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neodazed · 2 months ago

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enhypen - 🎀 - grinding/dry humping

ot7xfem!reader - grinding and dry humping

warnings: grinding, dry humping (wow the shock), clothed sex, thigh/knee-riding, hand-riding, nose-humping, abs too, mentions of doing it on objects, some might be executed slightly painful, not all humps are dry tho, lmk if i missed smth!

biggest kisses and hugs to every oral-fixation enjoyer out there 💋 can’t believe it got 600 notes ! also, i wanted to say that i’ll gladly take requests, but i’m a person who takes their time and def puts their brain-bugs first. have fun reading ! masterlist

HEESEUNG

The first time Heeseung kisses you out of pure impatience, so rough his nose quite literally smashes onto yours, you know that’s something you will ride one day.

Obviously, you weren’t wrong.

But it’s not like you could just ask him bluntly — hey, you’re nose is so perfect, can I ride it? You didn’t have that much of a filthy mouth on you, no. You needed an ideal situation, which where you both were lost and loose enough to flew towards that direction.

So, back in the present, you’re already sitting on his face. The only fabric still “covering” you is the partially unclapped white bra, that Heeseung was too impatient to discard entirely, resulting in a annoyed huff, and just leaving it hanging off your tits, before grabbing your thighs in a harsh grip, and pulling you over his face.

Familiar it was, how your pussy enveloped mostly his chin and lips, a thing you’ve done countless times since you got together. The usual, practiced moves of his tongue licking your walls till the deepest parts he could possibly reach. His mouth closing around your clit, sucking so hard to the point you cried from both pleasure and faint pain. Sometimes, he liked to act like a jerk, and force you to stay in place, so that the joy you recieved was completely controlled and minimized by him, but truly, deep down, he was drunk. So high from how you taste, smell, and feel, all he wanted was to lay there and let you bounce on his face until he suffocates.

Totally normal about it.

Again, you’ve taken your well-deserved place. Your grip on his hair is tight and stable, as you lift your hips up and down in a repeating motion, sliding his warm muscle in and out of your pulsing hole. He groans into you, sending all the right vibrations, finger trying to rub your hard nub. When you push a little harder, paying a little less attention to wether he gets to breathe or not, you slide up enough that your clit brushes against the tip of his nose, and it’s so good you forgot everything you’ve thought out before. Your movements become intentional and directed, and his hand drops to his side by the newfound force. He waits a little, before grabbing your hips to pull away, his expression amused.

He’s smirking.

“If you like my nose so much, why don’t just sit on it all together?”

Your face reddens, realizing how obvious you have been. Is there a point of denying now though? Absolutely none. He gives a more soft, confirming nod, actually encouraging. You sit back, now in a position that allows his nose to go in between your puffy lips.

You don’t let yourself down entirely, but he doesn’t take your nice values happily, he grunts and pushes you down. Whimpers leave your mouth as you grind your clit without hesitation this time, a mantra of his name, gratitude to every god in the sky that let you have this moment. Crying out is an understatement to the noise you let out when the tip of his nose somehow manage to push past your ring. The bump rubs your insides in an unusal, yet mouth watering way. It’s Heeseung.

He’s the one slobbering over this, feeling like he’s on the edge of fucking heaven, and you’re about to send him through the gate by choking him into afterlife with your cunt.

Turns around it’s both of yours thing, afterall.

JAY

It was supposed to be a simple makeout session after dropping you off at home.

But then you started to stroke the back of his head with your cute little nails, opening your mouth wider, arching into his touch more, and before you could blink, you were in his lap.

However, he still holds back as much as he can, knowing you have to part ways eventually. He strokes your waist in a gentle manner, not pushing or pressing at all.

The problem is?

Those fucking jeans he decided to put on today. For anyone else, it looks and is like a simple pair of black denim jeans, and you are glad for that, honestly. Because thank god no one expect you stared at Jay enough to obsess over how the baggy pants got so tight in the place that mattered the most in this moment. You don’t even want to deny how you’ve been ogling at the bulge in his lap.

And that was him soft.

You must have a sixth sense, that made you wear a skirt today. As you lean onto his body, and lick into his warm mouth, it’s incredibly easy to just put your covered wetness on said bulge. He groans into the kiss, pulling back for a minute.

“We don’t have time to have sex now…” Is what he whispers, the words sounding almost painful coming from him, and you chuckle, continuing the kiss.

“We don’t have to” The short sentence is made in bits, taking a second for a sloppy kiss in between every word. He’s a tiny bit skeptical, but now so turned on he doesn’t protest.

He’s big enough to press against you in the right angle even through the tight material. It feels so big, so hot, so hard it makes a point itch somewhere deep inside of you. Your panties made of lace, and the fabric you try to so needily grind on make such an uncomfortable mix you’re not even sure how does it still feels so good.

It’s similar to a few things you did in the past, when you were single and inexperienced. Like humping a pillow, spraying cold water onto your clit on the hardest pressure, or grinding yourself back and forth on the arm of your chair.

Expect, now you’re not just dumbly chasing pleasure. It’s with Jay, who is kissing you so hard it bruises your bottom lip. With Jay, who guides you back and forth on his dick with his grip on your hips. With Jay, who pulls your soaked panties aside, and spits on your cunt you’ve rubbed raw by this point to make the slide easier, not caring if it also lands on his clothes. You already dirtied him with your slick, anyways.

It’s with Jay, who lets you explore and have your fun for a while, before getting frustrated and unbuckling his belt. The zipper he tries to pull down fastly grazes your lips, and you hiss, but immediatelly forget about it when his dick gets shoved into you the next second.

JAKE

It’s late in the evening.

The light breeze flowing in through the slightly opened window is a small sort of relief to your body, heated from the oppressive summer air and from the sight of your shirtless boyfriend laying next to you.

You are both tired - it’s obvious. Hazy eyes, short yawns, giggling about literally anything that happens in the late night glow, while you are wrapped up in each others presence.

But you can’t just go to sleep. Not like this, not when he is kissing so softly inside of the part connecting your neck and shoulders. When he reaches down to see if you’re also aroused, and it’s not just him growing needy despite the tiredness glooming over both of you.

He finds you wet, obviously. He smiles against your lips, proud of himself, and probably because he is a little out of it. Helps you kneel up just enough so that he can flatten his palm perfectly to cup your heat. He is way too spent to do his usual teasing, and the same goes for you. You make a silent agreement to just take.

His hand and forearm is strong, they don’t even budge as you begin to slowly rock yourself back and forth. You always loved them, to be honest. They’re big enough to envelope your smaller ones, his fingers are long and veiny, and it all screams perfection. He adds just the slightest pressure with one of his long digits to your clit, a motivation to go faster.

To hump the fuck out of it, basically.

But it wouldn’t be Jake if he wasn’t a whiny mess himself - he doesn’t ask for your palm, he just grabs it, and wraps it around his cock. He fucks your fist in a messy pace, no rhythm whatsover, sometimes yanking your arm so hard your own pace falters. Or the opposite, and he gets you in a position where the knuckles of his fingers press on your covered slit in a way that sends you to the edge right away.

‘S-so good, baby. Gonna come all over my hand? Gonna fuck yourself on it?’

Both of you do exactly that.

SUNGHOON

Black tank top+gray sweats+Sunghoon after his gym session?

Either have him now, or die, you think.

He’s sitting in front of you, with a towel loosely hanging around his neck.

The way his thigh strains beneath the thin fabric makes your mouth water, quite literally. All you can think about is having that taut muscle pressed between your legs, rubbing against your pussy through the fabric until it starts to ache — from both the frustration and the roughness of the material.

Then your gaze travels up to his torso, watching as the black tank top clings to his slightly sweaty muscles, outlining everything perfectly for your hungry eyes. You have to bite the inside of your cheek just to stop a moan from slipping out at the sight alone.

Of course, Sunghoon isn’t stupid — and by now, he knows you well enough to read your mind. Not that your lust-drunk expression left much to the imagination anyway. He smiles at your reaction, before pulling you into his lap.

‘Sit, pretty’ He pats his wide spread thighs for you.

He starts kissing you — hot, demanding. In contrast, his fingers are gentle as they caress your thigh, moving slowly up and down, occasionally slipping just beneath the edge of your shorts. You sigh under his touch, and your own hand sets off on a little adventure — though it’s a short one, since it only gets as far as his cock. He smiles into the kiss, grabs your wrist, and pulls your hand away. A frustrated little growl escapes your lips, making him chuckle softly.

‘What happened? The way you were staring, I thought you were planning to cum on my thigh.”

He says with a smug grin, pushing you back slightly in his lap.

You lift your hips for just a moment, letting him slide your shorts and panties down. With the layers gone, the hardness of his thigh sends even more pleasure surging through you, pressing perfectly against your pulsing wetness.

‘Damn. You’d really ride anything I give you. Are you that desperate for me, Love?’ You don’t have the energy to huff at his words, because truly, you really are that desperate.

You must be quite the shameless sight, reaching down with one hand to part your outer lips just enough to grind your clit directly against him. You can’t say it isn’t a little embarrassing — but the arousal far outweighs the discomfort. You’re wet, of course you are, and every forward motion makes everything even slicker.

Sunghoon watches your little performance with amused, mischievous eyes. He’s already rock hard beneath his sweatpants, but watching you struggle, rubbing your swollen clit against his thigh like that, was just too entertaining to stop you.

‘Mhm, that’s it, baby. Make that dirty cunt cum over my pants.’

And you do.

SUNOO

Sunoo always has nerve-wracking punishments that make you question, time and time again, why you decide to piss him off in the first place.

Of course, not enough to stop you from doing it anyway.

Yet you haven’t even done a single thing wrong — you simply showed your own little cute, polite self when you returned the male waiter’s courteous smile at the restaurant.

Apparently, you can’t smile out of pure politeness anymore — you note out loud, after Sunoo makes you strip naked in front him. Your snarky comment only makes him roll his eyes. Of course even now, you can’t fucking shut up. Your smile instantly fades when he suddenly reaches between your legs, to press his palm onto your flesh. He scoffs at your reaction.

‘I’m scolding your nasty behaviour, and you’re fucking getting off on it?’ You stumble on your feet, and quickly take a hold of his shoulder as you shrug as an answer to his question. It wasn’t meant to be answered. Sunoo pulls back, leaning against the armchair he is sitting in. He is still fully dressed, in black denim pants, and now half-way unbuttoned white shirt. His flashed collarbone and chest, combined with the angry look on his face is simply delicious to your eyes. He pats his knees for you to sit, so you comply. Your first move is to lean onto his mouth, but he grabs your jaw and stops you.

‘I didn’t say you can kiss me’ You sigh. Alright, typical. Should’ve thought so. Your next go is at his crotch, but when he also yanks you back from there, you are left dumbfounded.

‘You’re really that stupid? You don’t get to have my mouth, dick, or fingers, baby’ Oh, okay. So this is the punishment this time.

‘So…what are we doing then?’ You sigh, biting your lip. You are needy, he literally stripped you down, and you are sitting in his lap. There’s no way he just wants to sit around and make you suffer…Right?

‘I didn’t tie your hands, did I? Get yourself off somehow, but do it without my help’ And his cock, mouth and fingers, as he said. As you think about what should you do, you shift on his legs, trying to get more comfortable, and now, you don’t know if he does on purpose or purely accidental, but his knee also adjusts in the same moment, and slides right under your core. And that’s more than enough to inspire you.

You rest your paws on his thigh, to steady yourself. You pull your hips back a little, so your pussy is just right in front of his knee, then push back. The sensation is immediate, though it’s a mix of strange and good. The fabric of his jeans is rough, obviously not meant to be, well, rubbed on, but it’s not like a flicker (or some more) of pain is not something you love in the first place. With the pace you settled on, the humping movement makes you whine, bumping your clit against the bones of his knee again and again. It’s still not enough though, Sunoo can see it very clearly on your face, hear it dripping through your pathetic little sounds.

There’s no warning before he holds your hips down, and moves his knee up. You whimper rather loudly, naked chest slumping against Sunoo’s, grabbing onto his arms.

‘S-sunoo, that hurts’

‘Hurts? You don’t want me to stop though, do you?’ He smirks, knowing the answer damn well is a desperate ‘no’.

His knee spreads your pussy apart as much as possible, the hardest part continously dragging up your slit and against your clit everytime he pushes up. You let out a hiss. Your lips, your slit, the entrance of your hole, your bundle of nerves…they’re all red and swollen puffy of the harsh material rubbing against you. You are almost crying, when you release over his clothes, your liquid dirtying his expensive jeans.

‘Thought this would be a good punishment, but of course you enjoyed it.’

JUNGWON

Jungwon’s family home had ridiculously thin walls, and it didn’t help that his parents’ bedroom was just two doors down.

Knowing all that, you probably shouldn’t have made out with the poor boy like crazy the first time you stayed over — but what’s done is done.

You pulled away before things could go too far, and now the two of you lie next to each other, breathing heavily.You turn over, as if not seeing his face might somehow calm the desire burning in you — or in him.You feel him shift too, the slow, deliberate way he wraps an arm around your waist and buries his face in the curve of your neck.You let out a relieved sigh, thinking maybe, just maybe, you’ll be able to fall asleep like this — in this soft, sweet little moment.

Then his hips move.

At first, you try to tell yourself he’s just shifting to get comfortable — but by the third slow grind, it’s hard to keep up that narrative.

‘Won. What are you doing?’ You tilt your head back slightly to look him in the eyes, whispering. The boy shakes his head while a delicate blush spreads across his cheeks.

‘I c-can’t help it. I need to feel you right now’ He says in a desperate tone, now grinding with intent against your ass.

You want him too, how could you not? You haven’t been able to do much since you got together yet, but the desire and chermisty is definietly there. You feel it everytime you meet, everytime you touch, everytime you look at him. Obviously, you’re not about to have sex now. It’s not the place or time to do it, but still…

You can’t say no.

You take a shaky breath. The fingers that were resting on his hand now travel further, stroking his arm that is wrapped around your middle. Not with the most confidence, though just as eager as him, you push back. Feeling his bulge press against your backside and thighs is not that new. But the impatient, hurried pace of it pressing onto you is, and you think it must be good for him.

Good, but is it enough?

You need more. You need his growing member on a place that is pulsing for him, unsure yet open at the same time.

The only thing you’re wearing are boxers and panties, so when you suddenly decide to turn on your other side, he’s not prepared to back up even a little bit, and his cock presses forward, but now onto your pussy, covered by the very thin layer of underwear. Your hand slaps on his mouth almost right way, to stifle the loud noise you know he’s about to make.

You keep one of your hands there, even when Jungwon rolls on top of you, to rub his leaking hardness harshly. He’s obviously frustrated, the layer of his briefs being the reason, since you have gotten so wet your panties almost make no difference in the process. He grunts, and frees his dick, reassuring you when he sees the doubtful look on your face.

‘I won’t do anything else. Just want to feel you better’

It’s messy. Full of pre-cum, slick, and slight sweat, a mix of fluids making the slide so hard. If he was inside, he would he in heaven now. He’s not though, and the slippery mess you have created together only makes his annoyence grow, his grip on you tighter, and the press of his hips unhuman, both in pace and strength.

If there was unresolved sexual tension between the two of you before, now there’s a whole bomb ticking for more.

RIKI

‘I had something in mind’ Is what you whisper into Riki’s mouth when you pull away to breath for a second.

At first, his brain doesn’t really register that you said something, and instead of an answer, he kisses you again. Making out with Riki is quite similar to a fever dream, you think. Relatively slow, but the intensity doesn’t lay in the pace he sets. It’s a nerve-wrecking build up of plump lips, firm hands and wetness.

Both of you like it sloppy.

You try to gently push him away by his chest, and he listens this time.

‘Yeah? What is it?’ He did listen at first too, he was just too into it.

You are not that embarassed to say it, of course. You and him make a couple who are both got a rather high sex drive, and Riki was certainly never afraid to voice his thoughts on new things you could try. You, on the other hand, might be a bit more shy to just blurt them out. You’re not ashamed of wanting it, but your boyfriend is so good at keeping that damn eyecontact, and that cocky smirk on his lips still, that you can’t help but get flustered at times like this.

‘It might be a little weird’

You tuck your hair behind your ears. The muscles of his face are already twitching, but he suprisingly manages to stay serious.

‘Weird to me? Or to you?’ His fingers stroke from your hips to the underside of your chest repeatedly, making it kinda hard to think.

‘To you. I think’ His expression turns amused, but he doesn’t comment anything else, looking forward to hear it finally.

‘I though I could like…you know. Your abs’ You don’t say the word ‘ride’. You don’t really want to, and you already have been grinding on his clothed cock, so the idea might give itself, hopefully.

‘You gotta be more specific than that, baby.’

Asshole.

‘Like…grind on it.”

He stills for a moment, shocked that you actually said that out loud. Then he nods, and peels his shirt of fin a swift motion. The perfect pattern of his abs are revealed to your eyes, your mouth runs dry at the sight. His broad shoulders, biceps, veiny forearms and hands…the well built six pack on his stomach is a perfect match to complete the beautiful man that he is.

He lays on his back on the couch, his upper body flexing in the movement. Since there was no question and he seemed to be on board, you decide not to give him any more chance to tease you, so without another word, you quickly shimmy your undies down, and straddle him.

Biggest beige flag?

‘When his abs are so well defined you can cum by rubbing your cunt on it’.

Yes, that’s pretty random yet you love it.

You have to part your outer lips to feel him, and he is quite mesmerized by the view he is blessed with.

‘Such a pretty pussy for me, hm?’

Now you are glad he is talking, his voice sends waves of pleasure through your body, and it all comes out in the form of your wetness gathering between your legs. You try your best to have a stable grip, but you keep on slipping on his abdomen. He huffs, grabbing your hips and fixing you. He starts to guide you, pressing you down so hard the only thing you can do is moan.

‘It’s a bit funny, no? You’re so needy for me. You want to ride everything I have’ He lets out a low chuckle. Your face turns red.

“And you let me do it. That makes you just as needy, no?’

He smiles, and drags you down for a kiss.

‘Not my fault I have such a freaky girl on me.’

bae @ziiao

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comicaurora · 2 months ago

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WAIT THE STARS MOVE FREELY???

yeah it's one weird worldbuilding thing I can't readily communicate in the static comic pages, but the stars visibly drift in relation to one another, and some have been documented to move very quickly at times. There are no consistent constellations, and it's difficult to tell the stars apart, but some with unique colors or brightnesses have been given names. Stars that move together in rivers are called "starstreams." Sometimes stars return to consistent arrangements in relation to one another, which is considered a big deal by people who pay attention to that sort of thing. The only parts of the sky that don't apparently move are distant nebulas and other deep sky objects.

#asks #aurora

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meteorologistaustenlonek · 2 years ago

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#SomewhereDeepInTheNight "The international #GeminiObservatory composite color image of the planetary nebula CVMP 1 imaged by the Gemini Multi-Object Spectrograph on the Gemini South telescope on Cerro Pachón in Chile." NOIRLab

#Gemini Observatory #Astronomy #Planetary Nebula #CVMP1 #NOIR Lab #Gemini Multi-Object Spectrograph #Somewhere Deep In The Night #And A Sky Full Of Stars

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lazy-ahh · 2 months ago

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Ello~! I was wondering if I can make a request with Mohawk Mark X Starfire Male Reader! Just thinking about them interacting makes me think it’d be cute and funny, especially if Mohawk Mark’s the first person Reader meets and Reader kisses him to learn his language ^_^

LOST STAR

pairing mohawk! mark grayson x (tamaranean/starfire) male reader

when a tamaranean crash-lands on earth with his powers locked behind strange cuffs, the last person he expects to meet is mark grayson—mohawk, piercings, and all the attitude of a pissed-off superhuman. but after a very unconventional first encounter (involving lips, language barriers, and zero personal space), the two find themselves tangled in something neither expected. now mark’s stuck babysitting an alien who follows him like a lovesick comet, touches him like he’s something sacred, and looks at him like he’s the entire damn universe. worst part? mark’s starting to like it.

taglist @hhoneylemon , @queermaeda , @yujensstuff , @thebatsgreatestfailure , @roryroro

the sky was a lazy blend of orange and pink, the sun sinking low behind the rooftops and stretching the shadows of trees and telephone poles into long, crooked fingers across the quiet suburban streets. mark grayson—invincible, not that the name really mattered—was sprawled on the edge of a rooftop, one leg swinging idly over the drop while he chewed on the inside of his cheek. bored. so stupidly, mind-numbingly bored.

nothing ever happened in this dump at this hour surprisingly. no rampaging villains to put through a wall, no collapsing buildings to prop up last-minute, not even a damn bank robbery to spice things up. just the same old houses, the same old people, the same old nothing. he sighed, tilting his head back. maybe he should just bail—go home, flop onto his bed, and finally read the new issue of seance dog that had been sitting on his desk for two days.

he pushed himself up, rolling his shoulders, ready to take off—

"invincible."

cecil’s voice crackled through the earpiece in his right ear, sharp and no-nonsense. mark groaned, tapping the device. "what."

"we’ve got an unidentified object approaching earth at high speed. trajectory puts it landing in your area. intercept and assess—neutralize if it’s a threat. you know the deal."

mark’s lips curled into a grin. finally.

he barely had time to glance up before something streaked across the sky—a blur of green and purple, moving way too fast to be a meteor, way too alive to be space junk. it slammed into the park across the street with a boom that rattled windows and sent birds scattering in panic.

mark didn’t hesitate. he kicked off the roof, the air whipping past him as he dropped down, landing hard enough to crack the pavement near the smoldering crater you’d left behind. dust swirled in the air, thick and choking, but as it cleared—

there you were.

and oh, this just got interesting.

you were… colorful. like, stupidly colorful. not in some tacky, neon way—more like the kind of vibrant that made mark’s brain stutter for half a second. your skin was a warm, sun-kissed gold, like you’d been dipped in honey and left to glow under some star. your hair—wow, your hair—was a wild mess, strands floating slightly as if gravity had given up trying to tame it. and your eyes. bright, glowing green, like two emerald suns blinking up at him, dazed but sharp.

mark’s gaze dragged lower, slow and deliberate, drinking in the sight of you like he’d just stumbled across something precious. yeah, you were built like him—lean but layered with tight, coiled muscle, the kind of body that spoke of battles fought in zero gravity, of limbs trained to twist mid-air and strike like a comet. but where mark was all rough edges and impatient energy, you were polished. sleek in a way that made his throat feel weirdly dry.

your outfit didn’t help. deep, royal purple—the kind of color that shifted in the dying light, almost metallic, like liquid amethyst poured over your skin. it clung to you perfectly, hugging every dip and curve of your frame, leaving your arms bare and flexing, biceps tensing as you tested the cuffs. the fabric looked smooth but impossibly tough, like it could take a hit from a plasma cannon and barely singe.

then there were the details—the silver metal sleeves encasing your forearms, running from wrist to just beneath the swell of your bicep. sleek violet boots, fitted like they’d been forged onto you. and that collar—high, armored, framing your jawline and flaring over your shoulders like some kind of alien royalty. it gave you this… presence. like you hadn’t just crash-landed in a park. like you’d meant to make an entrance.

mark’s lips quirked. space prince. a really pissed-off one, judging by the way you were glaring at your restraints.

interesting.

mark's eyes dropped to your wrists, where thick, pulsating cuffs glowed with an eerie violet light. they weren't just restraints—they were alive with foreign tech, humming like a trapped wasp nest, their surfaces crawling with strange, liquid-metal runes that shifted under his gaze. you groaned through clenched teeth, the veins in your biceps standing out as you wrenched against the cuffs which were flashing brighter in response as if mocking your efforts. a frustrated snarl ripped from your throat, one that made the hair on mark's arms stand up—there was something distinctly predator about it.

"well, well," mark drawled, his arms crossing over his chest, fingers tapping an impatient rhythm against his bicep. "looks like earth's got itself a new intergalactic tourist." his lips curled into that trademark smirk, the one that usually made people nervous. "let me guess—not the welcome party you were expecting, right?"

your head snapped up at that, those glowing green eyes narrowing. for a second, you just stared at him like he'd grown a second head, your nose wrinkling in a way that might've been cute if not for the dangerous glint in your eyes. when you spoke, it was like listening to a storm given voice—words that rolled and crashed in impossible rhythms, some syllables sharp as broken glass, others smooth as molten gold. the sounds curled through the air between you, carrying the scent of ozone and something distinctly not-of-this-world.

mark blinked, his smirk faltering for half a heartbeat. "uh. yeah," he said, shaking his head as if that might dislodge the foreign sounds from his ears. "no idea what the hell you just said."

your expression darkened, those glowing eyes flickering like a dying neon sign. he saw the exact moment you gave up on communication—your jaw tightening, the muscles in your shoulders coiling like springs. then, in a burst of motion so fast it left afterimages, you were gone. one second you were there, kneeling in the smoldering crater, the next you were nothing but a comet's tail of emerald and amethyst streaking upward, the shockwave of your takeoff sending dirt and debris spraying in all directions. the air where you'd been shimmered with displaced energy, the scent of burnt ozone hanging heavy in your wake.

"oh, hell no," mark growled, the words tearing from his throat as he kicked off the ground hard enough to crater the pavement beneath him. the air screamed past his ears as he shot after you, his mohawk flattening against his skull from the sheer velocity.

the chase was a goddamn lightning strike—you moved like starlight given form, all emerald and violet streaks against the twilight sky. you banked hard around a skyscraper, your restrained hands somehow not slowing the fluid way you carved through the air, dipping between buildings with impossible grace before rocketing toward the distant tree line. mark gritted his teeth until his jaw ached, pushing his limits to match your speed. you were quicker, yeah, but he was all stubborn rage and earth-born grit, refusing to let some cuffed-up alien outfly him in his own damn city.

the forest came up fast—too fast. the two of you crashed through the canopy in an explosion of splintered branches and shredded leaves, the scent of pine resin thick in the air as you skidded to a stop in a small clearing. dirt and debris sprayed outward from your landing, the impact sending small creatures scattering into the underbrush. you spun to face him, your cuffed hands held in a defensive position despite the restraints, those glowing green eyes burning like solar flares in the dim light. your chest heaved with each breath, but your stance never wavered—balanced, dangerous, like a coiled spring ready to snap.

mark barely had time to flash that infuriating smirk before you lunged.

your first strike shouldn't have been possible with bound hands—a vicious, glowing green haymaker that left afterimages in its wake as it rocketed toward his jaw. mark barely ducked in time, feeling the superheated energy of your fist singe the tips of his hair as it passed. he countered with a sharp jab to your ribs, but you twisted mid-air with impossible flexibility, your knee coming up in a brutal arc that connected with his diaphragm. the impact lifted him clean off his feet, all the air rushing from his lungs in a pained "oof" as he skidded backward through the dirt, his back slamming against an unfortunate sapling that snapped in half from the force.

"the hell—?!" he wheezed, his vision swimming as he struggled to draw breath. his ribs throbbed where you'd hit him—that shouldn't have hurt so damn much. why the hell do your hits feel like freight trains?

you didn’t let up. another punch—sharp, precise—aimed for his ribs. a spinning kick that nearly took his head off if he hadn’t ducked in time. every movement was fluid, calculated, like you’d spent years mastering how to fight even with your hands bound. mark blocked what he could, arms stinging from the impact, but damn, you were good. not just strong—trained. like someone had carved you into a weapon and set you loose.

"alright, enough," he growled, finally snatching your wrist mid-swing, his fingers locking around the smooth metal cuff. you snarled, muscles straining as you tried to yank free, but he held firm, his grip unrelenting. "i’m not trying to fight you, dumbass!"

you froze. your chest heaved, sweat glistening along your temple, those glowing green eyes locked onto his with an intensity that made his pulse stutter. for a heartbeat, neither of you moved—just the sound of ragged breathing between you. then, slowly, your glare softened into something uncertain, almost curious. you huffed, nostrils flaring, before your gaze flicked down—to his lips.

then—

you lunged.

mark’s brain short-circuited. one second, he was glaring at you, ready to snap another insult—the next, your mouth was on his, warm and burning, like kissing sunlight given form. your lips were softer than he expected, but there was a roughness to it, a desperation that left him dizzy. your scent flooded his senses—something wild and electric, like ozone and crushed juniper berries.

he didn’t even realize he’d started kissing you back until you pulled away, and god, his body moved before his brain could catch up—chasing your lips in a hazy, instinctive daze, as if you’d stolen the air from his lungs and he needed it back.

you broke the contact with a quiet smack, licking your lips like you’d just tasted something fascinating. your tongue darted out, slow, deliberate, as if savoring the flavor of him.

"there," you murmured, your voice smooth now, laced with an accent that curled around the words like smoke. the glow in your eyes flickered, satisfied. "now i can understand you."

mark just stared, his lips still buzzing with the phantom warmth of yours, his heart hammering against his ribs like it was trying to escape. he could still taste you—something sweet and foreign, like starlight given flavor. "...what the fuck."

his hand rose slowly, the back of it dragging across his mouth in a rough gesture, like he could wipe away the lingering sensation. it didn't work. "what the hell was that?" his voice came out strangled, higher than usual.

you blinked, your glowing green eyes wide with sudden concern. the way your brows knitted together was almost... cute. damn it. "i am sorry," you said carefully, each word deliberate like you were testing how they felt in your new tongue. your head tilted slightly as you spoke. "my people... we learn speech like this." you raised your cuffed hands slightly, fingers brushing your own lips in demonstration. "lips must touch. to know words."

mark's face burned hotter. "so you just- what, kiss people to talk to them?"

"yes." you nodded earnestly, then hesitated. your nose scrunched as you searched for the right words. "but... not for... pleasure? only learning." you gestured between the two of you. "now i understand you. but your face..." your hand hovered near his cheek, not quite touching. "you look... burned? did i hurt you?"

"no, i'm not- that's not-" mark sputtered, running a hand through his mohawk in frustration. he could still feel the shape of your mouth against his. "it's just... humans don't usually do that, okay? we learn languages the boring way. with books and shit."

your glowing green eyes widened, the light in them pulsing faintly with genuine surprise. "that sounds... very slow." you said it with such sincere, heartbreaking pity—like mark had just confessed he still walked everywhere instead of flying—that his lips twitched despite himself, a choked laugh threatening to escape.

mark groaned, his calloused palm dragging down his face hard enough to briefly distort his features. "unbelievable," he muttered through his fingers. "welp, there goes my first kiss. first alien i meet, and they're a total weirdo."

your head tilted slightly to the side, those luminous eyes blinking once, twice. the movement was so distinctly not human—too smooth, too precise—that it sent an odd shiver down mark's spine. "weer-dee-oh?" you repeated carefully, the unfamiliar word rolling awkwardly off your tongue. your nose scrunched adorably as you tested the syllables. "this is... a bad thing?"

the innocent question, paired with your utterly serious expression, finally broke mark. a sharp bark of laughter escaped him before he could stop it. "oh my god," he wheezed, shoulders shaking. "you're killing me here." he waved a hand vaguely in your direction, struggling to compose himself. "no, it's just- yeah, okay, maybe a little bad. but mostly... you're just different. in a... in a way that makes my brain hurt."

you considered this for a moment, then nodded solemnly. "then i will be... careful with your brain." you said it with such grave sincerity that mark had to bite his lip to keep from laughing again.

the sudden crackle of cecil's voice in his earpiece nearly made mark jump. "invincible. report. was that explosion our new visitor?"

mark sighed, pressing a finger to his ear. "yeah, yeah. we're all good. turns out tall, glowing, and stab-happy here isn't actually—hey!" he interrupted himself as he caught you twisting your wrists violently against the cuffs, your teeth gritted in frustration. without breaking his conversation, he reached over and snapped the remaining restraint like it was a stale breadstick. "—isn't actually a threat. just... real enthusiastic about first impressions."

"you're telling me you've made peaceful contact with an unknown extraterrestrial in under five minutes?" cecil's dry tone could've withered flowers. "should i alert the press about your stunning diplomatic skills?"

"shut up," mark muttered, pointedly ignoring the way you were now staring at him with those big, glowing eyes—like he'd just saved your family and your cat instead of breaking some stupid cuffs. your fingers flexed experimentally, green energy already crackling around your freed hands. it was... distracting. "look, they're harmless. mostly. just... really into the whole kissing thing."

a beat of silence. "...i'm going to pretend i didn't hear that."

"good call," mark said, watching as you shook out your wrists, that ridiculously grateful expression still plastered on your face. he pointedly turned his back, feeling his ears heat up. "anyway, we're cool here. no invasion today. probably."

"your confidence is overwhelming," cecil deadpanned. "anyway, bring them to headquarters immediately—the guardians and i will want to assess this situation properly."

"what? no, he's fine—" mark started, but cecil cut him off.

"that wasn't a request, grayson. headquarters. now." the line went dead with finality.

mark groaned, turning back to see your stupidly earnest face. "stop looking at me like that," he grumbled, crossing his arms. "it was just some cuffs."

you blinked, then smiled—slow and bright like a sunrise. "to you, maybe." your newly freed hand reached up, almost hesitantly, to brush against his arm. "to me... it was everything."

mark's stomach lurched violently, like he'd just missed a step going downstairs. that uncomfortable warmth spread from his chest up to his ears, burning under his skin. oh, this was so not good. with a sharp turn, he pivoted on his heel, deliberately facing away from you so you wouldn't see how flushed he'd become. "anyway, we gotta move. looks like we're taking a field trip," he muttered, voice rough around the edges as he started walking a little too fast.

you blinked, your glowing eyes widening slightly as your head tilted at that perfect, infuriating angle that made your hair sway. without hesitation, you floated after him, keeping pace effortlessly. "field... trip?" the words sounded foreign in your mouth, your accent wrapping around them curiously.

"yeah," mark grumbled, dragging a hand through his mohawk. he could already imagine the interrogation—cecil's piercing stare, the guardians' skeptical looks, and god, if his dad got involved... his shoulders tensed at the thought. "to meet my coworkers. and my boss." he shot you a sideways glance, trying to sound casual as he added, "try not to kiss anyone this time, okay?"

you gently shook your head, the motion sending little emerald sparks dancing through your hair. "there is no need to worry." your voice was soft but certain, like this was the most obvious thing in the world. "i won't kiss anyone else other than you."

mark's steps faltered. he whirled around so fast he nearly tripped over his own feet. "what do you mean by that?" his voice came out embarrassingly high-pitched.

you looked at him with mild surprise, those luminous eyes studying his flustered expression with open curiosity. "i meant that i'll only ever kiss you if i needed to learn more of the language." a small, knowing smile played at your lips as you added, "though, i doubt i'd need to."

mark's brain short-circuited. the way you said it—so simple, so matter-of-fact—left no room for argument. that uncomfortable warmth in his chest bloomed hotter, spreading down to his fingertips. he swallowed hard, suddenly very aware of how close you were standing.

oh. he was so completely fucked.

(≧∇≦)ﾉ☆

mark absolutely hated this. hated how you floated after him everywhere like some glowing green shadow. hated how you’d tilt your head at every little thing—vending machines, pigeons, traffic lights—like they held the secrets of the universe. hated most of all how cecil had dumped babysitting duty on him with that infuriating smirk. "just keep him out of trouble, grayson. how hard can it be?"

it was impossible. you were a walking disaster wrapped in purple uniform. yesterday you’d tried to "help" him stop a bank robbery by smiling brightly at the thieves and asking why they needed the money, as if you were going to try out to talk-no-jutsu them into not doing the crime anymore. the day before, you’d somehow set a hot dog stand on fire because "the meat tubes smelled sad and wished to be free." and now? now you were hovering two inches behind him as he tried to buy coffee, your chin practically resting on his shoulder as you stared at the cashier with terrifying intensity.

"dude. personal space," mark grumbled, elbowing you back gently. you didn’t move—just blinked those stupidly big eyes at him and whispered "the small human is giving you paper with numbers. is this a threat?"

mark’s eye twitched. "it’s called money, space case." he shoved a twenty at the cashier before dragging you away by your wrist, ignoring how your fingers immediately curled around his like some overgrown, alien puppy. "we’ve been over this. no interrogating minimum wage workers. no ‘investigating’ trash cans. and for the love of god—" he yanked you back as you started drifting toward a police horse, "—no trying to communicate with earth animals!"

you pouted, all soft lips and wounded dignity, your glowing eyes shimmering with genuine concern. "but the furry one looked lonely."

mark's stomach did that stupid, traitorous flip again—the one that made his ribs feel too tight. he hated that most of all. hated how you'd somehow woven yourself into every fucking corner of his life these past four weeks. you were practically living at his house now, curled up on his couch like some exotic housecat whenever his mom made tamaranean-friendly snacks (which she learned for hours from your instructions). debbie adored you, always saving the snacks just for you, laughing at your terrible attempts at earth jokes. even his father—stone-cold nolan grayson—had started giving you those barely-there smiles when you correctly answered his space trivia questions.

the guardians treated you like some precious child they had adopted. darkwing let you fiddle with his tech. war woman sneaked you candy. even cecil, the human embodiment of a migraine, had gruffly admitted you were "tolerable and nice for your own good." everyone loved you. and mark? mark was so, so fucked.

what he hated most were the nights. those quiet, vulnerable nights when you'd slip into his bed after nightmares about your crashed ship, wearing nothing but his stolen seance dog hoodie (now permanently smelling like starlight and something sweet) and those stupid black boxers that rode too low on your hips. you'd curl against him like a contented star, your warm fingers tracing constellations across his cheekbones, his collarbones, the hard planes of his chest—always to the rhythm of that damn song he'd first introduced to you. he never told you to shut up whenever you would hum or even sing the tune, not because your voice sounded nice or anything, but because it just so happened to be his favourite song. your humming vibrated through his skin, your breath warm against his neck as you studied him with that reverent gaze, like he'd hung every fucking star in your sky.

mark would lie there, barely breathing, his heart pounding so loud he was sure you could hear it. he'd focus on keeping his muscles relaxed, on not shivering when your fingertips brushed his nipple accidentally, on pretending he didn't notice how your thigh kept sliding between his in order to tangle your limbs with his. and if his cock stirred in his sweats, thick and heavy with want? well. that was just biology. didn't mean anything. couldn't mean anything. because if you realized he was awake, if you saw the desperate hunger in his eyes, if you felt the way his hips twitched toward your touch—

it would ruin everything. and mark couldn't lose this. couldn't lose you. so he stayed still, stayed quiet, and let you have these stolen moments—even as they slowly drove him insane.

(≧∇≦)ﾉ☆

"i've always been curious about these tiny little metal things on your face." your voice was soft with wonder, fingertips hovering just above his skin like you were afraid he might vanish. slowly, so slowly, you traced the silver buds by his eyebrow, following the curve like it held some cosmic secret. your touch drifted down, feather-light, to brush the labret piercing at the bottom of the corner of his lip. when your thumb accidentally grazed the fullness of his bottom lip, mark's breath hitched—just for a second. "why did you get them?" you whispered, glowing eyes searching his.

mark had learned many things about you these past weeks. like how you were practically made of starlight and touch, always finding ways to connect—a hand on his arm when laughing, fingers threading through his when nervous, your entire body pressed along his back when curious about what he was doing. at first, it had been shy little brushes, like you weren't sure you were allowed. now? now you draped yourself over him without hesitation, leaning in close to whisper terrible jokes in his ear just to feel him shake with laughter.

("you know," red rush had said once, smirking as you clung to mark's arm like a vine, "most humans don't just... climb their friends like jungle gyms."

you'd just nuzzled into mark's shoulder, completely unbothered. "but mark isn't most humans." and damn if that hadn't made his chest feel too tight.)

mark had thought about setting boundaries. once. for about five seconds. then you fell asleep on his chest during movie night, and the idea evaporated like morning dew.

now, with your fingers still tracing his piercings, mark swallowed hard. "dunno," he muttered, trying (and failing) to sound casual. "thought they looked cool, i guess." a beat. then, softer: "my mom cried when i came home with the first one."

your glowing eyes crinkled at the corners. "i think they're beautiful," you murmured, thumb brushing his lip again—and okay, that was definitely on purpose this time. "like... constellations. but on your skin instead of the sky." your other hand came up to cradle his jaw, your touch warmer than any sun. "may i...?"

mark's heart was doing that stupid pounding thing again. "may you what?" he breathed, already leaning into your palm.

instead of answering, you closed the distance between you, pressing the softest kiss to each piercing—first his eyebrows, then the corners of his mouth. when you pulled back, your smile was brighter than any supernova. "now i'll always remember how they feel," you whispered, like it was some precious secret.

mark was pretty sure his lungs had forgotten how to work. "you," he croaked out, voice rough like gravel, "are such a weirdo." but his traitorous hands were already dragging you closer, fingers digging into the soft skin of your hips as his forehead fell against yours. the words came out thick with something he wasn't ready to name—something that burned in his chest whenever you looked at him like that. and god, that smile—the one that lit up your whole face, the one that was only ever for him—it sent a wave of heat crashing through him, turning his cheeks and neck an embarrassing shade of pink that matched the sunset bleeding through his bedroom window.

"is that still a bad thing?" you asked, already shifting like this was your rightful place. in one smooth motion, you straddled his thigh, your legs bracketing his like they were made to fit there. your arms looped around his neck with practiced ease, fingers playing with the hairs at his nape like you'd done this a thousand times before. mark's breath hitched as your weight settled fully against him—the firm press of your ass against his thigh, the way your biceps flexed under his fingertips, the heat of your bare skin where his shirt had ridden up. and fuck, if he didn't focus real hard on the ceiling, he was going to lose his mind over the unmistakable press of your cock against his stomach, barely concealed by those stupid thin boxers you always stole from him. he was just wishing you didn't notice the raging boner in his.

mark swallowed hard, his own traitorous body responding in kind. "no..." he managed, voice muffled as he buried his face in the curve of your neck, inhaling the scent of starlight and his own shampoo on your skin. one hand came up to cradle the back of your head, holding you close like you might disappear. "not with you." his lips brushed against your pulse point, the words spilling out in a whisper he couldn't take back. "never with you."

exactly 4.6k words, i'm honestly a tiny bit impressed lolol. anyway, hope y'all enjoyed this one-shot! i'm not gonna lie, i didn't know where i was going with this but yeah :]

#lazy-ahh #invincible #invincible variant #mark grayson #mohawk invincible #mohawk mark grayson #male reader #tamaranean male reader #invincible x male reader #invincible variant x male reader #mark grayson x male reader #mohawk invincible x male reader #mohawk mark grayson x male reader #NEED THAT INVINCIDIH #are you sure?

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nasa · 10 months ago

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25 Years of Exploring the Universe with NASA's Chandra Xray Observatory

Illustration of the Chandra telescope in orbit around Earth. Credit: NASA/CXC & J. Vaughan

On July 23, 1999, the space shuttle Columbia launched into orbit carrying NASA’s Chandra X-ray Observatory. August 26 marked 25 years since Chandra released its first images.

These were the first of more than 25,000 observations Chandra has taken. This year, as NASA celebrates the 25th anniversary of this telescope and the incredible data it has provided, we’re taking a peek at some of its most memorable moments.

About the Spacecraft

The Chandra telescope system uses four specialized mirrors to observe X-ray emissions across the universe. X-rays that strike a “regular” mirror head on will be absorbed, so Chandra’s mirrors are shaped like barrels and precisely constructed. The rest of the spacecraft system provides the support structure and environment necessary for the telescope and the science instruments to work as an observatory. To provide motion to the observatory, Chandra has two different sets of thrusters. To control the temperatures of critical components, Chandra's thermal control system consists of a cooling radiator, insulators, heaters, and thermostats. Chandra's electrical power comes from its solar arrays.

Learn more about the spacecraft's components that were developed and tested at NASA’s Marshall Space Flight Center in Huntsville, Alabama. Fun fact: If the state of Colorado were as smooth as the surface of the Chandra X-ray Observatory mirrors, Pike's Peak would be less than an inch tall.

Engineers in the X-ray Calibration Facility at NASA’s Marshall Space Flight Center in Huntsville, Alabama, integrating the Chandra X-ray Observatory’s High-Resolution Camera with the mirror assembly, in this photo taken March 16, 1997. Credit: NASA

Launch

When space shuttle Columbia launched on July 23, 1999, Chandra was the heaviest and largest payload ever launched by the shuttle. Under the command of Col. Eileen Collins, Columbia lifted off the launch pad at NASA’s Kennedy Space Center in Florida. Chandra was deployed on the mission’s first day.

Reflected in the waters, space shuttle Columbia rockets into the night sky from Launch Pad 39-B on mission STS-93 from Kennedy Space Center. Credit: NASA

First Light Images

Just 34 days after launch, extraordinary first images from our Chandra X-ray Observatory were released. The image of supernova remnant Cassiopeia A traces the aftermath of a gigantic stellar explosion in such captivating detail that scientists can see evidence of what is likely the neutron star.

“We see the collision of the debris from the exploded star with the matter around it, we see shock waves rushing into interstellar space at millions of miles per hour,” said Harvey Tananbaum, founding Director of the Chandra X-ray Center at the Smithsonian Astrophysical Observatory.

Cassiopeia A is the remnant of a star that exploded about 300 years ago. The X-ray image shows an expanding shell of hot gas produced by the explosion colored in bright orange and yellows. Credit: NASA/CXC/SAO

A New Look at the Universe

NASA released 25 never-before-seen views to celebrate the telescopes 25th anniversary. This collection contains different types of objects in space and includes a new look at Cassiopeia A. Here the supernova remnant is seen with a quarter-century worth of Chandra observations (blue) plus recent views from NASA’s James Webb Space Telescope (grey and gold).

This image features deep data of the Cassiopeia A supernova, an expanding ball of matter and energy ejected from an exploding star in blues, greys and golds. The Cassiopeia A supernova remnant has been observed for over 2 million seconds since the start of Chandra’s mission in 1999 and has also recently been viewed by the James Webb Space Telescope. Credit: NASA/CXC/SAO

Can You Hear Me Now?

In 2020, experts at the Chandra X-ray Center/Smithsonian Astrophysical Observatory (SAO) and SYSTEM Sounds began the first ongoing, sustained effort at NASA to “sonify” (turn into sound) astronomical data. Data from NASA observatories such as Chandra, the Hubble Space Telescope, and the James Webb Space Telescope, has been translated into frequencies that can be heard by the human ear.

SAO Research shows that sonifications help many types of learners – especially those who are low-vision or blind -- engage with and enjoy astronomical data more.

Click to watch the “Listen to the Universe” documentary on NASA+ that explores our sonification work: Listen to the Universe | NASA+

An image of the striking croissant-shaped planetary nebula called the Cat’s Eye, with data from the Chandra X-ray Observatory and Hubble Space Telescope. NASA’s Data sonification from Chandra, Hubble and/or Webb telecopes allows us to hear data of cosmic objects. Credit: NASA/CXO/SAO

Celebrate With Us!

Dedicated teams of engineers, designers, test technicians, and analysts at Marshall Space Flight Center in Huntsville, Alabama, are celebrating with partners at the Chandra X-ray Center and elsewhere outside and across the agency for the 25th anniversary of the Chandra X-ray Observatory. Their hard work keeps the spacecraft flying, enabling Chandra’s ongoing studies of black holes, supernovae, dark matter, and more.

Chandra will continue its mission to deepen our understanding of the origin and evolution of the cosmos, helping all of us explore the Universe.

The Chandra Xray Observatory, the longest cargo ever carried to space aboard the space shuttle, is shown in Columbia’s payload bay. This photo of the payload bay with its doors open was taken just before Chandra was tilted upward for release and deployed on July 23, 1999. Credit: NASA

Make sure to follow us on Tumblr for your regular dose of space: http://nasa.tumblr.com

#nasa #space #astronomy #telescope #chandra #chandra25 #universe

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cowgiri · 3 months ago

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ᝰ 𝐀 𝐏𝐇𝐀𝐍𝐓𝐎𝐌𝐒 𝐃𝐄𝐒𝐈𝐑𝐄 .ᐟ

𝐒𝐘𝐍𝐎𝐏𝐒𝐈𝐒. inside of an old, creaking manor, where the walls whisper secrets and the air hums with an odd energy, you find yourself drawn into a hauntingly intimate relationship with a ghostly presence that goes by the name of caleb.

𝐂𝐎𝐍𝐓𝐄𝐍𝐓. ghost!caleb, spiritual!reader, supernatural elements, paranoia, paranormal activity, fear play, sleep paralysis, somnophilia, non-con + dub-con, breath play, oral sex (f!receiving), mastrubation, overstim, penetration, temperature play, themes of obsession. this might not be everyone’s cup of tea so please heed the warnings before reading.

𝐖𝐎𝐑𝐃 𝐂𝐎𝐔𝐍𝐓. 2.3k

the night was dark, heavy, and eerily silent. the sky was painted a deep shade of indigo, the moon casting a pale glow. the trees swayed in a nonexistent wind, their leaves softly rustling. you lay still, listening to the creaking of the walls and the ticking of the clock, trying to ignore the feeling that something was watching you.

it was cold, too cold for spring. the heater was turned up high, but your skin prickled with goosebumps anyway. you rolled over, throwing your blanket over your shoulder as your eyes drifted shut. but your mind was restless, your thoughts running in circles.

you'd been experiencing strange occurrences lately. objects would move, doors would slam shut, and there was always a cold spot in the room. you brushed it off as the usual creaks and groans of an old house settling, but the feeling in your gut told you otherwise.

and then there was the dreams. dark, twisted dreams, where the world around you seemed to be alive. where the walls whispered secrets in your ear and the floor seemed to reach up and grasp your ankles.

you'd wake up gasping for air, your heart beating fast in your chest. you couldn't explain what was happening, why everything seemed to be turning against you. it was as if the house itself had a vendetta against you. or maybe, just maybe, you were going insane.

he was back again. you could sense him; the hairs on the back of your neck standing on end, and the familiar presence of the man who had been haunting you for months now in your new home.

it started subtle—an odd chill in the room, the faint scent of his cologne, echos of your name throughout the haunted manor. the longer you stayed, the more intense his presence became, the bolder that he grew. you had always been fond of the supernatural and encountered ghosts many times in your lifetime but there was something different about this one—something that left you feeling uneasy.

then the visits started, he came to you only in the dead of night after you had fallen into a deep slumber. his ghostly form would sit in the bed beside you and he would watch you sleep. his presence grew more tangible over time—wintery breaths against your neck, icy fingers trailing up your skin.

he had never spoken a word other than your name , he knew you felt him, knew you saw him. sometimes it was hard to breathe when he was close. you were always left panting, your heart thudding in your chest.

he was just a shadow, a silhouette, a ghostly shape that you could barely make out in the darkness. his hair was dark and his eyes seemed to gleam in the dim light. you woke to the weight of something pressing down on your chest, your limbs locked in place. panic clawed at your throat—you tried to scream, but your voice had vanished into the dark.

above you, the shadow thickened, its edges curling like smoke. a face leaned closer, close enough that you could see the unnatural gleam of his eyes, the way his lips parted as if savoring your fear.

"shhh," his voice slithered into your ear, though his mouth never moved. "you're mine to watch. mine to touch."

you strained against the invisible restraints, your heartbeat a frantic drum against your ribs. his fingers traced your collarbone, icy and deliberate, dipping beneath the neckline of your nightgown. you wanted to thrash, to scream, to do anything—but your body wasn't yours anymore. it was his. and he was taking his time.

at first, you were absolutely terrified, your blood ran frigid and your heart nearly stopped beating in your chest. the first time he had laid hands on you, you had screamed and ran away as far as you could. but that didn't stop him from following you.

you had learned how to live with it, how to exist with the haunting ghost that you would come to know as caleb. the nights were long, but it had also grown to be something you craved. his presence was a constant now, his ghostly form materializing in the shadows of your room as you drifted into sleep.

almost as if he could sense your need, his touch would find you in the deepest hours of the night, when your breathing slowed and your defenses were at their weakest. you hated the way your body arched into his touch, how your thighs trembled not just from fear, but from want. it was easier to blame the paralysis, to tell yourself you had no choice than to admit how empty the nights felt when he didn't come.

you'd wake to the weight of him pressing into the mattress, his cold body hovering over yours, his face buried between your plush thighs. his icy breath fanned across your sensitive skin, and you'd gasp, your back arching off the bed, but you didn't pull away. you couldn't. his touch left you trembling and wanting more.

his tongue was relentless, lapping at your folds with a precision that made your toes curl. you'd moan softly, your hands gripping the sheets as he devoured you, his lips and tongue working in tandem to bring you to the edge.

he knew exactly how to touch you, how to make your body sing and you were powerless to resist. your breath coming in shallow gasps as pleasure coiled tight in your belly. and when you finally came, your body shuddering beneath him, he didn't stop. he never stopped. he'd continue to taste you, to drink in your pleasure, until you were wrung out and boneless, your mind foggy with desire.

the dark, possessive nature that he had seemed to have called to you. his haunting touch sent shivers down your spine. he seemed to be getting stronger, he could touch you harder and move things in the house. you often found broken objects, trinkets he had moved to get your attention, to let you know that he was there, that he was watching.

as the nights stretched on, you found yourself subconsciously waiting for him. you were drawn to his dark energy, his possessive soul that seemed to know every inch of your very own soul. the fear that once plagued the pit of your stomach soon turned into desire after experiencing his fingers in you and his tongue on you. he took pleasure in making you cry out, making you beg and plead for him to finish you off.

that night, you laid in bed, staring up at the ceiling. you couldn't sleep, the full moon had you feeling restless. your hands were shaking and you felt a certain energy flow through your body. you knew that he would be there tonight, you could feel him drawing close.

your sheets were kicked to the floor and your body was covered with sweat, your legs spread wide. your fingers strummed your clit, the need in the pit of your belly growing more intense with every passing moment. you needed something, something deep within you begged to be filled.

his ghostly form seemed to grow more solid in front of you. his form emerging from the shadows like smoke curling in the moonlight. at first, he was nothing more than a faint outline, a silhouette sketched in the darkest shades of night. but as he stepped closer, the details began to take shape. you could see him clearly for a moment, the look of dark possession in his eyes.

he drew closer to you. you watched as he slipped out of his shirt, his body toned and perfect. his pants fell next, leaving him fully naked in front of you, his cock hard and ready. his tip was slick with precum, a small bead of liquid shining at the tip of his cock head. you licked your lips and his eyes darkened at the sight.

you felt his weight settle onto the bed next to you. you could feel his eyes on you—raking over your body in an appraising way. you squeezed your eyes shut and continued to rub yourself. the need in your belly was becoming so much that you could barely breathe. you arched your back off of the bed, a loud moan leaving your lips.

the mattress dipped as he moved closer to you. a cold breeze brushed your cheek, sending waves of desire up your spine. you felt his hand settle against the curve of your thigh and you let out a shaky sigh.

he began to rub lazy circles against your inner thigh, his other hand moving over your body and cupping your tit. you let out another moan, arching your back into his touch. he tugged at your nipples, his hand squeezing you roughly, his fingers moving in a slow rhythm. you panted his name into the empty room, begging him to not stop.

you knew you shouldn't want this. you shouldn't be encouraging the ghost that was haunting you to touch you. but it felt right, the touch of his fingertips and the way he seemed to worship your body like it was the last thing he would ever see. he brushed his fingertips over your hard nipple, letting out a soft moan.

you could hear him, his voice sounded like a whisper from another dimension. your breath caught in your chest as you felt his lips against the curve of your neck. he dragged them along your skin, his touch making you shiver. you felt your legs shake and you pushed your body further into his grasp.

his fingers continued to drag circles across your inner thigh. his lips began to move further down your body, his mouth trailing over the curve of your collar bone. you felt his tongue dart out and lap at your nipple, a low moan leaving his lips. you could feel his cock press against you,

his touch seemed to intensify as he pushed you onto your back. you laid on the bed, looking up at him as he loomed over you. you reached out, your hand brushing over his thigh. you ran your palm further up his leg, feeling his cock against your fingertips. he let out a moan, his hips rocking forward and pressing his cock against your hand. you gasped as you wrapped your fingers around the width of him, giving him a squeeze.

you began to pump him, running your palm over his tip. he thrust himself further into your hand, his ghostly body pressing against you. his mouth found your neck again, his tongue darting out and lapping at the spot where your pulse beat the strongest. your grip tightened around him and he moaned, his body beginning to shudder against you.

you could feel him, his coldness seeping into your body as he pressed against you. he slid his cock over your clit, making you squirm. you wanted him inside of you, needed to feel his length stretching you. your hand gripped him tighter as you guided him towards your entrance.

you let out a breathy moan as he began to push his cock into you. he slid in slowly, taking care to not hurt you. you were stretched to the brink, your cunt aching with the fullness of him. he bottomed out inside of you and you let out a moan, your head falling back against the pillow. you could hear the way his ghostly form shifted as he moved above you. his voice was a low hum, his hips pumping in and out of you with a relentless rhythm.

you could feel your orgasm building in your belly, your stomach tightening and your thighs beginning to shake. he groaned as he felt your body begin to shudder underneath him. his lips dragged over your throat, his hot breath ghosting over your skin. you moaned his name into the quiet room, your toes beginning to curl with the sensation of him fucking you. your pussy tightened around his cock.

you felt like you were floating, the bed seeming to disappear from under you. the only thing that you could feel was him, the sensation of him sliding in and out of you, the tip of cock deliciously bruising you cervix.

your orgasm crashed over you like a wave. it coursed through your body, sending shivers down your back and making your toes curl. a scream left your lips, echoing off of the walls in the quiet room. you felt yourself being pulled into his world, felt the coldness of him seep into your very soul. he let out one last thrust before he came, his cool cum filling you to the brim. you felt it leak from your body, a puddle forming under you.

he collapsed over you, his weight pinning you to the bed. you could hear his voice echoing in your ear. his words barely audible but you knew what he was saying.

mine.

then his touch was gone, his form dissolving into nothingness. leaving you with only a memory of his presence and a pool of his cum between your legs. his presence lingered, the faintest whisper of his cologne filling the air as he faded into nothingness. you shivered, your body still coming down from the orgasm that had left you boneless and gasping.

you knew that you would never be able to leave him, to leave this place. you'd stay here forever, always waiting for his ghostly touch. and you'd let him consume you, your body, your heart, and your soul.

because being haunted had never felt so good. and you knew that you'd let him haunt you for eternity.

#love and deepspace #love and deepspace smut #lads #lads smut #caleb love and deepspace #caleb lads #caleb #caleb x reader #caleb x you #caleb x mc #caleb smut #caleb fic #caleb x reader smut #love and deepspace x reader #love and deepspace x reader smut

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chiiyuuvv · 9 months ago

Text

understands ★

down bad!nicholas 1.5k words

notes! inspired by song linked in 'notes!' "i'll admit that i'm scared / 'cause i've never really cared as much as this / it's worth the risk" screamed nico so ofc i had to write about it. warning!! this is very delusional, read at your own risk

▸ 𝘱𝘭𝘢𝘺?

“ta.. da..” nicholas pops out of his hiding place once he hears the rooftop double doors creak open. the huge grin plastered on his face shrinks to a shy smile, suddenly self-conscious now that you were in front of him. “hi..” he mumbles, the back of his neck suddenly itchy from embarrassment.

“hi,” you breath out in shock, your eyes darting past flustered nicholas to scan the deck he decorated just for you. it seemed unlike his character to put so much care in an objective, a picnic blanket placed in the center of the area with pillows surrounding the perimeter. a speaker was placed to the far left of you, soft rnb echoing from the device. there wasn’t a need for any lights, the cloudless stars being your source to see.

“do you like it?” nicholas’s voice releases the breath you didn’t even know you were holding, his chest pressed against your back as he drapes his arms around your waist. “i, um.. put a lot of time into it,” his deep chuckle rings in your ear, his chin resting on your shoulder.

“why?” you turn in his embrace, your eyes widening at the lack of space between you. nicholas looks down at you as you look up, the sparkle in his stare brighter than any star in the sky. if you examine closely, the tips of his ears match his hair, the small smile still adoring his features.

“you know..” he starts off timid, his voice small as his shoulders do a little shrug. “i just wanted to.. say thank you, for everything,” the way his voice trails off suggests there were more to his reasons, but for now, you nod in acknowledgement at his heartwarming gesture.

“you didn’t have to,” your voice was as small as his as you pressed your head against his chest. he takes it as a sign to bring you closer, his fresh scent invading your nose.

“i had too,” he defends. you could only chuckle at how persistent the boy was being, especially after the incident. you always found it to be no big deal, unable to realize how much you changed the boys' world.

nicholas was upset.

the joyful cheers of your friends and their video games fade into nothing once the male prances past the living room and into his room, slamming his door with frustration. the commotion makes harua jump in his seat, you and taki sending worrisome looks at each other. “don’t mind him,” euijoo chimes, placing his controller on his lap as he shakes his head. “he just needs some space. anyways, who’s up for another round of mario kart?!” and just like that, the happy energy resumes like nothing happened.

maybe it was your stubborn attitude telling you to do something after euijoo told you not to, but you found yourself in front of nicholas’s door moments after the boys passed out from their gaming.

“go away,” his voice was raspy compared to the soft knocks on his door.

“i brought some strawberries,” you squeak, still determined to make the male open the door. “i’m sorry if i’m being annoying, i just want to make sure you’re oka–” the door swung open before you could finish your sentence, hair covering nicholas’s sharp eyes as he looked down at you like you were some type of pest.

“if i take the food, would you leave me alone?” he sounded irritated, his words straight to the point.

“actually,” you give an awkward smile, “can i come in?”

nicholas was stressed.

“i feel like i’ve been trapped inside a box filled with impossible accomplishments, yet i have no one to turn to when i need help,” nicholas mutters, his head placed comfortably on your lap. you hum in response, giving him the opportunity to rant his heart out as your fingers comb his hair. “it feels so hard doing everything by myself.”

“who says you’re by yourself?” nicholas perks up at your words, your hands still in his hair as you give him a reassuring smile. “i’m sorry you feel so imprisoned, nico,” you begin, your hand sliding down to cup his cheek. your thumb rubs the skin. “it may not feel like a lot, but you have me to support you.”

“oh,” he breathes, shocked by your words. “thanks.”

nicholas was in love.

“are you good?” you turn your head to the boy in question, your elbow resting against the diner table. nicholas turns to face you with a smirk, jokingly raising an eyebrow.

“what, i can’t laugh at what my own best friend is saying?” he teases, suddenly glad you were sitting on the same side so he could itch closer to your body. his heart skips a beat when you lean even closer, your noses centimeters from each other.

“not when our nico sounds so cute!” yudai, the friend you forgot was accompanying you chimes. he leans his chin into his hands on the other side of the table, nicholas snapping his head to the older in annoyance.

“i’m not cute,” he nags, sending yudai a look. the boy only winks in return.

“yeah, you’re right!” you defend, playfully furrowing your brows at yudai as you wrap your arm around nicholas’s shoulder, bringing him closer to you. “you’re my cutie,” you giggle, pinching the boys cheek. unline how he reacted to yudai, nicholas keeps quiet, clearly flustered by your words.

“but i’m wrong when i say the exact same thing,” yudai bellows, raising his hands in defeat. “favoritism!!” he says, loud enough to get looks from across the restaurant.

…

“you’ve put so much time and effort into me, the very least i can say is thank you,” you appreciated his words, but deep down you knew there was something more to nicholas’s actions. especially since he’s been acting so differently around you. the way his eyes linger onto yours, how his lovesick smiles appear as soon as you enter a room. he makes you feel warm inside, like you were so special to him.

“you’re welcome but,” you stop to chuckle in disbelief, “no one sets up an entire date to show how grateful they are, nico. seriously, what’s all of this about? you’ve been acting so weird lately,” your fingers trace his jawline as you speak, determined to pry his mind apart.

“because i..” he stops to catch his breath, his heartbeat speeding up when he looks into your eyes. a hand lets go of your waist to interlock the fingers on his face, placing light pecks on the tips. “i’ve never felt like this before,” the boy finally opens up, squeezing your hand. “i never felt so carefree, so loved. you’ve taken me in like i was yours to begin with, you’ve been so sweet, so soft, so inviting. i can be myself without receiving any judgement, i can feel upset without having to be guilty about it. y/n, you help me realize that..”

“that?” you tilt your head, tears welling up at nicholas’s precious words. the boy keeps quiet, his nervousness getting the better of him. he feels as if he doesn’t deserve one drop of your undivided attention. you were an angel that flew from heaven who constantly put a smile on an unorganized guy like him. you had a life, yet you put it on pause to help regulate nicholas. all those late night calls filled with encouragement when you could have turned off your phone and went to bed, he didn’t know what it was that made him worthy of you. you were too good for him.

he must do something to show how much he appreciates you, right? even if that meant rehearsing his confession for hours in front of a mirror after he got home from work, or turning his rooftop into something you’ve always dreamt about. although he was scared, he still thought you were worth the risk.

his eyes stay glued to yours as you stand in the tense silence. his heart speeds up again because god, you were so pretty. he hates that he’s come to this realization now. in a swift movement, his hands let go of your body to gently cup your cheeks, lifting your chin so now he had a straight shot at your lips.

he licks his own in anticipation, your presence making his mind go blank, your soft breath erasing all the doubts in his head. he lets out a sigh before connecting your lips in a feverishly slow pace, his figure being sent to a world of bliss as your mouths move against each others. he starts to feel dizzy when you grip his shirt, pulling him closer like you were going to lose him if you didn’t. words couldn’t never express the amount of love you had for each other.

letting go of your lips, his hands circle around your waist again, ducking his head to kiss the salty tears from your face. if it weren’t for your soft giggle, you would have heard the boy sniffle. he pushes your foreheads together, closing his eyes in bliss.

“you’re the only one who understands.”

︴bonus! kinda got carried away, anyways i hope you enjoyed hehe

▸ taglist 📬 @cherrycolaberry , @wtfisgoingright . @slytherinshua , @luvnicho , @enhacolor , @lakoya

🎬 navi

@chiiyuuvv on tumblr . do not steal works/headers/line dividers

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spider-stark · 1 year ago

Text

THE BRIDGE

Benjicot Blackwood x Bracken!Reader

Summary - Your wardship with House Blackwood was meant to bridge the chasm between your families. Years later, you return to Stone Hedge as the whispers of war spread—only for Lord Tully to call for a hunt.

Warnings - fem!reader, complicated sibling relationship, fighting, (probably excessive) mentions of blood, talks about hunting/killing wild animals, !angst!, adult language, reader def suffering from identity crisis, probably deviates from canon some, kieran burton fan cast for benji, all characters 18+

Word Count - 5.6k

!MINORS DNI!

// masterlist // send me your thoughts // comments & reblogs appreciated! //

When Grover Tully, the Lord Paramount of the Trident, sent word for each of his bannermen to send forth a handful of their finest House members to a most desolate area of the Whispering Woods, no one thought it wise to object.

“Lord Grover is an ornery old crow,” your father, Humfrey Bracken huffed as you readied the horses. “But you would do well to earn his respect.” He clamped a hand on your brother’s shoulder, pride gleaming in his eyes as he said, “Whatever he’s planning, I want you to show him that House Bracken stands strong. Understood?”

Keeping his chin held high, Amos hesitantly muttered, “If you wish to impress Lord Tully, you might think twice about sending her.”

Even with your back turned, you could feel the weight of your brother’s stare, his eyes boring a hole into the back of your head.

Your father shrugged, a disinterested gesture. “Grover said to send our best,” he said, “and when it comes to a bow and arrow, no one's a better shot than her.”

For the next day-and-a-half, you rode at a distance from the group your father selected—your brother, Amos, and two of your male cousins. And while they laughed and jeered and yapped, you remained stuck in your own thoughts, playing your father’s words on a loop.

It’s the only compliment he’s ever paid you. The closest he’s ever come to acknowledging you as Bracken.

You hate him sometimes, you think. For agreeing to peace all those years ago—for sending his only daughter to ward with his rival of all people. He must have known it was futile. Must have known that one girl could never bridge such an ancient chasm.

He must have known—and yet he sent you anyway, only to call you back years later, tearing you away from the only home you had ever known and leaving you to feel like a stranger in your House.

Grover said to send our best.

Are you a Bracken, then? Is blood all that determines a House?

No one’s a better shot than her.

But your skill is that of a Blackwood, born under their tutelage.

Deep within the Woods, a steady mist of rain falls from the sky, leaving your skin uncomfortably damp. In the distance, a low hum of chattering voices signal that the four of you are drawing close to Lord Grover’s camp—and that the other House’s have already arrived.

Your thoughts shift, wondering who Lord Samwell sent to represent House Blackwood—fearing that you might already know the answer.

A strange tightness floods your chest, coiling around your lungs.

It’s been months since you last saw the heir to Raventree Hall. Many, many months—and you can’t help but think any reunion might end in bloodshed with Amos by your side.

As if he heard his name ring through your mind, your brother slows his horse to gentle trot beside yours, cocking a neatly groomed brow at you. “Tell me, sister—were you always this dour?” He asks, feigning intrigue. “Or did half-a-decade with the Blackwoods simply drain the joy from you?”

You don’t pry your eyes from the path ahead, refusing to look him in the eye as he continues without waiting for an answer.

“I wouldn’t be surprised—a mere day with those insipid cravens would have me wishing to swallow my own blade.” Removing a hand from the reins, he pantomimed the act—gripping an invisible hilt and shoving it towards his lips, letting a dramatic choke rip from his throat.

Riding a bit ahead, your cousins chortle at his jest, shooting amused glances over their shoulders.

“No need,” you answer without thinking, your tone impassive. “Aly would have an arrow in your eye before the day was up.”

Your cousins fall silent.

Amos stiffens, jaw clenched tight. “She could try.”

You know Black Aly would try if given half the chance—and you have no doubt that she would succeed, too. She was the one who taught you how to string a bow and sharpen arrows, how to aim and never miss.

When you don’t respond, Amos pulls his horse in closer—as close as he can get without spookings yours. “Look,” he utters, low enough that your cousins can’t overhear, “I don’t know how things were done at Raventree—but you’re home now, and you would do well to remember where your true loyalties lie.”

Again, you don’t speak. Don’t think, either.

Amos sighs. “Your blood runs gold, sister. You’re a Bracken, through-and-through. Take pride in that—and don’t bring shame upon our name. Understood?”

Strange.

You had seen your own blood before—more times than you can count, actually. Scars mottle your skin like stars in the sky, a reminder of the years spent training and the memories of nights spent with friends who were supposed to be enemies.

Never once had it looked gold to you.

Only red.

“I understand–” a pause, a breath, a heartbeat– “brother.”

Nausea twists your stomach. The familial title curdles on your tongue even as Amos grins at you. There’s nothing affectionate about the gesture—how could there be? He doesn’t know you. Not really.

Blood or no, you’re little more than strangers to each other—and yet, even so, you can see he’s trying. Trying to know you.

Ahead, the camp comes into view. Banners hang above tents: white for the Mootons, blue for the Pipers, purple for the Mallisters.

And red—for House Blackwood.

Amos gives you one last glance, a pall mimicry of what you believe is meant to be love in his eyes. “You’re home now,” he reminds you again, as if you need to hear it,“be glad for it.”

With the Tully’s guards now in earshot, Amos doesn’t bother with waiting for a response. He snaps the reins, urging his gelding back to the head of your group, already bellowing his greetings. You watch him go, transfixed on the yellow-gold of his tunic—identical to yours.

Approaching the guards, you tell yourself that your brother is what home is supposed to look like. That if you were to slice your veins, gold would pour from your wrists.

Not red.

After checking in with the guards and tying your mare up in the makeshift paddock, there was no time left to freshen up before you were expected to join Amos and your cousins. With all the Houses now gathered, Lord Grover wasted no time in calling you all to the heart of the camp.

Still, you try to make yourself presentable—using your fingers to comb through tangled, windswept hair and smoothing the wrinkles from your gold tunic, careful not to disturb the ornate brooch pinned above your heart.

According to the guards, everyone was given one upon arrival. “All Houses are required to wear them,” they explained when Amos pressed them on it, “Lord Tully’s orders.”

They were all different, it seemed. Yours was a delicate thing, fashioned from silver and pearls in the image of a blooming dahlia, while Amos’s was clunky and shaped like the sun. He’s still fumbling with it when you finally push through the small crowd, taking your place at his side.

To your left, separated only by a group of five Frey men, you feel the wary glances being cast your way. You almost turn your head—almost glance back at them, if only to see what they might do. What he would do.

Would he even acknowledge you? Or simply look away?

The answer, thankfully, is one you don’t have time to learn. A servant garners attention, dragging a simple, plush chair to the group’s center. Following suit, another two servants assist the aged Lord Paramount from his tent, guiding him into his seat. On his right stands his eldest grandson—and your favorite Tully. Tall and dark-haired, Elmo looks more fearsome than he actually is, sparing you a quick, discreet wink when he spots you.

“You may all be wondering,” Lord Grover wheezes, his lungs fighting for breath, “why I have called upon you all today—the many great Houses of our land.”

As he speaks, old, gnarled hands punctuate his words, gesturing out to the many men gathered ‘round. His fingers shake with effort, his shoulders bowed beneath the weight of his many, many years. But his chin remains high, and his tone commanding—if a touch quavery.

“I hear rumblings,” he continues, “from the South-East.”

Lord Grover’s eyes, milky with cataracts, shift in the direction, staring blindly into the towering trees of the Whispering Woods. Beyond them, even.

“Whispers of a great danger brewing in the Crownlands—within the King’s own court, if rumors are to be trusted.”

Your spine turns to steel.

Those rumors, you know, are as true as they come. Over the past several months, they had moved through the realm like a venomous serpent. Slithering from mouth to ear, hissing tales of the two factions that now divide King Viserys’s council.

The Blacks and the Greens.

The rightful heir and the first-born son.

And the very reason your father had called you home.

“War is coming,” a deep, foreboding warning, “and should it reach the Riverlands, I wish to know that we might stand united in its wrath. That we will not allow petty rivalries–” a pointed glance at your brother, and then to your left where, without looking, you know the Blackwood heir stands–“to tear us apart from within.”

A heartbeat passes. Then another.

The forest holds its breath. Cradles the Lord Paramount’s words in the air, weaving them around the many great Houses of the Riverlands.

You wonder if this is what strength looks like. What it sounds like.

You fear you already know which side of the war Lord Grover’s strength might fall—and you pray that you’re wrong.

Placing a firm hand upon his grandfather’s shoulder, Elmo takes a step forward. “In an effort to promote civility between our Houses,” he announces in a tone that demands respect, “we have arranged for a hunt.”

Your brow furrows. A hunt?

“You will be divided into two person teams, working with an individual outside of your own House.” His gaze shifts to you, dark eyes gleaming with mischief. “Teams have already been decided. Upon your arrival, each of you was given a pin—your partner will bear a matching one. And while there will be no winners or losers, you should know that once you leave camp, you will not be permitted to return without a trophy of some kind.”

Discontent spreads. Low murmurs fill the air.

Amos voices his frustration louder than the rest. “And when is this hunt to take place?”

Elmo grins. “Now.”

Instantly, murmurs grow to shouts.

“You cannot be serious, my Lord!”

“It is already sunset!”

“Is this a jest?”

Elmo’s grin never wavers, unphased by the protests—and Lord Grover appears content to let his grandson contend with everyone's bickering, exhausted from what little talking he had already done.

“Might I suggest you move quickly,” Elmo speaks over the crowd. Glancing upwards, he squints at the black clouds rolling overhead, an amused lilt to his voice as he adds, “Lest you wish to be caught in the coming storm.”

With no more than a curt nod to the crowd, Elmo turns on his heel, already veering off in the direction of his own tent as servants begin to help Lord Grover rise.

“This is absurd,” your brother grumbles.

You ignore him. Storming right past him, you make a beeline for the fleeing Lord.

“A hunt?!”

Fond as Elmo is of you, you know better than to shout at the future Lord Paramount of the Trident. Your voice remains no more than a harsh whisper, even as you shoot daggers into the back of his head.

“At night, no less! In the middle of a gods-damned storm! Have you lost your mind?”

“What? You think it’s a bad idea?” He chuckles, keeping a steady pace. “Of all people, I thought that you might appreciate the challenge of it all.”

You stay on his heels. “Who is he?”

“Who is who?”

Further from the crowd now, you grow bold. You reach out and snag his arm, forcing him to stop and face you. “Ignorance isn’t a good look on you, Elm.” You grind out, “Swear that you didn’t pick him to be my partner.”

A wrinkle forms between thick brows, feigning innocence. “What makes you think that I chose your partner?”

“Because I know you. You’re always scheming—jutting your big nose into places it very well does not belong!”

Elmo opens his mouth—hesitates—and then frowns. “Am I truly that transparent?”

“You may as well be made of glass, Elm.”

His pout deepens, still dancing around your question. “Well, let's say that I did choose your partner—theoretically, of course!” Your eyes roll. “I think you would find my choice to be quite suitable. If anything, you might even thank me-”

“This isn’t a game, Elmo!” Desperate now, you can’t stop your voice from rising. “If you paired me with him, then Amos will–”

“Kill him?” Elmo ventures.

“Yes!’

Pursing his lips, Elmo’s gaze falls somewhere over your head. “Well,” he sucks in a breath, “it seems we may be past the point of stopping that from happening.”

Your mind goes blank, your thoughts scattering like shards of glass.

You spin on your heel, head whirling around in search of Amos in the throng. Less than a second and you spot him—not because your gaze was drawn to the familiar gold color of your own House, but because of the wall of stark scarlet standing before him.

Blackwoods. Two of them on either side of the Raventree heir.

And Benji—his hands pressed to your brother's chest, roughly shoving him back into one of your cousins.

“Do me a favor,” Elmo's sigh cuts through your panicked haze. “Keep the two of them from plunging a sword in the others’ belly, would you?”

Any other time and you might have told Elmo off, cursed him for putting you in this position—future Lord Paramount be damned.

But not now. Not when centuries of rivalry serve as proof that nothing is more dangerous, more unpredictable than this—

A Blackwood and a Bracken—your brother and Benji—standing toe-to-toe.

Mindless adrenaline is all that thrusts you into motion. Mud splatters up the legs of your trousers as you practically run in their direction, demanding as soon as you’re in ear shot, “What is this?!”

Amos doesn’t acknowledge you. Neither does Benji.

Chests-puffed, they remain locked in their foolish staring match, neither of them willing to be the first to back down.

Finally, one of your cousins sneers, “Seems that Benji-boy here thinks we’re gonna let him take you out into the woods.”

A sharp, nasty laugh rips from Amos’s throat. “As if I’d let that happen!”

“We’re partnered for the hunt, you imbecile.” Benji’s tone is that of lethal calm, even as he glares down his nose at your brother. You look to his chest—spotting the silver dahlia pinned at his breast. “If you have a problem with it, take it up with Tully.”

“You think I’m stupid, Blackwood?!”

Benji’s brow lifts a fraction of an inch, as if silently proclaiming—I just said so, did I not?

Scowling, Amos juts his finger against Benji’s chest. “I refuse to give a Blackwood an opportunity to defile my sister!”

Benji’s answering grin is something wicked as he purrs, “Oh, if I wanted to defile your sister, Bracken, I could’ve done so a long time ago.”

Your pulse pounds—caught somewhere between offense and desire as Benji’s words echo in your head.

Both feelings fade to fear when Amos reaches for the hilt of his sword, wrenching it from the sheath at his hip. In a blink, more weapons are drawn—your cousins holding swords, the Blackwoods holding daggers.

Not Benji, though.

Benji doesn’t flinch, even with your brother's sword poised at his throat, ready to kill. Something flickers in his eyes—a shift that you know all too well, sending ice skittering across your bones.

“I won’t have this,” Amos seethes. “You will find another partner—or I swear on my House that blood will be shed!”

Benji leans closer. Let the tip of the blade dig into his flesh, a rivulet of blood rolling down his throat.

Red.

“Is that a threat, Bracken?”

You can hear your brother swallow—feel his panic as if it were your own, as if it was his fear coursing through your veins. Still, his voice remains steady. “Consider it a promise, Blackwood.”

A blink and steel was glinting before your eyes. A single breath and Amos was out-maneuvered and out-matched—the clash erupting and subsiding in one seamless heartbeat, ending with your brother's sword in Benji’s hand.

A shuddering breath slips from your brother's lips as Benji presses the steel to his throat, a perfect mirror of the position they were in just moments ago.

“What’s the matter, Bracken?” Benji croons sarcastically, head hilting. “Do I frighten you?”

There’s a lull to his voice—an eerie stillness that sends a chill scuttering down your spine.

Amos was ignorant—to pick a fight with Benji, to think he might actually win it. But he’s your brother, too—and you know that if he were to be slain right now—right here—an even larger chasm will take the place of the one you were once meant to bridge.

“Stop.”

The demand is no more than a breath. A soft, terrified sound.

Yet still, it makes Benji’s focus waver.

“Leave him.” You force yourself to speak louder. Stronger. “Now.”

You take a step closer—a hand outstretched, reaching towards Benji. His attention shifts, settling on you. He blinks—his stormy eyes, dark with rage, finally starting to clear.

Benji’s movements languid as he steps away from your brother. Your cousins rush to Amos’s side as he stumbles back, frantically checking the heir of Stone Hedge for any sign of injury.

They found none. Not even a scratch upon his throat, where his own sword had just hovered.

Benji passes you the sword—a silent conversation passing between the two of you.

You could have killed him, you glare.

I could have—Benji agrees with a small, self-satisfied smile—but I didn’t.

One of your cousins, bold and stupid, steps forward. “Is that all it takes to keep you at heel, Blackwood?” He glances between the two of you, his lip curling into a sneer. “A dog and his bitch,” he taunts, “how sweet–”

A cry rips from his throat, cutting his insult short. You expect it to be Benji, having noticed the way his fists had clenched from the moment your cousin so much as looked at you. And perhaps it would’ve been—if your brother hadn’t grabbed the fool by the scruff of his neck, yanking him backwards and shoving him to the muddy ground.

“Say what you want of him,” Amos tells your cousin, his voice gruff, “but you will mind how you speak of her.”

You don’t know what to make of that. Of Amos defending you. Of knowing that if he hadn’t, Benji would have. Or that, even after that, Amos doesn’t quite know how to look you in the eyes, looking to the grass and the sky and anything that isn’t you.

You’re a Bracken, through-and-through. Take pride in that.

But did he take pride in you?

If you wish to impress Lord Tully, you might think twice about sending her.

“What’s done is done.” With a pointed look towards Lord Grover’s tent off in the distance, you say, “Now is not the time nor the place. If you wish so badly to fight, save it for when the war begins.”

On one side of you, Benji remains silent, watching you with a curious glint in his eye. On the other, Amos hesitates.

“I don’t trust him,” he says.

You wonder if he doesn’t know how to say: I’m worried about you.

“You heard our father,” you tell him, chin high, “when it comes to a bow and arrow, no one’s a better shot.”

Perhaps there are things you don’t know how to say, too. Like: But I do. I trust him with my life. Maybe even with yours, too.

Begrudgingly, Benji meets your brother's gaze, fighting the urge to scowl at him. “For years, no harm befell your sister under my watch—and you have my word that none shall befall her now,” he vows. “I swear it upon the Old Gods.”

“And the New?”

You consider stomping on Amos’s foot.

Ignorant. To continue pushing—

“Fine.” Benji’s brusque answer takes you by surprise. “Upon your false Gods as well, then.”

Amos, to his credit, argues no further, only echoing the Raventree heir. “Fine.”

For a fleeting moment longer, they stand there, eyes locked. Amos is the first to turn—the roaring tension dissipating into a hushed hiss as him and your cousins storm off. Benji stays, even as his own men begin to back off, as if listening to a silent command to go find their own partners.

You look at him. And he smiles—a shy, awkward thing.

“I’ll wait for you,” he says, a barely perceptible pause in his speech. “At the edge of camp—you can find me whenever you’ve gathered your things.”

You open your mouth to speak, to say something—but the words take root in your chest, leaving vines to crawl up your throat. If you speak, you worry about what might come out. Worry it won’t be as delicate as the dahlia pinned above your heart—above his, too.

So you close your mouth. Say nothing. Nod—and turn, trying to keep your legs from shaking as you walk back to the makeshift paddock to get what you would need for the hunt.

True to his word, you find the heir of Raventree at the edge of camp, leaning against a towering oak and using the tip of his dagger to idly pick dirt from his nails.

You brought only what was necessary—your bow, strapped between your shoulders, and a dark-leather quiver slung over your shoulder, stocked with already-sharpened arrows.

Light rain mists over your face, the sky groaning with a low rumble of thunder. The forest floor squelches beneath your feet as you trudge towards him. Forever on-guard, Benji wastes no time in pushing himself off the tree, adjusting the dagger in his palm so that it can be easily plunged into another's belly if necessary.

But then he sees you, dressed in Bracken gold with damp hair sticking to your cheeks, and looses a breath. Relaxing at the sight of you—his rival, according to centuries of precedent. Your rival, too, you suppose.

Benji doesn’t look like your rival, though.

Sheathing his dagger at his hip, you see no trace of the lethal Lord who, mere moments ago, was willing to go head-to-head with the heir to Stone Hedge. This boy—stuffing his hands in his pockets, a light flush crawling up his throat—is not Benjicot Blackwood, the heir of Raventree Hall.

He’s just Benji.

“Ready to go?” He asks when you’re closer, his voice a familiar caress so unlike the eerie lull it held earlier.

It takes everything in you to erect an icy wall around your heart, colder even than Northern winds. You shove past him, your shoulder knocking into his as you go and earning a perplexed stare. “Let’s get this over with,” you snap, plunging into the depths of the Woods and leaving him to follow behind.

Ten minutes pass. Twenty.

Dusk crept swiftly through the Riverlands, casting a pall shadow over the Whispering Woods. Overhead, dark clouds seem to grow thicker, obscuring what little light the moon has to offer.

A fool’s errand. An impossible task.

That is what Elmo Tully had arranged—not a hunt.

With the sun hidden beyond the horizon and a near-constant rumble of thunder, any animal in these Woods would either be asleep or hiding by now, trying to escape the incoming storm. To find a trophy to bring back to camp—even something as simple as a hare—was unlikely.

Still, knowing the guards won’t let you back in without one, you keep walking. Keep plunging further into the Woods, praying to the Gods that you might find something to take back to camp.

Twigs snap a few paces behind you, wet foliage squelching beneath purposefully heavy steps. A low, careless whistle tests your patience.

With your bow hanging from your hand, you grumble, “You’re being too loud.”

Benji feigns innocence. “Am I?”

“Yes,” you hiss through gritted teeth, never slowing your pace. “Be quiet—unless you wish to scare off any game and spend the night sleeping on wet soil.”

He chuckles—loudly. “Have you looked up lately?” Benji asks. “The sky looks as if it’ll crack open any minute now! Any animal with sense is hiding right now, anyway.”

True.

“Then we find one without sense, then.”

Benji snorts. “The only thing without sense in this forest is Amos Bracken.”

Without warning, you stop dead in your tracks—leaving Benji to nearly stumble into you. You cast a glare over your shoulder, cold enough that a chill seeps right into his bones. “You’d do well to keep quiet, Benjicot.”

His lip curls, revealing a flash of slightly crooked teeth. “And since when do you call me Benjicot?” He asks, a ribbon of disbelief lacing his own name.

Your jaw tenses, a muscle feathering there.

I don’t know, you think, a pang of uncertainty cracking the ice wall around your heart.

You reinforce ice with steel—turning fully now so that you’re face-to-face, dropping your bow to the ground by your feet. “I won’t let you speak of him that way,” you say, ignoring his question. “My brother is the heir to Stone Hedge–”

A bemused laugh cuts through your words. “Oh, he’s your brother now, is he?”

You speak over him, voice rising. “To insult him is to insult the whole of House Bracken–”

“Fuck House Bracken,” Benji growls.

He takes a half-step closer, towering over you with no more than a foot between you. You don’t falter—don’t look away.

“I am a Bracken."

His head tilts. “Are you? Last I checked, you were practically raised on Blackwood soil.”

“Perhaps,” you admit. “But my wardship is over–”

Benji cuts you off. “Tell me, where was your brother all these years, then? Your father?” He doesn’t let you answer. “No more than a brisk-fucking-walk separating you and yet neither one of them cared to visit with the forgotten daughter of Stone Hedge!”

You’re a Bracken—

“You don’t know them,” you protest weakly, your resolve crumbling.

—through-and-through.

“And you do?” He challenges. Another step, his chest inches from yours. Warmth radiates from his body, seeping into yours and melting melting melting. “Why did your father call you home?”

His words are no more than a breath fanning across your cheek.

Vulnerability permeates your gaze, bearing an unspoken truth. Because war is coming, you convey with no more than a flicker of your lashes, and fate has already decided my role in it.

Benji’s lips tighten to a thin line—and you would’ve thought him ashamed of you, if not for the pain glimmering in his stormy-eyes, lined with silver. “Your father,” he utters, “he will declare for Aegon Targaryen—won’t he?”

You’re a Bracken—

You debate the merits of telling him the truth. Of betraying the plans of your house.

—Take pride in that.

“Aegon Targaryen is the King’s true-born son.” You speak, though you know the words are not your own. “To sit the Iron Throne is his birthright.”

The birthright of a drunken craven.

The betrayal of a beloved princess.

Benji blinks. Shakes his head, his tongue darting along his lips. “He called you home to fight. Humfrey Bracken’s forgotten daughter—useful at long last.”

Rage coils in his tone. Instinct makes your muscles tense.

Nothing is more dangerous than this, your thoughts whisper, a Blackwood and a Bracken, toe-to-toe.

There’s nothing dangerous about the way Benji’s looking at you, though. His gaze soft and tender, calloused hands clenched at his sides—holding himself back, you realize. Not from fighting, but from reaching out to touch something he’s not certain is his.

“Will you do it?” Benji asks, hesitant. “Will you fight for the pretender?”

I don’t want to, you think.

It’s your brother's words that slip past your lips. “I have no choice. My blood runs gold, Benji—a Bracken, through-and-through.”

His brow furrows. Then a hand shifts to the sheath at his hip, sliding his dagger free. “Give me your hand,” he orders, nodding to where they hang at your sides.

You remember his vow to your brother—that he would let no harm befall you. Even without it, you would’ve trusted him. Wholly. Unconditionally.

You lift your hand and, without hesitation, he grips it on his own, pinning the steel tip of his dagger against your palm.

You hiss—hand stinging as the blade drags along your flesh, leaving a thin, shallow cut.

“You’ve always had one foot on either side of the boundary,” Benji starts, his words rushed. Carelessly tossing the dagger to the ground, he grabs your wrist tightly, lifting your palm up towards your own face. “But your blood,” he tells you, his eyes desperate, “has always run red.”

It drips down your wrist—a rivulet of crimson, spilling between his knuckles as he refuses to let go. Red as the color of his tunic—as the specks of blood dried on his own throat, drawn by your brother's sword.

Gold on your back. Red in your veins.

A Bracken by name, but…

“It’s not too late,” Benji says, his words slow and cautious, still cradling your hand in his. “You can come back to Raventree.” Thunder rumbles. Storm-cloud eyes fall to your lips. “You can come home.”

You think of Amos. Of your brother. You’re home now, he had said, a shadow of love in his eyes, Be glad for it.

But home was ancient stone, crawling with moss. Home was the deep, muddy moat that you always threatened to push Benji into when he was getting on your nerves. Home was Black Aly’s voice, scolding you whenever your arms were still too weak to string a bow.

Home was a dead weirwood tree and a boy with stormy eyes.

But duty…

That was something else entirely.

Closing your hand around Benji’s, your chest fills with water as the last of the ice melts. Hard steel turns impossibly soft, your feet shuffling until your body is flush against his—still-entwined hands pinned between your chest, trapped between fabrics of gold and red.

Benji leans down, his forehead pressing against yours. There’s nothing dangerous about him. Nothing unpredictable.

You know him—from the crook in his nose to the scar above his lip. From the lull of his voice to the weight of his steps. His quick temper and his shy smiles.

High above, the sky cries out. Thunder booms, lightning cracks. Misty rain turns to a violent downpour.

And he leans in, oh-so carefully. A trembling breath against slick skin, chapped lips hovering over yours.

“You can come home,” Benji whispers, repeating himself. You can’t think—can’t breathe, as he utters against your mouth, “Let me take you home.”

And he kisses you. A tender, desperate kiss—the kind that drives your lips apart with the sheer force of it. He tugs his hand from yours, slips it out from between your bodies and brings it to rest on the back of your neck, tangling his fingers in damp, rain-soaked hair.

Restraint is no more than a breath in the wind. Desire curls in your stomach. Your pulse pounds in your veins, rich with red red red.

But then there’s your brother’s voice in your head: I don’t trust him.

And you know what he meant was: You’re my sister—my blood, red or gold—and I’m worried about you.

You pull away, breathless and broken, one half of your heart lying on either side of the boundary stones resting miles and miles from here.

Lips still close enough to brush against yours, Benji pants. “Say yes.” The love in his eyes isn’t a shadow. It’s a bright, blinding light. A proud declaration and a howling plea. “Say you’ll come home.”

You look down—to the sigil embroidered on your tunic, to the still-drying blood on your palm

An estranged brother and a forbidden lover.

And you.

The bridge to a great chasm.

The futile remedy to centuries of enmity.

You take a step back—reaching inside of yourself, pulling shriveled vines up your throat, knowing that the words hammering in your chest will be anything but delicate. That they’ll taste of rot in your mouth.

“I’m not sure I have a home, Benjicot.” Pain echoes across his face, each syllable a rusted dagger in his heart. Another step back, grabbing your bow from where it laid in the mud, abandoned what feels like a millennia ago. “Not anymore.”

When you turn to leave, thunder crashing overhead and a sob caught in your throat, you go alone.

The heir to Raventree Hall doesn’t dare to follow.

You walk in silence, your bow hanging at your side. Behind you, there are no snapping twigs and no low, careless whistling. There’s only rain and—

A branch creaks overhead, halting your steps. Your bow is drawn in a single breath, the cut on your palm stinging as you slide an arrow from the quiver slung over your shoulder, readying to shoot. You look up, drops of rain splattering against your cheeks as you scan the trees.

There.

Perched on a wet, mossy limb was a pair of beady eyes staring down at you. A raven, letting out a low, curious croak.

A single shot and you could go back to camp.

A single shot, you tell yourself, and your blood might finally run gold.

A breath—and then the bow string goes slack.

You slip the arrow back into the quiver.

a/n - does any of this even make sense? idk, you tell me lmao. overall, just wanted to play around with capturing the confusion that might ensue for a reader who has no clue where their loyalties lie anymore, lost in who they are and who they think they're meant to be--anyways, hopefully the ending makes sense to you because it makes sense in my brain

anyways

benji tag list (so sorry if I missed you!) - @jacaerysgf @lenasvoid @valdezthg @xzydra11 @snixx2088 @lianna75 @kennafild @ghostinvenus @heystaystray @but-i-write-so-i-must-count @a-song-for-ages

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keferon · 5 months ago

Note

Odds of Survival Part 3

Unstoppable forces meets immovable objects.

Or Prowl finds new reasons to be concerned.

———————————————————————

While Prowl had destroyed the bombers attacking their end of the bridge, the other side had no such saving grace.

The opposite end of the sky bridge had broken off from the Commerce Tower and was now swinging downwards, creating a miles long ramp to obliteration.

There was a 4% chance Prowl could technically survive the impact. However he’d almost certainly be reduced to a sputtering spark trapped in a compacted pile of scrap that had once been his frame. Without instantaneous medical intervention, he would most certainly perish even in the event of the 4% survival chance occurring.

4% halved to 2% when Tacnet registered Jazz magnetizing his hands to Prowls frame.

Tacnet spun wildly and without traction. Whatever actions Prowl could have taken to mitigate the incoming damage was removed by Jazz’s inescapable hold. Every possible strategy terminated instantly in a flurry of error messages as Tacnet tried to factor for the impossible.

Physically, Prowls servos moved on their own, driven by some core deep coding for self preservation that had him frantically clawing at Jazz’s back for either a hand hold or escape as Tacnet spat out a single coherent plan:

(Brace For Impact)

The Praxian briefly wondered if he’d crash before they crashed.

The mechs jolted as Jazz made contact with the bridge turned ramp. A fountain of sparks spraying from his pedes as Jazz hit the bridge upright and began skating down the buckling surface.

Jazz wasn’t just passively sliding along either. Prowl felt powerful legs tense and thrusters make quick adjustments to narrowly avoid lethal splinters of braking pipes and metal sheets.

Odds of Survival 5%

Odds of Survival 6%

Prowl watched the impossible as Tacnet slowly ticked upwards. Through some stroke of insanity, Jazz was controlling their descent. Analyzing the white mechs motions, Prowl concluded they were practiced. Unbelievably, Jazz somehow had previous experience with similar circumstances.

On what Fragging planet does somebody regularly go careening down incredibly steep slopes at high speeds with only their own athleticism to keep them alive?!

Skill alone wasn’t enough however, because Jazz was slowly loosing control. As the sky bridge swung inexorably downwards, their ramp was steadily becoming steeper. Prowl could feel one of Jazz’s legs beginning to involuntarily shudder under the continued strain. The obstacles kept coming faster and faster, the visored mech barely keeping pace.

If he dropped me, Jazz has a 23% chance at saving himself.

Prowl caught sight of a chunk of bridge breaking outwards that spanned the total width of it. No getting around it. The jagged edge lifted just high enough to bisect him just below the wings. Prowl turned away.

Jazz leapt.

The deafening vibrations of metal on metal grinding suddenly stopped. An instrumental segment filled the gap.

Gravity ended their short reprieve.

This time when they collided with bridge, Prowl felt Jazz land wrong and then suddenly the sky was whipping past his optics.

Stars, moon, bridge. Stars, moon, bridge. Stars, moon, bridge. Stars, moon, bridge.

Tacnet greedily took in their current velocity, rate of rotation, and angle of the sky bridges decent to inform Prowl that Jazz and his combined weight would land on his helm.

Thank you Tacnet, I hate you.

Jazz shifted and Prowls vision went white.

Despite Tacnets certainty to the contrary, Prowl was not unconscious or dead.

ERROR, moon, ERROR. Stars, moon, bridge. Stars, ERROR, bridge, rubble. Stars, moon, bridge, rubble.

They were flipping through the air again.

Jazz landed on his feet this time but couldn’t stop their rolling. Prowl felt fast painful scrapes against his servos and peds.

Stars, bridge, rubble. Stars, bridge, rubble.

Tacnet took in their velocity and rotation again. Calculating their distance to the wreckage at the end of their fall.

Impact Survival 74%

Impact location Doorwings 87%

At least his doorwings were already offlined.

By then, the two mechs were no longer bouncing, but rolling fully across the remains of the bridge. Prowl locked himself around Jazz and braced for impact.

Collision was instant and deafening.

Prowls sense of balance was rubber banding. The instant stop after what felt like vorns of spinning out of control was just as disorientating as the fall itself.

In a lapse of memory, he onlined his doorwings.

Prowl remembered why he left them offline a click too late and sucked in a vent.

Except. They were functioning. The edges stung and the tip’s were badly chipped but both sensors were fully operational.

Blunt helm trauma. He must be having a severe processor malfunction. Prowl unlocked protesting joints and looked over his shoulders at his doorwings.

They were only lightly damaged, fully functional, and only a servos width from the pile of rubble he was being held above.

A black and white arm extended past his wings, buried wrist deep in the wreckage.

Jazz still had a death grip around his waist, visor pressed into Prowls shoulder.

“Jazz?” Prowl tried. If he put his vocalizer against his audial, the sound should carry. The music played out its final notes, leaving the silence of the moon in its wake.

“Jazz?” Prowl tried a little harder, pulling at the servo still magnetized to his back, unhooking his peds to kneel on the rubble. They had fallen into the 90 degree crook of the second cylindrical extension. The bridge had come to rest at last, kicking up enough moon dust to obscure their survival from any searching quintessons. For now.

Jazz slurred something in his native language, before repeating in common, “Gimme a click. I’m gonna throw up real quick.”

Prowl flared his wings, scanning the area. It was a relatively short drop to the moons surface. Once there, Prowl could transform and carry the both of them at speed to the outpost. Clearly, Jazz had no trouble holding onto him.

Speaking of, Jazz finally, slowly began to uncurl from Prowls frame.

He looked terrible. His visor had splintered crack’s across one side, the isolated fragments independently flickering. One horn was stuck pinned against his helm, sparking where shrapnel was jammed into the gap. He was visibly wobbling, and even with an em field Prowl could tell he was badly disoriented.

Jazz stared at Prowl for a while, before looking to his hand still buried in rubble. He tried pulling it free gently and when that didn’t work, got a completely ruined and mostly toe-less ped braced next to it and yanked

Jazz’s hand came free. At the same time something important looking snapped and fell out of his shoulder. The limb going limp.

Prowl didn’t have the bandwidth to process that at the moment.

Instead, he plucked up the chunk of shoulder into sub space. Tacking that onto the growing list of injuries they’d both needed tending to.

Cautiously, Prowl reached up to gingerly touch the back of his helm, fully expecting to feel exposed and crushed circuitry. Instead, he felt several dents, aligned in parallel. Very tender, but most certainly not as damaged as it should have been.

How?

Tacnet answered by mapping the contours of the dents, drawing Prowls optics to the back of Jazz’s obliterated servo.

The remains of the sky bridge shuttered.

Odds of Survival 45%

Prowl got Jazz’s attention and began pulling him towards the ledge they’d need to descend. Effectively deaf, probably blind, down an arm and forced to walk on two severely injured peds, Prowl only felt some relief when he finally wrangled Jazz to rest on top of his alt form.

Watching him struggle down the ledge was utterly disturbing to watch. Jazz limped along as if he was completely desensitized to pain, behaving as if he was more annoyed by his injuries than agonized.

Package secured, Prowl gunned it for the outpost. Even injured, he trusted Jazz to stay magnetized to his frame with whatever he had left to hold on with.

Out of the dust cloud, Prowl was intimately aware of how exposed they’d be. Confident he wouldn’t loose Jazz, Prowl focused entirely on plotting the most efficient route to the outpost.

The moment it came into view, Prowl pushed his engine past the redline as he registered sniper shots firing just past and above them.

Pursuing quintesson wreckers 78%.

Sure enough, a dead wrecker crashed into the moon dirt a short distance to their left.

Prowl managed a drifting slide past the out post gates, losing exactly enough momentum to match the speed of a running mech, then transformed back to root mode in the same maneuver. An exceedingly useful technique when chasing criminals and a damn effective way to shoulder someone on your roof through a door in the most efficient manner possible.

[Bluestreak, I’ve made it inside the outpost. I have an injured mech with me.]

[Heya Prowl! I saw you tearing it up out there with your backpack buddy! I’ve got a few more stragglers to take care of but you’re welcome to use the medic case I’ve got with me in here. I’ll ping the door for you.]

The primary medkit should be in the outpost storage closet. That is unless Bluestreak pulled it into his snipers nest to tend to his own injuries (22%). Or because Bluestreak pulled it there to force Prowl to bring his “backpack buddy” within conversational distance (92%).

He felt a tap at his shoulder, “Are we safe here?” Jazz yelled in the thin atmosphere. Visor flickering worse than before and visibly making an effort to stay balanced upright on eviscerated peds.

Priorities.

Prowl ignored his annoyance. He hit the trigger to pressurize the airlock and pulled Jazz’s good arm over his shoulders to stabilize the other mech. He had easily a dozen lines of questioning queued up in the backlog of his processor, every single one tagged with Jazz as the subject line. As much as Prowl itched to piece together the puzzle of why he was “Like that.” It’d have to wait until they were both in more stable condition. At least now his vents could actually do something to start cooling his overstressed processor.

“For now. We are somewhat safe.”

Prowl muttered quietly in addition, “Against all odds.”

———————————————————————

Bluestreak, seeing Prowl with some very obvious hand prints and very specific paint scratches: “What in the pit did he do to you?”

Bluestreak, seeing Jazz walk in after him with a broken arm, busted horn and an utterly torn up paint job across his back: “What in the pit did YOU do to him?!”

Either one or two parts left, next up Jazz pov.

-SSTP

OH HELL SSTP LET ME HOLD YOUR HAND REALQUICK THIS IS A FIVE STAR MEAL FOR MY SOUL FKKDJFG I JUST. I NEVER FUCKING GET TIRED OF THE WAY YOU WRITE I know I'm probably repeating myself at this point BUT IT'S JUST WHAT MY TRUTH LOOKS LIKE OKAY. EVERY TIME I SEE AN ASK FROM YOU AND START READING IT I GO "Oh M A N the author cooked so hard they should've made Ratatouille 2 about this way of placing words."

#mecha pilot jazz au #mecha writing #mecha jp writing #NOW THIS IS WHAT A REAL TREAT LOOKS LIKE #CAN YOU HOOK THIS FIC UP STRAIGHT TO MY BRAIN PLEASE #the...the way the contrast is shown #Prowl who can feel pain. just straight up suffering bc he's alive robot #and Jazz who is a fucking war machine but also hooo boy I'm fucking scared to imagine what was happening inside the mech #maccadam #jazz #prowl #jazzprowl

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