? They couldn’t have gotten from your house to mine in the time it took us to have sex. You’re good, but you’re not that good.”

He let out a low growl. “Shall I try harder, principessa?”

“No,” you laughed. “That is not what I meant—”

“Pull over, then.”

“Terzo, every time we fuck someone tries to kill us. Maybe we should wait five minutes. I don’t want to go through this again—the fighting, I mean,” you clarified.

“So, I was right?” he asked in a smug tone. “The violence does turn you on.”

“No,” you whined. “Just shut up and tell me where to go.”

“It is impossible to both shut up and tell you anything.”

“Terzo.”

He sighed heavily. “Just head south for now, bellezza.”

“Ok, but where—”

“I will take you to the safest place I know. Will we go to Primo.”

“Primo?” you asked, surprised. “You mean your brother Primo?”

“Yes, that one.”

“Huh. Ok,” you said with a shrug and turned toward the nearest southbound entrance. “You know,” you started after a beat. “I can’t believe my neighbor is a fucking werewolf.”

[imagines-for-the-fangirls-soul]

Pajama Party - Star Trek

A/N: inspired in part by this work of Art, and also by my obsession with cute pajamas. Mostly just a fic about the crew, but had to throw in a little reader x Leonard, cause you know me. Also let’s just pretend JJ is not there.

Pairing: Leonard McCoy x Reader, Enterprise crew x Reader Word Count: 2.5k Synopsis: When the power goes out in the Enterprise, the crew must navigate through the darkened halls in their pajamas to restore power.

You can find all the pajamas in this post here!

When the lights went off, you had just pulled back the covers of your bed. 

You gave it a moment. You were in deep space, after all, much farther than anyone had travelled before. Hopefully, this was just a brief glitch as the Enterprise acclimated to the new territory. 

A few seconds later, you heard the sound of machinery powering down, and the steady hum of the thrusters stopped. 

“Fuck,” you muttered. Emergency lights came on in your room, leading you towards the exit. When the door slid open, you knew that the Enterprise at least had some power. The hallway was littered with bright red emergency lights every few feet, and at every cabin door, a crewmember’s head was popping out.

“What is it, Y/N?” a crewmember three doors down from you asked. 

“I don’t know. I’ll see if I can find Jim,” you said. “Everyone just hang here for a while. When there’s an update, you’ll know.”

“Are we in danger?” someone asked.

“No, we are not.” All heads turned towards the opposite end of the hallway where Jim Kirk was strutting towards you. Also dressed in his pajamas, Jim looked as if he had just woken up, with his hair mussed at the back of his head.

“What’s going on?” you asked as he stopped in front of you. His pajamas had you doing a double take. “Is that . . . the Enterprise?” you asked, unable to hide the smile on your face. 

“What?” He looked down at his pajamas and a soft blush appeared on his face. He stammered over a response before shaking his head. “Is it wrong for a man to be proud of his ship?” 

“When that pride manifests itself like this? Absolutely. You are such a nerd.”

“Oh, come on, like yours are any better,” he said, motioning to the floral pattern of your own pajamas.

“They are. One hundred percent better than yours.”

“So you’re telling me you always dress in matching three piece sets? You weren’t expecting someone, Y/N, were you?”

“Please,” you said with a roll of your eyes. “The only thing I was expecting was a full night of sleep.”

“As was I. So what happened?”

“What, just because I work in engineering you think I know what’s going on?” 

“Yeah,” Jim said, looking at you incredulously. 

“Fine, I can figure it out. I don’t know what happened just by sound. Let’s go down to engineering.”

“Why do I have to go down, too?” Jim asked, “I really could use a good night’s sleep.”

“How can you take pride in your ship if you don’t help her in her time of need?” you asked, your eyes flashing back to his pajamas. 

“Just lead the way,” he said with a roll of his eyes. 

As you walked down the halls, you took note of what was still functioning on the Enterprise. You were still standing, so the gravity levels were still normal. Oxygen levels were normal, as was the temperature regulator.

“All necessary functions are still running, meaning that it wasn’t a complete shut down of the system,” you said. “It has to be something with the energy core, then.”

“My thoughts exactly, Ms. Y/L/N.”

You and Jim both turned to see Spock and Uhura walking towards you from the hallway connecting their sector to the main corridor. They were both dressed in pajamas, and when they stepped into the light, your jaws dropped.

“What are you wearing?” Jim asked at the same time that you said, “What’s on your face?”

“Nyota was applying an avocado based facial mask to my skin when the power went out.”

“He has very dry skin,” Nyota said as explanation. 

“Does he?” Jim considered, studying his first officer’s face. 

“Captain, as interesting as Lieutenant Uhura’s face mask recipe may be, I believe our primary focus should still be on returning the ship’s power.”

“I agree,” you said, tugging on Jim’s arm to lead him back down the hall.

“The energy core has three distinct parts, every few months, these pieces must be rotated to ensure that none of the parts are drained of their full energy, in the case of an emergency. It is my theory that perhaps one of these pieces was not rotated soon enough, and thus was drained of its power, sinking us into this darkness,” Spock explained.

“That sound about right to you?” Jim asked.

“I don’t usually deal with the energy core,” you said, “But yes, I believe Spock’s theory is correct. Once we get down to engineering, we’ll know for sure.”

“And you can fix it?”

“Like I said, I’m not an expert on the energy core. Mr. Scott should be able to, though.”

“Let’s hope Scotty’s awake then,” Jim said.

The turbolift was apparently not deemed a necessity, because when you tried to use it to bring you down to engineering, there was only a hum that came from the doors that never opened. 

“I don’t think I’ve ever been this far down here,” Nyota said. “Never walked down here at least.”

“I have,” Jim said. He stopped in his tracks, looking around at the number of doors around your group. He followed the numbers back a few doors before knocking loudly on a door.

“No,” a voice yelled from the other end. Leonard.

“Come on, Bones, I know you heard us.” The door slid open and Leonard stepped out, dressed in a long nightshirt that made your jaw drop. 

“How the hell could I not?” he asked. “I’ve heard you coming since you were three levels up. What happened to the power?” he asked, looking at you.

“What are you wearing?” 

“Pajamas.”

“You look like Ebenezer Scrooge,” Jim laughed. 

“Why did you wake me up if you were just going to make fun of my pajamas?”

“Because I had no idea you would be wearing a dress.”

“It’s not a dr--”

“Gentleman,” Spock said, stepping between the captain and his CMO. “Instead of making comments about each other’s nightwear, perhaps our time would be better spent bringing power back to the ship.”

“Yeah, alright,” Leonard said, rolling his eyes as he stepped away from Jim. “It’s not like yours aren’t even more embarrassing.” 

“How are mine more embarrassing than a dress?” Jim asked. “And speaking of pajamas,” he said, turning to Spock, “What are you wearing?”

“My sleepwear falls under Starfleet regulation, as does Dr. McCoy’s. Not only are your pajamas out of regulation, Captain, they are also, by far, the most embarrassing.”

“Okay, okay,” Uhura said, “Let’s just get down to engineering. Clearly, we’re all a little sleep deprived.” You exchanged a glance with her and found the same smirk on her face. 

“I never would have taken you as a nightgown person,” you said to Leonard as the rest of the group fell into step around you. He seemed annoyed when he looked at you, but there was a soft smile on his face. You also never would have thought you could be attracted to a man in a nightgown. 

“What should I be wearing? Colorful, floral pajamas like you?” he asked.

“Well, mine are a lot cuter.”

“They are,” he said. A slight blush rose in your cheeks, but thanks to the dim red light from the emergency lights, no one noticed it. 

“If you two are done flirting,” Jim called. “Can we please just get to engineering.”

“You’re the one who stopped to pick him up,” you said, pointing a thumb at Leonard.

“And you’re the one slowing us down to flirt with him,” he said, “We can blame each other all day.”

“Whatever, let’s just--”

“Captin! Captin!” 

The entire group turned to see Chekov and Sulu rushing towards the group. Chekov had been the one to yell, and when he reached the group, he was panting, and sweat was slicking his skin. This was easy to see, because despite a pair of plaid pajama pants, Chekov wasn’t wearing anything. A quick glance at the group, you saw that you weren’t the only one surprised by Chekov’s muscles.

Conversely, Sulu was wearing the exact opposite. Fully clothed, Sulu's pajamas were designed to look like a penguin.

“Ha!” Jim said, pointing to Sulu. “His are more embarrassing than mine!”

“My husband, daughter, and I all got matching ones last Christmas,” he said, “I like to wear them. They remind me of home.”

“Yours are still more embarrassing, Jim,” you said. He waved a hand to shut you up. 

“Why did you guys run all the way down here?”

“The ship has dropped out of warp,” Sulu said.

“Are we in friendly space?”

“We’re in unknown space, Captin,” Chekov said with a sigh. “As far as we can tell, there are no nearby life forms.”

“Either way, shields up,” Jim ordered.

“Already done, sir.”

“Good. Now, no more interruptions,” he said. “Let’s go figure this out.”

“All of us?” Leonard asked.

“We’ve all made it this far,” Jim said with a shrug. “I guess we’re all going to engineering.

You were not aware that the ship even had stairs, the thought never crossed your mind that one day you might have to go down twenty flights of them. When the group finally arrived in engineering, you all took a moment to catch your breaths.

“Everyone alright?” Leonard asked. Everyone grumbled in the affirmative. 

“What are you all doing down here?” Scotty asked, walking up one of the metal staircases that led deeper into engineering.

“We’re here to fix the energy core,” you said, your eyes widening as he reached the top of the stairs. He was wearing red plaid pajamas, which would have been normal, if not for the matching nightcap on his head.

“If you had one of those you really would be Scrooge,” you muttered to Leonard. He let out a breath of laughter but shook his head.

“What?” Scotty asked.

“What are you wearing?” Jim asked.

“What are you wearing?” Scotty asked, putting his hands on his hips, “I know the Enterprise inside and out, and I wouldn’t even wear those.” The group all tried to stifle their laughter, especially when Jim glared at them.

“Scotty, the energy core.”

“I’m working on it,” he said.

“What’s the holdup?”

“I am missing a piece,” Scotty said sheepishly. “I have Keenser looking for it now, seeing as he is the one who lost it!” he yelled over the railing. “But so far--”

“What does it look like?” Uhura asked. “We can all look for it.”

Scotty described what he was looking for, then set all of you off in different directions of engineering to see who could find it first. You were walking through a section of machinery, all still humming quietly, with lights blinking every few seconds, when you heard a muttered curse. 

Turning the corner, you spotted Leonard rubbing his toe as he glared down at a box of supplies. You laughed softly, and he looked up.

“You alright?”

“I’m fine. Just can’t see anything in this mess, even if I knew what I was looking for.”

“Want to search together?” you asked. “I can point out boxes of supplies to you.” He smiled weakly at you but nodded his head.

“Thank you.”

“Of course, anything for--”

“Do not call me Scrooge again,” he said, following you to another shelf of supplies.

“I wasn’t. I was just going to say you,” you said. Leonard kept your gaze for a moment longer than expected. “So, um, I think it might be in this mess here.”

“Mess is right,” Leonard said, jumping on the change of subject. “Who keeps their stuff like this?”

“Oh, that would be me.”

“Ah hell, Y/N, I’m so--”

“Don’t be,” you said, “I know how I work. Maybe if I kept my stuff more organized we all wouldn’t be stuck searching in the dark.”

“You don’t know it’s here,” Leonard said, “Besides, it’s nice.”

“What is?”

“Tonight. I’ve always wanted to have a pajama party with the crew.” You laughed and crouched down to check the lower shelf.

“Found it!” someone called. You looked towards the sound and your eyes locked with Leonard’s.

“Shall we?” he asked, holding out his hand. You took it and let him pull you to your feet. As the two of you walked back towards the group, he didn’t let go of your hand until you were in view of the crew.

“Keenser had it the whole time,” Nyota said, leading Spock and the alien in question into the gathered group. Everyone’s jaws fell open when they saw what Keenser was wearing.

“Where the hell did you get those?” Scotty asked, his face reddening with annoyance as Keenser walked up to the group with the missing piece and a matching pair of pajamas to Scotty’s.

“Scotty, please, it has been a long night,” Jim said.

“Right.” He took the piece from Keenser and within a few minutes, had the energy core back up. It hummed and started to rotate normally again.

“No power though?” Sulu asked.

“The core takes a little while to heat up,” you said, “Unless in emergency situations, the core should be given twenty minutes to return to proper functioning.”

“Why did this even happen in the first place?” Jim asked.

“We switched models last year,” Scotty said. “This one doesn’t need to be swapped every few months, except it wasn’t updated in the ship’s programming. The Enterprise turned it off as a security precaution.”

“So this won’t happen again?” 

“No, sir.”

“I’ll make sure the ship is updated first thing in the morning,” you said. Jim let out a sigh and nodded his head.

“Alright. Thank you all for your help. I’ll see you in the morning.”

The group made their way back up the stairs. Jim followed Chekov and Sulu onto their level, muttering something about getting a drink with Chekov. Nyota and Spock said their goodbyes at their level, until it was just you and Leonard.

“Thank you for helping us look,” you said. “Sorry Jim dragged you out of bed.”

“Don’t be,” Leonard said with a wave of his hand. “He usually finds a way to ruin my night one way or another.”

“Did you have plans tonight?”

“No. I intended to make some, but . . .”

“But?”

“I sort of chickened out,” he said, looking at you with a smile. 

“What kind of plans? Not a different pajama party?”

“No,” he said with a laugh. “I wanted to ask someone out.”

“Oh.”

“But it’s alright, I got to spend the night with them anyway.”

“Oh,” you said again, your eyes locking with his as he stopped in front of his door. 

“Not my idea of a first date,” he said, “But still an enjoyable evening.”

“I agree. So when are you going to get the courage to ask for a second date?”

“Right no--” He stopped talking when you were plunged into darkness, even the emergency lights going out. “What’s the matter now?”

“Nothing. When the core starts up, everything is shut down for two minutes.”

“Really? In that case . . .”

If anyone had been left out in the hall, when the lights came on, they would have found you and Leonard entangled in each other’s arms, in the middle of a hell of a kiss. You broke away with the lights and looked at him, breathless.

“So? A second date?” he asked.

“Yeah, yeah, I’d love to.”

“Me too. Goodnight, Y/N.”

“Goodnight, Leonard.”

[ethereal-maia]

roots in my dreamland chapter 2

I am Very Pleased to announce that I am deciding on a shorter chapter than I was planning on posting! It might not have the same power that it will have when chapter 3 comes out (it’s a continuation of this chapter hehee) but I really like what I’ve done so far!

Description: In which we learn more about Dahlia!!

Haven’t read chapter 1? Here:

Snippet of ch. 2 below the cut!

Dahlia laid awake in bed, covered up to her shoulders in warm sheets and blankets. Stifled sunlight peered through her curtains, splashing on the wall opposite the window. She gazed at a stripe of light on the wall, how the lowest tip of the ribbon of light caught on her bureau and started again higher up the wall, and thought, in the quiet way only waking of your own accord on a warm sunny morning can bring, about how lucky the earth was to fall in such a position in the whole galaxy- to be at such a spot in the solar system that it sustained a beautiful life. She closed her eyes for a moment, to revel in her warm bed, to fall back asleep would be heaven- 

Three sharp knocks on her door prompted a groan as her stepmother, Sanja, pushed open the door and stepped into the room to throw open the curtains. Dahlia turned away from the glaring light so her face was smashed into the pillow and groaned.

"Dahlia, you need to get up! It's just past 10 am!" Sanja's urgent voice came closer to her, and Dahlia felt her mattress lower as Sania took a seat on the edge. 

"So?" Dahlia grumbled. 

She heard Sanja sigh, and Dahlia took her face out of the smothering pillow so she could look at her. "So, Dahlia, you're having friends over for lunch today. That's in only two hours! And you're not dressed, your bed isn't made, you haven't even eaten breakfast-" 

Dahlia pushed herself up on one arm and brushed most of her hair out of her face. "I get it, Sanja. I'll be ready soon." 

Sanja raised an eyebrow, but she stood up and smoothed her own hair back absentmindedly. "Alright. I'll let the kitchen know to get you a small breakfast warmed up downstairs."

Dahlia sat and watched Sanja leave the room, closing the door behind her. She sighed and waited a moment in the warmth of her bed before kicking her covers off to get ready. She buttoned herself into a pale green tea-length dress, a pair of brown leather shoes, and put her dark hair half-up with a matching green ribbon before she stepped into the hall and rushed down the stairs to the dining room, where her stepbrother, Lucas, was still eating. He looked up at her and gave a half-smile in greeting. 

Dahlia took a seat next to him, and pushed herself up on her chair with her palms to look at him, raising her shoulders to her chin. He slid an amused glance over to her, but said nothing. Dahlia let out an exasperated breath. 

"Why, good morning, Dahlia, how did you sleep? Did you enjoy the show last night? " 

Lucas turned his head to look at her directly, but Dahlia continued her enactment. "Oh, thank you kindly for asking, Lucas. I slept quite well, actually. And the show was just lovely." She smirked at him. "That's how you're supposed to talk to a lady, you know. We love to talk about ourselves. It's our favorite subject, really." 

Lucas laughed once. "I'll keep that in mind, thanks." He perked up. "Was the show actually good?" he asked. 

Dahlia grinned. "It was just a play, really. Nothing much to it. The Madman falls in love with the Lost Bride, he steals her away, she eventually falls in love with him, they get married... nothing too out of the ordinary." Her face lit up. "I did meet a new girl though! She's... well, she's a little standoffish, but so is Jan. I can't wait for them to meet each other. You know they're coming over today, right?" 

Lucas started to nod, but realized he didn't know at all. "When did you set this up? You only just met her yesterday. Do you even know anything about her?" 

"Oh, I asked if she wanted to come over today yesterday. She said yes and we worked out times and I warned her Jan was coming and she said that was fine and that she'd never met him really, only that they'd seen each other around at their fathers' business events." Dahlia took a breath. "And I know that her name is Marya Hendriks and her sister was in the play as the Lost Bride." 

Lucas raised an eyebrow. "And you're sure that Jan and Marya won't have any problems with each other." 

"Certain." 

"Well, you'd better eat up then," Lucas said, nodding his head at a servant coming through the doors with Dahlia's breakfast. "Keeping those two sociable for more than ten minutes is going to cost you all the energy you've got." 

Dahlia made a face at him as he exited the room and she began to cut up her pancakes.  —

Read the rest on AO3!

[demiclar]

Mission Log

Destcember Day 1 - Mission Log - Ao3

Shiro returns to the Iron Temple after a patrol of the Cosmodrome to find someone waiting for him.

------

Shiro lets out a sigh that seems to come from his very bones, cold air whirring through his chassis as he climbs the temple steps. His whole body feels like it's caked in snow and ice, frozen after the long day spent outside. He feels stiff from the cold. His joints ache, his back is tense, his whole body exhausted with the drain put on his systems as he fights to keep his body warm in this cold. He stomps the snow off his boots on the steps, kicking the sides of his feet against the stone to dislodge all the snow he picked up while he was on patrol. Even without it, he feels weighed down. 

He crosses the open space at the top of the steps, shouldering his way through the heavy doors and into the central hall of the temple. The great fire keeps the space warm, and Shiro lets out another sigh—this time of relief—as he makes his way towards it. Even with only Shiro and the wolves living in the temple, Shiro keeps the fire lit for Saladin’s sake, as well as his own. He sustains it with kernels of his solar Light, resting among the firewood heaped inside. He can still feel the vestiges of Saladin’s power within the flames. Even gone from the temple, his power will linger within the flames so long as they still breathe, living alongside Shiro’s Light like some piece of him is still here. In many ways, Shiro supposes he still is, in the history of the Iron Lords marked in the temple, the statues, the blades, even the scrapes in stone. Shiro holds his hands over the great fire, letting Saladin’s lingering power drive the heat from his extremities. 

He’s pulled out of his thoughts by the click of nails on stone. One of the wolves, Finnala, emerges from the corridor that leads further into the temple. He kneels down when she crosses the room, towards him, smiling when she licks his face, her tail wagging, clearly pleased to see him. Still, there’s something restrained in her excitement. When Saladin left, the wolves became more attached to Shiro. They follow him more when he leaves, sometimes descending down the mountain with him, following him along his patrol route. When he returns, they whine and cry, even howling sometimes. They descend on him in a fury of tails and slobbery tongues, practically climbing on top of him, but now, Finnala is the only one to greet him, and instead of climbing on top of him, or shoving her head into his legs in a demand for more attention, she just follows at his side when he rises. 

He turns away from the living quarters, heading down the corridor opposite the one Finnala emerged from. The hallway leads to old studies and work spaces, rooms where the Iron Lords used to store armor and weapons, areas for sparring when the weather is too cold outside to emerge from the stone fortress. 

He follows the corridor to the workspace he made for himself, a large room filled with Vanguard gear. The technology looks at odds with the stone temple, so Shiro made sure the area was tucked away in a corner of the temple. Holoprojectors, data screens, and even a holographic war table depicting the cosmodrome sit on the smooth stone floor, hooked up to a generator in the corner. Finnala follows him inside, then drops herself onto the largest dog bed the Last City had to offer, set beside a desk off to one side of the large room. Shiro can’t help his smile at how she still manages to make the bed look small. 

He wanders over to the war table, pulling a small data slate from his pocket as he goes. He sets it onto the surface of the table, watching as both devices light up and all the data Shiro had collected during his patrol transfers onto the holographic table. He taps the slate, navigating to his logs and pressing the button to record. 

“Mission log…” he sighs, adjusting the holograms on the table until he can draw up the right dataset. “Two hundred and fifty-seven. House Salvation and House of Dusk Eliksni are fighting for control of the cosmodrome. House of Devils holdouts are still holding the Plaguelands but their numbers are dwindling by the day. Some conflict near the Doomed Sea, House Salvation won a skirmish but I’m not about to count the Devils out of the fight just yet.”

He runs his fingers over the edge of the war table. The holograms on the surface confirm his words, little dots detailing the forces moving against one another in the data Shiro had brought back, with the Devil splicer numbers dropping at the Doomed Sea. He shifts his gaze to the rest of the map.

“Overall, numbers are staying pretty constant. House of Dusk and House of Salvation are bringing reinforcements in from elsewhere and even falling to ruin the House of Devils is still getting turncoats onto their side. The title of ‘Splicer’ still holds a lot of weight for these guys.”

His face falls, his whole being sobering as he remembers the bodies Shaw had picked up near his camp, the ones Shiro had sent back to the City, back to their own Splicer. 

“All efforts to convert the Eliksni of the Cosmodrome to the House of Light have failed. Two casualties. I recommend we halt conversion efforts until we can utilize methods that will truly protect our allies.”

His metal lips pinch into a frown and he stares down at the war table, stuck in a loop of replaying data, Eliksni forces marching against one another in an endless cycle. 

“Shiro out.” 

He presses the data slate to stop the recording, and as he stares down at the war table below him, a familiar ache squeezes his chest so tight he feels like he can’t quite breathe. His eyes meet Finnala’s from across the room and he pushes himself off the war table.

“How about dinner, huh girl?”

The wolf jumps to her feet, eagerly following Shiro out of the study and back towards the living quarters. 

“Where is everyone, anyways?” He asks her, not that he expects a response. “Did you kids go hunting today?” There’s no blood on her muzzle, which is usually a sign of a hunt, and the winter makes things harder for the wolves given the lack of game running out and about, but Shiro can’t think of another reason why the wolves wouldn’t come to greet him when he arrived back at the temple. “You’d better not have brought any rabbits inside again.” 

After Saladin had left to join Caiatl's ranks, Shiro had built a set of wolf-sized doggy doors into the temple, meant to allow the wolves to move in and out of the temple as they pleased without needing Shiro or Saladin around to open any doors for them. Normally, they’d open the temple doors for the wolves in the mornings and let them back in if they wished to return at night, or during particularly harsh weather, but after Shiro’s schedule had proved too chaotic to stick to the routine, he’d decided he wanted a way to let the wolves in and out on their own. The wolf doors are in the furthest corner of the temple to isolate the cold, and they have to slip first though a weighted flap into what used to be an unused bedroom, then take a ram up to another flap that leads out of a basement window and outside, into the main courtyard. It’s not the most elegant system, but it works. Unfortunately, it also means the wolves can return with whatever they please. Shiro hasn’t quite taught them to leave their carcasses outside. 

Finnala just trots at his side, her gaze perfectly innocent as they make their way into the quarters. 

They round a corner and Shiro can make out what looks to be the whole pack, spread out on a thick fur in one of the temple common rooms, laying around an old couch. Half of them are asleep, the other half chewing on old bones or antlers, some contesting over their prizes, but Shiro can’t tell if they’re old or new. He hurries forward, looking around for the carcass he suspects will be on the floor, just out of sight.

“You know you’re not supposed to–”

He breaks off as soon as he rounds the couch. There’s no carcass, but instead he spots a familiar Iron Lord, a thick blanket thrown over him, with one of the year old wolves draped over him like they aren’t aware of their size. 

Shiro watches as Saladin’s face shifts, his eyes opening with the sluggishness he only allows himself in a place he really trusts, and he waits until Saladin’s eyes focus on his, a soft smile on his lips.

“You’re back.” Saladin observes. Shiro feels himself smile.

“So are you.”

Saladin nudges the wolf off his lap, and when he pulls Shiro down and presses a kiss to his lips, all the cold that had clung to Shiro, the tightness in his chest and the ache in every limb suddenly eases. He leans into Saladin, and at least for a moment, everything is alright. 

[siremasterlawrence]

The Lost Signal Part 3 - 4

The sudden disappearance of superheroes Superman, Batman, Superboy and newly minted hero Nightwing vanish after public court cases.

The news as per usual is on a loop constant replay of the events and the magical event of their defeat running out of control on the screen.

Bucky turns off television then throws the remote down on to the table sighing a bit in anger as Cap appears placing a hand on his shoulder.

He stares out of the window completely left in a befuddle of all the craziness that is about to be ensuing.

He can’t imagine how a court room could

be a bizarre actions of Bruce and Clark obeying this man.

They jump to obey to grab hold of Clark and Connor to induce him in to total submission is unbelievable.

Cap puts his shield down to and focus on the paper he lay on the table he began to list everything.

It’s amazing one man can have enough power and ability to mind control the man of steel.

Who has that power and why would they allow the world to see it. It literally makes no sense at all to him.

Captain America watches as Bucky exits the room to go for a walk he does notice a man in the background.

Across the way on the roof a batarang hits the glass shooting on to the wall a man hits the floor.

He rolls through the room finally standing up to face Captain America is The Dark Night with spiral eyes.

He has wildly sick expression on his red face with crazy eyes he loses his mind throwing all the blows.

Captain America goes to toe with him blow to blow Steve cannot believe he and Bruce AKA Batman.

Cap leaps in to the air digging his feet in to the wall he holds on tight propelling his feet upward.

He throws his shield at him hitting Batman in the face sending Bruce flying back in to the wall.

“What the hell is going on? What’s wrong with you Bruce? What did he do to you?”

“He freed me Boy Scout and he will break you super pussy. Mwahahahahaha.” Bruce adds pinning him down and using his one shied to knock him out.

“Wwwwaaaaaahhhhhh! Where am I?” Buck sighs as his eyes pop open.

“You are awake? Perfect!” Blue Haze says in excitement and smacks his face.

“Jackass! Release me, let’s us all go now, I am meaning immediately.” He yells.

“Dick please come in and help Bucky over here.” I command.

“Yes Master!” Dick shuffles in to the room.

“Dick no! Nnnnnnoooo! Stop!” Bucky yells.

“Sssshhhhh!” Dick puts his finger on his lips.

“Relax Buck” telling Bucky rubbing his head.

“Set me free” Bucky begs

“When I get out here” Bucky boldly states

“How will you do that?” Blue Haze mocks him

“I thought so shut up!” He continues

“Bastard” Bucky fights back

“Call me whatever you want” Blue Haze shrugs

“You will still submit to me” finishing it

“Fat chance” Bucky bites back

“Oh yeah!” He adds

“Hit it” Blue Haze instructs Dick to flip the switch.

The end

The Lost Signal Part 5 - 6

Superman along with Superboy on orders are on their way to take the skies creating a storm and causing a havoc on the earth and the systems go down.

Batman and Nightwing go on a looting trip all over the country adding to my wealth and his vast fortune.

Stepping out of the nights dim light shadow Daredevil breaks a lot and races down the staircase.

He jolts upward over the bar a few feet to the middle floor and kicks open a door a group guards react.

Daredevil takes out his billy clubs throwing them on target to guys are knocked out and two more stuck on to the walls.

Matt loses his mind throwing punches high low and kicks defeating everyone in his way till he reaches the end of the long hall way.

“Master Lawrence huh or should I call you Blue Haze?”

“You figured it out extremely resourceful indeed.”

“I am bringing you in one or the other.”

“I see, stare in to the abyss Matt, feel all of your senses go wild and you feet give in.”

“Aaaaaahhhhhhhh! My senses! FUCK!”

“Your mind loses control spinning in to new web I am weaving.”

“What are you doing to me?”

“Come on Matt! Really?”

“Mwahahahahaha”

“You want this”

“As much as you do”

“Admit it”

rank Castle is walking from a mission it is unknown to him of a looming finger approach him.

Someone shoves him in to an alley way and block him he removes a needle from his bag.

The man raises his hand pinning Frank C down and inject him hard as the serum took root.

“Ffffffuuuuuccccckkkkkk!”

“Sorry Frank! Master has chosen you”

“What Matt? Why?”

“I told you why”

“Master’s will must be obeyed”

“He will love you “

“I already do”

“You are his property”

“So am I”

“Uuuugggghhhh!”

“Yyyyeeeessss”

“I hear and obey”

“My love”

“Take me to him”

“On my way Master”

The end

[chalamart]

Breathing Room

TW: blood, home invasion, mentions of prescription drug use, mental health issues (anxiety), abusive relationship, brief choking, slight...horror? Gore, even? Possibly death - that one's up to you.

I nearly gave myself panic attack while writing this, so...reading it may have the same effect.

All of my stories are inspired by the AI art that Midjourney gives me using Timothée Chalamet as a prompt. Most of the art is quite romantic, but upon asking for TC in a dark room (lol), I ended up with...this.

I simply could not pass up the opportunity to return to my old love as an author using this image as a prompt, and write a good old thriller short. It quickly became much more than that.

As a result, this is NOT smut, or fluff, or anything even close to "normal" fanfiction I will write on this account. This story was intended to be something completely different, but as many other authors may experience from time to time, it took on a life of its own.

While I do intend to write the lovely smut and fluff we all so enjoy and share it on this blog, this story is not that. It's actually pretty...disturbed.

As the author, it is my duty to assure you that, while it may not entirely seem so, I am of both sound mind and stable psyche. Does some of this story likely come from a place of repressed trauma and echoes of a distant past? It's likely.

Do not read if you are triggered by panic or violence. You have been firmly warned.

The moment you turned your key in the lock, you knew something was off. You swore you had locked the deadbolt when you left, but the front door swung right open, almost as if it hadn't been closed all the way.

You peeked your head through the doorway and glanced about the entry hall. The light on the security system indicated that it was still armed, and nothing seemed to be amiss.

You had never been one to ignore your first instinct, but your mind was immediately eased as your eager Rottweiler came shuffling down the dark hall to greet you. Spud was a protective dog, and surely wouldn't keep calm if there was any real danger. He didn't even like the mailman, and he definitely didn't like strangers.

"It's been a long day, buddy," you groaned as you reached down to tickle Spud behind the ear. Stepping into the entry hall and kicking off your tall stilettos, you reached for the light switch as you shut the front door behind you.

*Flick, flick. Flick...flick...*

"Power's out...that's odd."

The security system must have still been running on the backup generator, but there didn't seem to be any power in the rest of the house. You'd have to go through the kitchen to the garage to flip some breakers.

Exhausted from your long day at the office, you let out a lengthy sigh and ran the fingers of one hand through your long hair as you stood barefoot in the entryway. You spent way too much money on your salon blowout to be tousling your hair around, but after this long of a day, you could care less about appearances.

You glanced at your phone as you set down your briefcase, fumbling the objects and nearly dropping them both. Life seemed a constant balancing act.

Making note of the bright phone screen as you set both objects down on the cold marble, you found it rather odd - no new notifications. Your long-time boyfriend, Timothée, usually sent you multiple, incessant texts as he left whatever big-shot movie set he was working on for the day. You felt a pang of annoyance that quickly began to grow into frustration. Timothée expected texts nearly every hour on the hour, even if he knew he would have no time to respond. But he could just go ghost for a whole afternoon and not even text you to ask how your day was? Typical.

Giving Spud one last tickle behind the ear, you sauntered towards the dark hallway that led into the kitchen. Spud didn't follow.

You could hear the "pit-pat" sound of your feet on the marble floor as you walked down the hall. The only other sounds present seemed to be the crickets outside singing their late-night lament and the light, distant buzzing of the backup generator coming from the garage. You continued down the hall, your eyelids heavy from exhaustion. You paused for a moment in the darkness to take in the sounds of the night and rest your eyes. You allowed your breathing to slow, focusing on the cool inhale and the warm exhale of your breath - just like your therapist recommended. Your anxiety was at an all time high with the COO position opening up at work, and the last thing you needed was to turn back to benzos to feel "normal" again. Nothing "fixed" the problem quite like Xanax and a large glass of wine...but the breathing exercises did seem to help.

In and out, in and out. Your breathing steadied.

Who knows how long you stood there, alone in the dark in your meditative state. It had come to feel so strange in this big house all by yourself. You usually felt so truly alone, especially recently with Timothée spending most of his nights on set or at his own place in Calabasas. Maybe the breathing was actually helping. Maybe you were finally getting better, and all your crippling anxiety, the fear of being by yourself, was finally beginning to subside - until it occurred to you.

...What if you weren't actually alone?

Your eyes shot open at the thought and you frantically glanced at your surroundings. Spud was still sitting gingerly in the middle of the entry, staring at you as you stood in the hallway. His tail began to wag as you met his gaze, but the dog didn't budge. The white walls were littered with moving shadows cast by the lilac bushes outside the windows. Feeling your eyes beginning to play tricks on you, you blinked hard three times to adjust them to the darkness once more.

"This is so silly," you thought to yourself. "I'm just losing my mind...again. It's fine." You steadied your breathing again as you stood alone in the silence.

Silence.

The crickets had stopped chirping.

Feeling your body begin to tense, you slowly turned your head away from the entryway and back down the hall towards the kitchen - a black hole in the abyss. It took you a moment to recognize that you hadn't been breathing at all, the air captured in your lungs after your last inhale. You had been holding your breath, listening intently for any strange noises in the darkness.

And then, you heard it.

A slow, guttural, rasping breath. It was faint, but distinct, coming from somewhere on the other side of what suddenly seemed to be an eternal, unwavering darkness.

As your eyes slowly began to adjust even more, you noticed a dark, gleaming substance contrasting with the white tile floor at the edge of the kitchen, along with what appeared to be the stark glimmer of broken glass, barely illuminated by a small strand of weak moonlight.

Your first real thought was to turn and run. Back down the hallway, out the front door, and straight to the neighbors for help. You'd knock on their door and tell them...

...Tell them what?

The last time you knocked on your neighbors' door for help, you were frantic. Screaming, crying, shaking...it was just embarrassing. You couldn't remember exactly what had happened, but you were told you had some sort of psychotic break. Timothée had shown up moments later to take you home and reassure the neighbors, who were seconds away from calling the police. The police ended up coming anyways, but by the time they did, you were calm and collected. They chalked the whole thing up to a false alarm.

No. No neighbors. They were out of the question. For much the same reason, so were the police.

You quickly snapped away from your thoughts and back to immediate reality as Spud, still sitting in the entryway, began to smack his tail loudly on the marble. You didn't pretend to know the reason why he would possibly allow an intruder into the house. No stranger could possibly get past him...nor would they want to. "A Rottweiler with jaws of steel," as Timmy called him...not a chance.

...What if there was no intruder? Had you been imagining the whole thing? It wouldn't be the first time you had imagined something, or been afraid of the dark.

You stood still in the gloom of the hallway and strained to listen to the silence. Whatever sound you had heard that caused you so much fear and grief did not seem to be present anymore. Maybe it was just the generator, sputtering as it ran out of fuel. The faint buzzing of the machine was gone, and it was total silence now.

Standing in stillness for a moment more and failing to pick up on any other strange noises, you finally allowed yourself to let out your breath. You could feel your heartbeat lightly pounding against your ears.

Turning back towards the kitchen, you once again noted the glint of the glass and what appeared to be some sort of liquid on the floor. Knowing you needed to clean the mess up before Spud managed to cut himself, you slowly made your way down the hallway to the kitchen once more.

"Breathe. Relax. False alarm. Stop being a total nutcase," you whispered to yourself.

Finally entering the kitchen and heading in the direction of the garage door on the other side of the room, the moonlight shone through the large French doors leading to the patio. Still, the kitchen was much darker than the entry, even with the absence of shadows from lilacs and trees outside. It was nearly impossible to see without light.

Managing to make your way to the cabinets at the edge of the kitchen counter, you reached for the junk drawer and rummaged through the jumbled mess of odd household objects. A small flashlight made its way into your hands.

*Click.*

The flashlight turned on and illuminated the shadows in the room. Remembering the mess on the floor, you immediately shined the flashlight towards the edge of the tile and squinted to determine the gravity of the situation.

Three panes of the doors on the china cabinet at the edge of the kitchen had been shattered. A vase on one of the middle shelves had somehow managed to crash to the ground, and pieces of clear glass and ceramic littered the floor. Mishaps like this had certainly occurred before at the mercy of Spud, who was notoriously clumsy and easily made hyper by even the smallest of sounds.

But, is that...blood?

You tip toed closer to the mess, doing your best to avoid any stray shards of glass on the tile. Leaning down closer to the dark, gleaming substance, a hint of deep red was illuminated by the light of the flashlight. You reached down with one finger to touch the substance and make your determination.

As you reached down, you heard it again - louder this time.

A shuddering, rasping, guttural breath.

With one fluid motion of body and flashlight, you whipped around and rapidly shined the flashlight in every direction, into every corner and crevice...

...and that's when you saw him.

Timothée was standing in the corner of the kitchen near the French doors, just out of reach of the revealing moonlight, completely covered in blood. His face was expressionless, and there was a threatening darkness in his demeanor that did not yield despite being discovered. The familiar sparkle that so many people know and love was not present in his eyes. As his eyes met yours, his sharp jawline pulsed at the mandible as if he was gritting his teeth together, hard. There was something oddly familiar about the way his face appeared - somehow gentle, yet violent at the same time. A single drop of blood trailed down his cheek as he shook and shuddered in what could only be described as the calm storm of uncontrollable rage. The blood did not appear to be his own.

"T - T - Timmy?" you gasped, your voice barely audible as shock and fear lapped at your lips.

Timothée continued to stare at you with a menacing intensity, as if breaking eye contact would all but shatter reality. Your breath was trembling, but steady as you held his gaze.

"TIMMY!" you shouted with a certain convicted might that you had not held in your voice for a long, long time. The courage did not feel like yours.

At the sound of your uninhibited shout, Timothée broke his steadfast demeanor and lunged at...no, sprinted towards you as he let out an angry, growling yell. With one swift motion, his large hand stretched out to meet your throat, the force of the contact carrying you harshly backwards until your body slammed into the broken china cabinet. You let out a sharp cry in pain as you felt stray shards of broken glass penetrate the delicate skin of your bare feet. Timothée's strong grip tightened around your throat, his strength lifting your feet from the ground as the remaining panes in the china cabinet began to crack from the force. You felt your airway closing at the mercy of his fingers. The silver rings adorning his sturdy hands applied concentrated pressure to weaker areas of your fragile neck.

Slowly, Timothée moved closer, placing his soft lips near your cheek.

"Can you fucking breathe, you slut?" Timmy shuddered quietly into your ear, his hot breath like fire on your skin. The metallic smell of blood entered your nostrils through what remaining air passage was left.

"C-can't...f-f-fucking...br-ea-the," you managed, your voice like a faint whisper.

You could feel the blood rushing to your ears...hear it, even. Your heartbeat grew louder and louder, beating faster and faster until you could suddenly hear your pulse begin to slow.

As the room around you grew dim and distant, you could barely make out Timothée's face - bloody, angry, unfeeling. As you faded in and out, you thought for just a moment that you felt his demeanor suddenly weaken. You could hear his gentle, whimpering cries as his grip released from your throat and he guided your limp body to the ground.

"I love you, I'm sorry. I love you, I'm so sorry. Please, please, I'm so sorry."

You would never know whose blood covered Timmy's usually perfect, picturesque face, or why his love for you suddenly turned to rage. At least Spud was there to protect you from strangers.

[yourdreamsyourwish-2]

First Light

Word Count: 1352

Baekhyun had felt the surge of power before his lights began to flicker on and off.  Looking up from his ramen, he heard a loud yelp followed by a small zap of power again.  Sighing he opened his door to see the landlady three doors down open hers.  She pointed to the door across from him with a disapproving look.  He had only been living here for a month and half.  Never once had he met the mysterious neighbor across the hall, only heard her music once in a while.  Knocking, he heard a loud ‘shit’ before the door opened to a beautiful woman.  The woman quickly ducked her head out to look at their disapproving landlady.  

“Sorry Mrs. Petunia!”  With a shake of her head, the elder woman went back into her apartment leaving him to deal with the issue.  Standing up right, her bright eyes matched the smile she flashed me, along with an apologetic look.  

“I am so sorry!  I’m normally not like this…um?” 

“Baekhyun, I moved in about a month ago.”  

“Baekhyun!  Yes, I’ve been meaning to say hello, it’s just I have a show coming up and I’m running ragged.”  She ran a hand through her hair, the dyed blonde contrasted against her black roots beginning to show.  The messy bun falling in the back, she looked how she described, yet Baekhyun found it kind of cute in a way.  

“I’m an electrician, I can check out what’s going on.”  She seemed to smile even brighter, turning her body to let him walk in.  

“That is amazing!  I’m sorry about the mess.  Like I said, I have a show coming up in a couple of months so samples are due, plus a photoshoot, so these things have to get done like, yesterday.”  Baekhyun found himself staring at a floor covered in fabric, scraps torn everywhere with a few dress forms with designs on it.  He noticed right away where he problem was, she had several machines plugged in at once along with her normal electronics.  

“You have too much plugged in with the size of the apartment.”  He walked over to the closet where her breakbox should be.  

“Yeah I know, it’s just i need all of them on and running for when I’m ready-” 

“Well Miss…?”

“Lee…Ha-na Lee.”  

“Well Miss Lee, with how much electricity you’re using, you need to stick to about two of them instead of the five you have going.  This building is too old and the cost of putting in an updated circuit would cost more than you would think.  Definitely more than what Miss Petunia can afford.”  Flipping the switch off, he opened the box to expose the wiring system.  “Can you unplug about three of them?”  He nodded to her.  She turned to do as she was told, while he held out his hand to the exposed electric.  Making sure she wasn’t watching, his hand began to glow with the fried wires connecting in a seemingly melted perfection, connecting the broken circuit.  Flipping the switch back on, light filled the room once more.  He heard one of her machines begin to start up again.  

“Oh my god!  You’re a lifesaver!” He closed the fuse box, smiling at her excitement over such a little thing.  

“It’s my thing really.”  He shrugged, while she turned to look at him.  Baekhyun watched her eyes travel over him quickly, doing an up and down look, yet it didn’t feel sexual like he had seen by other women in the past.  It was almost like she was analyzing him.  

“Miss Lee?”  

“Ha-na…You are about his size.”  She mumbled, going over to a male dress form.  “A little more handsome than he is, but about his build.” 

“Excuse me?” He looked slightly confused as she held a suit jacket in her hands.  

“I’m sorry, could I bother you with one more thing?  It’s real quick, I promise.”  She threw the suit jacket in his arms, without hearing his answer before running over to the couch and grabbing a pair of pants and a white button down.  She looked up at him with a pleading smile, holding the items in her hand.  “Could you possibly try these on? I need to see how they look on someone before I bring them to a photoshoot.”  Baekhyun couldn’t find it in him, to say no.  He nodded, and with a gleeful clapping of her hands, she pointed to a folding screen in the corner.  

“Thank you! Thank you!  You can go behind the screen.”  Once he was behind the screen, he found himself staring at the clothes wondering how he went from eating ramen to being a model for his quirky and odd neighbor.  

“So, do you often ask random strangers to try on clothes?”  

“Actually yeah.”  She giggled after thinking about it for a second.  “I’m a fashion designer.  To be honest, I make really good money doing it, but I don’t want to move.  Do you know how hard it is to find a landlady like Mrs. Petunia?  She’s a saint with me short circuiting the place every season or so.”  Ha-na began to fold the fabric on the ground, sorting it by color almost on a subconscious level.  “First place I moved to in Exodus.  You just moved to the city?”  

“Yeah.”  He finished zipping up the pants.  “You know, for work and such.”  He gave a very flat reason as to why.  

“Thank you again for doing this.”  Coming out from behind the screen he buttoned the last button, wondering why she wanted him to try on the clothes to begin with.  Whoever this was for, was bigger than he was, especially in the shoulders.  

“It’s perfect.  A little baggy but he has a bit more muscle definition.”  She seemed to talk without thinking.  Baekhyun blinked at her, wondering if he should feel offended or not.  From his raised eyebrows, her eyes went wide and she held up her hands.  “I didn’t mean anything by that!  I mean…what I meant is that he’s a professional swimmer.”  

Baekhyun didn’t give any emotion, enjoying the rambling she was starting.  He rubbed the back of his neck, while her face began to grow slightly pink.  “It’s not that you're not…you are gorgeous as you are.  It fits really nice, I would just need to take it in…I mean I could make you you’re own suit that would do wonders…Shit that’s not what I meant…You see everybody bodies-”  

“It’s okay.”  Baekhyun held up a hand trying to not laugh at her.  “I know you didn’t mean anything by it.  Do you need me to do anything else?”  

“No…No, you can go change.  I just needed to see it on someone.”  He nodded, turning to go back behind the screen.  

“Really I-” 

“Not offended.”  He called from behind the screen before she went on another ramble. Though he wouldn’t mind keeping her rambling.  She was quite cute when she was flustered.  He heard her ringtone followed by a bunch of mumbling and things dropping to the ground.  

“Hello?”  Baekhyun stepped from behind the screen watching her nod her head to the person on the other line.  “And he’s perfect?  Great…You’re the best!”  She quickly threw her phone into her pocket and went over to her couch again, pulling on her purse.  Rummaging through it.  Baekhyun held the clothes in his hands, the bundle not as well folded as he would have liked.   “My dress form is fixed…my other one.  Thank you again.”  When he handed her the clothes back, her hand brushed his.  At her touch, he felt his power surge within him, the center of his palm itch with tension.  Squeezing his hand tightly he held it behind his back, giving her a slight smile.  

“You're welcome.  If you need any more help, just let me know.” He followed her out, waving goodbye with his other hand before going back into his apartment.  When he knew he was alone, he opened up his hand to see a bright glow in the center.  “You’re very welcome…” He muttered to himself. 

Exceptional Love Masterlist

Universe Masterlist

Masterlist

[ladyfly]

Exhausted

The first few things I posed are older pieces. I wrote this today. Enjoy!

You were supposed to be on vacation. Getting some much needed rest and relaxation a few states away. Security practically shoved you out the door. You wanted to take your vacation inside the plex with Sun and Moon. Your boss, however, thought you were spending too much time at the plex.

You are the live in mechanic! Of course you do! Hell, you live in the daycare! The first three nights were restless. Didn't matter what you tried you just couldn't fall asleep. You drank warm milk, counted sheep, listened to soft music, and even tried a warm bath. Nothing worked!

You had three days left in your vacation when you decided to cut it short. Enough was enough! You had your fun and were exhausted! You packed your stuff and left the Motel you were staying in. You booked the first flight home. It was 12pm when you landed in your hometown.

You took an uber to the plex. You felt a small wave of relief washed over you as you power walked to the employee entrance. One swipe of your key card and you were inside. Yours was one of six cards that could open the door at any time. Even when the plex was locked up for the night.

It was dark inside but that didn't bother you much. You were used to it at this point. The sound of security and cleaning bots echoed through the halls. You knew Moon would be out and about. All you needed to do was figure out to find him. You let out a loud yawn as you meandered further into the plex.

Just as you stepped out of the maintenance tunnels a security bot stopped you. The loud siren sound startled you and you almost dropped your bag. Their light hit your face and you hissed. The bot inspected you before nodding. They took your hand and tugged you to sit on the floor.

You weren't sure what was going on exactly, but you did as you were told. Sitting down made you even more exhausted. The bot sticks close to you checking each end of the hallway you are in every few minutes. Something must have excited it because the security bot shook your shoulder.

They pointed to the far end of the hall to the left. Something on the ceiling was crawling toward the two of you. Moon dropped down beside you. He crouched down beside you, looking you over. He tisked and picked you up off of the floor gently. Your arms around his neck and legs on his hips.

He turns to the security bot "Thank you." Moon takes your bag in one hand and holds you up with the other "You are supposed to be on vacation."

You sigh as he heads off to the Daycare "I couldn't sleep. Nothing worked. I rea-" You let out a yawn "Realized I couldn't sleep without you. I need you Moon."

Moon stops walking "Need me?"

You kiss his cheek "Yeah. You and Sun both. I love you so much. Can't sleep without you."

His fans kick on to keep his systems cool. They aren't very loud yet. You don't want to push them any harder. You want to sleep not repair his fans. Likely he wants the same. He continues walking to the daycare. Holding you just a little closer. Humming quietly to you.

The music in the daycare is off. Something they started doing at night after you moved in. As Moon calls down his wire you yawn again. He hooks the wire to his back and flies into his room. Sun is inside making the bed as comfy as possible. He smiles softly as Moon unhooks himself.

Sun takes your bag from Moon as Moon sets you down on the bed. You feel more relaxed and ready for bed than you had at the Motel. Sleepily you watch as Moon takes your shoes and pants off. Sun passes him some night pants and pulls your shirt off.

Moon slips the pants on you as Sun slips a comfortable shirt on you. They make quick work of dressing you and tucking you into bed. Sun turns the lights off as Moon tosses the clothes into a corner of the room. They crawl into bed with you. Smushing you comfortably between the two of them.

You almost cry as you finally begin to drift off to sleep. Clinging to Moon as Sun clings to you. Finally you get the rest and relaxation you craved.

[ghostbustersreborn]

Chapter 6.

❙.     a pink stream of light shot up from out of the rooftop, shooting out into the sky.

louis followed the light blindlessly with an unconscious tara over his shoulder.

he soon made his way to the apartment complex, the one himself and dana both lived in.

tara began to regain consciousness just as he entered dana's apartment.

half of her apartment was torn a part. dana or the gatekeeper was shown lounging on a chair.

"i am the keymaster." he introduced to her.

"i'm the gatekeeper." she said back to him.

once tara was more awake, her eyes widened.

she tried getting out from his grasp, but his gasp on her was too strong and too tight.

"get off! get off me!" she cried out.

"i have the guard dog." he told the gatekeeper.

he approached her.

the gate keeper smiled in satisfaction.

dropping tara, vinz walked over to the gatekeeper wrapping his arms around her.

tara tried to move, but she was paralyzed from the waist down.

the gatekeeper locked lips with vinz.

when bringing him back up. the two slowly turned around, facing the gaping hole before them that showed a staircase that tara had seen before in her nightmares.

vinz scooped tara up again, having her over his shoulder as they approached the staircase.

god, where were the boys when she needed them?

*

reporters tried getting in to ask the boys questions as they made their way to the mayor's office.

"stay back." ordered the police.

"the ghostbusters are here, mr. mayor."

"the ghostbusters. okay, the ghostbusters." said the mayor, turning to face them. "hey, and where's this peck?"

"i am walter peck, sir." the weasel introduced himself. "and i'm prepared to make a full report. these men are consummate snowball artists. they use sense and nerve gases to induce hallucinations. people think they're seeing ghosts, and they call these bozos, who conveniently show up to deal with the problem with a fake electronic light show." he rambled.

"everything was fine with our system until the power grid was shut off by dickless here." ray stated.

"they caused an explosion!" he snapped.

"is this true?" asked the mayor.

"yes it's true, this man has no dick." peter sassed.

winston rolled his eyes.

weasel went to go fight peter until several police officers stepped in as well as the boys to stop the oncoming fight.

"knock it off!" ordered the mayor. "come on, break it up, break it up." he urged.

"all right. all right. all right!" weasel cried.

"well, that's what i heard." peter said in defense.

"this is city hall, now, what am i going to do here, john?" the mayor asked, sounding absolutely desperate. "what is this?"

"all i know is that was no light show, we saw this morning." john stated.

"i've seen every form of combustion known to man. but this beats the hell out of me." expressed a man with white hair and glasses.

"the walls in the 53rd precinct were bleeding." said a man pointing to a map. "how do you explain that?"

the door opened to the mayor's office and in came the eminence? (you know this is getting serious, if they bring in the eminence.)

"good afternoon, gentlemen." the eminence greeted.

"oh, your eminence." spoke the mayor with such relief.

the eminence came over to the mayor, to which the mayor placed a kiss on the man's hand.

"how are you, lenny?" the eminence asked.

"you're looking good mike." complimented the mayor. "we're in a real fix here." he said touching mike's face. "what do you think i should do?"

"lenny, officially, the church will not take any position on the religious implications of these, uh... phenomena." he explained. "personally, lenny i think it's a sign from god. but don't quote me on that."

"no, i don't think that's a smart move mike." peter voiced.

"now, i'm going to call a press conference and tell everyone to start praying." stated lenny as mike took a seat.

winston cleared his throat.

"i'm uh, winston zeddmore, you're honor." winston stepped up. "look, i've only been with the company for a couple of weeks." he leaned in, setting his hands on his desk. "but i gotta tell you, these things are real. since i joined these men, i have seen shit that'll turn you white."

peter took a step forward.

"well, you can believe mr.pecker." he began.

"my name is peck." the dickless weasel corrected him.

"or you could accept the fact that this city is headed for a disaster of biblical proportions." he confirmed.

"what do you mean "biblical"?" lenny questioned.

"what he means is old testament, mr.mayor, real wrath-of-god type stuff." explained ray.

"exactly." peter nodded.

"fire and brimstone coming down from the skies. river and seas boiling." he claimed.

"forty years of darkness. earthquakes, volcanoes." egon added in.

"the dead rising from the grave." winston chimed in, which made lenny get up from out of his chair.

"human sacrifice. dogs and cats living together. mass hysteria!" peter yelled.

"enough. i get the point!" snapped the mayor.

the weasel looked stunned.

"but what if you're wrong?" lenny questioned.

"if i'm wrong, nothing happens!" peter cried. "we'll go to jail, peacefully, quietly. we'll enjoy it. but my daughter is in danger so for god sakes can you let us go?" his voice dropped to a lower volume when he mentionedhis daughter, he really was worried about her. "but, if i'm right. | his voice going back to it's normal volume | and we can stop this thing. lenny... you will have saved the lives of million of registered voters."

lenny thought about it for a moment. taking all of what the boys said into consideration.

he looked to mike and nodded with a grin, to which mike smiled and nodded back at him.

weasel stepped in, standing next to venkman.

"i don't believe you're seriously considering listening to these men." he said in disbelief.

peter turned to weasel with a smirk.

"get him out of here." ordered the mayor.

peter's smirk turned into a full on grin.

"bye!" he said cockily.

"i'll fix you, venkman. i'm gonna fix you." threatened the weasel as he was dragged to the door.

"i'm gonna get you a nice fruit basket." peter told him. "i'm gonna miss him." he spoke to the boys.

the door closed and the mayor turned to the boys "we got work to do. now what do you need from me?"

*

several military came out getting into their military trucks, ready to help the ghostbusters as best they can.

people cheered in the streets. relieved they would be getting help.

"come on, let's run some red lights!" peter yelled out from the car.

sirens went off, as they drove off into the city to the source of all the ghost problems.

the car stopped at a group of people cheering for them.

"hello, new york." peter greeted, stepping out of the vehicle.

people cheered louder as the rest of the boys got out.

peter shook hands with people as well as giving kisses.

ray followed over.

"hey, everybody!" ray greeted the crowd.

"whoa. dr. ray stantz!" peter exclaimed. "would you please? the heart of the ghostbusters." he said raising his arm up.

"thank you." he said, shyly.

"they love you. they love you here." peter expressed. "i like that shirt friend." he complimented one of the crowd goers.

"all right! all right!" exclaimed the man.

meanwhile up on the building, which zuul claimed to be gozer's temple. tara was sat on the roof, with her hands dangling from the side of the building.

"dad." she weakly called out.

thunder rumbled in the sky, as the sky turned black making it look like night.

tara whimpered. she tried to move but it was no use, her body was paralyzed by whatever spell she was put under.

she just hoped the boys would come to her rescue soon.

very soon.

zuul was laid down on the edge of the building, she stood up.

tara saw her looking at her in the corner of her eye.

zuul approached tara slowly.

"shit." she cursed under her breath, as she tried her hardest to move.

zuul turned her around, making eye contact with her.

"you are the guard dog." she spoke in an ominous voice, as her eyes turned red hypnotizing tara.

"i am the guard dog." tara said once she was under the influence.

"now, get up and guard." she ordered before going back to her post.

tara stood up no longer being paralyzed. she had zero control of her body, only her mind but that wasn't helpful at all.

she went over to the entrance of the stairs, standing by it keeping guard from whomever trespassed.

blue and purple lighting struck in the sky. as gatekeeper and the keymaster looked up in unison.

*

[mrfandomgage]

I now wanna rewrite FNAF Security Breach. The game was (and still is) a massive buggy mess, with a lot of messed up story potential. As you know I love stories, or at least hopefully you know that. I was watching a YouTube video on how Security Breach is fundamentally broken as a horror game (even though I love the Game, it's probably for all the wrong reasons), I found a comment with an interesting idea. To paraphrase "What if Gregory just snuck in because he's a little kid, and it starts with him being caught by Vanessa to justify his fear". I actually love this idea, to introduce Vanny as a main Villain, and make Gregory scared of Vanessa. We can even imply all the animatronics are out to kill Gregory, even Freddy until he actually catches Gregory and just doesn't when he's about to. Let's say the main doors close right on Gregory, and Freddy stomps down the hall and lifts Gregory by an arm, his mouth opens, as to bite down on Greg but he just stops, sighs, and holds Gregory under the armpits and takes him to his room. Freddy talks as he's disappointed that he has to wait out the night with Gregory, more disappointed he snuck into the Pizzaplex in the first place. Gregory doesn't like the massive window Freddy's room has. After security concerns of Freddy's room, we can have them go to the Daycare as a safe alternative. Vanny can taunt them through PA systems around the Pizzaplex, and even cause the blackout moments, starting in the Daycare. Taunting Gregory and Sun, before turning off power to that area. Sun panics leaving Gregory, manically trying to turn on a light switch, screaming instead of his weird growling, and the screams turn into manic laughter.

I should actually start writing something down.

[benevolentcalamity]

Code: S.O.S (Xenomorph x Female!Reader) [2/3?]

... Hello.

I was gonna make this monsterfuckery but honestly? I might be a monsterfucker myself, but these guys are where I draw the line. Though, if it’s what you guys want I’ll happily do what I do best in the final part. (I was dedicated to just doing two but w/e at least this Reader is cool)

I do wanna do the full story of the Ergoproxy station mentioned in Rescue Mission, which will be mentioned here. Let me know if you guys want that - it’ll be on AO3, but I will link it here.

Curtains!

“This is Anderson, of the Commandeer. Are you in need of assistance?”

You swallow, leaning closer to the mic. “There is an alien organism aboard this ship, responsible for the deaths of the crew - save for me. I need urgent extraction!”

“Is there anyone else with you, [Last Name]?” Anderson asks.

“No, they’re all dead.”

“Understood. We should be able to reach you in about four hours. Will you be able to hold out that long?”

“Yes, I will be.” You find the console for docking - the engineer does maintenance and Weiss had the authority to open up everything - and push the button. “I’ll go ahead and get the dock ready for you. Please hurry - and be careful.”

“We’ll extract you as quick as we can, [Last Name]. Anderson out-”

The moment you blink, suddenly everything is black.

“Huh?”

You press a button on the keyboard - nothing. You try and find the power button for the computer, still nothing. Only the stars and distant planets illuminate the room, your eyes adjusting to the sudden dark and appreciating them. A cold dread settles in your stomach when you hear the vent open back up, and distant thumps. Not leaving yourself the time to hesitate you book it to the door, slamming the emergency override - it’s emergency because it’s on backup power after all - and shove through when it starts to open.

Hardly allowing yourself to trip on your own feet you rush down the hall, the blinking yellow lights the only thing keeping you from colliding into walls or obstacles.

Dammit, did it figure out where the power system was? You dive into some equipment, ensuring you’re completely hidden and covering your mouth. If I can figure out how to bring it back online, I can get back to the office... But that’s a gamble. It looks like I don’t have a choice though.

You don’t know much about the ship aside from command controls and whatever else Weiss taught you. Not to say you’re a beginner or you haven’t been in the industry long, but it’s not within your repertoire. (You’d have learned your lesson today if you manage to survive.)

Matter of fact, I think this is where my career ends anyway. You languidly sigh as you eventually creep over to the gaping doors. As if on cue the red blinking lights signaling the power needing immediate maintenance turn on, lighting all the way down the halls. All the doors are wide open, which can mean either you can dive into one for a quick hiding spot, or-

A series of thuds sends you reeling, barreling into some equipment and concealing yourself-

... Or an ambush.

Just as you think to emerge and find somewhere else to hide, you’re sent snapping back in place and covering your mouth as the telltale thumping of that creature running around goes back and forth. It’s passing by your spot, only to return and go another way. Your stomach curdles at the ‘drip, drip, drip’ that sounds in rapid succession as it walks, about suffocating yourself so that you can’t make noise.

If I don’t act, I am going to die. That resolution’s the only thing keeping you from being conquered by fear. If I just get the power back on and retreat back to the office, that’s the surefire strategy... But if I could set off the alarms from here, that’d keep it off my back awhile. Beggars can’t be choosers, I suppose.

You want to go home; you have to fight.

A terrified lump chokes you for a moment, but only for a moment, before the telltale thumping shakes the walls and floor. With assurance it’s returned to the vents you emerge, clearing your throat and taking light steps, you squint through the fractured darkness. The emergency lights don’t help much; you need to get a flashlight whether you feel it’ll help or not. If you can’t discern what’s that creature or just regular spaceship wires and electronics and the such then your chances of survival are dwindling in the negatives.

Weiss... If he was here, he’d have clear-cut directives. But you don’t have the luxury of his guidance, or the assurance that you’re doing what he would do. So you’ll make do with what you have, and if you make it maybe they’ll give you a pat on the head, or something that’d make this worth it.

Because to be quite honest, you’ve dealt with high-tension, death-risking situations before, but this takes the damn cake.

Your eye flickers to a flickering sign next to one of the absolute voids. Engineer.

Bingo.

Going inside, ears more open than they’ve been in your life, you feel around. Eventually your knee about knocks the corner of a desk, and you bite back a shout, one hand flying to it and the other finding the top. Grimacing, your fingers seek out and wrapping around something smaller with a- oh!

Curiously you press down on the rubber with your thumb, and with a click a beam of light shoots onto the opposite wall. It isn’t by any means a head-mounted flashlight or one of those that goes on a vest, but it’ll have to do.

Now I just have to get to the maintenance bay and see what’s wrong with the power. If it hasn’t destroyed the backup generator, that’s at least a lifeline.

Admittedly you’d be feeling like a badass if you were in a simulation of some kind. But no you’re not - all of this is real, from the trekking through the vents to the horrible stink starting to slither through them. One slip up and you’ll die a horrible death, staring into the face of that creature. And given that Weiss gave his life so you could make it, you can’t afford to let that happen or treat this like a game.

Turning the flashlight back off you creep towards the doorway, hugging the wall to stay out of direct sight. Nothing. You take a deep breath and emerge, taking the same light steps through the foreboding dark. Here and there you press down on the button, not so much it clicks but enough the flashlight “turns on”. A minute risk of being noisy but one you’re adept at taking through messing with these in your younger years.

It is a thing where you can grab some of the tools, but that’s not an option right now considering you can’t afford to be overencumbered when you run the risk of not needing to be. That’s especially considering the fact that the backup power is just a few keystrokes, it’s not complicated to operate. This creature seems to learn as it goes, though, so you can’t count your money while the dealing is still going, as your father used to say.

Maintenance, maintenance...

...

drip, drip

Your hair stands on end, and a cold dread settles in your stomach. With cold, trembling arms you raise the flashlight, pressing the button down in a full click, shining it around. Before long something moves among the pipework, and your legs freeze entirely. As the figure within emerges, it towers even just short of thirty feet away. From muscly, almost kangaroo-like legs to the grotesque body, all the way to the waterfall of drool cascading down the bared teeth...

There it is.

It makes no movement even with the emergency lights flashing and nothing separating you, it just stands there, growling viciously.

You try to scream, but terror takes the sound before you make it. Like a standoff of some kind you’re staring into the murderous mug of Weiss’s killer.

An inaudible challenge: “Run.”

Your ears ring violently, and your throat hurts, but still you find yourself pushing off walls, cutting corners, tuck’n’rolling anytime you fall down as the world flies past you. For a moment it’s like a bad dream, or a nightmare; something that couldn’t possibly be real. If you trip at some point maybe you’ll hear Weiss demanding you wake up, or the everyday commotion of the crew in general.

Something slams into your leg, and you tumble, before you’re vaulted into perfect consciousness at a screech right behind you. Pushing back onto wobbling legs you make out the words, “Medical Bay.”

Wrong way!

Diving into the doorway you hurriedly find one of the cabinets, squeezing inside. The creature’s thumping only sounds the moment the cabinet door closes.

A beep.

“Unauthorized access in docking bay. Emergency power sequence initiated.”

Your heart pounding in your throat, you curl up into yourself, conscious that you don’t bang about. Lord, I would kill for a bottle of water...

Not daring to reach out, you lean closely so you can better hear the creature stomping around. It seems to pace, waiting, listening... Before long it growls in frustration, and it takes some steps towards you- no. NO.

I’m dead. I’m fucking dead... I’m sorry, Weiss...

A noise, and the metallic thumping - it’s in the vents again.

...

... ... ...

Trembling down to your stomach, you reach for the cabinet door, pushing it a crack. A survey of the bay, a listen, and finally you’re certain. Knees an earthquake in Alaska you push forward, clutching your arms tightly. Lumbering out of the bay - you can’t afford to waste any more time - you try and retrace your steps. Before long you’re almost blinded, the lights piercing your eyes before the electricity zips with systems powering back on.

You need to get back to the office.

Chest seizing slightly you step over overturned equipment, creeping past crooked storage bins...

... Is there a point to describing this horrible venture?

Before long your hand drags over a control panel and a nameplate: “Weiss.” Pulling his ID from your pocket you open the door, lumbering inside and locking the emergency override.

For a moment you break, unrestrained sobbing forcing the warmth to return to your fingers. As you return to the desk, your tears fall onto your wrists as you force the awaiting flask open. The lump in your throat is calmed by the water for only a few minutes before you reach for the terminal. A quick startup sequence, and a communication icon starts blinking. Tapping it, you wipe at your cheeks, clearing your throat.

“...me]! [Last Name], can you hear us? We’ve boarded!”

“... Affirmative, Anderson,” You quake.

“[Last Name]! Thank God, I’ve been trying to contact you since we docked! Are you okay?”

Not at all. “Keep your voice down - I just got back to the office... That creature’s agitated now, please keep your...” You sniffle. “Keep your wits about you. I don’t know where it’ll pop up next, but I can watch it through the camera system.”

“[Last Name], we have guns. Tell us where you are - we can get you safely back to The Commandeer.”

“I’m... I’m at the commander’s office,” You respond. “Look for the name ‘Weiss’. I can’t guide you with alarms without alerting the creature - you’ll have to make do until I find another... way...”

drip, drip

Slimy droplets fall onto your one hand, and your blood freezes once more.

... No...

You try to move your legs to run again, but there’s no feeling; the one only trembles from the injury from before. When you try to at least look death in the face like some kind of hero, your neck is frozen stiff. Your teeth chatter as the droplets turn into a stream, a growl descending slowly.

One finger falls on the communicator. “Help me!”

Large, clawed hands shoot down, and you’re seized by the one arm and the back of your jacket. As you’re dragged upward your screaming rattles your chest, hands clawing at and slamming down on the vents as you’re dragged off.

Something collides with your head, and everything is dark and silent.

Weiss... I’m so sorry... Forgive me... I’m so sorry...!

[wkemeup]

The Only Kindness

summary: In the early days of Bucky’s captivity in Hydra, the only comfort he knows is the kindhearted doctor assigned to mend his wounds. At least when he's with her, he knows he isn’t alone. pairing: bucky x reader word count: 9.7k warnings: torture, canon level violence, unwanted sexual advances, hydra's attempts to brainwash bucky, hella angst, a/n: this is meant to sit in the world of canon and what we know eventually happens to Bucky at Hydra sooo do with that what you will. I am genuinely really proud of this one so I hope you can forgive me for the pain I cause

The first thing Bucky remembered every morning when the sting of florescent lights woke him in a cold sweat was that the arm attached to his shoulder was not his own. The realization of it hurt worse than the day before; with unforgiving metal seared into his skin, leaving behind bubbled scars and a revolting, oozing smell.

It weighed him down, slumped on his spine, pulled at his neck, and he struggled to even push himself upright. Sitting upon the thin mattress laid amongst an otherwise baron room, Bucky supposed he might have preferred the floor if not for the dark red stain at the center of the concrete.

Then, the familiar clicking of locks echoed against the walls and Bucky gritted his teeth as a stout man with rounded features and an arrogant grin strolled into the room – no, the cell – alongside two men strapped with rifles.

He clutched to the solid metal of his arm as if holding it might take the pressure off his shoulder, might subside the pain as it spread through his veins, or stop the twitching in his cheek as he tried to stifle the pain, but it was no use. He held on anyway in favor of wrapping a hand around the scientist’s throat.

“Ah, good morning, Sergeant Barnes,” Zola greeted, though there was something unpleasant in his tone. A threat, perhaps. A taunt. It was always something of the sort.

Bucky could barely muster the energy to look the man in the eye, but as he did, it was hidden under a dark, loathing glare. He spat on the floor by Zola’s feet.

“Go to hell.”

Zola jumped back and brushed at the toe of his shoe. It was amusing, at least, to see the rage boil in the man’s chest; all red faced and round and steaming from the ears. Though Bucky’s triumph was shorted lived as Zola waved a single hand at the armed guards beside him.

They lunged forward and with heavy hands, clawed Bucky into their grip by his biceps. He met concrete within seconds; the red stain laid beneath him. His knees barely had time to heal from the day before and they stung as he struggled under the guards’ grasp, raw skin and blistering burns shielded by paper thin fabric.

His face was pushed down into the stone and for a strange moment there was relief; it was cool to the touch, a break from the feverish heat on his brow.

But then, while a guard pinched at the nape of Bucky’s neck, nearly choking the air straight out of him and the other jabbed a knee to his spine, he remembered there was no relief within Hydra.

“You have a long day ahead of you,” Zola announced, a smirk growing upon his face as Bucky let out a hollowed whine. It slipped past his lips before he could smother it down. He knew then that he had lost whatever game they were playing; the win-lose of a man in chains to his captors with scalpels in their hands and venom on their tongues.

He didn’t know how long it had been since the fall; since icy waters and plummeting down to a ravine he wished most nights had swallowed him whole. He didn’t know how many times he was cut open in an unsterilized room, thrown onto a rusting metal table and operated on with cheap anesthetic. He didn’t know how many times he was strapped into a chair that set fire to his veins and left him feeling numb and empty, how many times he felt a lingering sense of dread he couldn’t quite place.

He didn’t know much at all, really.

But he knew his name. He knew his serial number. He knew Steve would come for him like he did before. He knew he’d get through this. He had to. He didn’t have a choice.

“We have much to do,” Zola announced, admiring how Bucky’s face pressed down into the concrete, how the prickles in the stone scraped against his cheek and cut at his skin— pleased to see a man brought to his knees, bowing before the greatness of Hydra. It brought Zola a sense of pride whether the Sergeant resisted or not. He would give in soon enough.

The guards didn’t loosen their grip on Bucky’s arms as they yanked him back to his knees. They didn’t give him a chance to stand either before they started to drag him from the cell.

The grip on his right arm was sure to leave bruises behind, ones to accompany the mess of blue and purple coloring his skin, but it was the pain on his left that rendered him paralyzed. It felt like his arm was being ripped straight from his body, pulled at every nerve ending until they snapped. He could hardly move.

It wasn’t until Zola made a sharp left at the end of the hall that a familiar sense of dread dropped into Bucky’s stomach. Whether it was fear, panic, resilience, he wasn’t sure, but he started to fight back as they neared a dark red door with six locks running up the side.

“No,” he gaped, barely a whisper, but it caught Zola’s attention.

Bucky thrashed in the men’s grip, using his weight as leverage despite the searing pain in his shoulder and the blood trickling down his ribs from where metal fused to flesh. His heels dug into the concrete, trying to catch against the wall to slow them down, to stop what he knew was coming.

Zola merely smiled.

It was no use, and perhaps Bucky knew that from the start, but he couldn’t be strapped into that chair without a fight. He still didn’t know its purpose but he knew it brought him pain. It disoriented him, made him forget his own name and the monsters that chained him. It forced him to remember all over again that he was held prisoner, thousands of miles away from home, presumed dead, and he couldn’t -- he couldn’t do it anymore.

“Please,” Bucky gasped and it sounded foreign in his own voice – broken. He hated it. He despised how his voice cracked, how he fell to his knees in front of his captors and begged.

Zola grabbed a firm hold of Bucky's chin, stump fingers digging into his cheeks and demanding attention. As he pulled in closer, Bucky caught sight of something strange in the reflection of Zola’s glasses.

He didn’t recognize the man staring back at him; hair grown and wild, unkept beard on his face, dirt and blood covering most of his skin. Amongst the scratches in the glass and the clouds of dirt, the reflection of the man looked tired, with hallowed eyes and sunken cheeks. He wasn’t strong enough to fight back. He wouldn’t survive if he tired.

Bucky slumped in the guards’ arms.

“That’s what I thought,” Zola jeered, a lingering chuckle etched into the trail of his voice. He waved a hand at the guards and Bucky was placed into the chair, all dead weight and positioned like a doll.

Thick, metal bars strapped down around Bucky’s wrists, his biceps, his ankles to hold him in place. He did his best to let go of himself, to find somewhere far beyond the walls of this room, away from the men who ripped him to pieces and broke him to the bare bones. He imagined something better, safer, where he was clean shaven and in fresh clothes, where Steve was waving from the end of the street and the war long behind them, but the dream was torn from him as soon as the panels clamped against his temples.

Electricity jolted through his system and his whole body tensed. He couldn’t move, couldn’t breathe.

But he could scream.

It ripped through his lungs and he was certain he’d break straight through the mouth guard and shatter his teeth if they didn’t turn off the machine soon. The sound echoing through the room was strained, broken, and Bucky might have mistaken it for nails to a chalkboard if he didn’t feel the burn in the back of his throat.

He started to lose time, unsure if it was on for seconds or hours. It was blinding. It was all-consuming. It was swallowing him whole.

“Enough!” a voice broke through. A woman’s. It wasn’t one Bucky recognized.

“No, keep it on! He can take more.” Zola.

“Are you insane!” the voice shouted again. “You’ll kill him!”

Let them.

The thought startled Bucky but it slipped from him in the seconds it took to arrive; searing pain, white hot fire washing through every muscle down to his bones. His eyes began to flutter closed, a strange sort of emptiness pulling him under, a darkness he couldn’t place, and he welcomed the escape.

There was yelling again, though this time it was coming was across the room. The machine began to power down, the whirring sounds of electricity in his ears leaving him with a numbing silence. The dizziness took hold, the hollowness, and he was surprised to find a woman staring back at him, her hands wrapped around the lever that pulled him from the fire.

“What the hell are you doing!” Zola roared, accent thick and slurring his words together. He bounded forward, attempted to push past the woman but she held her ground, hands planted on her hips.

“I’m saving his life,” she grunted back, unfazed by Zola’s finger pointing up into her face. She swatted it away, ignoring the shock upon his rounded features. “You brought me here for a reason, didn’t you? Let me do my damn job.” She glanced around the room, eyed the men with guns aimed at the ready, barrels trained in her direction. “Give me the room.”

“Not going to happen,” Zola snapped but quickly silenced as she shot him a glare that had him cower several steps in retreat. His cheeks were burned red.

The woman turned back to the man in the chair and he slumped limply in its clutches, her narrowed eyes centering on the rapid rise and fall of his chest. She held up two fingers, eyeing him carefully before she slowly moved to press them against his throat.

He winced before she could even touch him, flinching at the air itself, and she paused, bringing her hand back to her chest. She gave him a minute to watch as she demonstrated what she was trying to do by pressing the tips of her fingers to her own neck.

She tried again and this time she held his stare; calming aura nestled between the vibrant shades in her eyes, a gentle kind of patience he didn’t expect, and he hardly noticed her fingertips against his skin as she felt for his pulse, feather light and paper thin. They were cool to the touch, a comfort in the burning heat of metal surrounding him and he caught himself before he could lean into her palm.

“His heart rate is through the roof,” she said tensely, turning back to Zola and withdrawing her hand. “Unless you want your multi-million-dollar project to go to waste, clear out before he has a goddamn heart attack.”

Zola eyed her suspiciously in what appeared to be a competition of wills. She straightened her back, arms folding over her chest, and she towered over the scientist’s small frame. He glared up at her and the fury was palatable on his face; upper lip twitching, eyes narrowed, hands curling into fists.

She held her ground.

“Fine,” Zola grumbled, waving a hand to the line of men behind him until they bring their weapons down to their sides. “Give the doctor the room.”

As if she were waiting for the men to leave, she exhaled a breath like she had been holding it for quite some time. When she let her hands come back to her sides, puncture marks were left in her palms.

“I’m leaving a man behind for your safety,” Zola threw over his shoulder at he reached the door, almost like a threat.

She swallowed; jaw clenched. “That won’t be necessary.”

“Maybe not today, but it will be.”

Then, he was gone.

The door locked shut behind him and a single guard remained by the door, positioned with his finger on the trigger.

“Finally,” she exhaled, turning back with a gentle smile on her face that felt almost unsettling to be in such a cold and unforgiving place. “Can you tell me your name, soldier?”

“Uhh,” was all that left his lips and he hardly recognized his own voice. He searched in the back of his head for the answer, felt it on the tip of his tongue, and still… nothing. He glanced back up at her with clenched teeth because he knew what would happen next, what always happened next.

But instead of a harsh hand to the side of his face or the blunt edge of a weapon to his crown, she nodded, offered him a sad sort of smile, and simply said, “that’s alright.”

She glanced down at the clamps restraining him to the chair. His skin was raw underneath, bleeding a little, and she frowned. It crinkled up into her forehead, pursed out at her lips, and he decided he liked it much better when she smiled.

“Your name is Sergeant James Barnes,” she said fondly and it sounded familiar as she said it, but it still felt distant— wrong in some way. She seemed to notice the contemplation on his face. “It’ll come back to you soon. Might take longer than the last time, but it will. They haven’t perfected the science of the chair yet, it seems.”

There was a resentment laced into her words as she glared back at the armed man standing guard with disgust. She softened as she turned back to face the man she called James. It was within that moment the anger washed from her features, a kindness replacing the hatred, and she ran her fingers on the edge of the chair before she pulled away.

“I’m going to undo these, okay?” she told him and he was surprised that she waited for his nod before adjusting the mechanics on the machine until the metal snapped open and a rush of cold air swept against the blistering skin. He hissed at the sting of it.

“Come,” she requested, gesturing to the examination table in the corner of the room. “Let’s get you out of this thing, huh?”

He was thankful for that. He couldn’t stand the sharp edges anymore or the blistering heat of the arm rests. Her touch was so gentle he wondered if it could push right through him as she bent down to help tug his right arm over her shoulders.

Just as she nearly had him positioned well enough to get him to his feet, the guard standing in the corner of the room stepped forward, gun raised.

“I wouldn’t do that, ma’am.”

She clenched her jaw. “I’m fine. Let me work.”

“He’s dangerous,” the guard grunted back.

“He’s not going to hurt me,” she argued. There wasn’t a trace of hesitancy in her voice, even as she turned to the man hanging off her arms. “Are you, Sergeant Barnes?”

He shook his head.

“See?” she gestured. “Now leave us be.”

The guard stepped back, lowered his weapon, and she smiled.

“Alright then, James,” she started, “think you can help me get you to that table over there? I know you’ve lost some muscle mass but you’re still pretty heavy.”

A short ghost of a laugh escape as he let himself lean on her shoulder, allowing her to guide him towards the table. It surprised him as it left his chest, the feeling of laughter, because he hadn’t so much as smiled since the fall. It hurt, almost. But it was a nice kind of hurt.

She helped him sit on the table, just high enough to give her decent leverage, and he spotted a bag filled with what appear to be medical supplies. It contained with what he would expect; a stethoscope, bandages, depressors, but there were also needles, and shiny metal tools that made him clench his hands around the lip of the table.

“I’m a doctor,” she said, noticing his stare. “I won’t hurt you.”

“Zola’s a doctor,” he muttered back feebly, sharp images of lying awake on a cold, metal table much like the one he currently sat upon plagued his mind, memories of scalpels in his shoulder and needles in his arms.

She nodded, contemplating what he said before she frowned and countered, “Zola’s a mad scientist with a God complex.”

A smile tugged at his lips. It broke a little, but it remained.

“You can call me Y/n if you like,” she said as she began digging through her bag. She found the stethoscope and placed the ends in her ears. “I’m going to press this to your chest, alright? It might be a little cold.”

She exhaled a breath on the side of it for a moment to try and warm it, rubbing it with the palm of her hand. He was mesmerized by the small details; how she positioned herself strategically between him and the armed guard behind her, how she told him exactly what she was doing before she did it, how she gave him time to prepare, how she hadn’t once touched him without asking first.

He didn’t understand her or why she was here, but he was thankful.

He nodded at her and she leaned in closer, pressing the piece to his sternum. It had a slight chill to it but he could still feel the warmth left behind from her breath. He took a deep breath in as she instructed. She took her time, slowly moving to his ribs, and then his back. He took more deep breaths, felt the pulsing of his heart steady under her touch.

“Looks good all things considering,” she told him. Her eyes drifted to the burn marks on his right wrist, fingers ghosting over the reddened marks and her lips tug down into a frown. She masked it as she faced him again, pushing out a smile that didn’t quite reach her eyes. “Might as well attend to this, too, don’t you think?”

Yeah, might as well.

He offered her his hand.

He sat quietly while she worked, listening to her hum softly under her breath. She was impossibly gentle with him, so delicate he could hardly feel it until it was gone. Her hands were a little cold but he found them soothing against the burns. The alcohol she placed on the wound stung, made him grit his teeth and grip to the table’s edge, but she moved quickly, wincing at the way he sucked in a harsh breath as if his pain meant something to her.

When she was finished, she wrapped his wrist with a bandage from her bag and gently tapped on his knee.

“Not a lot my patients would have sat still through that without some kind of numbing agent,” she grinned, praise in her voice, smile on her lips, and it sent a flutter through his chest. “You did good, James.”

He didn’t want to tell her that he’d known worse, that the pain of alcohol to his wounds was nothing in comparison to the mutilation on his arm or the electricity of the chair. So, he focused on something else, a distant memory edging its way back to the surface, something that didn’t lie within the pages of Hydra’s files.

“Bucky,” he choked out, voice a little dry. She raised an eyebrow. “My name… it’s Bucky.”

She smiled at that.

“Bucky,” she repeated, testing it on her lips, “it’s nice to meet you.”

***

It wasn’t the last time he saw Y/n.

No, he found himself under her care more days than not. It was a simple system, it seemed. Hydra would do its best to break Bucky to pieces and they’d send in Y/n to stitch him back up; glue him together with needle and thread or scotch tape and paper mâché. She did her best to heal him and while she could not cure every wound on his body, she gave him something he didn’t have before – something to look forward to.

A kind smile. A gentle hand. A voice so soft it nestled deep into his chest and warmed the hollow ache that had made a home by his heart.

Even through the pain, through the chair, through the long hours he spent overworked in a boxing ring, he knew she’d be waiting on the other side. It didn’t hurt as much when he thought of her, he realized – the only kindness he knew within Hydra.

They hadn’t attempted to use the chair on him in a while and for that he was grateful. To save him from the pain of the electricity and the emptiness that followed, but lately, to allow him to hold onto her memory. He didn’t want to forget her name, her kindness, her light within the darkest corners of hell.

He only ever saw her in short glimpses, brief moments when the guards pushed the boundaries too far and cracked open a scar that wouldn’t stop bleeding or dislocated his arm again or fractured another bone. They’d drag her into his room, rough hands on her wrists that made a knot form deep into Bucky’s stomach, and give her minutes to work before they hulled her away.

He healed quickly, he came to find. Certainly faster than he should. Maybe in another world he would have been pleased with this. A perfect soldier. Always ready for battle.

In this world, it meant shorter recovery between trainings. It meant pushing him beyond his limits and testing the extent of his newfound abilities. It meant few and distant meetings with the kind doctor whose smile made it impossibly difficult to despise every last ounce within Hydra.

***

A few weeks since their first meeting, Bucky found himself dragged by his wrists on a familiar path into what looked like a room much like his own, only there were a few small comforts inside; a bed, a desk, a lamp, and a series of books piled on a small dresser.

Y/n jumped up from the desk, pen falling to the concrete as she stared back at the guards, agape. “What the hell did you do to him?!”

They dropped Bucky to the ground, his own arms too weak to hold himself up, and felt the harsh crack of concrete to his jawline. Blood dripped down into his eyes, clouding his vision with crimson pools of red, but he could hear the quick patter of your bare feet as you slid down to the floor beside him, shooing away the guards.

Hands ghosted over his shoulders before you paused, watching the way he sighed into the cool embrace of concrete. She glared back up at the guards, waiting on their answer.

“He’s weak,” one of the guards spat, thick accent spewing down to land on Bucky’s bare skin. “The fist of Hydra is an embarrassment. He crumbles under pressure. He needs to be pushed, to be taught what he is.”

Bucky couldn’t quite register the way her hands curled up into fists or how a harsh exhale burned deep in her chest, but she swallowed it the best she could as she muttered, “get out.”

A toe nudged at Bucky’s leg – one of the guards behind him – and he groaned as it dug into a dark purple bruise from the days before.

“You’ve done enough,” she pressed again, swatting away his leg as he tried to push Bucky over to his back to see his good work. "Now leave.”

“You don’t give us orders, princess,” the other guard smirked, yellowed teeth bared.

“We’ll be back for him soon,” the first one said, nudging his friend to stand down. “Make sure he’s ready to go again tomorrow.”

The door slammed shut and within the echo, Bucky felt the cool touch of a breeze nestle against his skin. It was a relief, as kind as the concrete, that sat in sharp contrast to the burning heat on his skin.

“Are you alright, Sergeant Barnes?” an angelic voice called. It sounded muffled, and a bit distant, but it was one he recognized.

He nodded slowly, though the concrete scratched at his skin.

“You don’t look alright,” she countered, a touch of lightness in her tone and it came as a welcomed relief.

“You kidding? I look great,” Bucky teased, half muffled by the ground. She laughed, pressing a hand over her lips, and Bucky swore for the smallest of moments that all the pain had washed from his body completely.

He could hear her riffling around the room, gathering supplies and laying a blanket down by his side, then a pillow. She was talking to herself, words he couldn’t quite hear or understand, but they were a comfort nonetheless.

"Still with me Sergeant Barnes?"

“Bucky,” he grumbled, just as she came down to kneel beside him again. “S’my name, remember? I’m supposed to be the one with the memory problems here.”

There came that laugh again, though she tried to suppress it. “That’s not very funny, Bucky.”

“Give me an ounce of humor here, doll,” Bucky smirked. It ached in his lips where the split tore through, burned in his cheeks from the swelling on his face, but he didn’t mind. It wasn’t often he had much reason to smile these days. She seemed to bring it out of him.

Y/n smiled, shaking her head. “Think you can turn onto your back? I’ve got some cushioning here for you. I’m sorry I can’t lift you to the bed.”

“Nah, this is perfect.”

Bucky summoned as much strength as his body could muster as he pushed down into the concrete with his right hand. He started to shake as pressure burned into his left shoulder and he gritted his teeth, face contorting in a wash of pain as his smirk faded away in an instant.

She must have noticed because her hands slipped gently onto his right bicep, gently easing him to turn over the metal shoulder and lay onto his back. Her touch was so feather light, he questioned for a moment if it was even there at all, but then he felt a soft squeeze, the cool press of her palms, and he sighed.

Her hands were the only ones who did not mean him harm. She healed. She nurtured. She cared.

“What are they doing to you...”

Her voice was hardly a whisper, the shock on her face evident enough of the damage on his own. He didn’t want to imagine what he looked like, but he knew it was bad. It hurt to speak, hurt to even part his lips, and his vision was tunneled and dark, cast over in shadows, and somehow, she was still clear as day.

“Dunno,” he responded, recognizing the slur in his voice. “Training me for something, I think.”

She stilled; muscles rigid as she reached into her bag for something to bandage his wounds. He could see the contemplation on her face, the worry, but she swallowed it back, pushed out that gentle, reassuring smile he’d come to rely on and began to work on the cut along his cheekbone.

“It can’t be anything good, Bucky,” she said quietly, eyes flickering to the door as if she were worried about what laid on the other side. He knew the feeling well.

***

He forgot her for the first time a few days later.

The scars were starting to heal; the gashes open on his face just days before nothing but a thin discoloration on his skin. He knew the look on Zola’s face as he emerged in his cell that morning - smug and grim, eager to wipe away the decorated prisoner of war and turn him into something empty and broken. The smirk that crept up his face was unsettling, jarring, as it crinkled lined into his forehead and a vile look in his eye.

They slammed him down into the chair, locked the restraints into place, and he only spotted her rush into the room as the machine powered on. The horror in her eyes as she met his, the quick transition to rage as she turned to Zola, and the pain took over until it consumed him whole.

He lost some time because the next thing he knew, he was sitting on a metal table and the room had emptied, save for a single guard standing in the corner over the shoulder of a beautiful woman who eased a soothing gel onto the burns on his wrist.

He studied her as she worked, quietly humming to herself, telling him what she was doing before she dared to touch him in a voice so gentle it startled him. It was familiar, he realized, the delicate intricacies of her tone, the warmth in his chest when she touched him. He wasn’t afraid of her like he was the others. He didn’t flinch under her touch.

“Your heart rate is still pretty high,” she noted, her fingers pressed to the inside of his right wrist. “Can you take some deep breaths for me?”

She embellished her own, chest rising high as she inhaled, air blowing out from her mouth in the exhale. She nodded for him, something encouraging and kind, until he followed suit. But even through the tender smile upon her lips there was a sadness there, a disappointment, and it hurt him deep into his chest.

“I know you, don’t I?” he finally said after he mimicked a few of the breaths as she requested.

She smiled at that and he felt an instant relief. Something warm and gentle. Kind.

He narrowed his eyes upon the slight curve of her lips, drawing up to her eyes where he was met with a linger sense of calm, of peace, of reprieve. “Why don’t I remember you?”

She sighed, a cautious glance back at the guard behind her who seemed to be watching with the intent to overhear. Her eyes were downcast, a nervous brush of her tongue over her lower lip, and she pushed out a smile for him.

“You will, Bucky.”

He hoped that were true.

***

Bucky was barely tied together with string and tape, broken and bleeding and covered in bruises, and yet, a smile etched onto his broken lips as he turned to find Y/n stumbling into his cell. She shrugged off the grip of a guard with an aggravated huff before he slammed the door closed behind her.

She was no longer shocked by the state in which she often saw him. His accelerated healing made the brutal look of his mutilation a bit easier to swallow he supposed or perhaps he was getting used to it. It was like a mask he’d come to wear, fading in and out depending on the day, but always present. It didn’t seem to lessen the pain in her eyes as she sat down beside him, extending a hand towards his face to touch gently at the markings.

“I hate that they keep doing this to you,” she said softly, though there was a rage nestled into the crook of her tone. She shook her head, a tense breath exhaled as she reached into her bag. She pulled out a few swabs of gauze and alcohol wipes.

“M’alright,” Bucky slurred and it didn’t seem to help his case.

“They’re monsters.” Y/n dabbed at the gash on his forehead as gingerly as she could manage. Bucky didn’t mind the sting of it, not when she was touching him so tenderly, like she was handling something precious.

He’d figured out a while ago that she was just as much a part of Hydra as he was. He never dared to ask, but he’d seen the way she looked at Zola, how she despised him as an enemy. He’d seen the clothes she wore and how they were tattered on the seams, how they discolored with use, how she'd wear them over and over again while the men in the room wore pristine lab coats and freshly laundered suits. He’d seen the dark circles under her eyes, the knots in her hair, the way her collarbone began to protrude the longer he knew her.

She was a prisoner of Hydra, too.

“They’re monsters,” Y/n repeated, tears burning in her eyes and it warped deep into Bucky’s gut. He wanted to reach out and wipe them away. He wanted to make her smile again because she’d been nothing but a light for him and now, she was flickering and fading and he was certain it would destroy him completely until she uttered, “and... and so am I,” and his whole world fell apart.

“No,” Bucky shot back almost instantly. “Don’t say that. You’re not one of them.”

“I might as well be,” she said, brushing at the tears as they spilled down her cheeks. “I’m still complicit in what they’re doing to you – whatever that is. I’m still helping them.”

“They’d kill you,” Bucky argued. “They’d kill you if you tried to resist.”

“They’re practically killing you now! How is that any better?” She pressed her palms to her face, shielding herself from him and Bucky slid down onto the floor, kneeling on the concrete in front of her, and gently rested his hands on her knees. She struggled to catch her breath between the sobs. “I keep fixing you up just to send you back out there and—and—Bucky, I feel like I’m handing you over to slaughter and I can’t-- I can’t--”

“Stop, please,” Bucky begged. He could feel the splinter nestle into his heart, cracking at the edges as it tore a sliver down the center. It burned and ached and threatened to rip him to pieces worse than the foreign metal on his arm, worse than the guards on the other side of the door, worse than the chair that stole his name and his memories, because the woman who saved his life over and over again was crying and he simply couldn’t take it.

“Look at me,” he eased, drawing his hands up her thighs, along her arms, until he met her hands resting against her face. Gently, he pried his fingers under her palms and when he was met without resistance, he pulled them away from her face. “You are the only shred of good within this place. You are the only kindness I’ve known since they threw me on that table and remade me. You are the only thing keeping me going when they’re beating me within an inch of my life, the only thing I want to remember when they try to take away everything I know. Please, don’t think for a second that you’re one of them. You’re saving me, Y/n.”

Bucky wondered for a moment if he said too much as her lips parted into shock, her eyes staring at him shocked and wide. Her breaths were coming in slow and steady as she watched him, almost as if she were waiting for him to recant, but he held his ground.

“You are good, Y/n,” Bucky continued. He squeezed her hand in his right, letting his left fall down to his side to shield her from the evil from which it was born. “You're the reason I keep coming back.”

“I’m scared, Bucky,” she exhaled, voice so low, so shaken, he could barely hear it. She squeezed his hand back. “I’m scared of what they're going to do to you.”

“I’ll have you, won’t I?” he smiled, because it was all he had left. There were no guarantees, no promises he could make to ease her fears. “As long as I’ve got you with me, I’m okay.”

He just wanted her to smile again, to be the woman who fought against Zola in a crowded room of armed Hydra agents and won, who was fearless in the face of evil, and gentle and kind in her touch.

Bucky realized that the more time he spent with her, the more she’d grown to care for him, the more he’d found himself missing her— the more dangerous they were to one another. If Hydra knew...

“You have me,” she said suddenly, a stroke of confidence returning to her voice, drawing Bucky’s attention away from the door and the men that laid beyond it. Bucky met her eye and she raised a palm to his cheek, slow and steady, always giving him the time to prepare before she touched him even when it wasn’t necessary, even after he’d grown to trust her above anyone else. She cupped the side of his face, smiling sweetly for him, sadly, as she said, “as long as they’ll let me, Bucky. You’re not alone. You’ll have me.”

Her thumb traced over old scars she’d mended, over raised edges and dried blood from the mess left behind by the dozen Hydra agents he’d met earlier that day. The tenderness within her touch was unlike anything he knew how to quantify. It sat in such contrast to the hands of men who battered and beat him within an inch of his life, to the torture of the chair, to the scalpel in the hands of mad scientists with god complexes.

There was something in her touch. Something that felt a lot like love.

Bucky found himself leaning in closer, wanting to close the space between them because any space at all was simply too much. He wanted to engulf her into his arms, protect her from the evils that waited for them outside these walls, take her away to somewhere warm and safe, somewhere she didn’t have to check over her shoulder when she smiled. It terrified him how badly he wanted it because he knew there were no fantasies in Hydra, no dreams, no happy endings. He knew it would be taken from him eventually, she would be taken from him, but it didn’t stop him from clinging on as tight as he could.

His lips touched hers, broken and splintered, and still, beautiful. He could taste the salty tang of her tears against her lips, her fingers curling around his long, unkempt hair and twisting along his scalp, breathing him in. There was a sanctuary within her arms, under her touch, that seemed impossible within these walls, and yet, here she was.

Tangible. Real. Kissing him as if he could be ripped from her at any second.

And he was.

The door swung open and Bucky jolted away from her. Y/n jumped back against the bed frame, her head hitting the cement wall.

In the frame of the door stood a guard Bucky had become familiar with; blonde, broad, reminded him a bit of Steve if it weren’t for the cold, dead look in his eyes. The burn mark across his jawline helped to obstructed the similarities.

The guard’s eyes lingered a little longer on Y/n, focusing on the quick rise and fall of her chest, the slight swell in her lips, the mess in her hair, before he gritted his teeth and turned to Bucky.

“Times up, Soldat,” he grunted, wasting no time as he pulled a wand from his belt, flipped a switch at the end, and burned the jolts of electricity into Bucky’s side. He barely registered the desperate crack in Y/n’s voice as she begged for the guard to stop.

Then – darkness.

***

“We need to be more careful.”

“They’ll find out how I feel for you and they'll hurt you.”

“I can’t lose you, Bucky.”

He couldn’t get the words out of his head. Familiar voices: a man’s and a woman’s. He’d heard them spoken aloud; of that he was certain. But they were distant, far away, as if he’d heard them uttered on a film screen in passing. They couldn’t be his own memories. He was a blank slate. He was empty.

A woman stood across from him, approaching him slowly as the machine powered down. It was loud in his ears, echoing enough to pulse tremors into the back of his head. He didn’t dare show an ounce of the pain he felt. He’d come to know the consequences of that, even if he couldn’t quite remember what they were.

“I’m going to help you to the table, alright?” the woman said, gesturing to the metal desk to her left. There it was again— that familiarity.

She smiled kindly at him, as if looking into the face of a man she knew, but he did not know her. She must have sensed his hesitancy because she held up her hands out for him to see.

“I just want to examine you. Make sure you’re okay. Can I do that?”

He narrowed his eyes on the woman, listening intently to her heartbeat. It was a strange sound, one he shouldn’t be privileged to hear, but he found the skill useful. He could listen for the inflections in the rhythm, pulse points and skips that told him when a person was lying.

Hers was steady. Even. He nodded.

He was surprised at how easily he allowed her to guide him to the table, how he didn’t question as he let her place a hand on his inner wrist to check his pulse, how he didn’t flinch when she approached the scars on his shoulder. It was like he knew the routine, understood the subtle intricacies in her gestures warning him of what she was about to do before she even laid a hand on him.

A relief was evident in his muscles. He felt a calmness wash over him the longer she stood at his side, recording his vitals, running a hand soothingly along his arm. It seemed personal, the way she touched him, like she was preserving something – or guiding something home.

He wanted to ask her name, why she was treating him so kindly when all he knew within these walls was the cruelty of violent men, when the guard who stood at the back corner of the room cleared his throat.

“You almost done, sweetheart?” The guard spat the pet name like an insult and the kind woman standing beside the Soldier flinched. She tensed quickly after that, mustering out a brave face as she turned back to the armed guard defiantly.

“I’ll be done when I’m done, Bronski.”

The Soldier wanted to smile, though he wasn’t sure why. A swell of pride beamed in his chest as Bronski’s smirk dissipated, replaced with something colder, darker; a bruise to his ego. The woman turned back to the Soldier, exhaled a heavy breath and offered him a short smile; calming, reassuring. The edges of his lips started to curve in response until –

Bronski crossed the room in four long strides, grabbed a tight hold of her arm and yanked her swiftly away from the Soldier. She collided against his chest, caged against him under the firm hold of his grip.

“You think you can mouth off to me, bitch?” Bronski sneered, shoving her against the desks at the far side of the room. Viles of serums and chemicals spilled over at the impact, glass shattering, and the Soldier began to stand from his position across the room, his hand curling into fists.

“Stop looking at him! He’s not going to help you,” Bronski taunted as her eyes flashed back at the Soldier, pleading at some unknown force he couldn’t quite understand, though he listened to its call. Bronski towered over her, easily overpowering her frame, and pinned her to the wall.

The Soldier took another step forward, another inch closer to what he was sure were near fatal consequences, but there was a voice screaming in the back of his head, an instinct he couldn’t drown out, a desperate need to protect a woman he didn’t know.

“You think we didn’t notice, huh?” Bronski growled, his hand sliding down her side, tracing over the curves at her waist and the Soldier felt a sudden twist in his stomach, a dead weight sinking him into the ground at the sight. “You think we can’t tell you got it hot for the asset? He’s weak. Pathetic. Why don’t you try being with a real man instead? I’ll show you a good time, princess...”

Her eyes were on the Soldier, holding his gaze though she was shaking; trembling and afraid. He didn’t like that.

“Get away from her.”

Bronski froze. He managed a slow glance over his shoulder to find the Soldier standing just a few feet away, hands clenched at his sides, fuming as his eyes flickered between the Hydra agent and the woman he held pinned to the wall.

“Don’t be a fucking hero, Soldat,” Bronski spat back.

But the Soldier did not move.

“Get away from her,” he repeated, his voice low, mechanical. He could feel the rush of adrenaline building in his veins, the chaos of the rapid thumping of his pulse. He wasn’t used to such reactions, such intensity, when all he’d come to know was a crippling emptiness. It was unpleasant.

“What are you going to do about it?” Bronski taunted, a sick smirk upon his face. He dismissed the Soldier, didn’t dare to think he’d disobey direct orders, and turned back to the woman.

She tried to slither out of his hold, but his grip on her wrists was so tight his nails had dug puncture marks into her skin. She was shaking, tears burning into reflective lenses over the gentle hue of her eyes; kind eyes that should not bare such a weight.

Bronski leaned in closer, his mouth pressing against her neck, her whole body stiffening at the touch, and the Soldier snapped.

He rushed at them, his left hand clamping down around Bronski’s neck until he started to gag. Bronski released her wrists, allowing her to sink to the floor in a fallen heap. Bronski scratched at the hand at his neck, gasping for air as his skin turned bright red, then blue, but he was only met with metal. It could not feel. It could only maim.

There was a rage storming inside the Soldier, a mission he’d assigned for himself, as he threw Bronski across the room. It didn’t take much effort. The Soldier was stronger than most men. They underestimated him, believed him to be feeble and weak because he was submissive. But not now. Not when they threatened her.

“Soldat!” Bronski choked out, his voice damaged. Broken windpipe. The Soldier smiled.

Slowly, he took a knee at Bronski’s side, grabbed a firm hold of his collar for leverage, and barreled the closed end of his fist into the man’s face until he could no longer see the smirk that had pressed upon his mouth as he dared to touch his girl. He didn’t stop until Bronski was no longer begging, until he was silent, and blood caked between the panels of metal in his fist, until he heard a voice calling behind him—

“Bucky! Bucky, stop!”

He froze. There was that name again...

He blinked a few times, a sharp piercing in the back of his head painful enough to obscure his vision and he dropped Bronski from his hold. A hand slid down over his shoulders, guiding him away from the body on the floor. It was that same familiar touch; one he knew well.

“Bucky, look at me.”

He did.

Her hand pressed sweetly to the side of his face, like she was trying to memorize him. He leaned into the touch, something he was sure he hadn’t done in years, and yet, within her arms it felt like the most natural thing in the world, like maybe he’d done it a dozen times before.

When he met her eyes again, he understood why.

“Y/n?”

She nodded, tears spilling over her cheeks as she threw herself into his arms. She molded so perfectly against him, his healer, his savior. Bucky knew they wouldn’t have much time before the Hydra infantry arrived and discovered what he’d done. He didn’t dare spare a glance back at the body on the ground.

“Y/n... I—”

The doors swung open, slamming in echoing shocks against the walls, and chaos ensued. Swarms of armed Hydra agents ascended into the room and tore Y/n from his arms, separating them as they restrained Bucky back into the chair. It was the only thing that could hold him.

“Leave her alone!” Bucky roared, that same rage returning to him in fire as two guards pinned Y/n’s arms behind her back, holding her steady as she desperately fought against their hold. “Get your hands off of her!”

Zola appeared at the frame of the door, eyes narrowing on Bucky. The room fell silent.

“Impossible.” He followed Bucky’s eyes to where the guards were restraining Y/n. “The programming should not have failed so soon after he was wiped. How?”

“He’s got a crush on the doc, sir,” one of the guards reported snidely. Bucky recognized him from the many trips he spent dragged along the hallways smearing blood into the concrete before he was dropped off at Y/n’s door.

“Interesting.” Zola crossed the room, hands grasped behind his back as he paced. His eyes fell on Y/n, studying her. “And is it... mutual?”

She didn’t respond, though when her tear-filled eyes flashed over to Bucky, he had his answer.

“Wipe him,” Zola ordered.

The machine started to power up and Bucky found himself fighting against the restraints though he knew it would do no use. Tears were openly streaming down Y/n’s face as she watched him, his name on her lips as she desperately tried to break the guard’s hold on her.

Zola seemed unbothered by the scene. If anything, he was amused, like he was watching lab rats in a cage. “Separate them. I don’t want her interfering with his programming again. We’ll make use of her when the time is right.”

Bucky tried to call her name, but the electricity had already taken hold, submerging him into the darkness.

***

The Soldier was used to his routine. Breakfast at dawn. Then training. Dinner at sundown. Sleep. It was reliable. Simple. The Soldier found a peace in that.

It had been months since he’d seen anyone outside of the two guards at his cell, the parade of uncontrollable human experiments, and the short, stout scientist. It was better this way, they told him. Less stimulation. He was important, meant for incredible things to better humanity. They needed him focused and alert.

He had little room for anything else. Focus on the mission at hand. Complete the task. Reward will follow.

Something as trivial as memories got in the way of that. The Soldier could not afford such a distraction. He was not tied down by a name or a family, by relationships or desires. He was a weapon. Made to be used. He was not capable of more.

“I want to have you looked over before we send you out for your mission today, Soldat,” the scientist said as he examined the Soldier from across the room. The man carried power within Hydra but he was small, cowardly, and he would not dare enter a room with the Soldier without a guard in place. He gestured to the door and the guard with a thick burn down his jaw moved towards it. Blonde hair, blue eyes, broad. He seemed vaguely familiar, though it felt distasteful in his mouth.

A woman was pushed through the doors and into the baron room. She shook off the grip of a Hydra agent with a grunt before she realized where she was. Her eyes fell on the Soldier and he expected her to cower in fear; they all did upon seeing him. Word traveled fast of what he was capable of. And yet –

There was relief in her shoulders, a sigh. She almost smiled before Zola turned in her direction and she pushed it away into a tight frown. The Soldier narrowed his eyes.

“Get to work, Doctor,” he ordered, though it sounded more like a warning.

She nodded, stepping in closer to the Soldier though she was hesitant in her movements. She wore dark circles under her eyes, a redness within the whites. Her clothes were old, torn a little at the edges, and dirty with use. But still, she offered a kind smile as she approached.

“How are you feeling?”

The Soldier didn’t know how to respond to that. No one had ever bothered with his answer. He stayed silent.

“You can talk freely,” she encouraged gently as she approached his bedside. He sat on the edge of the cot, tension burning through his body as it always did when he wasn’t alone. One word out of turn resulted in punishment. He knew well enough not to tempt it.

She seemed to understand he would not fall into the trap, and she nodded in acceptance.

“I’m going to take your vitals, alright? I’ll start with your heart rate.” She held up two fingers, gesturing as she pressed them against her own neck. Seemed harmless enough, though he suspected he didn’t have much of a choice anyway. It was strange she acted as if he did.

Regardless, the Soldier nodded.

As she touched him, something seemed to break. She clenched her jaw tightly, trying to focus on the rhythm of his heartbeat, but he could hear the distress in her own. Quick, pounding, uneven, and she pulled her fingers away before he questioned the slight tremble in her touch.

He wanted to ask if she were alright because something about seeing her upset was unpleasant for him. She wanted to say something, that much he could tell, but she bit her tongue.

“You’re here for a reason, Doctor,” Zola taunted from his position in the corner of the room. The woman flinched though she kept her back to him. Her eyes flickered to the Soldier as if he were an anchor. Zola smirked. “Go on. Test our programming. Why else do you think we kept you around?”

Then, he exited the room. The guard followed behind him until the Soldier was alone with the woman.

She swallowed; eyes cast down as if she were afraid to speak. For a while, she continued to take his vitals – checking his blood pressure, his eye movement, examining the mess of scars on his shoulder as they attempted to heal. All the while, so impossibly gentle, so kind in her touch, that he started to wonder if he’d felt it before.

When she was finished, she took a step back. It was only then that the Soldier noticed the reflective marks on her cheeks. Had she been crying? Why did the thought alone make his stomach twist into knots painful enough to nauseate him?

“Bucky?”

He narrowed his eyes, confused. She reached out for his hand, though she stopped herself before she could touch him. It seemed agonizing; the restraint visible on her features.

“Bucky, please tell me there’s still a of piece of you in there,” she begged. He found himself wanting to lie, to pretend to be this man she craved, just to make her happy. He didn’t know why he cared so much, why it bothered him to see her cry. She was a stranger.

“You don’t recognize me at all, do you?” Her voice was so small, so broken. She was never afraid of him, he realized. No – it seemed she was more afraid of his answer. He did not respond. He didn’t know how.

She nodded, clenching her jaw as tears spilled from the corners of her eyes and the Soldier managed to break the heart of a woman he didn’t know. Another casualty in his wake.

“Excellent,” Zola sneered, appearing back in the doorway. The doctor took a step back and it surprised the Soldier when the space between them felt like an assault. Zola grinned as he moved closer to the woman. “Hydra thanks you for your service.”

“Fuck you,” she spat, just before she landed a closed fist against the bridge of the scientist’s nose.

The Soldier flinched, stunned by the woman’s brazen as she stared into the face of the mad scientist. The tears hadn’t yet dried and still – she was fearless. Zola laughed as the blood dripped down into his mouth. A guard wrapped a vicious hold around her wrist, beginning to drag her out of the room, but she turned back to the Soldier.

“Don’t give into them, Bucky! You have to fight this! You’re good, do you hear me? You’re not one of them!”

Her voice echoed in the room even as she was shoved through the door and down the hall. He listened for the last remaining vibrations of her voice, of her struggling, until it was silent. He wondered about this man she referred to, why she thought he was worth fighting for. He thought about whether he was the man she spoke of.

“Distractions, Soldat.” Zola tsked. “You are magnificent. You are the fist of Hydra. Do you understand?”

He nodded. It pleased the scientist.

Zola explained the mission he was about to embark on at dawn. He listened to the instructions, the details, the purpose – all the while wondering about what became of the kind doctor who called him by a name he didn’t recognize.

Then, when he was finished, the scientist left and the Soldier was alone— just as he always had been.

---

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