Buzzshock-Zynara(Ben10: B-Chaquetrix AU)

SCENARIO: “Power Surge”

The power had gone out an hour ago. Then it came back—but only kind of.

Your bedroom light pulsed. Your phone kept vibrating despite not receiving messages. And somewhere deep in your wall socket, something buzzed with purpose.

You already knew who it was.

She was sitting cross-legged on your bed in the dark, glowing faintly from her chest to her thighs in slow, seductive waves of green. Her eyes were slits of living neon, watching you move like a snake watching a mouse. A very lucky mouse.

“Storm’s passed,” Zynara said, voice smooth and crackling. “But I’m still fully charged.”

You raise an eyebrow. “That why my speakers just tried to seduce me?”

She laughed—a low, electric hum that made your skin prickle. “That was me. Wanted to test your reaction time.”

She unfurls her legs, rising fluidly from the bed. Her body gleams like oiled chrome, the green of her suit and skin-striping pulsing brighter with every step toward you. You’ve learned that glow means she’s... keyed up. Charged. Needy.

“Don’t pretend you’re not into it,” she murmurs, circling you like you’re her favorite outlet. “I see the way your hair lifts when I get close. Goosebumps. Quick breaths. You spark for me.”

“I spark because you literally shock me.”

She leans close, breath brushing your neck with a faint static crackle. “Is that a complaint, baby? Or an invitation?”

You don’t answer. Not because you don’t want to—but because she’s already got her fingers on your wrist. Light pressure. Warmth. Then: snap. A tiny arc jumps from her skin to yours. Not painful. Just enough to make your pulse skip.

“You flinched less this time,” she notes, pleased. “We’re bonding.”

“You’re overclocking my nervous system.”

She smirks. “Good. You need reprogramming.”

She steps behind you and drapes herself across your back. Her body is warm—unnaturally so—like lying under a heated blanket wrapped in tension. Every breath she takes buzzes faintly against your skin.

“This world,” she whispers, voice slowing, “is so quiet. You touch things here... and they just sit there. No pulse. No response. Cold.”

You feel the tension in her arms. The loneliness she never says aloud.

“But you...” Her fingers trail up your chest, leaving faint, glowing sparks. “You react. You flinch. You feel me. You make the static mean something.”

You turn to face her.

Her expression softens. The glow fades to a gentler pulse—like a slowed heartbeat. For once, she isn’t smirking. She’s just watching you. Open. Bare.

“I still want to plug into you every second. Not for juice. Not for play.” A beat. “For comfort.”

You step closer. Press your hand gently to her chest, just above the brightest pulse. It crackles beneath your palm.

She gasps.

You meet her gaze. “You’re not just a shock, Zyn. You’re a signal.”

Her body flares—light racing across her frame like a heartbeat pushed into overdrive.

She lets out a breathless laugh, voice fuzzy with charge. “Careful. Say stuff like that, and I’ll short-circuit your bed frame.”

You smile.

“Already did,” you reply.