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mielzu · 4 days ago

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warnings. cheating (w zayne dw), not proofread im going insane thank you, all over the place this is pure word vomit

Nothing could have prepared Zayne for what he was about to see the moment you stepped in his office for a checkup. Weekly, perhaps it stretched on more than it should have — made a few exceptions and adjusted schedules knowing it was you who was occupying his time.

Then you brought him, Carter. Carter. From Xander Sciences. The one who gave you flowers to get close. The one he supposed to keep at bay— held your waist and kissed your cheek.

Was it enough to feel rage in his heart? Fair to judge and scold you for dating Carter? Who, God knows what he and his team are doing with those experiments and prolonging patients with a faulty heart like yours.

And it seems you too, were promised a cure for your heart. What Zayne could offer ten times over. Give up his life. His heart. Take his heart, oh please. Why give yours to another who isn't him?

Terror as it was, an added nightmare to numerous, neverending ones he usually experienced, was perhaps a wake up call to him. An eye opening as one say. Zayne is always up for a challenge, was this even one if he had already lost you? What of those moments stolen in the dark? In his own office. Zayne holds you more so dear than Carter does and time serves as it's reminder and proof of why he is so much a better candidate than Carter does. But then again.

What's a battle you've already lost? Does it hold such purpose when he knows in his heart he could never have you now that one knocked and opened yours. He doesn't hope it's locked. He prefer to believe it's still open. Ready for someone —Zayne, to properly close it and claim as his. Whatever... that could ever mean.

Time flies and Zayne was nothing but supportive. Gave you his regards after apologizing for implying that Carter is a person who cannot be trusted, someone who's face should be gone and beaten to pulp, frozen and thrown to break in pieces and never be meld in again. You forgave and forget. After all, Zayne is a long time friend, he knows what's best for you and sharing his opinion on the man you're dating is normal.

That's what you tell yourself.

Your weekly checkups became way earlier than expected and doubled in days when you're having certain problems with how you breathe or when it aches after such missions that left you calling on him for help instead of your boyfriend you can't even text a simple 'hi' these days. Zayne arrives fast and efficient. Tending to you the best he could, presents you with sweets and goods to take home. Even patting your head down to your ears sometimes, like an owner to its cat. Affection, was it. But that was just Zayne.

Nothing unusual.

As time goes by, Zayne can confirm you see him more than this boyfriend of yours. He doesn't say anything of the topic, only occasionally asking what Carter is doing, what is he up to? Does he love you—No. Of course, he won't ask that no matter how he's aching to do so.

Zayne was only being a friend. Lunch dates, dinner dates, checkups that lasts more than it was intended to, the way he touches your face, caressing the apple of your cheek so pretty he couldn't stop until you point it out. Those eyes of his pleading in silence that you became visibly confused because Carter wants to have a date with you but what about Zayne?

“You haven't finished your meal, I'm sure he can wait a few more minutes.” He's right, right? Carter can wait and he will, Zayne makes sure of that. Every. Time.

Every time Zayne tells you to stay you do.Carter's calling for a meet up near your house? Oh, you're shopping with Zayne for groceries! Another date because he missed the other due to work? Oh, Zayne has you occupied with the topic of the movie you're watching, letting you get it out of your chest why you think this character uses his girlfriend to get what he wanted. It's so... so obvious. You're upset at your boyfriend.

Most of the time Carter is working and missing in action, calling you after a day or hours to keep you hanging, kept you hoping.

All the while Zayne is delighted of this discovery he found. See, Zayne always makes time for you. Never once he left you hanging except for those he purposely led you astray because he didn't want to worry but you still do. You're adorable and he felt bad. His emotions were consuming him.

You were particularly disheartened about Carter once more as one does when a boyfriend promised a date for the third time and canceled last minute. Made you wait for hours on end only to call a friend, in this case, Zayne and expressed how you felt. You didn't cry, nor were you surprised, simply dissapointed your own boyfriend can't make time for you for one day you thought he's off work.

You weren't thinking much. Zayne is the closest friend you've ever had since childhood and now you're both adults and still supporting each other through thick and thin — it was so easy to give in.

Perhaps because you were vulnerable you let him comfort you in ways he does sometimes but it was different this time. His thumb brushing along your cheek, a soft snicker on his lips as he tells you to expect such negligence from a man like him. Carter is notorious for his work in Xander Sciences and Zayne had seen him work before. No man like him would give you the time in the world and stop his constant operations in sacrifice for a few moments with the woman he asked to be his.

“Why don't you focus up here,” Zayne breaks your train of thought, gently poking at your forehead with a soft smile. His finger draws on your skin so gentle it made you giggle, until he was cupping your face, giving you a look which could only translated as - “I'm here, am I not?”

A total mistake it was. But it kept happening. Again. And. Again.

Zayne asks you to stay and you do. Zayne asks to massage your shoulders and you said yes. Knowing what you two would be doing, you always comply to his demand.

A moment you're watching a movie and the next he's between your legs, groaning at your taste while your eyes roll back, fingers tugging at his locks all while the phone Zayne had thrown somewhere in the room vibrates alone with the sender 'Carter' calling.

Then to a party, to your place. At his office desk, you're beneath, now your turn to be between his legs. Face flushed with embarrassment and arousal, lips stretched with the thickness of his cock, cheeks hollowed, “So pretty, keep doing that,” and you do, swirling your tongue around his length before he guides your head to take him deeper before holding you to stay there for moments too long, nearly restricted of air before he pulls out with a hiss. His cock glistening of your saliva coating him through, a string connecting your tongue to his cock, raging and twitched at the sight of you.

Zayne can't help but chuckle low and deep as you part your lips again without his command, pushing his tip past your lips and watched in quiet awe how well you take him in, how you looked too damn good not to cant his hips just a little to make you whine around him, feel your warmth spreading once more before he's in deep your throat again. “There you go...” he leans on his chair a little more, eyes closed while his hands grasp your head firm and pushed forward, your nose squished as Zayne finally reached his peak and you drank it all. No waste.

And another event had graced you an invitation. Carter was late. Zayne noticed you were chewing on your lips, looking around, staring at every possible corner of the room, even the stage to see if your beloved boyfriend was there but to no avail.

Zayne, the caring friend that he is, reassurances you that he might come. might.

And if he didn't, maybe it's a sign.

“Dance with me,” he whispers to your ear, leading you towards the dance floor and ignoring your muttering of that wretched man. Zayne wanted to dance with you, that's what he's going to do. “It won't hurt to forget about him for a moment,” maybe he was right, with how much you were with Zayne this should be with no issue.

Who knew you'd end up losing yourself in his sheets. You weren't even drunk. Zayne was being clingy, wouldn't let you go until he was sure you were coming home with him because of some excuse you've already forgotten this moment. Hi body was hot and so was yours. Zayne says the liquor was at fault in this, it wasn't yours.

“I'm drunk, help me?” so you help him, in his bed, shirtless with eyes yearning for you. triggering the feeling you kept hidden for so long. He's making excuses and you're letting him.

Zayne grasps your hips onto his, you hide your face by nuzzling against his cheek. Tightly closing your eyes and thinking of how he feels inside you while Zayne gently utters praises and reassurance, poisoning your mind that this wasn't your fault.

“I got careless, we ended up drinking, don't we? I'm all the way in, has he reached this far inside you?” he grunts and groans directly in your ears, your moans echoing in his.

You never had a drink, and you're a hundred percent sure Zayne did not dare take one either. This was a nonsense, surely, not an excuse but you liked the way Zayne held you close with those sharp eyes of his you got lost in. The guilt fading away as the night progresses.

That morning you left his place faster than you ever could. going back to Carter to have a lunch date.

Zayne was disheartened but he knew you'd come back.

You wanted out immediately, telling yourself it will never happen again.

But it did. every time you say “This is the last time.” Zayne would agree with you, hold you again, and again, and again. Until the cycle repeats.

Zayne was getting more impatient each time you'd leave immediately so the moment you're by his door, looking down at your feet before gazing up to him— Zayne did everything to etch himself onto your skin, inside and out. He started to leave you sore and unable to walk for days turned weeks, literally. You'd call in sick, he would send health certificates to your team so he could have you again.In those days you were with him Carter was none the wiser.

Flowers would be at your desk, your home, takeouts when you forget to eat, lunch and dinner dates like before. Kissing by an isolated corner, heated touches during checkups even if there's nothing wrong with your heart—maybe there is, it wasn't his. But he knows he's getting close.It came to such a point where you'd be begging him to stop this. Zayne will agree, towering over you, slender fingers that has memorized your sweet spots already caressing your chin as he leans in.

“This will be the last time? we're over?” Zayne kisses your lips briefly, lifting your chin when you nodded at him.

“Carter— he's... he's getting suspicious,”

“He's not. I promise, I'll do something about it.” There he goes again, the same solution and miraculously it works. you don't know how and you don't want to ask.

“Last time.” he smiles, humming before his lips brushes against yours again. “Try not to end up on my bed again, miss hunter.”

#love and deepspace #love and deepspace zayne #zayne love and deepspace #lnds zayne #lads zayne #zayne x reader #zayne x mc #zayne x you #lads #lnds #zayne #l&ds zayne #love and deepspace x reader #love and deepspace smut #lads smut

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undead-supernova · 17 days ago

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Prologue - Chapter 1

pairing: eddie munson x fem!reader

plot: you and Mr. Munson are freshman english teachers at south jefferson high school and it seems that some of the kids think he's a better teacher than you. and, yeah, you're a little bit pissed

wc: 3.9k

no cw for this prologue - (lighthearted enemies to lovers)

a fun 2000s idea i had after watching the tv show English Teacher

title reference: We Are Going To Be Friends by The White Stripes

You were a curious moth to a smoldering flame. If anyone accused you of such a thing, you’d tell them they were crazy. And yet, here you were, staring at a piece of lined paper sticking out of a locker.

It belonged to Dustin Henderson, obvious from the Weird Al sticker stuck next to another of a retro baseball hat that read This is my thinking cap! Yeah, undoubtedly Dustin’s.

You thought about trying to push it back in so he could avoid some stupid bully ripping it. There was no reason for anyone to do that, but Dustin was a freshman and, well, he wasn’t exactly the most popular guy here.

Fuck it, you thought before taking a step forward.

As you touched the worn corner, you spotted your name poking out from the page. Next to it was…Mr. Munson’s?

You couldn’t help yourself from pulling it out just a little further.

I just think Mr. Munson is better

Huh?

You yanked the paper from the slit, fisting it with both hands as you scanned the page. That was undoubtedly his handwriting, haphazardly written like he was always thinking faster than he wrote.

So what the hell was Dustin Henderson doing saying that Mr. Munson was a better teacher than you? Dustin was in your class, not his! How the hell would he know?

A sudden flood of panic washed through you, causing you to throw a glance over to Aisha sitting farther up the hallway, scribbling away at something. She was always here before everyone else, begging you to give her homework early. Most days the answer was no. Most days.

But today, her attention seemed far away.

You looked back down, noticing a bunch of tally marks in pencil and pen. Even one was made with…an Expo marker? What the fuck?

she’s hot though, someone responded under Dustin’s comment, taunting you in red ink.

dude I’m dating Suzie

that doesn’t mean you can’t look

Mr. Munson is super fucking cool

Why did this feel like betrayal? Why was the word gnawing at your gut? Why was it bringing that bagel you’d scarfed down this morning up to the surface?

“Find anything good?”

You startled, instinctively jumping backwards and into the chest of the person behind you. Whirling around, you were face-to-face with Mr. Munson himself.

This was the first time he’d spoken to you. Ever. You’d been here since last spring, subbing for a teacher on maternity leave before she decided to become a stay at home mom. The hiring process was much easier after that. You’d see him at staff meetings and watch him holding the door open for the students after school like he was herding zoo animals off of his arc.

And now here he was, looking way too put together for a Monday morning. He had a crisp white button down with a noticeably ironed black tie and his long hair skillfully tucked into a low bun. His shaggy bangs were freshly trimmed with little tendrils framing his face. You couldn’t help but think he was the only teacher here without dark circles under his eyes.

“I…” you trailed, trying to parse through everything that’s just happened. The tally marks. The comments. The other candidate standing in front of you. The sheer amount of tally marks declaring you inferior to said candidate.

Mr. Munson’s eyes flickered down at the page, eyebrows shooting up. Before you could respond, he plucked it from your fingers. He mouthed the words as he read, scanning intently.

And then he let out a wheeze of laughter.

“Dustin fuc—freaking, excuse me, Henderson. You know, he’s just—” He looked back up at you, grin fading as he noticed your deflated expression. “Woah, hey. Sorry, I didn’t mean to, like, hurt your feelings or whatever.”

“It’s fine.”

It wasn’t fine and you hated that it wasn’t fine.

There was an image that flashed briefly before your eyes, of a note stuck to your locker with gum. A love letter from your crush, the one you held to your chest with a death grip as you floated through the cafeteria to his table. The great swell of hope before the roar of laughter that ensued. Before he high-fived his friends and let you down hard.

But this wasn’t your hometown. The walls weren’t flecked in vertical lines of blue and gold. The lights didn’t signal a death sentence.

And standing in front of you was your colleague, stuck with you in this limbo between the past and the present.

“Don’t let it get you down or whatever. They’re just kids.”

You could’ve sworn he saw the swirling fog that lingered in your eyes. Was this him letting you down easy?

Then why does it feel like a jab?

Mr. Munson was acknowledged as the favorite teacher of the freshman class last semester. You’d caught the tail end of this recognition, watching him laugh and roll his eyes as he gave a quick salute and sat back down. Mr. Munson, who already had everything figured out within the first year of teaching here.

You opened your mouth, pathetically suppressing the urge to ask, How did you do it? What am I doing wrong?

But the wave of students coming through brought you back to the current moment, stifling any admittance of weakness.

“Yeah, you’re right,” you said. “Gotta run, bye.”

You turned.

“Isn’t your classroom that way?”

Wincing, you turned back around, watching a smirk fill Mr. Munson’s stupid face. His eyes flickered toward your classroom three doors down from his before back at you.

“Yep, thanks. I know where my classroom is.”

“Yeah, I bet you sure do.”

“Great.”

That was the last time you would ever speak to Edward Munson.

Two weeks after you two found the list, you’d decided to sit in the empty break room for lunch. Every time you went to the cafeteria, you saw Mr. Munson there, laughing with the music and band teacher, Chelsea Jennings.

The numerous times you’d tried sitting even slightly near them, you always heard Mr. Munson talking loudly about his Creative Writing elective. He’d rattle on about the short stories he’d assign them as models with authors even you didn’t know. Names that flew past your head, some even being professors from the local university you hadn’t attended. Professors that he still talked to.

You had taken up the Poetry elective, quickly updating the curriculum to include more female poets and sprinkle in some of the moderns. You’d desperately wanted to talk to someone else about it, but insecurity spread the second you realized all of your poets were well-known. But how could you ignore Emily Dickinson, Annie Finch, Pablo Neruda, and Mary Oliver?

Chelsea wasn’t the only one who talked to him so casually. The other teachers would greet him with such warm demeanours that it made you feel sick. George Bedding, the junior geometry teacher and Mathletes coach, ruffled Mr. Munson’s hair and pretended to punch him before sitting next to him. The fucking P.E. teacher and football coach, Shaun Atkins, even clapped a hand on his shoulder while heading towards the line for pizza day.

The few teachers that had been more than welcoming to you were never around for lunch. Angela Bradbury, one of the senior English teachers, was always helping students or hidden away in her room, nibbling on her Wonder Bread sandwiches while reading the latest romance novel. Sarah Stewart, an art teacher, was your closest ally but spent her lunches working on her own projects.

See? There was no need to be jealous of him. You weren’t stuck on the outs. You fit in just fine.

Or, at least, that’s what you once thought. Now you had no idea how you were being perceived. And if you hadn’t come to the break room today, you would’ve spiraled. Again.

The room was small, coated in depressing beige with flimsy cabinets filled with powdered creamer and Folger’s coffee that expired two months ago. The refrigerator could barely keep anything cold.

So, yeah, no one really came in here.

(The other teachers hid a coffee pot in one of the supply closets with the good creamer in a mini-fridge you’d all chipped in for. Rumor has it that even Principal Scott used it.)

You sat down at the folding table, lower back already aching from the lack of support the metal chair gave you. At least you wouldn’t run into Mr. Munson again.

He’d just laughed while you were in the throes of humiliation. You supposed he didn’t have to think much about it because he was the one who was winning. Even if he was just some guy in his mid-thirties who must’ve taken this job as a last resort.

As if you hadn’t done the same.

But that was irrelevant.

And, yes, you looked at Dustin a bit differently after the incident. Every time he raised his hand, which was a lot, you couldn’t help but see his penciled scrawl.

Mr. Munson is super fucking cool

You wondered dejectedly if they wrote that during your class.

Before you could let out a frustrated groan, you noticed Mr. Munson in the doorway with a metal lunchbox covered in band stickers. He paused, wide eyes locking with yours. You couldn’t help but glare.

Should the opinion of fourteen-year-old boys affect the way you treat another adult? No, probably not.

But you weren’t always known to be a rational person.

It could’ve been minutes. You couldn’t say. The two of you locked in a stare that seemed more like predator and prey than two teachers just trying to make it through another Tuesday. His dumb expression, dark eyes as wide as a deer caught in the fluorescence. You, a mountain lion trying desperately not to devour your sandwich, chips, and Coke in one bite. Including the aluminum can.

What was worse was the longer you stared, the more you noticed how attractive he was. Properly attractive, with lips coated in what seemed to be tinted chapstick. There was no way his lips were that pink, right? And he had to be using some kind of mascara with how dark his eyelashes were. Then there was his hair, seemingly still stuck in the Eighties with the waves. At least he brushed his hair at all, which was more than any of the greasy-haired teenage boys that frequented the halls. Maybe he could be something to aspire to.

Maybe he already was.

Mr. Munson moved silently, only heard as he pulled out the chair across from you, the legs screeching against the dirty linoleum. You surveyed his lunch, an already cooked ramen cup with a Dr. Pepper. He must’ve found a better microwave in Sarah’s closet.

The teachers of South Jefferson High School had a lot of secrets hidden in their closets.

You finally dug into your sandwich, nearly moaning in relief. The school had implemented some new rule that the kids couldn’t bring snacks or they’d be “confiscated.” This rule applied to the teachers as well which was fucking cruel. You’d said your tearful goodbyes to apple slices with caramel and coughing fits between periods because you’d tried to choke down packets of Cheez-Its.

However, you weren’t prepared to watch Mr. Munson heave noodles into his mouth with a plastic fork, slurping and sucking the entire time. You couldn’t help your grimace, desperately trying to hold back the sound of disgust in the back of your throat.

Until he looked up, stray noodles plopping back into the styrofoam.

“Uh, what kind of sandwich is that?”

He only swallowed after he posed his question. Jesus Christ, this was the guy the kids were deeming their favorite? If only they saw him like this.

“Turkey and provolone,” you responded curtly.

He lifted an eyebrow. “Really? ‘Cause I see other stuff on it.”

You narrowed your eyes. “Banana peppers and onion.”

“And lettuce.”

So much for that scared little deer. Now he was some annoying warthog or a fox trying to slither through chicken wire.

“Why are you interested in my sandwich?”

He shrugged, a hint of a smile growing in the corners of his lips. You hated it. “It, uh, looks good.”

“It’s Jersey Mike’s,” you said bluntly.

Mr. Munson only shrugged again. “I only have ramen at my apartment.”

“Right.”

“And that fridge is a piece of shit.”

“True.”

“Woah!” he exclaimed, a huff of laughter leaving his lips. “Did we just agree on something?”

You rolled your eyes, unable to stop the feeling of being a teenage girl again. It figures you’d revert after being in this environment for so long, with the stinging scent of cleaning supplies and hormones spreading like diseases. But nothing prepared you for this to transport you back to a time once easily forgotten.

On instinct, your tongue grazed the front of your teeth, laving over the missing braces that hadn’t been there for nearly twenty years.

“Why do you care?” you snapped.

Something flickered across his eyes, too quick for you to distinguish. “Oh, I see,” he started, pointing his fork at you. It was then you noticed that it was in fact a spork. “You’re still pissed off about the list.”

You feigned a snort, waving him away as you took the final sip of your Coke. “What? No way.”

Another pearl of laughter flew out of him. “Has anyone told you you suck at lying?”

“Has anyone told you you’re annoying?”

As soon as it flew out of your mouth, you realized just how mean it sounded. You winced.

Mr. Munson let out another laugh but this one didn’t sound the same as the last. “If I had a penny for how many times I’ve been called annoying, I think I’d be, like, the wealthiest guy alive.”

“You’d surpass Bill Gates?” you asked, trying to lighten the mood.

He pretended to think about it before nodding. “Oh, yeah.”

“Wow.”

You couldn’t help the ease you felt when he played along. But the irritation started right back up as he reopened his mouth.

“I know you’re impressed,” he teased. “It’s okay. Go ahead and gawk.”

“Yeah, I’m absolutely starstruck.”

“Don’t worry about the list.” When you rolled your eyes again, he added, “Seriously! Those guys are just bored. I bet you’re a great teacher.”

“Thanks.” You didn’t even pretend to mean it.

After another shovel of noodles, he said, “But, just between us, I am kinda the best English teacher here.”

You couldn’t help a third eye roll. “I sincerely doubt it.”

A smug grin filled his face. “If I wasn’t, I wouldn’t be sponsoring the new book club next semester.”

A flare of anger flooded your veins.

“What?”

“Don’t get too jealous there,” he teased.

You shook your head. “No, I’m sponsoring the book club.”

He let out a hum and tilted his head. “You sure? ‘Cause I didn’t see your name on there.”

You scoffed. “I didn’t see Edward Munson on that list.” You said his name with a certain amount of venom that you knew wasn’t lost on him. His resulting scowl said it all.

He stood up, smoothing out his shirt and fiddling with his tie. “Well, I guess you’ll just have to deal with us being partners then.”

You were at a loss for words, unable to do anything but watch him move towards the door. “Been great talkin’ to you,” he said. He threw his napkin in the trash can before glancing at you over his shoulder. “I’m Edd-ie, by the way. Don’t wear it out.”

He walked away but you couldn’t help but throw a napkin at his fading figure. It made it as far as the end of the table.

That was the first moment you wondered why he’d decided to eat here in the first place.

“There must be some kind of mistake!” you exclaimed.

Principal Scott shook her head for probably the fourth time in two minutes. “I don’t see why you can’t work with Mr. Munson on this. If anything, that makes the club stronger.”

“It’s my chance to try and connect with these kids,” you explained, desperation leaking through your professional demeanor. “Ed—Mr. Munson has been here way longer than I have—”

“Only by a year,” she corrected, but you were far from over.

“ —and he has a leg up on me with them! I want to start making an impact! Kids these days are less interested in reading than ever before. It stopped being cool. What if I could inspire them to care? What if I could get them to read things that change their point of view on the world, to inspire them to think further outside of the little box their environment puts them in?”

Eddie was impressed by your speech, even if he wasn’t supposed to witness it. He’d actually been on the way here to talk to Principal Scott himself to try and keep his spot as the club’s head sponsor. Maybe keep you there but reduce your authority.

But then. Well. He heard you talk like this.

“And that’s great,” Principal Scott continued. “I just don’t see why you and Mr. Munson can’t do that together.”

“The kids like him,” you said before coughing. “At least, that’s how it seems.” Eddie rolled his eyes. “How am I supposed to do this work if he’s taking the spotlight? I’m just supposed to stay sidelined?”

He thought about the first time he saw you, at that first staff meeting you’d attended. You fidgeted a lot, all flustered and nervous like all new teachers were. Even in your fear, he thought you were pretty. Standing there, shifting from one heel to the other like you’d rather go barefoot than stand in the opposite corner.

You’d looked over at him at the same time, caught up in an awkward staring contest where both contestants refused to stop blinking and had no idea when to call it quits. It didn’t help that you seemingly relaxed at the connection. It was kind of adorable.

When he saw you in the halls after that, he found himself pausing to observe you. You were always there to wish the kids a good morning and a good rest of their day with a certain amount of sincerity that he could never muster. If there was a hyperventilating kid in the hallway, you were the first one to huddle them into your room to help them down from whatever ledge their raging hormones put them on that day.

Once, he’d walked past your room to see you opening a drawer while saying, “Don’t tell anyone about my secret stash, okay?” You pulled out a bowl of candy that even had his mouth watering. The student nodded her head, puffy-eyed but already reaching in. “If you promise to keep it a secret, you can come get candy whenever you want. How does that sound?”

If you were outside directing carpool, the worst of all the roulette wheel of responsibilities South Jefferson had to offer, you always seemed energized. Like it wasn’t a chore whatsoever.

He knew you cared about these kids. He did.

But you seemed to have absolutely lost it at the mere implication that you weren’t already everyone’s favorite English teacher. You’d developed some personal vendetta against him as if it was his fault that fourteen-year-olds with greasy hair, braces, and cruel acne flares thought better of him. Especially Dustin Henderson and his group of nerds. He meant that with all the love in the world, of course.

The way you spoke to him was more intriguing than infuriating. Amusing, even. But then you said his name with such disdain, such vitriol. It prodded at something deep inside him, a well of nearly forgotten memories that seemed to overflow the second you said his name like that.

So, yeah, maybe he was starting to develop a bit of a vendetta against you.

Eddie had to shift his plans. Clearly you weren’t going to give up easily. Maybe he’d annoy you to the brink of insanity and get you to drop your sponsorship. He’d always had proficiency in that skill. Besides, it wasn’t too mean. What was another push?

“Don’t you think you’ll get better turnout rates if he’s there?” Principal Scott reasoned. “If the kids like him so much, you can use that to your advantage—and his. I know Mr. Munson is a dedicated teacher. He’s given your speech to me dozens of times about things that quite frankly matter less. He’s passionate. Just try to work together. It doesn’t have to be that complicated.”

“Fine,” you conceded. “Fine. I can do that. Thank you for your time, Principal Scott.”

“Call me Carrie.”

“Yes, thank you, Carrie. I’ll see what I can do.”

Eddie thought about walking away. Really, he did.

But there was a part of him that really wanted to see you. Your figure had been obscured by the doorframe and, sure, he’d gotten enough from your words alone.

Nothing prepared him for the sight before him. You were utterly defeated, scratching at your neck as you hunched forward. The cross-strap bag you always carried was slipping off of your shoulder, causing you to groan as you fixed it.

As your eyes flickered up, he watched the scowl that seemed reserved for him deepen.

“What?” you challenged. “You wanna gloat?”

It was then Eddie realized he’d been grinning. He gestured to his face. “Was I not already gloating?”

“I can’t believe this,” you grumbled, quickly strolling past him.

But Eddie had a hard time knowing when to stop. And maybe, just maybe, he was solidifying his new plan. It couldn’t be that difficult, could it?

“You could take a picture, you know,” he continued. “just so you can keep up with every face I have when I win.”

“Shut up.”

Oh, he could get this done before Christmas break was over. If he challenged himself enough, maybe by the end of next week.

“I can lend you a camera if you’d like.”

You halted with a huff. “I’m trying to get things done for these kids. I’m trying to help them. Do you not get that? Or is this just a mask you wear to make people like you?”

Eddie tried to disguise the quirk of his eyebrow as he considered your words. But judging by the upwards flick of your eyes, he knew he’d been caught.

What was it that you saw in him that hadn’t been uncovered since his youth?

“You think so low of me.”

“I haven’t been given a reason to indicate any other kind of reaction to you and your incessant need to be a pest at any given time of the day.”

Eddie resisted the urge to give you a slow clap. Instead, he settled on “You done?”

You took a deep breath before nodding. “Yes.” Something seemed to shift as you took another deep breath and straightened your posture. “Winter break is coming up next week. We should try to figure out how to make this work. Why don’t we go get coffee or something and hammer out the kinks.”

“I think that is a great idea,” he replied, his tone more mocking than anything. “See? That wasn’t so hard, was it?”

You opened your mouth, seemingly to say one thing before hesitating and starting over. “Meet me next Tuesday at Java Bean at one p-m.”

Eddie grinned, smugly wondering what your reaction would be when he said his next words. Professionalism be damned.

“It’s a date.”

Your eyes widened, amusing Eddie to no end. Oh, yeah. That hit something.

“Do you hear yourself?” you asked, nearly scoffing at him.

There were those eyes of yours, searching for something in his. As if you were both trying to find the truth behind your cement walls of defense. But you gave up first, spinning around and trudging down the hallway.

“See you Tuesday!” he called after you, smiling triumphantly when your shoulders locked up.

Oh, yeah. This would be a cake walk.

thank you to @jo-harrington for all the time she took helping me with the writing process and @littlexdeaths for always making the best dividers. i love you both so much it's hard to articulate.

#we are going to be friends series #eddie munson x reader #eddie munson x you #eddie munson/you #Eddie munson/reader #eddie munson fanfiction #y2k!Eddie #eddie munson fanfic #eddie munson x female reader #Eddie munson x fem!reader

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i314flix · 2 months ago

Text

the one where jake seresin likes to call it ‘welfare checks’ whenever he’s checking how you are—but let’s be real, everyone knows that it’s only an excuse he uses because he can’t seem to erase the uneasiness he feels whenever he knows you’re not fine.

pairing: jake seresin x fem!reader

word count: 5.8k

rating: NC-17

content: fluff, light angst, enemies to lovers au; ft. naval aviator!reader

warning/s: swearing, alcohol consumption, making out, sexual innuendos, daddy issues(?), mentions of feeling pressured, mentions of drunk driving (nobody drunk drives here though), mention of a near death experience, most likely wrong info about naval aviators and the nature of their job sksks i'm sorry this is strictly fiction okAY

opening note. idk how this ended up being almost 6k LMAO. but anyways, i was so inspired to write this one scene (which you can read below) and ended up just adding so many details and back story that now here we are???? hope you guys like it though! jake seresin brain rot is real and i'm admittedly a goner for—as glen once put it—navy draco malfoy 😭

Jake knocks on your door three times, patiently waiting and looking around the street as if he’s afraid that someone followed him here. He knows that it’s unwise to be at your doorstep at this hour, but he was done eavesdropping and subtly asking around about your absence, bothered that it’s been almost a week and you haven’t been attending training like you should be. He heard Phoenix tell Bob that you were taking a short break because of the near-death experience you had while flying along the course last time, in fact almost quitting entirely if it weren’t for Maverick who instead offered you to breathe for a few days and then come back to see if you still wanted out of the mission. You were considered by your fellow TOPGUN graduates to be one of the captain’s top candidates to lead the mission, so Jake understood why Maverick didn’t let you off the hook that easily.

A few seconds pass and he contemplates on knocking again or leaving, deeming this idea as ridiculous—but then he sees the lights open and you’re peeking through the curtain of the small window beside your front door, disappearing again only to unlock the dozen locks on your door and opening it to greet Jake who meets your gaze immediately.

“What the hell are you doing here?” is the first thing you say, flummoxed by his presence. You and him aren’t exactly the closest among the crew, and there have been several times in which you’ve displayed how annoyed you were by everything Jake either says or does.

“I’m visiting you,” he answers, like it’s the most obvious thing in the world.

“Why?”

“Because you haven’t been in training for a week now. Are you quitting or something?”

You stare at him, appearing in deep thought or perhaps attempting to read his mind, and suddenly, you’re closing the door.

Jake widens his eyes in surprise but is quick to extend a hand out to prevent you from doing so.

“Really?” he complains. “You’re going to slam the door in my face?”

“Look, Hangman,” you begin, sighing and making your tired state known, “if you’re here to give me shit, don’t, because I have no will to show you the patience I typically have on a normal basis.”

“I’m not here to give you shit.”

“Then what are you here for?”

“I told you—I’m visiting.”

“For what? To make sure that I’m not going back so that Maverick can assign you as team leader?”

He rolls his eyes. “No, I’m here to make sure you’re doing okay. I heard you’re doing fine, but I just wanted to see it for myself.”

You’re quiet again, and you revert back to staring at him, as if you’re waiting for him to admit that this is just some prank. Jake doesn’t say anything though, he just returns your stare, appearing sincere for once, worried and waiting for you to realize that he’s not aiming to piss you off every time an opportunity presents itself.

You open the door wider. “Now you see me.”

“You doing good?”

“I’m doing good,” you affirm. “Just… I don’t know. Going through some stuff. Mixed thoughts—feelings—I don’t think you’d understand.”

“Try me.”

“I don’t want to bother you.”

“I’m here and it’s past 11 p.m.,” he says. “If I didn’t want to be bothered, I would have done this welfare check another time.”

You snort at the term he used in visiting you. “Are you sure? You don’t peg me as a good listener, to be honest. I don’t want to pour my heart out and end up listening to your life story instead.”

“I’m not like that. I could be a good listener if I tolerate the person enough.”

“You hate me, though.”

He laughs. “I don’t hate you, Goldie.”

Goldie. Jake liked your call sign because he liked the way you scowled whenever he was the one who utters it. The story behind the name was that your very first squadron saw a picture of you wearing these ridiculous platform gold sneakers when they were snooping around your Facebook profile, finding a photograph taken years ago by your mother at some family gathering you no longer remember. Eventually the joke turned into them calling you Goldie, and when the callsign review board was held, every member of the squadron voted for it to be your call sign and got it approved.

“I find that hard to believe,” you say.

“I just like driving you insane,” he admits with a smirk, and now you’re more reminded of the Hangman you know. “It gives me great pleasure to get under your skin. You never know how to fake that look on your face whenever you’re mad—it’s very funny.”

“You’re a dick.”

“Sure.” He shrugs.

The edges of your mouth twitch. “Fine, come in. I have beer. Or wine if that’s what you prefer.”

Jake contemplates about it—because like what he thought of earlier when he arrived on your porch, it’s unwise to be here. It wasn’t like in TOPGUN or the Hard Deck wherein there were other people around you for him to always be cautious of his actions; he’s afraid that he slips up or let his repressed romantic interest in you get the best of him since he has you alone.

At the same time however, he just didn’t care enough about the consequences for him to miss this chance of getting to know you better.

“Beer would be nice,” he tells you as he steps inside.

You nod and turn to head to the kitchen.

The house is a standard bungalow. When you walk in, you’re met with the living room, and then a few steps away from that is the kitchen. On the left side of the house, there’s a hallway leading to what Jake assumed to be the bedroom and washroom. He takes a seat on the sofa upon your instruction, scanning his surroundings and taking in the actuality of the situation he allowed himself to be in.

“Here you go.” You hand him an opened beer and he mutters his thanks, watching you go to the chair near him and plop down.

There’s silence, the two of you just drinking. You engage in small talk for a while, conversing about the most trivial things and matters that he’s not that even keen to know. The topic bounces on and on, until he can’t help but finally break it, impatient now and wanting to know what’s really been going on with you for the past few days.

You smile, amused by his little outburst. “You really want to talk about what’s bothering me?”

“I'm certainly not here to drink and talk about how hot it is on the beach.” He points out. “Just get on with it. You don’t have to tell me your whole life story. Just tell me why you’ve been gone since the accident.”

He catches you wince at the mention of an accident. “I’m resting.”

“You’re resting?”

“Yeah. It’s what Maverick wants me to do. He insists that I take a breather and then go back once I’m feeling better.”

“And have you been feeling better?”

“No,” you admit. “Actually, I…” you hesitate, flickering your eyes to Jake who’s listening intently. “Fuck, I don’t know why I’m telling you this. You’re the last person I should be—”

“You don’t have to tell me anything if you’re not comfortable with it.”

“I know. But that’s the thing, Hangman,” you say. “I think I have to tell someone about it or else I’ll end up more conflicted about the whole thing. And you know what? You might actually be the right person for this.”

“How come?”

“Because I don’t give a damn whether I have your approval or not.”

He scoffs out a laugh. “Wow. Thanks, I guess?”

You grin; you loved teasing him as much as he did the same to you. “I’m planning to quit.”

His hand halts as he’s raising it to get another sip of the beer. He didn’t expect you to drop the bomb that quickly. “What?”

“I want to quit.”

“Because of what? Because of a near death experience? I know your record, and this isn’t even the first time you experience an occurrence that involved—”

“It’s the third time,” you clarify before he’s even done speaking. “I promised myself I’d quit if I almost ended up dead three times.”

“That sounds ridiculous. You know that, right?”

“I never wanted to be a fighter pilot, Hangman.” You confess and he’s stunned by the revelation.

It seemed impossible and untrue. You graduated at the top of your class and you have the reputation of being one of the best in the field. Your leadership skills were top tier, your flying was superb, and you were fearless in the face of danger. He didn’t understand how a person who didn’t want this occupation to have all those qualities and be an overall amazing naval aviator.

“You’re lying,” he says, not knowing how to reply to that other than accusing you of being a liar.

You lean back on your chair, bringing your feet up and holding your knees together. “It’s because of my dad. It’s the typical shit you hear about a daughter wanting her dad’s approval. He’s just… he used to be a fighter pilot himself—and then he got into an accident, lost one of his legs after it happened, and got forced to retire.” You bring the rim of your beer bottle to your lips. “I think he was depressed for a while. He didn’t talk that much anymore and when he did, he was always so angry. Mom always encouraged him to talk to a therapist, just to release all the pent up frustration he must be feeling about what happened, but he refused. He didn’t believe in therapy. He was convinced that he could solve it all on his own.

“Anyway, I don’t know what I was thinking, but I thought if I could live the life he couldn’t continue and be a naval aviator myself, he’d feel better—or at least, he’ll be the father I used to have. Turns out I was right. Do you know how much he changed when I told him I sent an application to the Naval Academy? He was so pleased. He did a complete 360. Suddenly, it felt like I was his daughter again. It was clear to me then that if I wasn’t Goldie, I wasn’t anyone worth knowing.” You bite your lip, trying not to get emotional. Jake can see that, noticing how your lips are slightly quivering and how you’re avoiding eye contact. “But in a way, I still had some self-respect left. So that’s why I told myself that if I almost get myself killed in three different instances, I’d quit and I wouldn’t care about what Dad thinks. I’ll just go and live my life how I’d want to live it.”

“And last time was the third time.” He reiterates.

“Yep.”

He nods and downs the last gulps of beer.

There’s that silence again, but it’s not awkward. Jake is absorbing everything you just shared to him and you’re trying not to regret the fact that you told all of that to Jake. It’s a story you’re not used to disclosing to just anyone, especially not to someone like Jake who before this night was the reason why your temper was often brought to its highest limits. Yet you can’t deny that a huge weight has been lifted off your whole body thanks to the impromptu venting session; you appreciate the manner in which he stayed quiet and let you finish talking, not once interrupting and not once taking his attention away from you.

“Does Maverick know about this?” he asks.

“Yeah. I’m already drafting my request for resignation.”

“You know that most of the time, those requests get rejected, right?”

“Yeah.” You groan, finishing your beer as well. “But I don’t care. I’d at least try. Then if they won’t allow me, maybe I’ll just orchestrate a fourth near death experience and—”

“Don’t finish that sentence,” Jake cuts you off and you raise your eyebrows at him. “I don’t like what you’re implying.”

“I was just joking.”

“It’s not a good joke. You know better than to joke about things like that.” He’s serious, the most serious you’ve seen him in a long time.

He’s right. You know he is and it pains you to admit it to yourself. You swallow hard, abruptly ashamed. “I know. I’m sorry. I didn’t mean that. I’m just all over the place these days.”

“It’s fine.”

“I was being stupid.”

“You’re going through a hard time.”

“I’m sorry for trauma dumping.”

“It’s alright, Goldie.”

You stand up, getting his empty bottle and trudging to the kitchen to place them on the counter. “If you want to go, you’re free to. It’s late.”

“I can stay here if you need company.”

You laugh humorlessly. “I don’t need babysitting.”

“It’s not babysitting.” He pushes himself off his seat and follows you. “I just don’t feel good leaving you in this state. You’re clearly not okay.”

“I’m okay,” you correct him. “Like I said, I’m just all over the place these days. I need time alone to think and be sure of what I want to do.”

“For what it’s worth, I think you’d be a great loss to the Navy if you quit.”

You snort. “You don’t mean that.”

“I do. Why do you think I like pissing you off? It’s because you’re competition. You’re almost as good as me.”

You’re leaning on the counter and Jake’s standing beside you, his hand a few inches from your waist.

“Actually, I’m better than you, Hangman.” You smirk. “And maybe so is Rooster. He’s certainly better than you when it comes to being a leader.”

“Yeah, but I’m faster than him.”

“You’re reckless compared to him.”

“I can beat him in a dogfight.”

“He doesn’t leave his teammates behind.”

“Yeah, he forces them to go as slow as he is.”

“It’s not a bad thing. He’s being careful.”

“Slow doesn’t equate to being careful.”

“It doesn’t matter. I like him better than you anyways.”

“You like him better? You sure about that?”

You don’t know how it happened but you’re suddenly standing very close to Jake, your faces tilted towards each other that you’re certain if one of you moves any nearer, you’ll end up kissing. You’re reminded of how the squadron often teases you both, saying that the reason you bickered a lot was because of the sexual tension that both of you shared, but you always made an effort to deny it, declaring that there was no way in hell that you saw Hangman in the sense and you’d rather make out with a frog than the said cocky pilot.

Being in this situation with him right now though? After sharing a beer and letting yourself show your most vulnerable side to him? Seeing how genuinely concerned he is for you? How he actually see you as a highly skilled and capable naval aviator? It messes with your head a bit, makes you think that maybe you’re just really excellent with pretending that you’re not affected by his stupidly handsome smile, or drawn to gazing at his toned body whenever he’s in his uniform, or distracted when he’s sputtering off nonsense meant to rile you up and instead you’re noticing how pink his lips are, how soft they must be, how dozens of girls have fallen victim by his charm and how good he must at working those lips of his…

“You’re staring,” he whispers.

Your eyes move up. “What?”

Jake grins, like he understands what’s happening at this second. “You’re staring at my mouth, Goldie,” he says. “Is there something on my mouth?”

You shake your head. Your cheeks are warming up. Your heart is beating faster. You’re aware that he’s teasing, that he wants to get a reaction from you, and you’re annoyed that he’s getting what he wants. “It’s late,” you repeat your statement from earlier. “You should head back. Get some sleep.”

He thankfully steps back and you exhale.

“When are you coming back?” he asks.

“I’m not sure.” You start leading him to the front door.

Once you’re there and opening the door for him, he stops for a second, looking at you. “Hey, if you need someone to talk to… you can call me, alright?”

You find yourself smiling in amusement. “Tonight doesn’t make us friends, Hangman.”

“Good.” He returns the smile, sly and that teasing glint still in his eyes. “I don’t want to be friends.”

Before you can quip back a reply, he’s saying goodnight and marching down the steps of your porch, going inside his car and driving off.

****

You came back two days later and returned like you never left.

He didn’t talk to you again after that night. You didn’t call if ever you did need someone to talk to, and he didn’t approach you unless he really had something to say. You two weren’t avoiding the other per se; there just wasn’t a need to be within the other’s vicinity nor the obligation to initiate the conversation that much. However, in Jake’s case, he wanted to check on how you were doing, especially after being briefed on why you were having second thoughts about your position in the Navy—he just didn’t think it was okay for him to do so, not when he had a feeling that you didn’t want acknowledge the fact that you did tell him your story out of everyone in the squadron.

Eventually, it was decided and announced by Cyclone that Maverick would be appointed team leader to conduct the mission, seeing him to be the most fit among the graduates he was supposedly training for the job. Maverick chose Phoenix and Bob to accompany him, picked Rooster along with Payback and Fanboy to head the second strike team, and assigned Hangman as the emergency action pilot.

Jake saw how you were disappointed not to be given responsibility for anything for the mission, which didn’t make sense since you didn’t even want to be here in the first place. He figured you must have been looking forward to being appointed nonetheless, maybe driven by your desire to make your father proud still that you were willing to go on this dangerous operation to please him.

“Hey,” you called just as he was about to hop on his aircraft. “Be careful out there, okay?”

He grinned, tilting his head at you in a mocking manner that makes you regret for saying anything. “Are you going soft on me, Goldie?”

You scoffed, but you were flashing him a grin in an instant. “You wish. I just don’t want you to get yourself killed so I can do it myself.”

“Yeah, that’s totally why.”

“Shut up, Bagman.”

He gave you a wink before carrying on with what he was doing while you made a show of rolling your eyes before walking away.

After that, despite how the events weren’t as smooth sailing as you liked, nobody ended up arranging anyone’s funeral and Jake was even hailed as one of the heroes since he successfully saved Maverick and Rooster when they were heading back to the carrier.

And now, the whole squadron is doing some kind of post-mission celebration. It’s held in the Hard Deck, the bar near the naval base, and as Jake drinks with the rest of the crew and secretly relishes how everyone no longer saw him as only an arrogant pilot but an arrogant and reliable pilot, he finds himself trying to spot you among the crowd of aviators and every significant staff that made this mission successful, wishing he can know what are your thoughts about what has happened today.

“You see Goldie anywhere?” Jake asks Javy, placing the empty bottle of beer on the counter.

Javy scans the area and shakes his head. “No. But I think I saw her going out earlier.”

Jake nods.

Without further ado, he decides to go out of the bar and try starting his search there. He’s grateful he doesn’t need to explore the whole seaside to spot you plodding to where he’s guessing your car is parked, your legs wobbly and all, appearing you’re preoccupied with no regard to your surroundings that allow him to catch up beside you inconspicuously. As soon as you notice him though, you’re blinking multiple times, pausing for you’re surprised to see him here when you know he should be with the others.

“Jake,” you say, and he ignores the odd feelings that erupt in his chest upon hearing his name from your lips. “What are you—”

“Welfare check,” he explains. “Where are you going?”

You laugh out loud. He realizes you’re a bit drunk. “These welfare checks are becoming frequent.”

“It’s the second time. Don’t exaggerate.”

“Two times is too much for you.”

He changes the subject. “You’re not planning to drive home when you’re drunk, are you?”

“No, I’m not that stupid.” You scoff. “But I was planning to sleep in my car, just until I’m feeling okay to drive.”

“I can drive you home.”

“You don’t have to.”

“Let me do it anyway.”

You stare at him and he holds the stare, green eyes piercing through yours that you can feel right in your core. You’re mesmerized, caught in the moment, similar to that time in your kitchen, and before you understand your actions, you’re handing him your keys and going to the passenger’s side.

****

You don’t verbally invite him in but he follows you regardless, taking the sign of you opening the door wider for a few seconds as he walks from behind the invitation itself. You allow him to act as some shadow as you cross the living room and go to the kitchen to get a water bottle from the fridge, no words spoken from the both of you, and it’s only when you turn around to say something that it’s dawning onto you how it was maybe a bad idea to have him over.

You trust Jake as a man who won’t take advantage of you, but you don’t trust yourself with the thoughts you’ve been having about him lately. After that night when he did his first ‘welfare check’, you couldn’t shake him off your mind as fast as you usually could; you’ve spent a lot of your free time thinking of him and how you don’t exactly hate being in his presence like you’ve been telling yourself. Worse, you’re considering how you might truly be attracted to his infamous charm, captivated by that Texan accent and confidence whenever he went, steering the attention of everybody in the room.

You watch him take slow strides in your direction. You’re not moving, you’re not attempting to get away, and when he stops directly in front of you, your heart is doing that thing again—palpitating and striving to burst out of your ribcage.

“Are you going forth with your resignation?” he suddenly asks.

“Not yet, I suppose. I talked to Maverick about it today, and he’s offering to endorse me to the Admiral and Vice Admiral to make me an instructor in TOPGUN.”

“And are you taking it?”

“Maybe.”

The lights inside the house aren’t open. It’s only the lamp you had beside your sofa; its warm hue illuminates your faces and creates this sense of intimacy that you can’t brush off. Jake’s expression tells you he’s in deep thought, as if he’s having a dilemma of his own, and you’re under the impression that perhaps he’s confused with what’s going on right now as much as you are.

“If you take that job, then you’re staying here, aren’t you?” he guesses, and you shrug.

“Most likely.”

“Then there’s no chance we’ll be deployed again in the same squadron.”

“I wouldn’t say there’ll never be a chance again but—it’s a high possibility,” you say. “Why? Can’t stand to be directly in the same team as me anymore?”

He chuckles. “Partly.”

“Partly?” you exclaim. “You really don’t like me that much, huh?”

“It’s not that. You think I’d be here if that was the case?”

“You said the other day you didn’t want to be friends.”

“Yeah, and being friends is still the last thing I want with you.”

“Fine by me. My feelings are very much mutual, I assure you.”

“Are you sure? Maybe you’re not understanding what I mean.”

“Then what do you mean?”

“I mean I’m glad we won’t be placed in the same squadron again because there wouldn’t be a conflict of interest.”

You’re left speechless, the implication of his words causing you to overthink. Is he telling you what you think he’s telling you? Are you completely missing his point? Is he just messing with you? Playing mind tricks to have you wrapped around his finger? Whatever it is—whether your suspicions are right or not—you don’t let yourself think about it further, for this tension between the both of you is heightening and there’s a voice in your head that tells you to kiss him to find out what he really sees you as.

So you do. You kiss him, closing the gap between your lips and throwing your arms around his neck to tug him closer. It’s probably because you’re drunk that you’re brave enough to execute such a crazy gesture; you think how liquid courage indeed does wonders to your brain and your ability to know what’s wrong and right. And you can literally hear the gears in Jake’s brain moving as he stands there, hesitant at first to reciprocate, but eventually succumbing to it with an intensity you didn’t know he’s capable of giving, a hand falling on your hip while the other presses against your cheek, his fingertips inching forward to your hair that you quietly moan at.

Every sense you have is enhanced as the two of you make out. You can discern the pounding of your hearts; you can hear every pleased sound he makes as well as yours; you’re aware of every action he does, what he decides to do with his hands which moves to your waist, to your back, and lower… and even lower than that…

However, it ends as fast as it starts, and before you can properly react, Jake’s already breaking the kiss.

He looks grudging. It’s clear that he didn’t want to stop. “You’re drunk,” he whispers, an explanation to why he still did.

“Just tipsy,” you correct, about to try kissing him again but he dodges it, instead placing a lingering kiss on your cheek that spreads chills all over.

“We’re not sleeping together unless you’re sober.” His lips are on your ear, and you’re awfully getting mixed signals. It’s like he’s saying no yet continuously seducing you.

“I’m not that drunk.”

“I drove you home because you are.”

“No, you insisted on driving me home.”

“Because you were planning to sleep in your car, Goldie. Come on, are you seriously arguing with me on this?”

You groan, frustrated. Your head is starting to hurt because of the aftermath of the kiss and the thinking and the analyzing when it comes to what he’s saying to you and the actions he’s showing tonight. “Am I getting the signals wrong? Isn’t the reason you went here because you want to sleep with me? You just told me you didn’t want to be friends—because obviously, friends don’t fuck.”

Jake’s laughing once more. It certainly doesn’t seem you’re sober from the way you’re talking to him, too blunt and careless. “You didn’t read the signals wrong. I do want to sleep with you.”

“Then why are you rejecting me? I’m practically begging here. It’s goddamn embarrassing.”

“____,” he utters your name, still grinning in amusement yet his features are softer now as he stares at your half-lidded eyes boring into him, “if you were any other girl who’s asking me, I’d gladly sleep with you. You’re not some girl though—and I don’t want to fuck this up.”

“What?”

“I want to date you.”

“Okay, hold on.” You whip your head back in shock but you’re not pushing him away which Jake takes as a good sign. “Are you kidding? You better not be messing with me right now.”

“I’m not messing with you.”

“There’s no way in hell you want to date me, Hangman.”

“I’m pretty sure I do.”

“You don’t even know me that well.”

“It’s not like I’m asking you to elope and run away with me.” He chuckles and steps away, giving you a bit of room to breathe. “I’m just saying I like you and I want to get to know you better.”

You stare at him, waiting for the punchline that’s never going to arrive. “You’re nuts.”

“Hey, you’re the one who kissed me.”

“Yeah, ‘cause I thought you only wanted sex!”

“I still want sex.” He smirks and you squint at him in distaste. “But after a couple dates maybe. I take it slow with women I actually like.”

“You take it slow? You?”

“In relationships and in bed—if that’s your thing.”

“God, you’re giving me a migraine.”

You head to the part of the kitchen where you have a pouch of medicine for instances like these. From your peripheral vision, you see Jake already getting your unfinished water bottle to hand it to you as soon as you popped the aspirin in your mouth.

“We can talk about this tomorrow,” he says. “You should rest.”

“I should wake up from this nightmare.”

“I didn’t know jumping on me and begging for sexual intercourse was part of your nightmares, Goldie.”

“Fuck you.”

He grins. “Go to bed. I’ll leave right after.”

“How are you going back to the Hard Deck?”

“I’ll book an Uber.”

“Okay.”

You let Jake usher you to your bedroom, saying that he’ll visit you first thing in the morning. You tell him that he doesn’t have to bother but he replies that he needs to do another welfare check which you roll your eyes at, reckoning that it was cute the first time but now it was getting old and corny. He just laughs at you, for what seems like the nth time that evening, the reality of what happened between the both of you is beginning to sink in—and you’re not freaking out anymore. You think you kind of like it; you like the idea of Jake taking you seriously and conveying how serious he is by making his intentions clear.

“Good night, darlin’,” he says, brushing a portion of your hair away from your face.

You take a deep breath. You still kind of want to jump on him still but you immediately push those inappropriate thoughts away.

“Good night, Jake.”

****

The next day, a huge part of you genuinely thinks that everything that transpired last night was only an infuriating almost-sex dream.

You would have slept all day if it wasn’t for the heat of the sunlight seeping through your windows. When you opened your eyes, you saw that it was past 11 a.m. and your head was already killing you, causing you to sit up and head groggily towards the kitchen to wash your face, brush your teeth, and find the aspirin that could help with the headache. You’re the type of person who prevents a matter from worsening while it’s still possible, and you don’t want to spend the rest of your day wincing and complaining about your condition when it could easily be solved.

The moment you swallow the medicine, your brain thinks it’s the perfect time to bombard you with memories of what commenced the day prior. In an instant, you’re remembering the drinking, and then Jake driving you home, that odd tension between you two, and—oh, God. The kiss. The conversation after the kiss. Jake confessing what he felt for you and what he was going to do about it now that he said it out loud.

As if on cue, a knock pulls you away from your thoughts and like a robot, you mechanically go to your door to greet whoever it is that’s on the other side. You don’t even have the energy to peek through the curtains first like you usually do, and you realize that it’s a huge mistake that you forgot that step because once you’re swinging the door open, there’s Jake on your porch.

“Woah, not so fast.” He puts a firm hand on your door as you attempt to shut it on his face, very reminiscent of the other night. “I see you’re not planning on using an amnesia card on me because of yesterday.”

You grimace at the reminder. “Go away. My head hurts and I can’t deal with you today.”

“Good thing I bought hangover soup then. Can I come in?”

“No.”

“What if I say please?”

“Still no.”

“Alright, come on,” he’s still resisting the force you’re putting on the door to close it, “at least take the soup.”

You glance at the paper bag he’s holding and reach for it. However, he slyly moves it to the opposite direction.

“Hangman.” You grit your teeth.

“If you’re taking the soup…” he trails, “then that means you’re agreeing to a date. Will you still take it?”

It’s ridiculous. It’s such a middle school tactic, you think—yet there’s a little something fluttering inside your chest, a bit amused at how Jake is approaching this. There’s truly nothing like a man who goes out of character for the woman he adores; from the manner in which he’s acting, it’s apparent that he’s not afraid to show you a side of his personality that isn’t the usual macho, cocky, and self-absorbed one. Somehow, even if you’re aware that he’s going towards the cheesy route, you’re digging it.

With a roll of your eyes, you snatch the paper bag from his grasp and saunter back to your kitchen.

“Are you coming in or what?” you call, noticing that he hasn’t stepped in.

He strides to where you are, this cheeky look on his face as he reverts to his standard overconfident self. You remark how he goes after you, soon caging you by the sink while you’re getting the utensils from its designated cabinet to use for this so-called hangover soup he brought with him. You’re not fazed despite the proximity and how this scene mirrors last night when you face him, even raising your chin a bit higher to appear further composed.

“I knew you couldn’t resist me,” he says.

Jake makes a familiar show of his eyes flashing from your eyes to your lips, smirking, and just when you think he’s leaning down to continue where you left off, you tease him by placing a palm on his face and gently shoving his face away.

“Shut up, Bagman.”

gentle reminder: this author is a sucker for validation so please don’t hesitate to share your thoughts about this! ♡

#jake seresin #jake seresin x reader #jake seresin imagines #jake seresin fanfiction #hangman #hangman x reader #hangman imagines #hangman fanfiction #top gun #top gun maverick #top gun fanfiction #top gun imagines #glen powell #jake seresin drabbles #hangman drabbles

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eddiemunsonbrainrot · 4 months ago

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The Importance of the Tiger Pride poster on the season 5 bts video

I’m slightly insane so I spent 2 hours this afternoon analysing the entire video, and this tiger pride photo caught my eye as a little detail no one has mentioned. This may be a bit of a reach BUT the stranger things crew repeatedly show how important even tiny parts of the set are to this character.

The tiger pride poster is obviously in support of the Hawkins tigers, and what is drawn on there is a paw print. But I don’t know if it’s just me but I think that’s an odd way of drawing a paw print. The pad isn’t the right shape (on the poster it more looks like a heart) and the toes are too thin. Here is the poster, then what a tiger paw print should look like. I know they’re a bunch of high schoolers who have made this poster, but this feels like deliberate foreshadowing.

Keep the heart shape in mind.

Additionally, the paw print is coloured in red, which seems an odd choice. The tiger colours are orange and green, literally shown behind the poster, so it would make sense if it was either of those colours. So if we flip it upside, it actually looks like a red bleeding heart.

And you know where we have seen a very important red heart before - on Mike’s shield on Will’s painting

There are many reasons this heart could be included.

I think including this little detail ultimately ties together the importance of the painting to everything Mike does this season, and how it is essential in everything he does, if it is showing up in insignificant places like a poster at school.

However, since the heart is bleeding it could also suggest that Mike gets hurt, or alternatively, his shield gets damaged. We know that he has been building up an emotional shield/guard for the past two seasons, so this could go show that this season this is broken down and he is finally truthful to himself. He stops trying to push Will away, and push his feelings for him aside. Furthermore, to have a bleeding heart means to be a softhearted person, which reinforces the idea of Mike opening up this season.

It could also suggest that since Mike is protecting the whole party with his shield that he fails to save everyone and feels like it is his fault. I think the obvious candidate here is Will, since he is undeniably the person Mike cares most about in the party. I think this links well to the theory that since each season starts with Mike being late to something, he will be too late in saving someone (or so he thinks)

Just some fun little thoughts, let me know what you think.

TL,DR: Mike will be EMOTIONAL this season

#stranger things #stranger things 5 #st5 speculation #st5 theory #mike wheeler #will byers #byler #hellfire club #dustin henderson #lucas sinclair #finn wolfhard #noah schnapp #gaten matarazzo #caleb mclaughlin

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ozzgin · 11 months ago

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I can order a yandere cute (kawaii), who maybe because of his cute and innocent appearance managed to get close to his beloved, but maybe this boy is not only cute and has a very disturbing past...

When you described a cute yandere with a messed up past, all I could think of was Kanato from Diabolik Lovers. This one's less of an asshole though. Hopefully. I also wasn't sure what you had in mind for 'disturbing past', I may have gone overboard.

Cute!Twisted! Yandere x Reader

Children will say the strangest things. Such as the marriage promise you’ve received from the little boy you befriended a long time ago, when you were rather young yourself. Yet sometimes the words aren’t entirely devoid of meaning. He definitely hasn’t forgotten his intentions, and your current fiancé is a mere delay to his plans.

TW: mentions of abuse, obsessive behavior, violence, small age gap, death

He still remembers the day you met, so clearly and vividly. His most cherished memory.

It was particularly cold despite the sun and his feet were hurting. He didn't have the time to put any shoes on, he ran out the moment he'd heard the sound of glass breaking.

Mother was so scary when she'd get upset. The bulging eyes, the screaming mouth, the wild hair scattered over her face, darkening her features.

What if she were to follow him outside? No, she was never mean in front of others. Then again, the street was empty...He bit apart the skin on his fingers in panic.

"Isn't it a bit late for pajamas?"

His eyes darted up and met hers. A girl somewhat taller and older, holding a basketball under her arm and staring intently, visibly confused. He was, after all, shivering outside by himself, barefoot and in sleeping garments in bright daylight. He blushed in embarrassment.

"I snuck out for some fresh air."

"Rebellious already, huh?" She smirked and walked over, dropping herself on the sidewalk next to him. "I'm (Y/N). Do you live in the area? We could hang out when you feel like it. No need to sit by yourself."

She pointed to a house unexpectedly close. Has she always been nearby? Then again, he was never allowed outside. Besides the spontaneous escapades in order to avoid the burning rage, he didn't see other people much. It had always been him and Mother.

For his own good, really. At least that's what Mother used to say. When she wasn't angry, she'd cry and hold him tight, telling him how much she pities him between hiccups and candid sobs. A vile creature like him would surely be mocked by the rest of the world. Not his fault, the poor little angel. Alas, his miserable fate still had a glimpse of hope, because Mother would never abandon him. He would always find acceptance from her all-forgiving heart.

And yet, there was always the seed of suspicion in the depths of his mind. Her sweet, soothing words felt like a hot slap over the blooming wounds already adorning his body, shaping a paradox.

Then he met you. You didn't seem to be disturbed by his presence. The following days, whenever he approached you, you'd welcome him with the same warm smile. Just like you promised. He couldn't find the ridicule he'd so often been warned about.

The puzzle pieces didn't fit together, and it became painfully obvious once Mother confronted him about his secret outings. Somehow her wrath had faded. Her shouts were mere waves echoing from somewhere distant, only grazing by his ears. She must've noticed his indifference, too, because she began rummaging her pockets for the basement key. Perhaps an old fashioned discipline would have helped him regain his voice. But the dark, cramped walls of the basement no longer frightened him. During his time spent outside, he had discovered a fact of stunning novelty:

He didn't have to listen to her. Staring into her ferocious, bottomless pits, he only found the reflection of (Y/N)'s face. Her peaceful, loving expression, devoid of pain, or fury, or punishment.

His little hands reached for the box cutter.

"It's you that has to go downstairs, Mother. You're a liar. I hate liars."

Was it the right choice? His small outburst had ultimately cost him your company. That evening he politely called emergency to let them know his Mother had gone mad. And so they dispatched a couple of officers to investigate the gruesome cadaver, sprawled along the stairs with too many gashes to count. They shyly investigated the basement, and a social worker carefully inspected the little boy's abundant markings. This couldn't have been a suicide, but the tearful, frightened eyes of the child kept them from pressing further. Whoever had stepped foot into their home that day most likely did him a favor. Nonetheless, he was now essentially orphaned, requiring an adult, and was swiftly shipped to the first available relative.

He didn't have the time to meet you one last time. A shameful departure given his final meeting: completely inebriated with ardent affection, he dared to present to you his innermost wish. One day he'd marry you, he was certain of it. You chuckled and extended your pinky finger reassuringly. A sealed deal.

All he had was your name and your promise and God, how dearly he clung to them every night, every passing year. His true glimmer of hope.

You're scrolling through your emails, waiting for the bus to arrive, when a gentle tap on the shoulder startles you. Behind you is a young man, although the soft, feminine features give him more of an androgynous appearance.

"May I help you?"

"You're (Y/N), aren't you?" he bats his eyelashes expectantly.

"I am, but how do you-"

You gaze at the stranger intently. The big, innocent eyes, the childish demeanor, there's a certain familiarity to it. Who could it be? Suddenly you're overwhelmed by nostalgia.

"It's you! How many years...? And you haven't changed one bit!" You laugh merrily at the sight of your shy, quiet friend, all grown up.

"H-hey now, surely I look more mature this time." He tries to emulate a somber frown as a way to prove his adulthood. "Do you have time? I'd love to catch up."

He missed you so much.

"Right now is a little difficult, but I'll tell you what. Why don't you come over to our place in the near future?"

Huh?

"This way I can introduce you to my fiancé!" You flash him your phone in order to exchange numbers, enthusiastic about the surprise reunion.

He vacantly stares at the lockscreen depicting an unknown man holding you close to him. When he searched for your name online, he didn't find anything regarding a relationship. He didn't expect this. He shouldn't have expected this. His fingers tighten around the small velvet box in his pocket.

Did you forget your promise to him? Or was everything a lie? No, you wouldn't...you couldn't...He fucking hates��liars. But you're not one of them, are you? You're not like Mother. No, no, no, no. Breathe. It's his fault. Of course, naturally. He vanished without a word and you must've thought he abandoned you. How careless of him. How terribly rude to blame you for his mistakes. It's okay, it's alright. He'll make it up to you. Sweet, darling (Y/N).

"Are you okay?"

He looks up and notices your worried face.

"Me? Yes, definitely. I was just a little surprised. Hehe. Who would've thought?" He grins and winks at you. "I have an even better idea! Why don't you two come to my apartment instead? I never got the chance to congratulate you for your engagement."

"Gosh, haha, don't worry about i-"

"Please. Pretty please?" He pouts dramatically, holding onto your coat, and you blush slightly at the adorable display. "It's my way of thanking you for the nice childhood memories."

"You really have your way to convince people, huh?" You ruffle his hair and he lowers his head, enjoying the touch. "I'll let my fiancé know."

"Such a cozy place you got yourself!" You beam at the lovely atmosphere of the room. Everything is bright and inviting.

"Uh huh. The ladies must love you." Your fiancé follows up in agreement, snacking on the fancy appetizers.

The young man places a tray on the table and hands you both a glass of sparkling wine.

"Do you live alone? I refuse to believe you don't have a girlfriend." You joke and turn to your partner. "He was a real loner back then. Never saw him around other kids."

"Don't out me like that, (Y/N)!" He pinches your cheek humorously. "As a matter of fact, I do have a girlfriend."

Your fiancé raises his eyebrows, encouraging the boy to continue with details, while he gulps down the pleasantly aromatic drink. Must be expensive.

"Then why didn't you bring her here? I want to meet her!" You whine.

The man fiddles with his glass, observing the air bubbles that rush to the surface.

"You already know her."

"Oh?"

Distracted by this knowledge, you stretch for your own glass and accidentally grab the one belonging to your fiancé. Before you can bring it to your lips, your head swings to the side and you can instantly feel your cheek throb, numb from the abrupt impact of someone's hand.

"Don't fucking touch it!"

Your childhood friend is standing before you, equally shocked by his act. He stares at his reddening palm and his face twists in terror.

"I-I'm...Oh God...I'm so sorry, (Y/N). I just, I didn't know what else to do. You have to understand, please. I'd never-"

As you listen to his erratic apology, you hear the wheezing coughs of your fiancé. His breathing is irregular and he scratches his throat, unable to verbalize his struggle to you. A white foam begins to form in the corners of his mouth. You try to get up, but the man's fingers dig into your face, forcing you back on the chair.

"Shhh shhh, it sounds uglier than it actually is. Trust me. Do you see now? I had to be a little rough, otherwise you would've gotten hurt. Hey! Look at me." He cups your cheeks with both of his hands, squatting in front of you. "Let him settle down. It won't be long."

Your vision becomes blurry.

"He needs an ambulance. Please. What did you do with the drinks?" You manage to blurt out.

"Won't make a difference."

He rests his gaze on your features for a few moments, admiring them dreamily.

"It breaks my heart when you're sad like this. Didn't I say this is an engagement celebration?"

Without breaking eye contact, he pulls out his treasured box and opens it in your lap, revealing a ring.

"I know I disappeared without a word, but I truly had no choice. This is my way of begging for your forgiveness. Not a day went by without thinking of you, (Y/N). I, heh...I actually got this many years ago. Just carried it in my pocket in case I ever found you again."

He giggles awkwardly, stroking your cheek protectively.

"So don't cry. I've kept my promise after all, didn't I? Aren't you proud of me~?"

By the time his little speech ends, the room has filled with silence. Your fiancé is slouching on the chair, still and quiet. The young boy picks up your limp body, humming cheerfully.

"You'll be the prettiest bride in the world.

Mine and mine only."

#female reader #yandere x reader #yandere x you #yandere x darling #male yandere x reader #yandere imagine #yandere imagines #yandere scenarios #yandere original character #yandere childhood friend #tw yandere

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catboybiologist · 17 days ago

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Honest question, why bother voting if you live in California?

Like it's not going to change the outcome for sure

So the most obvious reason is that the president isn't the only thing you vote for. Local candidates and statewide measures are in the ballot too. And those are ABSOLUTELY worth voting for. This is big fucking reason number 1. California has ballot propositions right now on ending slavery as a form of criminal punishment, rent and housing reform, and a dangerous crime and punishment bill.

This alone should be more than enough reason to vote in California, I'm begging you (general you, not the asker, I'm p sure you're not American iirc).

As for the president, yeah, I was initially with your other ask that "voting third party will send a message", BUT, I've had some major shifts in how I view my vote.

One, no state is as safe as you think it is. I know "red California" seems like a fairy tale, but remember that we're the state that gave the world Reagan. There's a vicious undercurrent of neoliberal right wing mentalities here, and I don't want to abstain from the vote in the year that this current takes over enough.

Florida used to be a swing state. Now it's solid R. And there are endless examples.

This year it's not gonna happen, of course. Hell, we're Harris' home state. But I'm a little too scared to make that judgement call right now.

The other shift I've had is in the way that parties view their votes. These thoughts are way more poorly formed and I know people are going to judge me for them, so please don't pounce.

Major politicians don't view abstain or third party votes as protest votes. They view them as demographics that they've already lost. Permanently. They view them as either lazy young people who won't vote, or idealists who they can't appeal to. And yeah, maybe I fit that bill.

Right now, the messaging the Dems need to be sent is that yes, they can actually get a turnout.

Federal presidential candidates aren't going to try to appeal to people who are voting green. They're going to continue appealing to center suburbanites and forgetting about the left.

Does all this mean "blindly rally behind the Democrats"? God fucking no. It means plug your nose, mark a piece of paper, and hope they win because they'll listen at least the TINIEST but more when you raise hell in the future.

The question also is, do I believe in the Greens at all? Or is it just a "stick it to the Democrats" vote? And is giving the Greens legitimacy an unintended side effect, or an intent for that vote? I don't want to say personal answers to those questions

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coryosbaby · 2 years ago

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Camera Ready ✧･ﾟ: Finnick Odair x reader

Summary: Neither of you really care if anyone sees.

Warning: exhibitism, voyeurism, p n v, riding, they fuck in the arena while it’s being televised, spit kink, size kink, creampie, switch ! Finnick, switch! Reader

⭒

“You know you could walk a little slower, sweetness. ”

Finnick’s voice blares out teasingly into the morning air as he trails behind you. Your hair sticks to your forehead in sweaty strands, your body on high alert as you make sure to scope out any remaining candidates that aren’t on your side. Which isn’t much, considering you have Katniss and the others, but it’s still a good idea to be cautious. To your relief you had found Finnick in the woods last night. And as much of a victor as you are, the dark makes you nervous. So he had allowed you to sleep beside him, curled up with his arms wrapped around you. It wasn’t intentional, of course, but when he sleeps it seems that he tends to get handsy. And when the warmth of his body was beside you, you couldn’t resist letting him throw you into his embrace.

“Maybe you could walk a little faster, pretty boy.”

He chuckles at the nickname, his pace finally catching up with you so you can see the cocky smile on his face.

“You think I’m pretty?”

Your friendship is like this, a lot. Flirtation, playful banter, and a few hook ups every now and then since the two of you met at a capital event one year. And now, even when you’re supposed to be enemies, you’re working together. It’s just a connection, an order that makes you both flow freely with each other and get the things you desire.

You ignore the way Finnick’s hands ignite flames on your skin and the way his smile makes your heart flourish. You also ignore the way you feel the constant need to protect him and keep him alive. In this game, you can’t have anything serious.

“Mm..” you reply. “Sometimes.”

Your hands wrap around his neck as you pull him to you. He smiles, that pretty crooked smile, and presses a kiss to your temple.

And then, you hear a snap.

You and Finnick are both on high alert then, and turning around you’re both faced with a victor. Not an ally, it seems, as she’s pointing a knife at the both of you.

It doesn’t take long before she’s dead, but it’s still a bother to you. You don’t like murdering these people, and you’ve never liked the whole idea or subject of the hunger games. The first time you had won, but at what cost when they’ve sent you right back in?

It’s kill or be killed. And as the woman’s blood splatters on your face, you sense that familiar feeling of rage from the first time you killed creeping back into your psyche. That rage that loathes the capital, loathes those stupid fucking districts as they fall into the ground. And your knife doesn’t stop the assault on her as you make sure she’s dead. It’s better, this way, to overdo it so they don’t have to suffer. Finnick is surprised at your strength and skill, he always has been, but he finds it best not to bring it to attention.

As you two walk away, the woods begins to clear. And then you both watch as you see the Arena come into view, dark and blood soaked.

“Great,” you mutter. “More to show the people.”

It’s obvious that everything is being recorded, but this is the most clear spot. As you sit down on one of the rock formations, your lean back to watch the clouds and the orange sunset. Finnick sits beside you, his neck and chest splattered with blood. And after a moment, you begin to speak.

“I don’t like doing this.” You state. “It’s all bullshit. It’s psychotic.”

Finnick nods in agreement, his jaw clenched as he watches the stains on your shirt.

“We should give them a show.” He says. “Do something that we know they can’t get away from.”

And that’s when you get the idea.

You look at him, a mere glance. You’re both probably sweaty and disgusting, but even now Finnick looks absolutely god like. You know he’s chiseled, under that gray suit. And you know what big thing lies underneath the crotch of his underwear.

You smile, your hand coming to rest gently on his muscled thigh. His eyebrows furrow in confusion, as he watches your palm begin to move up more.

“What are you doing?” He asks. He doesn’t seem completely against the idea, though. Because then that cocky smirk you know so good and well is plastered onto his face, his hands finding there way to the exposed skin of your shoulder. He leans over and kisses your collarbone, gently. You huff, your lips moving to graze the spot below his ear.

“If they want them a show, let’s give them a show.”

Seeming to be on the same page, Finnick crashes his lips into yours in a bruising kiss.

Meanwhile, at the capital, the monitors in the room begin to awkwardly watch as you push Finnick down onto the rocky arm. His back hits the floor with a grunt, and then he’s watching as you sit up and unzip the back of your suit. He groans when your tits are revealed to them, full and sitting in all their glory. He brings his hands up and gropes one in his hand, feels the soft skin and your pert nipples being brought to attention. You tut when he tries to move his fingers down to your pussy.

“No, Finn.” You coo. Your nails scratch his addam’s apple, and he flushes as you begin to climb on top of him. “No touching there until I say.”

He groans when you press down against his growing bulge.

“You know if we don’t hurry we could die, right?” He huffs.

“I don’t want to hear excuses, baby. We both know fucking me again is the last thing you want to do before you go.”

He can’t deny that, and as you demand that he lift himself up and unzip his suit down to his thighs, he follows your directions with desperation. You watch as you pull his briefs down below his balls, watch as his girthy length springs to full attention. He moans when your hand connects to his skin, and begins to jerk him off with vigor. You can feel a tension in the air, the feeling of being watched extremely prominent. And it shouldn’t get you so wet, but it does. So you bring yourself to eye level with Finnick’s cock, and spit down on him, quick to shove his tip into the warm confines of your mouth. He makes a deep sound in his throat, and you move away teasingly when his hips try and move his cock farther into your throat.

“C’mon, sugar.” He says, overwhelmed. “Don’t be mean.”

“Why don’t you just shut up and do what I say, Odair?” You demand. You slap his cock, and he groans, legs beginning to tremble at the pain and pleasure mixing. “Besides, I’m not letting you use my mouth right now. I just needed to get you wet.”

He whines in protest when you pull away from him. But then you’re pushing your suit down, past your calfs and onto the ground.

So help you, if you’re going to die it’s going to be like this.

When your pussy is revealed to him, Finnick’s cock jumps and he sits up to guide you to his lap. He’s warm, his cock drooling and messy. You don’t hesitate to rub his tip against your clit, your thighs holding his lean body down.

“Please, y/n, fuck!” Finnick stutters, the feeling of your wet silky cunt making him go crazy.

You smile as you finally guide him to your entrance, and sink down. His cock fills you up to impossible levels, his balls pressed flush against you when he finally bottoms out. His hands go to your waist, and when you bounce on him, his eyes roll back and he cries out like a bitch in heat.

“Jesus Christ.. you feel so fuckin’ good, angel. Love your pussy so much.”

“I know, sweet boy.” You moan when he grazes a soft spot inside you. “It f-feels good, doesn’t it? My little pussy feel good around that big cock?”

“God, yes. Cmon, ride me harder, momma. I know you can.”

And when you begin to fuck him faster, he brings his hands down to your ass, and begins bucking up into you with a feral pace. Your arousal makes him keen, makes his brain turn to mush the moment your scent hits him. You look so beautiful, so flushed and perfect, and something snaps inside of Finnick, then. His fingers spread your cheeks apart, and his voice is raw.

“Bet you like this, huh? The whole capital watching you get fuckin’ destroyed by my big cock? Hm?”

You gasp at his words, your fingers clawing at his chest.

“Finn, baby, fuck!”

“You love it, don’t you?”

No reply. Finnick slaps your ass harshly, and you yelp at the sting. His hands grab your throat in a harsh grip.

“Answer me!” He demands. You cry out, trying to nod the best you can, and then uttering out a “Yes! Yes sir!” As his large hands cut off your air supply.

“That’s my fuckin girl.” He replies. His fingers rub your clit, leaving your throat as you gasp for air and your orgasm washes over you. Your pussy gushes all over him, soaking his cock and balls and the rock below the both of you, and without warning Finnick is grabbing your hips with his large hands and turning you over so you’re beneath him. It’s quick, and you’re incredibly surprised. You wrap your legs around him as he begins to pummel you, now with more leverage and strength, and his cock feels like it’s destroying you from the inside out. You don’t complain, though. And when Finnick’s hips begin stuttering, you know he’s about to cum.

“C’mon, baby, cum inside me, cum in my pussy!”

Your words spur him on, makes him leave bruising marks on your wrists as he holds them above your head and begins to cum in thick, messy ropes. Your walls practically milk him of everything he’s got, and when he’s done you can feel the stickiness of his seed dripping off his cock and onto your thighs.

He buries his face in your neck, then. And with a small laugh, he pulls himself out and begins to lick his cum out of you. Your middle finger comes up into the air as he does it. A sign, as the victor from district 4 eats your pussy. A big ‘fuck you’ to the capital.

The cameramen and people at home watch in shock and awe. There’s a debate of whether or not they should turn it off, and after a while everyone becomes too distracted by the images on screen to worry about it. The next day, none of the other tributes look at you both the same.

Because at that time, they had been watching, too.

@emsbookcase

#finnick odair #Finnick Odair x reader #Finnick Odair x fem! reader #Finnick Odair smut #switch! Finnick Odair #sub! Finnick Odair #dom! Finnick Odair #switch! reader #sub! reader #dom! reader #the hunger games #the hunger games catching fire #the hunger games mockingjay pt1 #the hunger games mockingjay pt2 #the hunger games fanfiction

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loriache · 6 months ago

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honestly i'm kind of interested in the idea of laios in an arranged marriage. because obviously straight-up inherited monarchies are ...bad, to say the least! but it's what the characters are familiar with (even laios' father's extremely local, extremely minor leadership role is inherited, presumably through the male line). and it isn't just about what they think the best way to run melini is; in terms of ensuring that the other longed-lived nations respect melini's continued sovereignty, having it passed down in a manner that's close enough to their own ways for them to understand it and respect it is important. And it seems like most of the other nations have leadership through inheritance - thought that isn't confirmed for certain except with the elves.

Also, a marriage carries the potential to establish foreign allies - something melini is certainly lacking. A marriage could come with resources they'll badly need, treaties of mutual defence, money, legitimacy and political capital... not that these things can't be worked around, but if laios isn't strongly opposed, there are a lot of advantages! and i don't think he would be, because that's the framework for marriage (conferring practical advantages, building intracommunity relationships and providing a partner to do important work that he can't do) that he had grown up with. he isn't exactly a romantic and I doubt he's holding out for any sort of relationship of that nature.

Like, I don't think it's impossible that they would go with this path, because it's the most obvious and it carries a lot of advantages and it's what almost all the decision-making characters would consider normal and not objectionable. and it could be so interesting.

I think Laios would have major hangups if expected (i.e., by Marcille) to establish a genuine, romantic interest in a woman. Whether because of his sexual or romantic orientation, or just his own deep-seated trauma about rejection and being inherently disgusting and scary. And I think he'd hate the idea of having kids, too, and be very frightened of being like his father. But I don't think he'd refuse on that basis; he could cope with a marriage contract, with clearly laid-out expectations and responsibilities. And when it came to having a kid, I think he'd be reluctant to express that he doesn't want to do it, because he isn't naive and he understood when he agreed to be king it would carry responsibilities like this. It's clear from his nightmare that he already felt pressure from his parents to have children, probably magnified by the fact his father has got a position, responsibilities and wealth to pass on. Obviously he isn't a perfect martyr, so he might struggle when it comes to actually going through with it - but I don't think he'd actually, outright refuse. I think he might do it even though he doesn't want to, and I think that could be really messy in a way that appeals to me.

I don't know, there's something about negotiating these kinds of complicated situations that's interesting to me. and i love a platonic marriage. If they find a woman who has an interest in education, for example, and can work with marcille on setting up schools and universities. she'd ideally be politically savvy enough to be an able partner to laios: even though kabru can and would continue to do a lot of that, there are different spheres that a queen and a prime minister can work within!

how would their relationship work? maybe she finds laios' perspective on the world, and his frankness, unexpectedly liberating after an extremely controlled, cloistered upbringing. maybe she had a rebellious phase, has magic, or something else which makes her a relatively unpopular candidate for marriage - even as melini grows in power, i doubt that they'd be getting offers for the cream of the crop in terms of perceived value on the marriage market, because laios' relationship is a bit too ambivalent/monstrous for that, and melini too new. maybe she's a widow! an older woman, wouldn't that be cool - though they'd want her young enough that she could definitely still have kids.

certainly i think he'd be happy for her to pursue other relationships, though ideally in a manner that couldn't produce illegitimate kids. with other relationships in play, that's even more interesting. like, both kabru and toshiro have complicated emotions relating to infidelity. i think kabru would actually find it quite cathartic to be in the kind of high-status environment that rejected his mother for perceived infidelity, pursuing an affair that all parties consent to, though he'd likely be incredibly aware of the public image - since "image" is what he was rejected for. toshiro... i just really really love the way he'd feel about being the "other woman" in laios' marriage, considering his feelings about his father and maizuru. especially given how much closer he is to maizuru than his mother, being in her position...! his emotions would be so complex, it's incredibly tasty. i bet he'd make a bunch of assumptions about how laios' wife feels about it and be totally wrong, and that's so interesting. also, i think laios' wife should fuck marcille (she and falin have an open relationship).

#og post #dungeon meshi manga spoilers #dunmeshi #laios touden #inheritance! in the cultural framework these characters are working with #it really matters #this is why in my unwritten postcanon story i have the touden parents have another kid. can you imagine laios' feelings on that! god.#negotiating some kind of freedom within the restrictions responsibilities and expectations of this position #is part of what is so interesting to me abt postcanon dm #and it's extra interesting to me if there are a lot of restrictions and responsibilities laios can't or won't escape and has to work around #and marriage and kids are a big one there... exactly BECAUSE laios is so viscerally uncomf with the expectations of heterosexual masculinit #so easy to read as transfem nonbinary gay etc #i want to see him treating a marriage contract like he does the problem of the demon. if that makes any sense.#putting that brilliant autistic brain to work to see a way to do this that isn't like your father did

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kenmakodz · 9 months ago

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CANDID LOVE ˙✧˖📷

02. shitty sushi place ☆

writing in-between cuts!

you sigh, tucking your phone away— they’re way too close now to keep typing about them, it’d be obvious. it will be fine, you think. nobara has hung out with maki and her friends plenty of times; if she gets along with them, so can you!

“hey again!” you wave, walking to meet the duo halfway. the shorter blonde boy is first to acknowledge you, nodding his head as his pace comes to a halt- a greeting, you suppose. maki lazily holds up a hand as if to say hello. “nice to see you again, just on our turf this time huh?” she chuckles on the last word, coaxing you to smile back- intrigued at her way of starting a conversation. “yeah, seems like the tables have turned. it’s much smaller than i expected, though.” you turn to face the boy standing next to her, deciding it would be rude to not introduce yourself. “nice to meet you as well, y/n l/n.” he nods again, “toge inumaki.” his voice is much quieter than you expected, maybe he’s the shy type? or maybe he’s just not interested in talking to you; who knows.

maki’s tour isn’t very…. detailed. “this is the dining hall, we eat here sometimes.” , “this is the common area that nobody sits in.” , etc etc. to most, this would come off as rude and uninterested. in reality, she actually made you laugh quite a few times. she slipped in jokes here and there, the majority of them being about the wide range of interesting professors she's come across. an honest tour is much better than an over-detailed, over-explanation of every single thing on campus that close to nobody cares about; she reminds you a lot of megumi the whole time. the boy wouldn’t say too much, just some playful banter back and forth with the two of you about certain classes, random places on campus, and the like. it was nice, you thought- not as awkward or as forced as you felt like it would be. maki seemed to be enjoying herself as well, noticing that you laughed whenever she poked at the school for its quirks.

after about an hour of walking around, the three of you seem to halt rather abruptly. you notice the two friends begin texting, so you lean against the building and begin to lazily scroll while they do their own thing.

finally, she looks up, clearly contemplating something. “would you want to come get sushi with us? our other friend, yuuta is on the way too. he’s studying the same thing as you.”

you pause. being invited out with them was the last thing you had expected- when her mouth opened, you were anticipating her to offer walking you back home. the confusion definitely shows on your face, and the boy (who you now know as toge) laughs at your reaction. “you can say no if you don’t want to,” making a mental note to punch yourself for being so awkward later on, you finally respond, starting to laugh along. “im sorry, i don’t know why i reacted like that- i’m honestly starving, that would be great!”

you've gained 3 new followers!

￬ makizen, fortnitegod, y.okkotsu.

fun facts -> yuuta was contemplating skipping his lecture for that sushi all. day. it'd been a while since the three of them went out, and it could be a while before they get to do it again, since work begins to pile up around this time in the year. when he heard about y/n being there, he almost backed out. yuuta hyperfocuses on first-impressions, and showing up sleep deprived after a 2 hour lecture was NOT his idea of a good one.

previous , masterlist, next [03. life: ended]

taglist is open! @just-a-girlblogger @moryymor @swissy23 @hvnyacoded @sereniteav @k4romis @jayathelostdragon @h3rmess @olivandeee @lysaray @ari3000dontcare @raechu11

⤷ © kenmakodz

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mariacallous · 3 months ago

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I LOVED this article. Leslie Gray Streeter expresses it perfectly.

https://www.thebaltimorebanner.com/opinion/column/kamala-harris-no-press-interviews-OPD4MAXYKRB4XJHB2TFB6ZJX6Q/

Since becoming the presumptive Democratic candidate for president, Vice President Kamala Harris has done myriad public appearances and given speeches but has not, as of this writing, talked to journalists outside a brief session on the tarmac before a flight.

I’m a journalist and have been for more than half my life. And you know what? I don’t blame her one bit.

Because of her refusal to sit for an interview with any print or broadcast media, Harris has been the target of a lot of indignant insistence that she change her mind — that she’s not giving the American public answers they deserve. Critics say she’s subverting an expected system that all other elected officials have gone through. They say she’s hiding behind a wall of hype and “irrational exuberance” that is proof she lacks the toughness to hold the office she seeks.

Be ever so real, y’all. You know that quote, “Insanity is doing the same thing over and over and expecting different results”? It would be insane to subject yourself to unfettered questions by an industry that doesn’t seem to know how to handle interviews with true journalistic integrity and practices. Why beat your head against a wall you know is made of brick and disinformation?

Harris has seen a media landscape that arguably legitimized soon-to-be-President Donald Trump as a normal candidate when he was sowing seeds of unrest, writing about him agreeing to accept the 2016 election results, “if I win,” and then denying those results in 2020 with not an nth of the absolute pushback and condemnation it deserved. She saw, as we all did, major outlets referring to obvious racist attacks by the current Republican nominee and others as “racially tinged” and to blatant bloody lies as “falsehoods” and “misstatements.”

The vice president recently approached the press gaggle with a deliberately direct “Whatcha got?” That is the same thing my late daddy used to ask me point-blank when I’d been calling and calling and he knew I wanted something. The reporters had been clamoring for this. And their response? A bunch of requests for a response to crazy stuff Trump said about her.

This is the same industry that initially wrote presidential fanfic pondering replacement candidates that weren’t Harris. Then, when President Joe Biden stepped down from the race and named her as his chosen successor, they compiled panels ruminating on Trump’s assertions about her racial identity. Fox News has gone on the attack about her every day, but she’s being called a coward for not agreeing to a debate on that network in front of an arena of opposing fans.

Yeah, no. She is not, as we say in my culture, Boo Boo the Fool, nor is she, as she’s stated, falling for the okey-doke. Would you rush to sit down to withstand more of that foolishness? I would not. Despite the protestations of several writers from traditional media absolutely aghast at her avoidance of them, the truth is that Kamala Harris doesn’t need them.

Just as Trump has flocked to friendly outlets like Fox and a live conversation on X with app owner Elon Musk (or what Harris’ team referred to as “whatever that was”), Harris has done speeches at a rally in North Carolina and last week in Prince George’s County, and she has her savvy and very online comms team to get her message out. It’s smart, because most outlets have proven they don’t know how to approach her.

The vice president has expressed interest in setting something up, but I wouldn’t be shocked if she sidesteps your Dana Bashes and Kristen Welkers and does something inventive. If I were her, I’d talk to MSNBC’s Lawrence O’Donnell, who has himself been critical of media colleagues, including his own network.

Maybe she should completely pivot and do something fun like “Hot Ones,” where she can answer policy questions while eating spicy wings. Talk to Teen Vogue. Do podcasts. Hang out with “The Real Housewives of Potomac.” I know these sound like lightweight options, but are any of these suggestions less weighty than Harris’ opponent, who bleats lies and racism on his own app, or his approved media partners who go on about Harris’ laugh, dating history and heritage? It’s all a circus. I say make your own big top.

And if madam vice president decides to talk to the traditional media, be it the New York Times or CNN, I think she should only do so with interviewers who have proven themselves to have cultural competency about race, gender, historically Black colleges and universities, the Divine 9 Greek system, step parenting and being a baddie in the 1990s. I’m not saying it has to be a friendly person like Trump seeks, but it does have to be someone who respects Harris enough as a candidate to do research and not spend the whole time asking gotcha questions about her opponent’s lies. Heck, I’ll do it! I know this is a long shot, but at least I know what okey-doke means.

I am excited for Harris’ future media choices because they are sure to be unprecedented, just like her candidacy. And it’s going to be on her terms. Everyone gets to set theirs, after all.

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beomiracles · 6 months ago

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「 WATCH MY SIX 」 PART ONE

DREAM RECALL if asked the question — you would describe Hueningkai as beautiful. Not necessarily sexy or even handsome, simply; beautiful. You think it was his beauty that attracted you to him from the start. The day he introduced himself, the day it all began.

pairings stalker!hueningkai x afab!reader warnings stalking, harassment, mentions of severe injury, brief description of self inflicted injury, non-con photography (these warnings apply for part one)

#serene adds ✎... this is my first attempt at writing something stalker-ish but I hope it's appreciated still! any feedback is immensely appreciated :3

The first thing you noticed about Hueningkai was how tall he was, easily towering over you in an almost intimidating manner — The second thing that caught your eye was his smile, he had an almost boyish-grin that made his eyes crinkle up in the most endearing way. Third, was the small mole on his left cheek, entrancing you as it moved when he spoke, smiled, and laughed.

If asked the question — you would describe Hueningkai as beautiful. Not necessarily sexy or even handsome, simply; beautiful. You think it was his beauty that attracted you to him from the start. The day he introduced himself, the day it all began.

It was your first day of college.

“Hi, I’m Hueningkai”, he introduces himself. You glanced between his friendly face and outstretched hand. You shake it, “hi, y/n”, you give a small smile which he returns with one of his own and you find your gaze lingering on his rosy lips. “First day?” he asks as he eyes your awkward stance. You nod, “that obvious?” Kai chuckles before shaking his head, “your empty bag”, he then comments and you glance down toward your very much vacant book bag. “Oh” you sheepishly chuckle and he grins, that endearing grin that you would grow to love.

You had been eager to make friends and Hueningkai had seemed like the perfect first candidate. You find out that he’s in his third year, majoring in computer science and you listen eagerly as he shows you around campus. Kai was charismatic, and a great tour guide, making everything seem both fun and intriguing.

“What are your plans then?” he wonders as you walk down the large hallways. “Well…” you begin as you keep your eyes on the way your feet move forward, “I’m hoping to get my degree in business.” Kai hums next to you, “business, you wanna start your own?” You shrug, “perhaps…” In truth you wished to open a small business of your own, but whenever you had shared your dream of a small cafe you had been greatly humbled, thus you decided to keep such ambitions to yourself — at least for now.

Kai glances in your direction as the two of you continue in silence. You found that he stared at you a lot, you didn’t mind, in fact you felt almost flattered that such a beautiful man had even introduced himself, let alone offered to show you around. Upon your arrival at the student council’s office, Kai leaves your side, excusing himself by saying that he had class to attend. You thanked him for his kindness and he flashed you that smile of his once more.

Your first day progressed without much difficulty and you found yourself making a lot more friends than anticipated. As the last bell rang, you had formed a small group of four, and for the first time in a while; you felt hopeful for the future. Having exchanged numbers and settling on a day to all meet up outside of school, you bid farewell to your new friends as you make your way toward the subway.

You had barely made it off campus when a familiar voice called out for you. It’s with an excited smile that you turn around to face Hueningkai as he catches up with you. “First day treating you well?” he asks and you nod, eager to begin telling him about your day as the two of you walk down the busy streets.

You tell him about your new professors and show him your schedule. He listens with great interest as he comments on your unfairly good timetable. “Just wait until your third year”, he huffs and you giggle. Kai took most of his classes in a separate building to yours, making it difficult for you to meet up during the day, you couldn’t hide the disappointment flashing across your features at the thought.

“I’ve made quite a few friends as well” you add as you swing your book bag in front of you cheerily. Your mind racing with scenarios in which you would introduce him to your small group. At first Kai doesn’t answer you, his silence makes you glance in his direction, the once radiant expression on his face had morphed into a gloomy one, his lips pressed into a thin line. You frown, did something happen? You could’ve sworn that he was grinning just mere seconds ago.

“That’s nice”, he finally says in a monotone voice and you awkwardly nod. The warm summer air suddenly felt as cold as a December night. The two of you walk in silence for a few minutes, your mind plagued with ways to break it. Finally the subway comes into vision and you feel relief flooding your system. You turn to him with a small smile, “well I better…”

“Can I have your number?”

His question shakes you off path as you blink up at him. Your number? Had the beautiful man asked you the very same question this morning your answer would have been definite. But the previous stale silence surrounding you had been more than uncomfortable, so you hesitate. Soon he grins as he tilts his head to the side, something about that small smile, makes your knees buckle and you caved.

He saves his number on your device before handing it back to you, “same time tomorrow then, sunshine?” He gives you a small wave before leaving you by the bustling subway, you don’t even have the time to form a reply before he’s gone, vanished.

That night you went to bed with a tingling sensation in your chest.

Kai kept meeting you before school every morning, he walked you to class and met you after to walk you to the subway. Everyday was the same, and you quickly found yourself adapting to your new routine. Kai was easy to talk to and he listened happily to whatever topic you found yourself stumbling across. All but one. You had wished to introduce him to your friends but everytime you brought the idea forward, he would find an excuse to avoid it.

Even whilst dropping you off at class, he would quickly excuse himself before your friends had the chance to approach. After school he would wait by the gates, a safe distance from your small group. You wondered why he was so adamant about not meeting them.

And so as you walk to class that morning, you will yourself to bring the subject up. Clearing your throat awkwardly, you immediately garner his attention as he glances toward you, “I was thinking…maybe…you would like to join us on friday, we’re going bowling”, you ask hopefully as you keep your gaze on the floor. He walks silently beside you, an impassive expression painted across his face, seemingly unreadable. “Who’s ‘us’?” he then asks and you give a small shrug of your shoulders. “Me, Sun hee, Nari and probably Eun too”, as you list the small party the expression on Kai’s face twitches slightly. “I might be busy friday”, he then states and you let out a quiet oh.

You thought that it was probably just an excuse to not go, yet you let it be, not wanting to pry. You liked Kai a lot, and you didn’t want to ruin things by pushing him too far. Though your friends kept asking about him, it was of course not surprising as you talked about him almost every day. You just couldn’t understand why he didn’t like them.

That Friday you went out just like you had planned. Despite the absence of Kai you managed to have a great time. So much that you almost forgot how upset the whole situation had made you.

“Another strike?” Eun yells as your ball hits all its targets once more. Your name on the scoreboard moves up to the top, surpassing Eun’s with ease. You give him a teasing grin as you take your seat next to Nari. After flipping you off, Eun turns to help Sun hee with her turn.

“How long until they start dating you reckon?” Nari mutters beside you as she takes a sip of her drink. “I’d give it another two weeks”, you mumble as you watch the way Eun places his hand on Sun hee’s waist to help her get into position. “Maybe one and a half”, you then say and Nari smirks, “wanna bet?” Out of everyone you and Nari had become the closest, it happened naturally as the two of you took almost the same classes and therefore spent the majority of your days in each other’s presence. There was also a certain force that pulled you toward Nari, you admired her honesty and confident character; part of you thought that it was perhaps what you lacked.

“Speaking of which”, she then drawls as she sets her drink down, “where’s your date?” Her words instantly bring color to your face and you shake your head, “he couldn’t make it, and he was not my date” you state to which Nari grins, “sure he wasn’t.”

She’s silent for a moment before adding, “he’s busy often.” Biting your bottom lip, you nod, “he’s got a lot of school work”, you lie, you hate lying. Yet you couldn’t bring yourself to tell her that he probably didn’t want to meet your friends, that you had almost pleaded for him to join you at least once. “Computer science is no joke”, Nari agrees as she gazes ahead. You were sure she could see right through you, Nari was smart.

You swallow. “Maybe next time? I’ll ask him”, you mumble and Nari nods, “you better, I want to see the guy who takes up all your attention, barely leaving any for me”, she teases as she gives your shoulder a playful push and you smile as you sip on your own drink.

That night you got your first of what would become many messages.

Having just got out of the shower, a towel wrapped securely around your body, you’re in the midst of drying your hair when your phone chimes with a notification. Thinking it was probably just Nari asking if you got home alright, you brush it off — though a small part of you thought, hoped, that it might’ve been Kai.

Ever since you had brought up the question of meeting your friends he had been acting…distant. And you meant it quite literally. Whenever he walked you to class or the subway his gaze seemed far away, his thoughts seemingly occupied as he hummed and nodded along to whatever subject you rambled on about. Could it be that he had come to his senses at last?

Finally your curiosity got the better of you as you tossed the towel used to dry your hair on your bed and walked over to your drawer, which your phone rested on top of. Upon tapping the screen you’re greeted by a single message, and it’s from…

An unknown number?

That’s strange, sellers never left messages, and what other reason would an unknown number have for contacting you? Though the uncanny numbers on the screen were far from the most terrifying thing. It was the message itself, reading out one short sentence.

“You looked good tonight.”

It was strange, you had the numbers of everyone already. Who was this person? Because it certainly wasn’t any of your friends, more importantly; how did they get your number? Sun hee had admittedly become slightly drunk, but not drunk enough to give out your number to a stranger.

“Who is this?” Your fingers hesitate over the send button as you contemplate your decision. In the end your curiosity won you over once more. You send it.

It is immediately read.

Your eyes widen as the three familiar dots pop up on the bright screen, indicating that the person was typing. You watch the dots move up and down for at least a minute before they vanish completely. Whatever they were typing out, they had deleted again.

You waited that whole night for a reply, but it never came. All that was left was the small text:

Read 12:38am.

That following week you receive yet another message. Chatter fills the large cafeteria as students crowd the many tables. Your own table is no different as your friends engage in different subjects. You found it hard to share their enthusiasm as your mind kept wandering back to the previous weekend. Kai hadn’t texted you once, and neither had he walked you to class today. Had you done something wrong?

“Hey! Sleepyhead!”, Eun calls out as he snaps his fingers in front of your eyes, startling you. “Almost thought we lost you there”, he chuckles and you give a half-assed smile back. “What do you think about dinner at Nari’s on friday?” he asks and you nod, “sure…Friday's good.” You really didn’t feel like going.

Eun claps his hands excitedly, “great! then it’s decided!” Immediately he drifts onto a new topic and you automatically zone out. Though a light tap to your shoulder shifts your attention to your right, “ask you friend if he can make it”, Nari whispers as she wiggles her eyebrows in a suggestive manner.

You bite your lip as you consider her words. Truthfully, you didn’t want to invite Kai once more only to be turned down by him. Perhaps he was starting to find your persistence annoying — maybe it had been his reason for not texting you all weekend. Despite your uncertainty you give Nari a small nod and she grins.

The familiar buzzing of your phone has you instinctively reaching for it. The unfamiliar set of numbers flashing on your screen however, causes your stomach to drop through the floor. It was the number from last week, once again the sender had only left one message, and no signature.

“He’s quite annoying isn’t he?”

You frown, were they referring to Eun? You glance around the crowded cafeteria, but it was seemingly impossible to make out if anyone was watching your table. How odd. The message hadn’t been very precise, it didn’t have to imply that whoever sent it was currently in the room with you; yet you felt the hairs on the back of your neck stand as a shiver ran down your spine.

These texts would continue to make an appearance throughout the following weeks. Ranging in variety; sometimes they were long, sometimes short, sometimes they targeted people you knew, sometimes they were questions.

“What did you have for breakfast today?”

“You look pretty today.”

“Does she ever shut up?”

Sometimes they were outright creepy.

“I’ve been thinking about you all day. I always do, but today was even harder for me. I miss you a lot, I wish I could see you more often. Don’t you want to see me too?”

It had crossed your mind many times to block the number. Yet you always found yourself hesitating — was it curiosity or just stupidity? You weren’t sure. But the mystery behind the sender intrigued you greatly and you spent the vast majority of your free time wondering who it could be. Briefly you had considered Eun, but he liked Sun hee, and honestly didn’t strike you as the type to harass someone like that. Then there was the guy from your English class, you couldn’t quite remember his name but he often if not always insisted on sitting next to you; and when he didn’t, you could feel his burning gaze on you. But how would he have gotten your number? You hadn’t given it out to anyone except your friends and Kai.

It had to be someone from your school, at least so you thought; who else would be able to study your whereabouts so closely. Besides, the sender never indicated knowing anything about your life outside. But as time passed you grew both paranoid and uncertain of your existing guesses.

Your final straw drew to a line on the 19th of September, by now the messages had been terrorizing you for almost four weeks. But it wasn’t until now that they suddenly morphed from a mere pest to something utterly terrifying.

It was late at night when the message was received. Curled up on your couch, your eyes mindlessly glaze over the moving screen of your Tv, the movie doing little to catch your interest. Your phone buzzes on the cushion next to you, without as much as a thought you pick it up only for it to almost immediately slip out of your hand.

“The Conjuring? I didn’t take you for a horror enthusiast.”

Your eyes flicker from your phone to your Tv screen, undoubtedly playing that very movie. What the fuck. But that would mean…your neck snaps in the direction of your window, nothing. Still it did little to ease the worry in your chest as you quickly got up to close all curtains and rattle your door once more.

You thoroughly checked every inch of your flat, in closets, behind old moving boxes, you even went as far as checking under your bed. The place was empty, yet you felt watched. That’s when you decided to block the unknown number. And this time, you didn't hesitate.

Two days passed without much noise and soon you found yourself falling back into your old routines, it was comforting — spending time with your friends and most importantly, with Kai. He had explained his absence with being out of town to visit his sick grandma, it had been an emergency but he kept on apologizing for not reaching out and promising to make it up with lunch. You felt stupid for even doubting him in the first place as you reassured him that it was all forgotten.

“You got any plans this weekend?” he asks as you make your way to class together. “I well…I’m sort of meeting my friends to go see a movie on Saturday…” you mumble as you reach the door to your first class. Kai’s jaw clenches as he lets out a small sigh. Inside the classroom your eyes immediately find your small group of friends, Nari notices you first and waves you over as she mouths the words “is that him?”, you give her a small nod and she smirks.

“You should come”, you then say as you turn to glance up at him. Kai’s gaze shifts from your frame to the table your friends currently occupy. His expression flashes with annoyance before his attention returns to you. “How about Sunday?” he asks and you blink in confusion. “I…I’m free Sunday, but…” — “good, I’ll see you after class.” Without another word he turns and walks off, leaving you stunned as you shift awkwardly in the doorway.

As you take your seat amongst your friends, Nari quickly turns to you. “Well?” She tilts her head to the side as she looks at you expectantly. You shrug her off as you bring out your notebook and a few pencils, “well what?” She lets out an exasperated groan, leaning closer, “I mean, what was all that about?” You shake your head, “nothing..” It was obvious that Nari didn’t believe you, yet you were thankful that she chose not to pry further.

Class began and the day rolled on in a most uneventful manner, that was until your last period of the day. Your professor had been rambling for the past forty minutes without as much as a break and you felt your eyelids grow heavy. Next to you, Nari had doodled all over her previous notes, now she only tapped her pen against the paper in a monotone manner.

Your phone buzzes in your pocket, usually you would ignore it during class, but today was an exceptionally boring one. You bring the device out as your tired eyes squint down toward the screen. It’s another unknown number, you frown, you thought you blocked the last one. Your heart immediately picks up its pace as you realize that the sender had sent not one but two messages this time.

With trembling hands you unlock your phone as you tap on the message. It’s a…photo. You turn the brightness up as you bring your phone closer to your face, it’s a girl, she looks to be cooking something, you can’t clearly make it out, the blinds covering the window makes for a narrow view. Upon further inspection you realize that it’s…it’s you. Your heart sinks as your eyes follow the outline of your relaxed frame, blissfully unaware of the pair of eyes bestowed upon you.

The second message only read out a single word:

“Pretty.”

The sound of your heart's rapid beating rings in your ears as your eyes remain glued to the screen. What the fuck, what the fuck, what the fuck, what the… “What’s that?” Nari wonders as she peeks over at your screen, curious about what’s got your attention. She frowns as she takes the phone from you, bringing it just as close to her face as you had. “What the fuck, is that you?” She exclaims, earning a few glances from the students around you.

You don’t answer her as you try and will your hands to lay still against the desk. Tears threaten at the corners of your eyes as you try and comprehend the situation before you. “Babes what the fuck”, Nari mumbles and you give her a pleading glance, “please let’s leave.”

You find a secluded spot outside, and as Nari goes through the previous messages sent by the unknown number, you lean against the wall in an attempt to calm yourself. “This is fucking insane”, she mutters as she scrolls through the 50+ messages in your inbox. “Are they talking about me?” she frowns as she shows you the screen.

“Stuck up bitch. Only cares about herself. Why bother hanging out with her?”

You shake your head as the first tears fall, “I don’t know…” you sniffle and your friend’s expression goes from a glaring one to a worried one. “Fuck, babes this is serious, we need to contact the police.” Shaking your head once more you sob, “what can they do? I have no clue who it could be”.

“They know where you live for god's sake!” Nari exclaims as she runs a hand through her dark hair frustratedly. “You think I don’t get that? That I don’t get how bad this is?” you cry as you slide down against the stone wall. Nari is by your side in seconds as she wraps her arms around you in a warm embrace. “Alright, it’s okay, we’ll figure something out, I’ll stay with you, or you can stay with me, I won’t have you be alone okay?” You meekly nod as you hug her tighter, grateful for your friend.

You text Kai to let him know that he won’t be needing to wait for you that day, that you will spend some time with Nari. Her apartment is bigger than yours, holding not one but two bedrooms. She makes your bed for you, lets you borrow her clothes and cooks dinner for the two of you. Telling you that it’s nothing when you try over and over again to help her or in any way thank her. “You would do the same for me”, she says as she hands you a bottle of soju and takes a seat next to you on the couch.

“So, what do you reckon our next step is?” she ponders and you take a sip of your drink. “You don’t think they’ll stop, do you?” Your voice is far from hopeful as you look at her with a tormented expression. Nari shakes her head as a small pout forms on her lips, “how long has it been going on for?”

“A month”, your voice is barely above a whisper yet your words ring out through the silent apartment. It felt almost unreal to think that the same person had pestered your life for a whole of four weeks, not giving up despite your clear disregard of their advances. How much longer would you have to endure this? And what if something dangerous happened?

“You need to go to the police, love, what if they do something to you?” Nari mumbles, having seemingly read your thoughts as she studies your bleak expression. You knew that she was right, “alright, I will”.

That night you lay in the guest bedroom of Nari’s flat, staring up at the dark ceiling as the minutes ticked by. No matter how much you tossed and turned you never seemed to find comfort enough to sleep. And like clockwork, your phone flashed with yet a notification, flooding the dark room in an eerie light.

You try your best to ignore it as you flip over on your stomach, burying your face into the pillow. But as the screen turns black it is but a mere three seconds before your phone buzzes with yet another notification, followed by a third, a fourth, a fifth…

Frowning, you sit up as you grab the small device in your hands. What the fuck, you mumble as 9+ unread messages from that same unknown number fills your screen. Hesitantly, you open them.

“Why would you tell her about me? About us?”

“Dirty bitch has nothing to do with it.”

“Is that why you’re not at home? You’re with her aren’t you, that whore.”

“You shouldn’t have done that, why did you?”

“Are you fucking stupid?”

“I’m sorry.”

“You’re not stupid.”

“She is. Good for nothing useless fucking slut.”

“Come home again.”

“I miss you.”

As you stare at the screen in pure disbelief, you scoff. It was one thing to harass you, but going after your friends, that was where you drew the line. In your worked up state your fingers work quickly as they type out a reply:

“Fuck off.”

With that you turn your phone off completely before shoving it under your bed to finally get some sleep.

The next day you didn’t leave for college, you told yourself that you weren’t paranoid but something held you back from leaving, that thing being Nari. “They got their eyes on you in school too!” she says as she gets ready to leave, “this is the only place where you’re safe.” Inclined to disagree, because in truth you hadn’t felt safe for the past month, yet you listened to your new roommate and did as she told.

The day moved slowly as you aimlessly wandered around Nari’s flat. You cleaned, prepared dinner and rewatched your favorite Disney movies. But as you glance at the clock it hasn’t even hit four yet. You’re in the midst of giving yourself a manicure when your phone buzzes. It was probably just Sun hee or Nari and you wait for your nail polish to dry fully before getting up to check your mobile device.

Your stomach drops as you recognize the number on the screen, yet another picture had been sent. But this time it wasn’t you, it was Nari. Sitting in class, leaned over her desk as she wrote in her notebook, dark hair falling over her face but you knew that it was her. A few seconds later you received a second picture. It still captures your friend, though this time she’s outside, most likely heading home. Why was she alone? She usually went with Sun hee so why weren’t she with her right now?

“Leave her alone.” Your message doesn’t go through, you frown. You send five more, none are delivered and panic slowly sets in. You frantically search for Nari in your contacts, the phone rings, once, twice, three times, but no reply. Fuck, pick up, pick up, you mumble as you press the call button once more, this time you’re sent straight to voicemail.

The unknown number sends yet another picture, this time it’s taken from behind her, and close, too close. After that the pictures roll in like rainfall, photo after photo, all growing in intensity as Nari becomes aware of the danger about to close in on her.

You refuse to look through all of them, skipping your way to the last one. It’s still Nari, except she looks horrible. Blood trailing from her forehead down the sides of her face as her body unconsciously lay on the ground. You let out a horrified cry as your phone slips from your hands, colliding against the wood floor with a loud thud.

This was all your fault.

You do not remember for how long you laid on the floor of Nari’s apartment, your loud cries filling the empty flat as your vision grew hazy. Arms burning from the way your nails dug into them, drawing blood that trickled all over your hands.

You don’t know how he got inside or when he did, but you remembered his large arms wrapping around your shaking body as Kai pulled you to his chest. You remember his soothing words as he pried your bloody hands from your arms, you remember feeling safe in his embrace.

As your cries turned to sobs and eventually to small sniffles, you clung to him, afraid of letting go, afraid of losing the only thing that still kept you sane. How lucky you were to have Kai. His hold on you doesn’t falter for even a second as he wipes your tear stained cheeks. You don’t have to tell him what happened because he knows, you’re relieved that he knows because you don’t think you could stomach uttering those words out loud.

It doesn’t change the fact that it was all your fault. If you had done something sooner, if you had told the police like Nari said, maybe this wouldn’t have happened. You should never have told her, you should never have involved her, it was just like they had said.

With a final sniffle you lift your gaze to meet Kai’s warm one, in that moment you felt as if you could trust him with anything. “I…” your voice is shaky and meek, your words getting stuck in your throat. He hugs you closer as he presses a kiss to your forehead, had it not been for your current state you probably would have blushed. “It’s going to be okay, sunshine”, he whispers against your skin and you shake your head. It wasn’t.

“Kai, I…I think I’m being stalked.”

go to part 2

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#txt #txt fanfic #beomiracles ₊˚⊹ ᰔ #txt post #hueningkai x reader #hueningkai #txt kai #txt imagines #watch my six beomiracles

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levithestripper · 2 years ago

Text

Misc. Peeta Mellark Headcanons

warnings: fluff, gender-neutral reader.

length: 1k || read on ao3 || join my taglist

notes: just a lil something to help me get back into the swing of things after not writing for a while! hope you enjoy ’em, even though it’s a bit short.

Never hesitates to give you his jacket or sweater if he sees you’re cold. He pretends not to notice that the clothes he gives you never return to his closet.

When he kisses you, he always cups your face in his hands, thumbs stroking your cheekbones.

You had no idea just how much one person could bake before you met him. It seems like you get a new baked good every other day. Cupcakes, themed cakes, loaves of sourdough bread, muffins, pasta, you name it, and it’s probably on his list to bake for you.

Peeta loves teaching you how to draw/paint!! He’ll sit outside with you on a nice day and walk you through how to draw a frog or something else simple. By sunset, both papers are filled edge to edge with stick frogs, flowers, hearts, and sad-looking deer. Peeta dates both sheets and leaves cute little notes next to some of your drawings for you to find later.

Most of his own paintings are of you. Some are posed, and some are candid. The candid ones are Peeta’s favorite. You get his favorite portrait framed as a birthday present, and he nearly cries when he opens it. Before you could ask if he liked it, he kissed you, then kissed all over your face, where you both erupted with giggles.

This boy is so stupidly adorable it has to be some form of disease. You’ll catch him sitting across from you with a lovesick smile, his blond hair illuminated by the setting sun he loves so much. You tease him about it, making him blush, which only makes him all the cuter.

At the start of your relationship, Peeta had little self-worth/confidence in himself. He didn’t have much to offer you in terms of money or pretty clothes, but he soon realized you didn’t care about any of that. You like him for him, not for what you could gain from him.

If he’s forced to pick just one thing, Peeta’s favorite part about your body is your hands. Why’re they his favorite? Because that’s one of the main ways you show your love for him. Holding his hands, cupping his face, cooking meals, smoothing them across his chest, that kinda stuff.

He would hug you all day, every day, if he could. This man is a hugger to beat all huggers.

Peeta wants to start a family with you, whatever that family ends up looking like. Just you, him, and a few pets? A-okay with him. A child or two? Count him in! As long as Peeta gets to spend the rest of his life with you, he’s happy, no matter what it looks like.

Definitely uses pet names like “honey,” “sweetheart,” and “my love.”

This man never not has a smile on his face. You’ll catch him staring at you from his seat in the living room with the stupidest, lovesick grin spread across his features as he watches you do whatever it is you’re doing.

When Peeta plans on proposing, he organizes an entire day of fun activities for both of you. He knows exactly how he wants to propose: in a gazebo, hidden by the blanket of night, illuminated only by the mood lighting he set up the day before. But it never ends up happening. The two of you were dancing in the living room to your record player, nose to nose, pressed so close to one another he couldn’t tell where he ended and where you began. As he swayed, Peeta whispered, “will you marry me?” It wasn’t what he had planned, but the outcome was exactly what he had hoped.

He’s not the biggest partaker of PDA, but he’s not averse to it. He’ll hold your hand, kiss your cheek, that kinda stuff, but he won’t make it obvious or rub it in other people’s faces.

Peeta’s very hard to anger, so he’s great to vent to. He’ll always be up for listening to your problems and helping you fix them if that’s what you want. If you just need someone to listen and not try to resolve whatever you’re upset about, he’s perfect for that too.

Peeta starts a garden full of your favorite flowers. Once they grow tall and bloom, he picks them to make a bouquet for you.

At night, he has to be touching you in some way or form to be able to fall asleep. Holding hands, you sleeping on his chest, spooning, you name it. He needs to know you’re still there so he can allow himself to relax enough.

Peeta gets up before you, so he loves to wake you up with kisses. Rapid fire against your cheeks, forehead, nose, the palm of your hand, up your arm, basically anywhere he can reach.

When it comes to Valentine’s Day (objectively his favorite day, minus your anniversary), he surprises you with breakfast in bed and fresh homemade muffins. There are fresh-cut roses in a new vase on the dining room table, and the entire house is deep-cleaned from top to bottom. Lunch is a picnic under an old weeping willow tree, followed by cloud gazing. He cooked you your favorite meal, making enough for leftovers. Later, he gifts you a portrait he painted of you in secret. It showed you, facing away from the viewer, sitting on the porch swing, watching the sun set below the rolling hills of District 12. When it’s time for dinner, Peeta cooks a classic romantic meal: spaghetti with meatballs by candlelight. The day was the definition of perfect; everything he surprised you with made you fall in love with him all over again.

Throughout Valentine’s Day, Peeta kisses you almost every chance he can get. You look too damn beautiful not to kiss. You don’t look any different than yesterday, and you won’t look any different in the days to come, but none of that matters to him. Your beauty never fails to floor him, and today was no exception.

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elbiotipo · 5 months ago

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What if life evolved in a rogue planet. What would that look like?

This could be surprisingly possible!

Rogue planets, for those who don't know, are planets that don't orbit any star, and wander through interstellar space. They are thought to form around a star, like our Sol's protoplanetary disk, but were ejected by gravitational interaction with other objects during its early formation, for example, two planets forming too close and the smaller one being thrown away with the bigger acting as a gravitational 'slingshot', or a star passing nearby and perturbing their orbit. It's kind of sobering to think that there must be millions, perhaps billions of Earth-like planets that were flung into interstellar space earlier on their formation or even afterwards.

This is not a very pleasant environment, isolated from the warm glow of any star, with temperatures approaching absolute zero. We still don't know much about interstellar space, and I imagine that rogue planets inside the diverse kind of nebulae or near dense star clusters would be very different. But by the most part you can expect them to be dead frozen balls of ice, as EVERYTHING freezes in this temperature. No warmth for any kind of life to be found.

Is this so, though? For starters, brown dwarfs, which are not especifically planets but let's say 'objects' several times the mass of Jupiter, are very hot, being capable of deuterium fusion (unlike hydrogen fusion which is what gives stars their energy). This weak kind of fusion does not allow them to be stars proper, but endures for billions of years. Imagine a gigantic Jupiter glowing in a dull red or magenta. Though it would be interesting to especulate on life in the upper layers of a brown dwarf, or perhaps moons that bask on the weak infrarred it emits, I don't see it particularily likely. On the other hand, organisms can thrive with minimal energy, more on that later. I can imagine, in some remote brown dwarf moon, 'prairies' of incredibly slow photosynthetical organisms growing under the weak light of a brown dwarf.

(here's some artwork of a moon orbiting a red dwarf, with source)

However, these aren't planets in the literal sense. Most rogue planets are indeed likely to be frozen balls of ice and rock. There is no star to warm them up (Earth's diverse biosphere depends on the light of the Sun, as obvious as it sounds), and no kind of life, no matter how exotic, can thrive near absolute zero, molecules just don't move enoguh to allow any kind of metabolism. Even theorized life using ammonia or methane as a solvent instead of water involves temperatures like that of Titan, Saturn's moon, which still gets some sunlight and warmth if minimal, allowing it to retain an atmosphere. Rogue planets just get none.

There are other ways of warming up a planet however. The interior of Earth is still hot from its planetary formation and the decay of radioactive elements on its core, creating volcanic and tectonic activity (though that's still disputed, as it seems that oceans acting as a 'lubricant' is needed for plate tectonics), and it's likely that larger planets would have even greater activity. It's also not the only option, a moon orbiting a large planet would have tidal forces that stretch it, producing similar tectonic activity that could melt the kilometers of ice covering them -water is actually more abundant in space that it seems- and this is indeed what happens in Jupiter's moons Europa and Saturn's Enceladus, as well as the much overlooked Jupiter's Io, which is an incredibly interesting patchwork of volcanoes in frozen temperatures. In fact, astronomers are starting to learn these subsurface oceans are actually the norm rather than the exception.

They are as you might have heard, prime candidates for life. The origin of life on Earth is still one of those debates that send scientists into academic fistfights as you can imagine, but one of the main theories involve it arising from the rich energy and nutrient environment of hydrothermal vents, which would be very common in these kind of worlds. So, if this is true, it's not unlikely that there could be countless worlds like these with life. Returning to rogue planets, subsurface oceans heated by tidal forces don't need any sunlight at all, they just need an icy moon orbiting a big enough planet at the right distance (there are other details, of course, but let's go with the basics). A rogue planet the size of Jupiter or larger could have been expelled from its original system carrying its moons, or could have captured another rogue planet in interstellar space, which would be very interesting as they both would likely have completely different origins and perhaps compositions. Similarily, a tectonically active rogue planet would be enough to melt subsurface oceans, or even surface regions like Yellowstone or Afar on Earth.

What would life look like in these worlds? You can read about speculations of life in Europa and on hydrothermal vents here on Earth to get an idea, but let's talk about it a bit. Now, you might read that hydrothermal vents are an oasis of diversity in the deep ocean with life especially adapted to them, and since they are often relatively short-lived, there are ecological cycles related to them that are still poorly understood. However, do notice that some of the most prominent macroscopic organisms in these places (like say tube worms, isopods, yeti crabs, eels) did not evolve from the extremophile bacteria there themselves, but rather evolved from life from elsewhere (from the rich, sunlit oceans) that adapted to such enviroments. The life *native* to hydrothermal vents on Earth are indeed extremophile, chemosynthetic bacteria and archea, that is, they don't use photosynthesis, their metabolism creates energy and organic structures from the surrounding inorganic chemicals (some very toxic, like sulfides) and heat, no light involved. Unlike most ecosystems on Earth, these chemosythetic organisms are the producers of this isolated food chain, entering symbiosis with other animals not only for food, but also respiration, digestions, and many more things. This is fascinating because it does prove in a very explicit way that chemosynthetic organisms can support complex ecosystems without photosynthesis.

(here's life from an hydrothermal vent, notice the crabs and bivalves, do read the Wikipedia article, it's great)

However, again, do notice that these animals did NOT evolve FROM the bacteria and archaea themselves. They adapted to these extreme enviroments from other animals that evolved in the rich sunlit biosphere of Earth, fed by photosynthesis. If it was by the chemosynthetic bacteria themselves, they would be happy (as much as a bacteria can I guess) to live down there and do chemosythesis forever. There's little evolutionary pressure for them to do anything else.

At least right now. Of course, ironically, these complex simbionts like yeti crabs and tube worms, like humans ourselves, might indeed be distant descendants of primitive hydrothermal bacteria, though from the ones that evolve to use photosythesis and consume those who did, far from the depths, so it means there was some reason for them to evolve out of the vents. Which brings the question; how and why did complex, that is multicelullar life, evolve on Earth, and where else could it evolve? That question deserves its own post or even book.

These are interesting questions to ponder when talking about rogue planets, or indeed any non-photosynthetic ecosystems like cave systems, that are also possible, or perhaps surface volcanic lakes or geysers. Our rich biosphere in Earth is fed by photosynthesis and the endless energy of the Sun. In a rogue planet, the sources of heat, energy and nutrients would be sparse points instead. In our own Earth, the organisms of cave ecosystems have extremely slow metabolisms, something like an olm (blind salamanders that are rather large, up to 40cm long) often stays YEARS in the same place, only moving to (very ocassionally) reproduce and eat. Such ecosystems are not exactly conductive to fast paced, sentient life. But if they are common, there might be millions of them across the universe, and one could especulate some of them might be chillin' on cities build around those vents, or perhaps penetrating the deep ice to see what the outside is like, or basking under nebula light in great hydrothermal systems.

In a similar way, returning to rogue planets, there is also the distressing posibility of an Earth-like world with a developed biosphere being flung away from its star by some freak astronomical event, like some star or indeed another rogue planet passing by and altering the orbits. As you might be very aware, life like Earth would die, and quickly, in this scenario. Again, the only remaining life would be in hydrothermal vents. But it would be interesting to think what kind of civilization could survive. I imagine big cave cities, nearer the underground warmth, fuelled by geothermal or nuclear energy. Perhaps greenhouses and aquariums there would preserve what remains of the biosphere.

And of course, rogue planets and objects would be great stepping stones for interstellar colonization. Perhaps instead of accelerating as fast as they can, long-lived starships might wander from planet to planet, gather resources and perhaps geothermal energy for the next leg of their journey, or settling them to get away from the faster-paced civilizations near bright stars.

If you liked this post and would like to read more, I would really, really appreciate if you gave me a tip to my ko-fi! Being a biologist looking for work in Argentina under a deranged libertarian president with the budget cuts and all is quite hard, so everything really counts!

#worldbuilding #spec evo #spec bio #astrobiology #space #astronomy #cosas mias #biotipo worldbuilding

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