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mysteria157 · 4 months ago

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Undone

nanami kento x black fem reader

wc- 2.8k

warnings- angst, heavy themes, mental health and healing, the fluff that nanami brings.

a/n: I have been feeling like poo these past few days and trying to find my voice in writing. So I created a little drabble that helped me feel better. hopefully, it does for others as well. happy reading

divider: @saradika | JJK Masterlist

He hasn’t heard from you in days.

Granted, that first date was 12 weeks ago, but Nanami is used to the string of texts between you that is consistently pinging—a feat that Nanami never thought to reach. He’s used to the late night phone calls, the FaceTimes that are meaningless because he just wants to look at you. But for the first time, you turned him down.

Three days ago, on the morning of a nice dinner he had planned, you called with a scratchy voice, “I’m just really tired today, but I’ll be shipshape in no time!” You had insisted.

With vigilance sewn into his body since the day he could remember, Nanami notices right away something is wrong. Maybe it was the distant crack of your words. Maybe it was the fact that you cleared your throat once, no—two times to make yourself sound as professional as possible. As if Nanami is an employer and not the man you’ve decided to let into his life.

Regardless, he was as polite as always. Content to change the subject and send you well wishes before hanging up. The meme texted to his phone five minutes later, sweetening whatever sour concoction had manifested in his belly from your phone call. But still…Nanami knows. So he waits.

He waits three days of agonizing silence before a maelstrom of worry finally claws its way to the surface of his pool of impassivity. He stops by the market first and grabs ingredients. There’s a soup recipe you love—a recipe he soaked up like a sponge as he hovered near you in your kitchen during your first date. He’ll make that.

On his way out of the market, his eyes catch a bouquet of Asian lilies. Sunset orange petals adorned with long dark stamen. He picks up a modest bouquet—something large enough to make you smile every time you see them, but not too much to make you sneeze from your allergies.

It’s 6:47 PM when Nanami’s shoes touch your welcome mat. Even as his eyes trace the tawny ‘Welcome!’ made of coir, he can feel the unease wafting from behind your closed door. Your spare key rests in his closed hand, the metal digging into his palm in a silent question. You insisted that it wasn’t too soon in the relationship for this, to have access to each other in this way. After all, finally opening his heart to love after keeping it locked behind the demands of work, Nanami wanted to take things slowly. But you had other plans—you always do. And now, Nanami is glad to have relented so quickly when you gave him the spare key two weeks ago.

You’re a tidy person, meticulous to a fault. So it’s easy for him to spot the littering of disarray. The curtains are drawn tight, casting your home into darkness. A trail of clothes starts from the door and trails to your room. There are dirty dishes in your sink—you hate going to bed with a messy kitchen. The air is permeable—a physical being that Nanami can see the particles as they float and scurry with his movements through your home.

He finds you in your room, a tornado of dirty clothes and empty takeout containers, three blankets deep, with only the top of your hair visible. The air is just as stale in here—heavy with the kind of silence that comes to life from too many hours alone with dark thoughts. Your phone lies on your nightstand, face-down, notifications from others probably neglected along with Nanami’s. He hates the sight, angry at whatever malevolent force that’s decided to torment you, and now he fights it.

The rustle of Nanami setting his things down makes you stir, the lump of covers oscillating with your movements as a flash of your melanin-rich skin pokes from the dark hole where you reside. Your eyes meet his—surprised, alarmed, and immediately angry.

“Get out,” you snap, your voice gravelly from disuse. Through the curtain of your textured hair, Nanami catches a sliver of your icy gaze, foggy with the heaviness he can smell in the room. He takes a step closer, and it’s a step too far. Your tired eyes widen with a simmering fury that makes Nanami think twice.

“Why can’t you listen?! You can’t be here…” you stop short, squeezing the covers around your already decaying form like a lifeline. “Not when I’m—like this.”

He takes another cautious step—your eyes narrow, a weak challenge—then another until he sits at the edge of your bed. The dip from his weight causes your feet to curve into the cavern, toes touching his thighs from beneath your covers.

“Why didn’t you call me?”

The still air seems to vibrate from your fury, dust motes zipping haphazardly as if being pulled back and forth by an invisible force.

“Call you? Call you?? So you could see this? So you could see how I can’t even—“A lump of confusion and rage dies in your throat, the sound gurgling like a sewage pipe. His hands clasp the blanket that covers your shoulders, pulling you up gently with no resistance. You want to smack his hands away, to yell at him to leave and never come back. Because you’re not ready for him to see you like this. Not yet.

But despite the bark of your bite, you’re exhausted—mentally and physically.

“I wanted to wait a few weeks,” you ramble, eyes turned away from him as you shiver from the cold air on your exposed upper half. You’re still wearing the same shirt from three days ago when you called Nanami to cancel; your eyes had already been filled with tears, your throat suffocating beneath torrential thoughts and negativity that springs to life when you least expect it.

“No one wants to see this so soon.”

“From that statement alone, I’m going to assume the men you dated before were below average in all respects.”

“Everyone expects some grandiose gesture to make all of…this go away. And it’s not that fucking simple.” You don’t acknowledge his assessment. Still rambling, still trying to push him away even as he stands. He pulls you up with him with a firm grip still on your shoulders, his care poking at your defenses with inquisitive fingers.

Your knees buckle, threatening to give out without the reassurance of his hold. Your rambling falls to the wayside, fading into the air around you as you finally comprehend your new position in front of him. Standing for the first time in days, the strength of his hands radiates warmth down to your toes. The room falls quiet, opening its ears to your uneven breathing and the smell of tears.

One beat. Two beats. Three.

“It seems you’re standing now,” he says simply, the low crooning timbre of his voice wafting over your face. You heave in a stuttering breath, suck down his air, and let it fill you from the inside with care you’ve neglected. Nanami doesn’t leave his words open for discussion. There is no question hidden in his matter-of-face statement. There is no undercurrent of judgment.

“A bath.”

“What? Kento—no. I don’t need—I don’t deserve—“ His hand slides from your shoulder to cup your cheek, silencing you with its warmth. You resist leaning into his touch, too embarrassed that he can see you like this—stinky, tired, so utterly crestfallen that you can barely function.

“I’ll draw you a bath. I’ll make you dinner. And once I’m sure you’re at least full and clean, then I’ll go. Until you’re ready for me again.”

Steam rises around you in the bathroom, carrying eucalyptus and lavender from the bath oils you like to indulge in on a terrible day like this one. You draw your knees up to your chest, wrapping your arms around your limbs to bury your head in the gap it creates. Your eyes catch the water droplets on your skin, hydrophobic and suspended in time before sliding into the bath water.

When you turn your head to the side, you catch your living room from the open door. He’s cleaned up—opened the curtains, picked up the laundry, and vacuumed the floors. One of your candles burns bright, the low whir of your washing machine sashaying through the apartment. All things you just haven’t had the energy to do.

It started off small, it always does. One thought—fleeting and infinitesimal—but still heavy with a nervousness that plants in your mind like a maggot, burrowing its way through the meat. Your symptoms are more anxious thoughts, more poor remarks of yourself, more he’s successful who are you kidding? More maybe they don’t like you, why can’t you see that? More once Kento sees this side of you, he’ll never want you again.

More, more, more even though those thoughts hold little evidence to prove true. But for you, those maggots burrow until there is nothing left of you but a hollow shell, a husk that has no choice and no energy but to lay down in bed and sleep the days away until the meat heals again.

Beneath the steam, you can spell the mix of thyme, peeled tomatoes, and garlic. The tomato soup you showed him how to make on your first date. He was inquisitive, watching silently, his eyes falling on yours too often to take good notes. Now, it’s another show of this man you’re growing to love, crafting something for you with his own hands, affection beneath the veil of reservation that he shows everyone else.

It’s too much for you. The tears come quietly, spilling down your cheeks and into the bath water, polluting the love that was used to create it.

You hear his footsteps, padded feet on your now clean floor as he walks into the bathroom and takes in the sight of you. You blink against the rush of embarrassment, too tired to wipe the tears away, too tired to hide a vulnerability you wanted to keep a lid on for awhile longer.

He walks to your sink, gathering product, a hair bottle, and a wide-toothed comb before coming back to you. He kneels beside the tub and rolls up his navy sleeves without ceremony, pinching off his glasses before he sets them on the floor. He’s soft but efficient in the way he rubs your bar soap on your loofah, getting it nice and sudsy. He’s relaxed but observant—his tie loosened but not completely off, his forearms flexing with quelled strength as he washes your back and shoulders, the slight furrow of concentration in his brows as he measures his next words.

“Strawberry and cream cheese danishes.”

“Hm?”

“If I eat one, I’ll want more. So I try to stay away when I can.” Nanami continues, washing the soap off your shoulders before he hands you the loofah. You take it without question, watching him disappear to sit behind you as you wash your limbs.

“After Yu…I would bury my sorrow in work. I worked and worked and worked until my boss forced me to take time off. It’s a sneaky sickness. It likes to watch over you and strike the very moment your guard is down.”

You hear the squeeze of your hair bottle behind you, your snarled strands soaking with rosemary-scented mist in his gentle fingers.

“It’s been years. But when it does hit, that darkness that seems to strangle me and tell me that I should have tried harder, that I should have protected him….I like to go across the street from my home and get a strawberry and cream cheese danish.”

You know Nanami has a sweet tooth. You’ve seen the way his eyes light up from the pies that you like to make, always bringing him a slice to work. You’ve seen the sidelong glance he gives strudel that steams behind glass display cases at the bakery he takes you to. But to imagine him leaving his apartment in the dead of night, wrinkled clothes and bags beneath his eyes, not showered in days—paying for a danish…you hitch a breath, a chuckle squeaking and dying in your throat with a painful lurch.

“Why are you laughing?” He admonishes. You can practically feel the lifted brow and gentle smile on your back. Your skin tingles with the movement of his fingers as he works them through your hair, detangling with rosemary and leave-in conditioner

“Do you buy the three-pack?”

Silence. A pause in your hair before baby hairs flutter from the puff of air he shoots out. You bite your lip to keep the dry smile from forming.

“No,” he lies, playfully.

The heaviness in the air gives way to a light current of brightness from your fleeting smile, from the smell of the tub, and your hair now detangled and loose before shrinkage claims it.

“I’m not sure what’s compelled you to think there’s a proper time to tell me that your thoughts grow dark at random moments in your life. Now, two months from now, it doesn’t matter. I love you.”

The declaration wraps around you, sliding down your ajar mouth and curdling in your lungs with certainty, taking root in the muscle for the foreseeable future.

“And if it is alright,” he continues, carding his fingers through your hair to plait it into a single braid. “I would like to love every part of you. Even the parts you try to hide. The parts that make you think that you’re not good enough—for me, or your friends, or anyone else. If anything, being able to be here, right now, is a privilege I’ll cherish.”

When the fresh tears spill over again, they no longer taint the water you soak in. They cleanse, collecting and filtering away the depression and anxiety that claims so much of your life when you least expect it.

After, when you’re clean and smelling of Shea butter that Nanami slathered you in, you sink into your now clutter-free sofa. The exhaustion settles on your bones in a different way. Well earned after a long battle instead of invasive and unasked for.

Your eyes rest on the lovely bouquet of Asian lilies on your coffee table, fresh with stems cut, curling toward you with open petals so you can see the beauty inside. The gesture fills you with more of that feeling, of love that you never imagined to come so soon with a man like him.

Nanami walks around the sofa, a tray that he sets in front of you carrying his own rendition of your tomato soup, toasted sourdough grilled cheese, and a tall glass of water.

“Extra basil?” You ask, lips wobbly around a smile as you take in another form of his adoration that you’ll have forever if he allows it.

“Extra basil.”

When he returns with his own tray, his hair falling over his eyes in a heap of hard work, he offers you a look. A measured look that’s filled with everything he wants to give, an excitement in his warm brown eyes that you can’t wait to see more of. But it’s shrouded in a gentle reservation with gaps only visible to you. Soft smiles for you. Loving touches for you. A beacon in storms that brew seemingly out of nowhere just for you.

He leans forward and brushes his lips against your forehead, a safe place where he can take some part of you while you heal. But you’d like more. So you tilt your head for him, soaking the warmth from his lips that press against yours softly.

Suddenly, your worries, your dark thoughts, your misery that you let keep you beneath your blankets for days all smoothed over from his touch. Satiated until those maggots in your mind wiggle to life again when they’re hungry.

“Marcus didn’t give a rose to Janine.” He says casually as he draws back to his side and turns on the TV, nonchalant as if he didn’t just spend the evening putting you back together with gentle hands and quiet love.

You relax into his side, looking at his arm with teary eyes as he rests it on the couch behind you, offering a blanket of comfort and safety that you haven’t had in a long time.

“Gojo spoiled it,” Nanami continues, grumbling and annoyed at the two syllables of Gojo’s name touching his tongue. He blows at his spoon of soup, eyes locked on the screen, his sharp features colored with flickering blues and reds.

He notices your stillness—of course, he notices—and offers you another kiss on your cheek before turning back to the show.

“I’ll steal his kikufuku as punishment,” you offer, arm shaking with the gentle chuckle he gives in response.

The soup steams in your hands, your hair soft and braided, your body worshiped and clean, Nanami’s heartbeat permeable beneath his clothes as you sink into him and sip your delicious soup.

For the first time in years, you know when the world feels heavy, he’ll be able to lift that weight off of you before it buries you away.

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cosmiclily · 2 days ago

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chapter ten: pretend

wc: 3.3k

notes: i’m so so sorry for taking so long to update, things have been crazy lately, but here it is !!! wrote it a little longer than usual to make up for the time!!

You were probably immune to all things Violet by now. You’d known each other for years, seen each other at your absolute worst—and not just in the emotional sense. You’d been vulnerable, raw, stripped down to nothing more than who you really were in front of her. Literally and figuratively. So, in your mind, you could totally pretend that this new, glaring realization didn’t affect you. Just push it aside and live your life. You were busy anyway—band stuff, deadlines, promotions. Who had time for feelings?

The day after you filmed the video, Vi showed up at your place like she always did, slipping inside without knocking, a bag of takeout in hand. You sat together on the couch, laptops open, going through the footage. Laughing at the awkward moments, cringing at the bloopers, and finally settling on the clips that captured the vibe you wanted. Once everything was sorted, you sent the files off to the editors, wiping your hands like that was the end of it.

And through it all, you pretended.

You pretended your heart didn’t skip a beat when she smiled at you, that little crooked grin that always tugged at the corner of her mouth. You pretended you didn’t feel your stomach flutter when her shoulder brushed against yours. You even pretended that the heat rushing through your veins wasn’t there when she leaned in a little too close to point something out on the screen, her breath warm against your skin.

But the real test?

Later, when the work was done, and you were both sprawled out on the couch, her lips found yours like it was the most natural thing in the world. And you let it happen. You wanted it to happen.

You pretended her mouth on yours didn’t make your pulse race faster than usual. You pretended the way her hands slid under your shirt, tracing over your skin, wasn’t driving you absolutely insane. Her hands touching every inch of your body was NOT driving you crazier than usual! No, definitely not.

But deep down, you knew you were full of shit.

With the absolutely packed schedule you were running on, it was almost easy to “forget” about those feelings. Between late nights at the studio, endless rehearsals, meetings with Archie, and sorting out last-minute details for the album, your brain barely had time to process anything outside of work. And honestly? That was a blessing in disguise. The more you threw yourself into the chaos, the less space there was to dwell on her. On this.

Now, you found yourself crammed into a van with the rest of the band, en route to some studio to film an interview for a popular channel. The van hummed with the low murmur of conversation, the occasional laugh breaking through as Jinx made some snarky comment that had Ekko rolling his eyes.

The promotions for the album were in full swing, and the momentum was intense. Ever since you dropped those duo videos—yours with Vi, Ekko’s with Jinx—the fans had been buzzing. Social media was blowing up with reactions, theories, memes, and a flood of excited comments. Your phone wouldn’t stop pinging with notifications, but you’d mostly been ignoring them.

Vi sat beside you, scrolling through her phone, occasionally chuckling at something on her screen. You could feel the warmth of her thigh pressed against yours, a simple, casual touch that shouldn’t have meant anything. But it did. God, it did.

You shifted slightly, trying to create some distance, but Vi noticed and shot you a curious glance. “You good?” she asked, her voice low enough that only you could hear.

You forced a smile, nodding. “Yeah. Just… tired.”

Yeah, you thought, staring out the van window as the city blurred by. Tired. That was one way to put it.

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When you arrived, a smiling woman greeted you at the entrance, her clipboard tucked under one arm as she extended the other in a friendly handshake.

“Hey, welcome! I’m Maya,” she said, her tone bright and professional. “I’ll be walking you through how everything’s going to work today. Your dressing room’s down this hall—after you settle in, we’ll discuss the schedule for the day.”

You followed her down the sleek, dimly lit hallway, the scent of coffee and hairspray lingering in the air. The room was spacious, with a massive mirror framed by blinding lights. A bright green-haired woman wielded a makeup brush like a weapon, beckoning you to sit.

As you got your hair and makeup done, Maya explained the rundown. “So, we’ll start with group questions, then move on to individual ones. Your manager sent over the list of topics you’re not comfortable discussing, so we’ve already filtered those out. No worries, we’ll keep it smooth and easy.”

Jinx, who was getting bright blue shimmering eyeshadow blended across her lids, grinned and piped up, “I’m comfortable answering anything. I’m an open book.” She wiggled her eyebrows dramatically, earning a chuckle from Ekko and an exaggerated eye roll from Vi.

Maya laughed, clearly amused. “Noted. We’ll make sure to throw the hard questions your way, then.”

You watched Vi through the mirror as a stylist tousled her short hair, sculpting it into an artfully messy look. She sat back, arms crossed, legs sprawled out like she owned the place, but her eyes kept flicking to you. Every time your gazes met, she’d smirk and look away, like she knew.

After everyone was ready, Maya led the group through the maze of hallways toward the studio. The faint buzz of nerves settled in your stomach—not from the interview, but from the familiar presence walking so casually beside you. Vi’s arm brushed against yours every so often, and you swore your heart skipped a beat each time.

She didn’t seem to notice. Or maybe she did and just enjoyed watching you squirm.

“Relax,” she murmured, her voice a low hum that buzzed through your body like electricity. “It’s just an interview.”

You nodded, swallowing hard. “Yeah. Just an interview.”

Just your best friend, who you’d been sleeping with. Just your best friend, who made your head spin and your chest ache.

Just Vi.

And that was the problem.

Because the more you tried to pretend, the harder it became to ignore the fact that you didn’t want to be immune to her at all.

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You made your way to the studio where your interview would be filmed, the echo of your footsteps bouncing off the sleek, polished floors. The set was minimalistic — a stark white background with four chairs carefully placed in a tight semicircle, arranged so only the four of you would be in frame. The simplicity of it all made the space feel even bigger, the emptiness swallowing up the ambient noise of crew members shuffling around, adjusting lights, and checking camera angles.

Maya, ever the efficient coordinator, positioned everyone in their places with practiced ease. She placed you between Jinx and Vi, a choice that made your chest tighten slightly. Ekko sat on Jinx’s other side, spinning his ring around his finger as he absentmindedly hummed one of your songs under his breath.

“Okay, perfect,” Maya said, stepping back to assess her arrangement like a painter inspecting her canvas. “This will look balanced on screen, and you guys can interact naturally. Just try not to lean too far out of frame.”

You nodded, wiping your slightly clammy hands on your jeans. The bright overhead lights felt blinding, the heat from them making your skin prickle. There were at least three massive cameras pointed at you, their lenses gleaming like unblinking eyes. The weight of their attention made you squirm, the sensation of being watched settling heavy in your bones.

“Good morning, guys!” The interviewer said. “We’ll start with some introductions, and then we’ll move on to the actual questions. Sound good?”

“Good morning!” Jinx chirped, waving at the nearest camera like she was greeting a livestream audience. She shot you a sideways grin, her blue eyeshadow shimmering under the lights. “I’m ready for my close-up.”

Ekko snorted, leaning back in his chair. “We’ll see if you’re still ready when they start digging into the lyrics.”

Jinx gasped, placing a hand over her chest in mock offense. “Please, my lyrics are art. If anything, I should be winning awards.”

Vi chuckled lowly beside you, the sound rumbling through your body like static. She shifted in her seat, her thigh pressing against yours for just a second longer than necessary. The casual touch sent a jolt of awareness through you, and you had to remind yourself to breathe.

You forced a smile, turning your attention to the camera in front of you. “Yeah, we’re good to go.” Your voice sounded steady, but you could feel the tension thrumming beneath your skin, your pulse hammering against your ribs.

Vi glanced at you, her mouth twitching like she wanted to say something, but she just rested her arm over the back of your chair, her fingers dangerously close to brushing your shoulder.

The interviewer cleared his throat, the subtle sound cutting through the moment like a knife. “Awesome! Let’s get started.”

You went through the motions with practiced ease — saying your names, introducing the band, and hyping up the upcoming album. The conversation flowed effortlessly, the four of you playing off each other’s energy. Jinx cracked jokes, Ekko added thoughtful insights, and Vi... well, Vi leaned back in her chair, her arm still draped over the back of yours, a lazy smirk tugging at her lips every time your eyes met.

It was all smiles and laughter, but you could feel the tension buzzing beneath the surface, thrumming in time with your heartbeat.

“So, for the first question, for the whole group,” the interviewer began, “describe your worst performance and what you learned from that experience.”

“Oh, I remember a good one!” Ekko said, already laughing, his shoulders shaking with the force of it. “Right after I started actively playing with them — before that, I was just the tech guy. We weren’t in sync yet, and during a school performance, I played the entire set off beat. Y/N wanted to kill me, and Jinx kept trying to help, but I just couldn’t keep up.”

You groaned, burying your face in your hands as the memory resurfaced. “It was painful. We were playing this slow, moody song, and Ekko was out there giving it full chaotic jazz vibes. I thought I was gonna combust on stage.”

“Oh, I remember that one,” Vi said, her laugh low and rough, her eyes glinting with amusement as she leaned forward. “You were shooting him death glares the whole time, and Jinx was trying to dance her way over to him to signal he was off.”

“I was signaling,” Jinx cut in, waving her hands dramatically. “I did everything short of tackling him. I thought we’d just turn it into a remix or something.”

You shook your head, laughing despite yourself. “The worst part was the crowd didn’t even care. They thought we were just... experimental or whatever.”

Ekko wiped at his eyes, still chuckling. “Honestly, I think the lesson was that it’s better to mess up together than for one person to try and cover it up solo. It only works if we catch each other when we fall.”

Vi nodded, her smile softening. “Yeah. We’ve come a long way since then, but that show taught us that no matter how bad it gets, we get through it as a band.”

“Exactly,” you said, your voice quieter now, but steady. “We screw up, we fix it, and we keep going. That’s just how it is.”

The interviewer hummed, scribbling something down with a faint smile. “That’s a great answer. It shows how tight your bond is.”

You felt Vi shift beside you, her fingers briefly tapping against the back of your chair like a silent agreement. The contact lingered longer than it should have — or maybe you just noticed it more than you wanted to admit.

“Next question!” the interviewer continued, glancing at his notes. “Do you follow a process or ritual before a performance to get rid of nerves or performance anxiety?”

You exchanged a look with your bandmates, a grin already tugging at your lips. “I think we all have our little beliefs. Jinx has a lucky guitar pick, Ekko wears his lucky socks before a big performance.”

Ekko laughed and pulled up the leg of his jeans, proudly showing off his obnoxiously bright orange socks covered in little lightning bolts.

“Power socks,” he declared, wiggling his toes.

You all burst out laughing, the sound filling the room like it belonged there.

“Vi sings her favorite Mötley Crüe song while doing push-ups,” you added, glancing at her with a smirk. “And I do the superhero pose!”

“The superhero pose?” the interviewer repeated, tilting his head in confusion.

“Yeah, you know.” You hopped up from your seat, standing tall in front of the camera. “Hands on your hips, chest out — like this!”

You struck the pose, exaggerating it to the point of ridiculousness, your chin tilted upward like you were about to fly off into space.

Jinx cackled, nearly doubling over. “You forgot to mention you also give yourself a pep talk like you’re in a movie montage.”

Vi leaned forward, resting her elbows on her knees, watching you with an amused gleam in her eyes. “She calls herself the ‘guardian of the stage’ like it’s a full-time job,” she teased, her voice low and laced with mischief.

You dropped the pose and turned to face them, pointing accusingly at Vi. “Hey, and what about you? You sing ‘Kickstart My Heart’ at full volume like you’re summoning ancient spirits.”

Vi shrugged, completely unfazed. “It works.”

“It does,” Ekko agreed, rubbing his chin. “Weirdly enough, it does.”

You sat back down, your heart still racing from the outburst of laughter.

The interviewer chuckled, shaking his head as he made more notes. “I love that. It sounds like you’ve found ways to channel the nerves into something fun.”

“Or chaotic” Jinx corrected.

The interviewer grinned, leaning back in his chair, eyes glinting with curiosity. “Now to the juicy questions!” he said, practically vibrating with excitement. “Are you single, dating, talking to someone special right now?” He turned to you specifically, wiggling his eyebrows like he was trying to crack you open. “Who are the love songs on your new album about?”

Your brain short-circuited for half a second.

The question hung in the air, deceptively casual, but you could feel all three of your bandmates shifting slightly beside you, their interest piqued. Jinx leaned in, her blue eyes practically sparkling with mischief, while Ekko shot you a knowing smirk. Even Vi, who normally looked like she couldn’t be bothered with gossip, turned her head ever so slightly in your direction, her gaze unreadable.

You forced out a laugh. “Wow, straight to the drama, huh?” Your heart was already hammering against your ribs.

The interviewer chuckled, clearly enjoying your hesitation. “Hey, the fans want to know! Your lyrics this time around are very emotional—people are dying to figure out who inspired them.”

You felt Vi shift beside you, her elbow brushing against yours again. You didn’t dare look at her.

Jinx propped her chin on her hand, grinning. “Yeah, Y/N, who did you write about?”

You shot her a glare, but it held no real heat. “We all wrote the songs, Jinx.”

“Yeah, yeah, but your vocals in some of them?” Jinx wiggled her eyebrows. “There’s some real feeling in there.”

Ekko hummed in agreement. “You do sound hella in love on a couple of tracks. Like, full-on heart-eyes mode.”

Vi didn’t say anything, but you could feel her looking at you. You weren’t sure if that made it better or worse.

You let out a breath, forcing yourself to relax into the chair. “I think,” you started carefully, “that people always want to assign songs to specific people or situations, but music isn’t always that simple.” You gestured vaguely. “A lot of the time, a song is a mix of different experiences, emotions, even things that haven’t happened but could have.”

It wasn’t a lie. Not really.

The interviewer raised an eyebrow. “So you’re saying there’s no one in particular?”

Before you could answer, Vi spoke. “She’s saying,” she said smoothly, “that if you’re looking for juicy confessions, you’re outta luck.”

The way she said it—easy, playful—should have made you relax. But instead, something twisted in your chest. You weren’t sure why.

The interviewer laughed, holding his hands up in surrender. “Alright, alright. No confessions today. But what about you, Vi?” He turned his attention to her. “You’ve got a few songs that sound very personal. Care to share?”

Your breath caught.

Vi tilted her head slightly, considering. You knew exactly which songs he was talking about. Her songs. The ones she wrote about Caitlyn.

The ones you’d tried not to think about too hard.

For a moment, she didn’t answer. Then, she leaned back, her arm still draped casually over the back of your chair. “You ever hear the phrase ‘write what you know’?”

The interviewer nodded.

Vi shrugged. “That’s all it is.”

Simple. Dismissive. But you knew better. You could hear the quiet weight in her voice, the way she was sounding a little too casual when Caitlyn came up.

You swallowed hard, keeping your expression neutral.

Jinx, of course, had no such filter. She groaned, flopping back dramatically. “Ugh, you guys are so boring. If I had a dramatic love life, I’d be milking it for all it’s worth.”

Ekko snorted. “Please. You do have a dramatic love life.”

The conversation shifted, the interviewer laughing as he moved on to another question, but your mind was still stuck on Vi’s answer. Or maybe just the way it made your stomach twist.

Because as much as you tried to pretend otherwise, you wanted a different answer from her.

And that terrified you.

The rest of the interview went smoothly. By the time it wrapped up, you had covered just about every topic imaginable—tour plans, songwriting processes, the band's dynamic, and even a few lighthearted debates about who had the worst habits on the road.

As you stood up, stretching out the stiffness in your legs, Maya clapped her hands together, gathering everyone’s attention. “Great job, guys! This should be out in a couple of days, but we’ll be releasing some promo clips beforehand, so be ready to share them on your socials.”

Jinx groaned dramatically, already scrolling through her phone. “Ugh, more notifications. My comment section is chaos after that last video drop.”

“You love it,” Ekko teased, nudging her with his elbow.

Vi chuckled, shaking her head as she shoved her hands into her pockets. She was relaxed, completely unbothered—as if the last hour hadn’t included any potentially awkward moments at all.

Unlike you.

The ride home passed in a blur, your mind still tangled up in the same thought that had been gnawing at you since the interview.

"If you’re expecting juicy confessions, you aren’t getting any."

What had Vi meant by that?

Logically, it was just her way of shutting down the question—keeping things vague, dodging personal topics like she always did. But for some reason, the way she said it stuck with you.

Was she just playing it cool? Did she actually not want to talk about her own feelings? Or… was there simply nothing to confess?

You sighed, sinking onto your couch as soon as you got home, your phone still clutched in your hand. The notifications were endless—fans speculating, memes already popping up, people dissecting every glance exchanged during the interview.

And at the center of it all?

You and Vi.

Because no matter how much you tried to bury your feelings, it was getting harder and harder to pretend they didn’t exist.

──────────────────────

masterlist - chapter eleven

taglist: @saturnhas82moons @oidloid @vaebear @wicked-laugh @baylegend6 @nomarksonelegance @antobooh @80saturn

#vi x reader #vi x y/n #vi x you #vi arcane #arcane #arcane x female reader #arcane x y/n #arcane x reader #arcane x you #lily writes

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ladyloveroll · 7 months ago

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(These are my ACTUAL notes from my friends birthday party full of people who absolutely did not know who the fuck Itachi and Kisame were or how pairing names work or what a ship is.)

Writing kisaita (on and off) for 15 years

Never get tired of the ship

Excellent, friendly people in the fandom to keep making content (Cynni)

Presentation is less about the specific ship and more about the general qualities that make their ship S-tier. You may find this echoed in your own OTP, IDK.

Powerful, badass characters who can kick anyones asses no problem, as depicted where they are casually taking a stroll after Kisame (who still has his little fo-hawk) casually takes down the four-tails

Kisame is noted as the ‘tail-less jinchuuriki’

Itachi is clearly a fucking powerhouse, we don’t need to debate that

Working with strong characters means you are more easily able to portray their weakness and explore that side of them since that rarely gets screentime

Auxiliary, not main characters

Main characters are harder to write because they spend a lot of screen time accomplishing their goal and doing Plot

Auxiliary characters are more malleable, and morally gray ones especially so

Depicted here are Itachi and Kisame, separately, being ordered by their villages to kill their own people. They carry this order out, but do not particularly like it. Nor are they particularly loyal to their own villages, despite carrying this order out. It’s hard to say where their loyalities lie.

The answer is WITH EACH OTHER OBVIOUSLY

Any ship that has a timeskip has LOADS of canon-verse material you can work with, especially if it feels like the characters have changed or their dynamic has changed.

For Naruto especially, WTF are Kisame and Itachi doing for three years? Clearly neither of them are out capturing jinchuriki. They aren’t seen lounging around Amegakure or Akatsuki headquarters. They are just traveling the world. Probably doing hits. Probably hitting on EACH OTHER WOOOOOO

Long time skips mean a few thing: 1) Canon divergence, 2) Canon compliant, 3) pre-time skip, 4) during time skip, 5) post time-skip; and that’s not even the AU’s

They clearly haven’t made any other friends during this time either so lots of relationship to explore

The Naruto franchise is notorious for retconning. Probably because Kishimoto (the writer) was pushed to create at a pace that was impossible for any sane or healthy man to keep up with.

Fanficition writers can take advantage of this poor writing by interpreting the character in a lot more ways than if the character was solidly written.

There are a lot of different ways Kisame is written, and accepted as so

Itachi less so but we don’t have time for that

Retconning allows you to take a writers mistake and turn it into utter brainrot that ten other people (me) will reblog every 3 years

This one is kind of specific, but if you like angst then OH BOY this ship has a lot of potential for it

Any OTP that involves an angsty edgelord and a sadistic tagalong can indulge in either EXTRA ANGST and be able to balance out the angst with humor

The KisaIta ship has 4 great themes about it:

Redemption

Acceptance

Forgiveness

And Existentialism of course

Dynamic:

Sharkboy / lava girl

Edgelord / goof

Leader / follower

Maybe old? / a touch too young

Respect for each other

S-tier OTP because of strong themes and repeatable dynamics

Kinkfest here we come

S-tier OTPs must be able to withstand an intense variety of smut writing

Powerful level = able to handle pain and dish out pain

Body things? = more positions

The Shape of Water was one of the single best thing to happen to the KisaIta 18+ fics because (even though it existed before the movie came out) a lot more readers were into it now

Also, Kisame makes this ship work more than Itachi. He is fucking DEVOTED

at this point I was running out of my 10-minutes (THEY HAD THE AUDACITY TO PUT ME ON A TIMER) so i just backfilled the rest of the presentation with fanart and memes i like

Why do I like KisaIta?

I mostly write smut

They’re great at smut

I also like angst

They’re always great for angst, either character

Also look at them they are hot AF

Beefcake service-top vs. ‘shaped like a katana’ masochist

Healthy dose of hurt-comfort

They’re extremely flexible to write and so there’s a lot of stories you can create

thank you for not reporting me to the powerpoint police

#naruto #uchiha itachi #hoshigaki kisame #kisaita #itachi #kisame #naruto meme #despite the fact i've only been writing kisakonan for the past four years #i still have loads of old kisaita and unpublished kisaita sitting in the bank #RIP my old FFN account

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graveyardhorror · 3 months ago

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BTS Jimin | dating!headcanons

૮₍´˶• . • ⑅ ₎ა BTS MASTERLIST ૮₍´˶• . • ⑅ ₎ა

WATTPAD LINK

the type of boyfriend who looks cool on the outside by is actually the softest boyfriend ever, very cute

he cares a lot about your well being, if you're sick or simply not feeling well you can count on him to help make you feel better

his love language is all the above; he just loves love, especially you

your dates together are always super sweet and casual; always feeling like it's your first date and both feeling shy

so many moments where you two catch one another staring lovingly at each other

loves cuddling and will do it whenever he can, he just appreciates the time he gets the spend with you and feels lucky to have you

playing video games together can be either fun and wholesome or very competitive with playful banter

finds the most unique date spots and ideas; going kayaking in the sea, unique themed escape rooms and cafes, even sauna dates

being excited to see each other after he's been away for a while with work, only to to be too tired to do anything other than nap and cuddle together

tries to take cute candid photos of you and ends up creating meme reaction pictures of you that he uses over text with you

likes to surprise you by cooking/baking you something, his response is just because he loves you

dates where he teaches you bts dances at their dance studio

dividers by thecutestgrotto

#bts #bts headcanons #bts x reader #kpop #kpop x reader #kpop headacanons #jimin x reader #jimin headcanons #park jimin #x reader #headcanons #bts preferences #kpop preferences #preferences #bts jimin #bts park jimin #park jimin x reader #park jimin preferences #park jimin headcanons

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starfleetteddybear · 17 days ago

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Ah! What a glorious feeling crawling into bed, cup of tea in hand, ready to indulge with some quality fanfiction kindle time. Especially if it’s another rendition of Emmrich and Rook rated R kissing.

Everyday I wake up to like 30 emails from ao3 of all these great fics updating and …I feel like that meme where Sabrina is eating all that food she can’t decide which first. It’s such a great problem to have! I thought I’d just take a minute to share a selection of stories I have on my radar and am absolutely loving! Maybe others will find a new favorite? 🤩

Gotta catch up with some amazing works:

@nerdanel01 has put out new chapters for their stories featuring Agnes and Emmrich. So excited to check those out! What a treat waiting for me. You created such a slow burn yearning. 😩 It’s such a high I haven’t come down from still.

@tethrawke I gotta finish that last little bit of your story Hope Dream featuring Hawke and Varric. 🔥🔥🔥🔥🙌

@crackinglamb Gotta get caught up on your story The Turning Tide. The way you write about Iron Bull…I… He wasn’t even on my radar! You did so well! I’m hooked! 🪝

@emmg Literally I’ve loved everything you have ever written. Seriously, you could have your Rook and Emmrich fucking in a cardboard box and you’d find a way to make it inspired and sexy. Honestly, I think about you and @eavangeek on the same wavelength because you both just take an interesting premise and turn it into something absolutely amazing. Like Rumpelstiltskin turning straw into gold. 💕

@farore05 I am loving your story Amaretto Sour. And I can’t WAIT for how you get rid of Johanna. Hate that woman (in your story) with a fiery passion already and we just met her. 🤬

@heylittleriotact I heard people are dying to get in here is such an interesting premise. I didn’t even know I would enjoy a modern au of Emmrich but…👀👀👀👀 You have my attention. As if you didn’t already from the other stories you put out already.

@livingmeetthedead I absolutely love the way you are writing Emmrich’s pov in your story Quietus. It’s so unique and not many people are doing that! I don’t think I could write his pov very well…I might try at some point but I think you do such a good job at it! Honestly, I’d say the way you are doing it is inspired. 🥰 You’re doing amazing sweetie!

@andthekitchensinkao3 “If the notion appeals, Pari… I’m going to put my face between your legs and eat you like a ripe peach. And that’s only the beginning of the things I want to do with you.”OMG Somebody call the coroner (heylittleriotact) because I’m dead. 😵 so freaking 🔥🔥🔥🔥🔥

@tired-truffle I know you just wrote that one shot about King Alistair and his queen warden but… 👀 God I loved it so freaking much. I hope you do more because you captured his voice and personality perfect in “Ball and Chain.”

@sabine79 You have been feeding us so good with Arsenic and Myrrh I literally can’t keep up. 🙌💕 NOT a complaint. I feel bad I have fallen so far behind. Forgive me because I love how you got your two “rooks” going on and I love how you have both a Lucanis/Rook situation and a Emmrich/Rook situation going on.

@templarkicker Your story “Once When You Walked Beside Me” has me in a chokehold. They were together and then BROKE UP before DAV? And then they are getting back to get her from lovers to strangers to lovers again? 😩🙌🔥

@sunny374940 I have so enjoyed getting to read your stories. Please keep sharing and posting them with us. What a delight to get a new update to my inbox from you. I loved how you took your Rook/Emmrich on their honeymoon recently. And the babywearing? So freaking cute!!!🥰 and I love you have your own original work going on too, “Damn Sky Wales.”

@woundedsoul12 Rook’s letter to Emmrich after Tearstone Island? Broke my heart! 😭 Seriously, great job with the angst. I’ve loved all your other dragon age stories too!

And a special shout out to @redheadsramblings because you are such a supportive sweetie. Everytime I (virtually) turn around you are there. And I see you all over tumblr and ao3 too! Absolute sweetheart. 💚

#best fanfic ever #best fanfiction around #ao3 fanfic #emmrich x rook #emmrich volkarin #emmrich romance #dragon age emmrich #dragon age: the veilguard spoilers #da veilguard #dragon age #emmrook

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fic-dumpster · 4 months ago

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The road so far

Summary: Have you ever wondered what goes through a writer’s mind while she’s trying to complete the stories you like so much? Well! Wonder no more! Here’s a first look into a writer’s unstable mind!

Characters: Bonten against Omi (no x because it’s war)

Word count: 1K

Content Warnings: fighting, slight breaking of the fourth wall, sitcoms, crackfic, it’s a joke. Yes, it can be read as x reader… just pretend. Hostility, a meme, DIH references, other fandoms mentioned.

A.N: TAKEOMI IS NOT OMI. I am Omi. I wrote this in 15 so it’s very rushed. idk… this is me trying to portray my internal struggles while I write. I just worked joke of 1000 words… and yes, characters never listen to what we want.

“If you think we’re gonna cooperate with you after leaving us for almost three years, you’re delusional,” Kokonoi crossed his legs once he sat down in front of Omi.

Omi had called a meeting with Bonten in hopes of coming to an agreement. She needed to work on her WIPs but her characters weren’t cooperating.

“As a matter of fact, I am delusional,” Omi answered, sipping from her water bottle, “anyway, I just need to finish the rest of the meetings and we’re done! Swear!”

Around her, the rest of Bonten sat with serious faces. Nobody was happy to be there. After her disappearance a few years ago, things weren’t quite as peaceful between them as they used to be.

“Yeah, yeah. I see how you are. Use us and drop us.” Sanzu sounded bitter and angry. He didn’t take the vanishing so well. He had bonded with her and she just left him. That wasn’t right in his book.

“Ugh, women…” With a sigh, Rindou stretched his long limbs, showing how tired and stressed he was.

“What do you mean ‘ugh? Women?’” Omi harshly questioned Rindou with a frown on her face.

“Nothing…” he replied nonchalantly, sitting up straight once again.

“Forget that! You clearly have preferences for certain members.” As she heard that voice her skin began to crawl. Hair standing on end, Omi slowly turned towards the source— once she saw his obnoxious face, only irritation was left behind.

“Oh, shut up, Ran! I wrote your story with your brother first! Why are you complaining?” She quickly replied, raising her hand in protest.

“Because he’s one of those,” added Mochi in a whisper.

So much of a whisper that was… half the men present burst out laughing which caused Ran to sigh in frustration. He was done. So many years and he still didn’t know what the hell that meant.

“We can't just hop back in,” Takeomi’s voice raised above the hysterical laughter of his peers.

Omi deflated at his words. She dreaded the worst… Was this how things were going to end?

“Please, I’ll do anything! I can’t leave the story like that!” Her eyes began to water as desperation crept in.

“Well, too bad! You left!” Sanzu’s bitterness didn’t falter, not even at the sight of unshed tears in her eyes.

“I said I was sorry! And I was busy with life, you know?”

“Yeah? Life? Then who are those guys? Rhysand? Sylus? Jinshi?” Sanzu spoke each name with disdain.

“Yeah! Who’s Umemiya? And some dude named Hoshina?” Rindou backed him up.

“More? I only heard about Sanji—” Kakucho suddenly intervened but was cut off by Omi.

“Okay! Stop! Oh my gosh!! Stoop!” Omi’s face had changed three different types of red in the last few seconds, “That… has nothing to—“

“Bullshit! I call bullshit! You created a different blog for the Stylus guy!” Sanzu was not dropping the subject.

“Oh my gosh! Let it go! And his name is Sylus!”

“AHAA!” Pink hairs wildly flew everywhere as Sanzu stood up and pointed an accusatory finger at Omi.

“Just… just help me write the few chapters I’m missing and the end. That’s all I’m asking… I lost the WIPs and I can’t by myself…” she pleaded. Internally praying they understood her dire situation.

“What do we get in return?” Mikey finally spoke after observing the back and forth between his men and Omi.

That sentence perked her up. A ray of hope finally came in between the stormy clouds.

“What-what would you want?” She asked with bright eyes and a new determination ignited.

“We can discuss that later,” Mikey waved his hand dismissively.

Omi nodded eagerly in return. Finally! Some progress. “Okay, fine… that’s good…”

After Mikey’s short exchange of words, they decided to end the meeting. It was time to move forward and begin working. Everyone stood up and began to leave the room.

They saw Omi move to the side with Takeomi and they started to talk amicably, with smiles and very friendly hand gestures. It was like time had never passed for them. She didn’t treat him differently and Takeomi seemed comfortable with her.

“Why does she like the old man…” Kakucho wondered out loud.

“It’s the daddy issues, I bet,” Sanzu was seething as he kept watching the scene play in front of him.

“What did you say?!” You turned your head like the exorcist once you heard those words leave Sanzu’s lips.

“Does she have superhuman hearing? How the hell did she hear you?” Ran said with a bit of panic in his voice.

And it began. Omi had been chasing the pink-haired man for a while now…

“I DON'T NEED YOU, SANZU! I CAN FINISH DIH WITHOUT YOU!” But before she could catch him, a pair of hands caught her first, “UGH! KAKUCHO LET ME GO! HE’S DEAD!”

Meanwhile a bit further away from the commotion.

“We have agreed to help her. Was it really necessary to do all the drama?” Questioned Takeomi to Mikey and Mochi. The three men watched the rest battling it out.

“We voted and the majority chose to make drama before agreeing,” Mikey said as his eyes followed Sanzu speeding away from Omi,

“Even Koko?” Mochi was surprised by that information.

“Even Koko.” Mumbled the short man.

“RAN, YOU TOO! BOTH YOU AND SANZU ARE DEAD!” Omi yelled, still being held by Kakucho who was trying to help diffuse the situation.

“What did I do?”

“YOU’RE ONE OF THOSE!” She kicked her feet in an attempt to be let loose, “I SHOULD HAVE KEPT WRITING FOR HAIKYUU! They wouldn’t treat me like this!”

“Yeah? Well, go and play ball with your sporty boys!” Ran screamed back.

“You’re insufferable!” Omi screamed as she tackled Ran to the ground.

“She became way more violent in the years we didn’t see her,” Mikey commented and the rest of his executive nodded in agreement. Everyone just watched Omi and Ran scuffling on the floor.

Bonus:

Omi: and then you do as it says here *points to the script*

Kakucho: that’s too mean. I don’t want to do that.

Omi: you’re a criminal! How is it mean to push her face down and—

Kakucho: shhh no please *blushing*

Omi: I’m working with amateurs… *throws her stack of paper into the trash*

#omificstags #Alexa play carry on my wayward son #Bonten x omi #HAHAHAHA #sanzu haruchiyo #kakucho hitto #ran haitani #bonten x reader #manjiro sano #mikey sano #kanji mochizuki #rindou haitani #kokonoi hajime #takeomi akashi #tokyo revengers #tokyorev #tokyo revengers x reader #tr memes #i like to think im funny

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zu-is-here · 6 months ago

Note

Zu, have you seen the sexy poll man is back and like... Like they put Horror vs Error. It's not fair, Horror has to win against him. Oh, or we put Error on a rocket in Outertale and poof, no more Error. That way Horror wins, because he's a thousand times sexier than Error ♡*･゜ﾟ･*\(^O^)/*･゜ﾟ･*♡

And they put Cross against Dust, and for ten minutes I froze in front of it: who do I choose? Sorry Dust, maybe next year ˞͛꒰๑ऀ •̆ꈊ͒ू•̆๑ऀ꒱

Oh and imagine Epic winning the poll, that would be a great moment, really funny. The Memes Master unanimously voted sexiest, Cross will be very proud of his dude ♪(๑ᴖ◡ᴖ๑)♪

Otherwise, it would be great fun to see Error lose in the final (after all, there's never a dull moment. Well, the proverb is better in French, like "jamais deux sans trois", if you translate it literally " never two without three". It's more in keeping with what I was saying) (⁠*⁠꒪⁠ヮ⁠꒪⁠*⁠)

The most important message of my little outburst is:

Horror has to win, we have to create a league for it, or a religion, as you prefer o͡͡͡͡͡͡╮꒰♡∇♡*꒱╭o͡͡͡͡͡͡

I say a lot of stupid things when I'm tired, sorry (´；ω；`)

I'm watching it intensely! (｀・∀・´)✧

That was so unfair indeed, Horror had no chances against Error... (´°̥̥̥̥̥̥̥̥ω°̥̥̥̥̥̥̥̥｀) But don't be sad, I feel like he'll be avenged in the end >:)

I'm really glad Murder was in this year poll too, but now it's Cross VS Swap... My heart is torn between two best soldiers ♡_(:3 」∠)_

OH that would be epic indeed! (≧∀≦) Sadly, this time Reaper wins, and I have some silly hopes for Reaper VS Geno... ♪

I guess most of us are waiting for Error to become the second again — the third time in a row, it'll be the greatest joke ever XD

Horror is always in our hearts (〃ω〃) It's not stupid at all, thank you so much for sharing your feelings! ♡

#ask #poll #my dear fellswap is losing again but I love seeing him here <3

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flieslikeamoron · 1 month ago

Note

For the ask meme, if you're still doing it! I wish you would write a fic where either Eddie or Steve can read the other's mind, or feel their emotions, or are otherwise psychically linked in some way. :)

Hiiiii! At one point I was thinking about writing a soul bond type of thing where the bat bites create a hive mind that Steve and Eddie share. Your ask reminded me of the idea so I wrote a little bit of what that could have been like. Some dicks and stuff behind the cut.

-*-

It’s not that weird.

Sure, it’s a little strange Steve always seems to know when Eddie pulls into the parking lot at Family Video. Even if he’s in the back room, couldn’t possibly have heard the rattle of the van’s rusted muffler.

And yes, he can tell when Eddie’s hungry. Thirsty. Tired. Can tell without asking if he’s craving a burger or spaghetti. Can tell where Eddie is in a room without looking. Can feel it like a magnet pulling. But he knows when Robin’s hungry just by looking too. Or when she has a crush on someone. He knows when Nancy’s fed up or trying not to laugh. He knows when Dustin’s about to go off on some nerd rant before he starts talking.

It’s just because they’re friends now. That has to be why he feels so much better when Eddie’s around. Like something he didn’t know was missing clicking into place. That’s friendship, isn’t it?

It’s not that weird.

Not compared to all the shit they’ve been through. It’s nice, actually, the way Eddie smiling at him sinks deep into him like sunshine on his skin. The way Eddie’s pacing footsteps or the drumming of his fingers on the counter thumps in a rhythm against Steve’s chest. Even when Eddie’s pissed, it rattles like rain on a tin roof in a way Steve kind of likes.

It’s just because Steve likes him. It’s not a big deal that he hasn’t felt exactly like this about any of the other people he’s friends with. Any of the people he loves. Different isn’t bad. There’s no reason to mention it. What would he even say? Do you know when I’m thirsty too? Do you feel like a lock turning when you touch me? That does make it sound weird. And what if Eddie says no. What if Eddie has no idea what he’s even talking about.

No, Steve will just give him a Coke when he knows Eddie wants a Coke. And bask in the smile that gets him. There’s no reason to bring it up. To make it weird.

Until.

It comes out of nowhere, heat building low in his gut when Steve’s in the middle of putting his laundry away. He’s got the phone trapped between his ear and his shoulder, Robin on the other end giving him a play-by-play of her latest not-date with Vicki. He puts the rest of his jeans away, trying to ignore how turned on he is for no apparent reason. But there’s something fucked up about having Robin’s voice in his ear while he’s popping a boner.

“I gotta go,” he interrupts. “Sorry, I forgot I have to-” He tries to think of something he could be doing that’s not jerking off.

“Am I boring you?”

“No I just-” He stops again. This time because he has the oddest feeling. Almost the feeling of a hand on him. Of fingers pinching into his nipple. It’s never really done much for him, having his nipples played with. But a pulse of heat goes right through his balls. He curls a hand thoughtlessly against his boner, feeling the needy weight of it. “I’ll call you in a sec.” He can hear Robin protesting as he hangs up and tosses the phone aside.

She calls right back, but he lets it ring. Too busy tugging his pants down. He can’t explain anyway. That he just really needs to get off right now. It’s rude as hell. He doesn’t know why he’s- But he’s so turned on. He’ll make it up to her after he gets this out of his system.

He tugs his underwear down enough to get his dick out, starting to stroke himself with one hand, the other braced on his dresser. He likes to start slow normally, get himself worked up, but he feels strung tight as if he’s already been at it for a while. He spits in his hand, spreads precome down the shaft. Watching his hand move, the head of his dick red and slick in the circle of his fingers.

There’s something wrong with his vision, something sort of blurry like a double exposure in a photograph. He blinks. It’s like the almost there of another hand, that’s not his hand. Of a dick that’s not his dick. He can almost feel it ghost against his skin when that hand moves, off rhythm with his. It’s making his dick throb, gut snarled tight with heat. It’s making him dizzy. He closes his eyes, and tries to focus on the slide of his hand. Just his hand. Tries to picture Phoebe Cates getting out of the pool. Perfect boobs and a slo-mo smile. But the picture in his head feels impossible to hold on to. Feels like he can’t-

And then he’s seeing himself a little hazy and far away like looking through clear water. It’s him pulling himself out of the pool in his swim team speedos. Muscles flexing. Water streaming off him. Hand running through his own wet hair, and a cocky grin on his face.

And okay, he knows he’s a good-looking guy. But he’s not- His ego isn’t this big. This isn’t the him he sees in the mirror. It’s sort of- Everything a little better than he actually is. The him he wishes he was.

He didn’t- The shape of it feels wrong inside his head, like it doesn’t fit right. But he’s watching himself sitting down now, at the edge of the pool. And there's someone still in the water. There are hands on his thighs. A mouth on his cock. He can’t see much of the other person but long, dark, wet hair. He can almost feel it, the heat of that mouth on his cock. The sizzle of it through his mind going straight to his balls. And every time he strokes himself it’s like he feels it in his dick, and then he feels it again somehow like an echo throbbing through him. An overwhelming feedback loop of want and need and how good it feels. God. Fuck. I’m gonna come. He is gonna come, but he hears it against the inside of his head, and it doesn’t sound like him. It sounds like-

“Eddie?” he says cautiously. Out loud and in his head too.

He feels a quick stab of shock, fear. It feels like the rest of it. Sort of the wrong shape inside his body, inside his head. And then it’s like he’s got a song stuck in his head, but it’s a heavy metal song he’s never heard before.

“Eddie?” He thinks it harder. Tries to make it a scream, send it out past the inside of his own head. But the music keeps going, the noise of it so loud he can hardly think past it, can’t hear past it to whatever Eddie’s thinking behind it. That is Eddie behind it though, he’s pretty sure. That was Eddie just now. The things Steve was feeling. That was what Eddie was thinking about while he was getting off. He was thinking about Steve.

Steve should be more weirded out by that, probably. Knowing he’s starring in Eddie Munson’s wet dreams is a bit of a surprise. He didn’t even know Eddie’s gay. He waits to feel shocked or upset, but outside of being kind of confused how any of this is even happening, he doesn’t seem to mind it. It’s a compliment, really. If that’s the way Eddie sees him. He kind of likes it, actually, in a deep down, self-satisfied way that makes him wonder if he does need to work on his ego after all.

He feels vaguely guilty that he accidentally ruined the guy’s jerk off session. He looks down at his hand on his dick. He’s not sure if he should finish now. It’s like stolen valor or something. Is he even horny or was he just piggy-backing? However he got here, he’s still pretty close. He gives himself a couple careful strokes. Can Eddie feel that? Or was it just a one way connection? He heard it when Steve thought his name though. The heavy metal is still fucking blasting, so maybe he can’t hear or feel Steve past that just like Steve can’t hear him. He doesn’t know if he should risk it though.

It’s pretty fucking weird.

The kind of weird he can’t ignore.

He takes a cold shower, the heavy metal stuck in his head starting to give him a headache. Could you turn it down a little? he tries thinking. If it gets through to Eddie, he ignores it. Steve tries to figure out if there’s a way to turn down the volume on his end. Putting his fingers in his ears doesn’t help. He tries counting backward from a hundred and that seems like it does something, sort of. But as soon as he stops counting he can hear the music just as loud. Maybe Eddie will turn it off on his own if Steve gives him a little time to stop freaking out.

He’s got to be freaking out. Having the dude you’re jerking off about pop up in your head has to be the nightmare scenario of all time. But how is Steve supposed to tell him it’s cool if he won’t stop putting up a wall of sound?

Or maybe Steve could try something a little less direct than whatever this head to head connection is. He tries calling Eddie’s trailer. No answer. He tries the walkie. No answer.

He wonders if Eddie can tell he’s pulling into the trailer park like Steve can always tell when he’s pulling up the street to Steve’s house. Steve can feel it. That magnet tug as he walks up the stairs. That feeling just underneath his breast bone that always seems to orient toward Eddie like a compass pointing north. He wonders if Eddie can feel that too.

But maybe he can’t, because he looks shocked when he opens the door. Wide-eyed for just a second. The music breaks apart in Steve’s head enough that he can feel fear, just for a second. Less than that. Barely long enough to notice if he hadn’t been paying attention. And then the music starts up again, and whatever Eddie’s feeling is hidden behind it. Behind the easy laugh as he reaches out to thump Steve on the chest with the back of his hand like normal. Says, “You couldn’t call?” like Steve didn’t. Says, “You’re lucky I don’t have a life,” and tugs Steve in through the doorway. Like normal.

For a moment Steve thinks maybe it was all in his head. Maybe he’s just like- Losing it. Maybe he's making up weird shit and thinking he and Eddie have some kind of psychic connection and hearing things that aren’t there and seeing things that aren’t there. Maybe none of it is real. And there’s nothing weird here except him.

But there’s music in his head. And he doesn’t know this song.

#i might write more of this idk #the reason i didn't before was because i got too caught up in trying to figure out plot stuff #but writing this i was like if you don't actually try to explain things and do plot it's fun!#i'm still taking requests btw if you tell me the fic you wish i would write i'll try to write you a bit of it #steddie fic #my fic #ask game

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rockyteriyaki · 7 months ago

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TEAM BUILDING ACTIVITIES 👯

s/o to @powerful-owl for starting this meme and @disarmd for the insanely funny contribution, it’s such a delightful thought exercise! here’s my attempt:

MASCOTS!

american sports have hella mascots, so every team is tasked to create a marketable mascot that could represent them for u.s fans. they also have to build a little model to pitch the concept. there’s the williams whale sharks. the aston martin martinis. lando and oscar devise a walking papaya named penny who looks so much like a vulva oscar backs out almost instantly.

GUESS THE GRID based on clothing choices: drivers assemble an outfit they’d wear and then everyone else tries to guess who picked what. the catch is that the f1a girls did the same challenge and their answers are mixed in as well. everybody thinks doriane’s mercedes-themed picks are george’s and maya gets confused for charles even though there’s no ferrari branding to be seen. chloe’s picked a haas cap with a black skirt and we watch nico hulkenberg go through every emotion known to man trying to figure out why kevin would—???

(meanwhile the academy grid is absolutely ripping everybody’s style choices to shreds, accusing hamda of being the most basic bitch on the planet bc max chose to wear basketball shorts, etc)

PADDOCK SCAVENGER HUNT

5 teams are in on it and the other 5 can’t know what’s going on, otherwise they lose points. charles pretends that he’s too tired to walk when pierre catches him searching the top of a cabinet on carlos’ shoulders. oscar distracts williams while lando tries to get a picture of logan with red, white and blue objects in the background. yuki gets stranded on top of the rbr motorhome because daniel won’t stop using him for reconnaissance and the whole thing gets called off because max sees them squabbling on the roof and thinks the rapture has arrived.

GEORGE AND ALEX MAKE GRAPHICS

ib george’s natural talent for graphic design. the audience gets to see what a communications team actually does in motorsport (educational!) and george and alex get free reign of the entire library of press photos of eachother. george is hunting for a terrible picture of alex to edit onto a podium but ends up having a very verbal crisis about how none of the pap shots are appropriately bad and then spends the next half an hour digging himself into theeee deepest hole talking about how it’s just not as FUNNY if alex looks TOO GOOD on the podium! it would be UNFAIR! alex is squirming and trying to remember where tf he was planning on going with this zoomed-in great-gatsby-esque picture of george’s eyelids on his screen right now. george silently edits alex’s teeth out of his mouth and tries to erase the fact that he just called alex handsome like 47 times.

MARIO KART SIM RACING

im talking full immersion. sherbet land is ice fucking cold. every time they drive over some kind of giant clock or railroad or something the sim porpoises like a jackhammer. someone is standing behind them with a full tank of water for the splash sections. there’s a legitimate epilepsy warning at the start of the video. bowser puts the fear of god into lando norris.

MAX AND DANIEL DO TEMPORARY TATTOOS

i’m hesitant to allow them access to a bowl of water but i have an extremely clear vision of daniel slapping tats all over the blank spaces on his skin to the point where they overlap and he’s just got shiny plasticky tattoo skin everywhere. max would find this unappealing and also stupid until he realizes all the fake tattoos on his side of the table are replicas of daniel’s actual ones. cut to: daniel with a snake tattoo stuck in his eyebrow hairs hiking his shorts up so max can mirror the placement on his own inner thigh. daniel resembling a concussed post malone, watching max’s careful application of the ‘3’ tattoo. max does a horrible aussie accent and daniel looks like a chimpanzee seeing its own reflection for the first time. cinema.

#i am obsessed with this trend #a trace of the true self (complex inner psyche of your blorbo) exists in the false self (giving your blorbo a taser)#maxiel #galex #the grid

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