#every year these festivities get a little worse for me | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

poguehearted77 · 13 days ago

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Just Another Cliché

Summary: Rafe has been asking to take you out for years and you always shoot him down, but after a particularly bad day, you decide things can't get much worse.

<<Here's some fluffy angst for those who need it>>

Shitty was an understatement for the day you had. This day will go down in history as the worst day any soul has ever lived through.

"Oh, you've got to be kidding me." The murmur is bitter on your tongue as you stuff your hands deeper into your warm pockets. The breath of your words were visible in the crisp winter air as you were about to pass by Rafe Cameron who waited patiently outside of your apartment building with a single rose just like he always did.

Since your senior year of high school, every year on the fourteenth of February, he would wait outside your complex, asking you out, then you say no, then he goes home. That's the tradition.

Well, technically you never said no. You'd always make up some excuse. 'I don't have time for a relationship right now' or 'Now's a bad time' are just a few of the examples you've used over the last five years.

It's not that there was anything wrong with him. You actually did find him attractive. Aside from the sketchy reputation he had going for him back in high school, he was still a relatively nice guy.

You just didn't have the time for a relationship, or at least you didn't before.

A small smile forms on his face as he sees you, already knowing what to expect. Another excuse like "Fine," yup, just as he thought- Wait.

"Say that again?" His head shakes in disbelief, blue eyes bulging slightly. Your shoulders shrug under your heavy-duty winter jacket. "My car was towed, then I lost my job, so why not lose my dignity too? Let's go out." You say and his heart begins to bounce off the confines of his ribs.

Not sure if it was the frosty air nipping at his cheeks or his lifetime wish finally unwrapping before his eyes, his cheeks flushed and he blinked a few times. "You won't regret this, I promise." he holds out the rose for you to take, and you finally do. For the first time in five years. You bite back a scoff, not in the mood for empty promises.

"Why haven't you given up yet?" You ask and now he places his hands in his pockets as a chilling breeze sweeps past you. He's rocking back on his heels slightly, "Life's too short to give up." The tiny smile on his face does make you scoff this time but he moves past it, "I'll text you later," is the last thing he says before he walks off.

You look down at the rose, then at his shrinking figure as he heads for the distance. A little pep in his step and you shook your head, immediately regretting your decision.

Great, this is exactly what you needed, another cliché.

Just another cliché is exactly what it was. On the lowest day of your life, you finally gave Rafe a chance. Of course, he changes your life in ways you couldn't imagine and leaves you with a dead weight of regret for not giving in sooner.

Your first date wasn't anything out of the ordinary, but it was fun. The two of you were inexperienced skaters failing to skate in the middle of the town square during the heart of winter. With festive lights outlining the rink where you laughed every time one of you fell.

There was even a point in time when you'd both embraced the cold connection with the ice floor and had a deep conversation on the sidelines, watching the other skaters circle the rink.

"Why me?" The question slips out before you can catch it and he licks his lips. He anticipated the query would arise eventually. "You remember that party Hailey Vanderbilt threw back in senior year?"

You hum with a nod, that was a party you'll never forget. Pool toys ended up in the trees, broken windows, jello in the hot tub, fights in the front yard and gambling in the back. "You and a few of the girls were playing truth or dare and they had dared you to start a rumour that I'd shaved my head because my family had joined some cult or some shit."

It took you a second, but the memory came back to you. "You don't know this, but I was fucking wasted behind the couch, but I'll never forget the way you stood up for me to them and refused to do it, and I dunno, I jus' think that was really cool of you." His head turns to you, his gaze softening when he looks at you.

At that moment, you felt the butterflies flap around in your stomach for the first time. He clears his throat, expression becoming more sombre as he continues. "My mom," He starts, taking a difficult swallow to get the words out.

"She was really sick. I got caught up with the wrong crowd to deal with it. Doing anything people said would get me distracted, even for a little, but she got worse and me being high every day didn't help so I quit. Her chemo was taking everything from her and eventually, she just shaved it off, she hated looking in the mirror and it killed me."

Your chest tightened at the story, having a sneaking suspicion of where this was going, "So when you shaved your head..." You trail off and Rafe nods along, turning away from you as a stray tear falls. "It was for her. You sticking up for me meant so much more than you know."

So there you both sat, on the ice with your backs against the wall in silence while the faint Christmas music chimed in the background. The date had taken a sad turn but you're glad it did, it sparked the beginning of your forever-evolving bond.

That was only the first date of many. Dozens and dozens of dates had flown past you and with each one you hated yourself a little more for letting him stand outside of your complex for five years rather than invite him inside.

"This is a nice place." He compliments as he takes a look around before settling himself on the couch with you beside him. "Thanks, it used to be a lot nicer when I could afford it. Had to sell some stuff to keep it after I lost my job."

He chuckles, "That explains why we're facing a blank wall and no television." and you pinch him. "Sacrifices had to be made. Who needs a TV anyways when there's so many other things we could do to keep ourselves busy." Your wandering hand gently runs down his firm thigh and you can feel the muscles in his leg tighten.

This was unchartered territory for you. You'd been dating for almost three months now and have never been intimate in that way, but Rafe knew the kind of person you were. A perfectionist, you need to be sure of everything before you try it.

Based on how fervently you were currently kissing along the length of his neck he could assume he had a pretty good idea of where your head was at. "Baby, baby--" He struggles to keep you at bay so he can lock eyes with you. "Are you sure about this? We don't have-" You silence him with the passionate attack of your lips against his.

Nearly tackling him onto his back, your hips straddling his as you demonstrated your certainty to him.

The months went on and sleepovers became more frequent. Even when Rafe had that tired look in his eye which was more often these days, you kept him up with your bright eyes and wide smile as you explained to him the newest conspiracy that intrigued you.

He tried his best to listen to what you were saying but he'd often lose himself in the labyrinth of his own mind. You were just so cute when you were talking about what you were passionate about. Especially when you wore the glasses you cursed so much, opting for contacts during the day.

"Why don't you wear your glasses more often?" He asks and you frown, "Rafee, did you hear anything I just said?" He nods, "Of course I did. I heard every last word.... up until about five minutes ago." You whine and he hugs you tight as an apology, placing a sweet kiss on your forehead.

You couldn't stay mad at him. That was proven time and time again when even your biggest fights would be resolved within 24 hours. Rafe insisted on talking things out, no matter how hurt the both of you may feel. He never wanted to go to sleep without making things right. "Life's too short," He would say.

You both had your shortcomings, but that goes without saying. Rafe was short-tempered and you were stubborn, a bad combination for an opinionated conversation. Things can quickly spiral out of control but when it came to apologies, Rafe outdid you every time. Flowers, or a small gift to show his feelings.

Even now, as Rafe leant against your kitchen island as you transferred the flowers he'd gifted you 'just because'. A weak smile graced his lips as he noted the way you did everything with such intensity, putting your all into everything you did.

Leaning forward onto his crossed forearms he watches you. "You're staring, babe." You say and he can only hum. "Can't help it. I like what I see," His words elicit a soft warmth to radiate in your chest.

"I love you, y'know that?" You're startled as you feel his arms wrapping around your waist from behind. "You tell me only every day, Rafe." He comes down to peck your cheek before you're rotating in his hold to face him. "But I love you too." You're unable to contain your smile as you say it.

It wasn't the first time but every time the words left your mouth, it gave you a little bubbly feeling. Security blossomed within you anytime your eyes grazed over his features.

"Let's go out tonight, yeah? Let's go dancing." Rafe declares without thinking and you laugh, tilting your head to look at the time over the stove. "It's almost midnight, nothing's open at this hour." You reason, but he doesn't back down.

Holding you by the hand, he twirls you. "Not a problem, we'll just do it here." That night your apartment was filled with laughter and soft jazz. Rafe hardly ever had this much energy so late but you loved it.

Two days after that night of dancing, you woke up to an eerie silence that felt too heavy for the morning. You went about your routine, still buoyed by the memory of Rafe's laughter filling your apartment. You checked your phone—just the usual notifications, a missed call from an unknown number, and a message from Sarah that simply said, "Call me."

You barely had time to press dial before she picked up, her voice trembling. She tried to speak, but only the sound of soft, choked sobs came through. Finally, she managed, "I’m so sorry…"

The words hit you, but you didn’t understand them. You wanted her to stop, to say something else—anything else. She kept speaking, her words blurred and distant, as though you were underwater, drowning. Somewhere in her explanation, you heard the words, "peacefully… in his sleep." But it didn’t feel peaceful. Your mind raced, demanding answers. Why hadn’t he told you? How long had he known?

Over the days that followed, Rafe's family gently filled in the pieces: he’d been sick for years, silently enduring, doing everything he could to hide it. Every date, every moment spent laughing with you, was a deliberate choice he made to live his last days fully, in love and joy, with you.

He hadn’t wanted you to know because he couldn't bear to see you suffer for him the same way he was once familiar with in his senior year. Even in the end, he kept the truth locked away, shielding you from the loss he knew was coming.

The weight of his choice tore you apart. You wanted to be angry, to hate him for leaving you out, but in his silence, there was also a strange kind of love. A love that had given you a few precious, unburdened moments together. Still, the pain settled deep within you, refusing to ease.

The anger, hurt, and ache became constant companions in the days that followed. But in his absence, you began to understand just how much he’d given for you.

He'd shared with you how hard it was for him to deal with that eerie state of loss. The stage where the person isn't gone but you know you'll lose them. It alters you in a messed up kind of way and he wanted you as far from that reality as possible. He was protecting you from his own condition till the very end.

Helping his family to clear out his apartment was easily the hardest thing you'd ever done. You couldn't do it without tearing up with every belonging of his you touched.

His favourite hoodie that he never let you wear but loved when you did. The polaroids in his drawer that you took from your first date, taken from the floor of the ice rink.

You noticed he'd scribbled writing on the back of the photo.

She finally said yes.

That was all it took. The last bits of your composure were stolen from you and you wept on his bedroom floor. Everyone always told you it would get easier but it never did. How could things get easier when the other half of your heart was buried six feet below the ground?

You learned to live with the loss, forcing a smile when in the company of others and taking deep breaths every morning when you woke up. Mildly disappointed the realm beyond the living hadn't reaped you during your slumber.

Very slowly, you begin to adjust to this new reality. It’s not the life you imagined, but you learn to live with the loss, carrying him with you in the smallest, most tender ways. His favourite hoodie becomes your comfort on cold nights, wrapping you in his memory and his scent.

Just because he was gone doesn't mean you'd end all of your traditions. Each year on the fourteenth of February, you visit his grave, placing a single red rose on the stone as a quiet tribute.

Though the ache remains, you hold his spirit close, carrying him forward into every milestone and memory yet to come, honouring the love you shared while finding the strength to continue onward.

In some ways, your love story turned out to be just another cliché—until it ripped your heart out from your chest, leaving you with the unbearable ache of everything he left unsaid, every unfulfilled promise, and the haunting silence of a future that will always belong to him.

Somehow, even in the quietest, most heart-wrenching moments, you never gave up on finding the silver lining, because life’s too short.

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nariism · 5 months ago

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wherever you are, wherever you may be — i. rin

soulmates (name au) + "i'm done waiting."

synopsis. itoshi rin meets you under a sky full of fireworks. he spends the next 6 years of his life trying to convince himself that he doesn't love you. you spend the next 6 years giving him every reason why he should.

wc. 12.4k (i need to close my eyes and sleep for a while)

notes. huge thank you to ellie (@hyomagiri) and mari (@saetoshi) for helping me with this 🥹 this fic actually put me through it and i'm so grateful to both of them for their support 💗

— for my beloved @ode2rin 💐 | event masterlist ✉️

─── ･｡ﾟ☆: *.☽ .* :☆ﾟ. ───

2024

Every year on the seventh day of the seventh month, Itoshi Rin finds himself standing at the daunting entrance to his local shrine.

The tradition is completely beneath him—something childish that he grumbles about under his breath despite letting you drag him all the way out here with soft eyes watching your smile.

Tanabata is the festival of stars. Of love.

It is a story his mother used to whisper to him as they watched the night sky in awe, pretending that the galaxy was collapsing in on itself to allow for a romantic midnight rendezvous between two lovers.

It’s something far too sappy for his liking.

But the food is okay, he supposes, and it’s a good opportunity to get out of the house and spend time with you which he seldom has time to do now that he’s back in his training season.

There were too many things about it that he loathed: the screaming children that would bump into his legs; the way his ears would stay ringing for days after the festival ended; how you could always convince him to come as if you were some sort of hypnotic devil in disguise, and how thoroughly wounded his pride would be at that fact.

However, his least favourite part of the festival by far is writing down his wish for the year on a scrap piece of paper and hanging it around a bamboo tree. One, because he can never for the life of him think of anything meaningful to wish for. And two, because he isn’t sure he even believes in that sort of thing.

Rin is struggling again this year, pencil lightly scratching his temple as he thinks.

He’s painfully aware that he’s never put so much thought into this before, but you seemed so excited to come all the way here before heading to the festivities that he couldn’t possibly let you down.

His wish dawns on him then, something he wants to do before the next time he makes the climb all the way back up here 365 days from now.

“Hey,” your voice calls out quietly. “What did you wish for?”

“What did you wish for?” Rin quickly refutes.

You cast your narrowed eyes from the side, tilting your little slip of yellow paper away from him.

“Only if I get to see yours first.”

Normally, he would give in to you right away. His resolve when it comes to you is embarrassingly weak. But there’s no way for him to explain himself. No way he could show you the words he’s written lest he hurt his ego.

He stubbornly folds up the piece of paper and shoves your face away. All you do is laugh and he feels terribly warm.

“No peeking,” he tells you when you kiss across his fingertips.

─── ･｡ﾟ☆: *.☽ .* :☆ﾟ. ───

2018

A name appeared for Itoshi Rin when he turned thirteen years old.

He remembers the day well—it was hard to forget, anyway. As much as he wanted to focus on the burning of the name etching its way down his skin, he couldn’t. Not when he was blinking snow out of his lashes and watching his brother’s retreating back.

Rin likes to think that the universe fucks with him in any way that it can.

Maybe he had done something terrible in his past life and this was its karmic retribution, or maybe he was just unlucky.

What he does know is this: the name on his pinky only reminds him of all the things he ever lost.

Every syllable struck needles into his heart—a painful memory of crawling after the tracks of the wheels Sae left behind with his luggage until gravel and ice were stuck under his nails. Or worse, the clawing of his throat as they sat across from each other at dinner—the way he didn't even smile when Rin announced to his parents that his soulmate mark had appeared while his mother cried out in joy.

In fact, Sae didn’t talk to him for the rest of his visit. He remembers that hurt the most.

The name had haunted him for all the remaining years of his life—a forced memory that he wished he could forget. There came with it a feeling of loneliness that crushed him despite the proof on his pinky that there was another soul wandering the earth that would fix him.

He refused to believe it.

Only revenge would fix him. Only proving himself better would heal the cracks in his heart. Only beating Sae. Sae, Sae, Sae. His brother’s name had been repeated so many times that it was easy to ignore the other burning his skin.

In all those years he found it easy to cast aside his soulmate. To ignore it even if it hurt.

So he wonders why it’s so bad tonight.

He’s done everything he could think of: slathering cooling ointment down his finger to stop the searing, wrapping it in a cast to prevent himself from admiring it for too long, even tying a wish to a piece of bamboo hoping it would disappear.

A finger snaps in front of his face, drawing his attention to his teammates in front of him. Both look equally amused.

“You’re dreaming,” Isagi muses. “You’ve been spacing out all night. Is everything okay?”

“I’m fine,” Rin mutters, swatting his teammate’s hand away from him. He had been staring again, longingly eyeing the way the letters danced down his skin. “Just thinking.”

“About?”

“None of your business.”

“Yeesh, it’s not good to keep things bottled up, you know?”

“You’re annoying,” Rin glowers before it melts back into indifference. “I’m fine,” he reiterates.

Isagi seems unconvinced, as he usually is when Rin is being mysteriously vague about what’s on his mind. He and Bachira share a tentative glance before sighing and shaking their heads.

“Well… okay,” he finally yields. “We’re going to get some snacks before the fireworks start. If you’re going to sulk then at least stay put and do it here so we can find you again.”

“Yeah,” Rin grumbles, already making an escape plan. “Whatever. Will do.”

As soon as the boys are out of sight, he turns heel and hurries away. The crowd is driving him crazy and he needs somewhere quiet so he can stare at his hands until his eyes are dry.

He comes to a pond situated just outside of the festival grounds, deep water glimmering under the moon and the passing lanterns.

Plopping down on the bench, he hunches over onto his knees with his elbows and takes a deep breath. It instead comes shallow, as if someone has just punched him in the gut.

It’s then that he realizes he’s not alone.

Your yukata is muddy, fabric soaked and dripping at the sleeves though you don’t seem to care or even notice. You look frustrated for some reason, lip curled into a concentrated frown while you plunge your hands into the mud around the edge of the water.

Away from the crowds of people, he can hear the summer song of cicadas chirping all around. Your hands dip in and out of the water, quiet splashes filling the rest of the silence on top of the distant buzz of children laughing.

It’s just you and him. Something primal inside of him rages, pounding against his chest until it feels like he’s suffocating.

Run. Run. Run.

His legs jerk, urging him to stand up and leave, but he feels glued down to the bench—tethered where he sits and forced to watch you repeatedly sink your hands into the muddy waters.

No more than five minutes must pass as you both ignore each other, yet it feels like an eternity stretches by.

Finally, you pipe up.

“You’re scaring them,” you tell him plainly.

His head whips in your direction at your voice, soft and careful. His teal eyes narrow at you. “Huh?”

Your frown deepens, turning to look at him with your hands still submerged. “The frogs.”

“Come again?”

“Your vibes. It’s scaring the frogs away.”

His eye twitches.

“Ever consider that you’re just dogshit at catching them?”

“Excuse me?”

“And look at you, making a total mess of yourself. Don’t you care that you have to go home looking like that?” He presses, leering at you like an insect he’s about to crush under his heel. You simply stare at him, expression blank.

Huffing, you tear away from him and sink your hands beneath the mud. “No. I don’t.”

He watches in silence as you sift around for a moment before pulling your hands up, a smile slowly morphing into your face.

“I got one…” You breathe, looking more elated than he thinks you should. “I really caught one.”

“First time?” He quips sarcastically. A part of him wonders why he hasn’t gotten up and left you altogether yet.

“Cut me some slack,” you complain, eyeing him from the side again. You gently run a finger along the back of the frog, trying not to scare it away. “I haven’t done this in forever.”

“Clearly.”

You snort. “Yeah. Clearly.”

Rin looks at you quizzically, puzzled at your sudden change in demeanor. You seem… softer. Less agitated, at the very least. You’re gazing at the frog adoringly, as if it had somehow solved all of your problems and was dragging you into another world.

Any retort he had ready to shoot at you dies in his mouth. The anger rising in his chest extinguishes in the blink of an eye, and a deep hush settles over you as he watches in curiosity.

For a moment, the universe goes quiet. He’s gotten so used to having everything on his mind all at once that the silence is almost unnerving.

He once believed that his world would end with an injury that never healed quite right, or when he was too old for any team to want him.

He once believed that his world would end when he could no longer imagine the feel of a ball between his palms.

He once believed that his world would end the day he couldn’t play football anymore—that the only thing that would ever kill him was if the chance of standing alongside his brother died with him.

But he was wrong.

Itoshi Rin’s world ends with the bellow of a firework.

In a few years, he would think of this stretch of a few seconds fondly. He would squeeze you a little tighter with his chin resting on your shoulder, staring up at a colourful sky. He would think it was poetic, in a way, that you were the one who painted his world in the same hues of shimmering gold.

Rin remembers, though, that only one thought had crossed his mind.

I’m so screwed.

He can see every fine detail of your face, illuminated in all the colours of the rainbow. And he can’t help but think you are the most beautiful person he’s ever seen. He can trace each intricate curve of your nose to your chin to the surprised parting of your lips; the way your lashes flutter as you blink rapidly, tensed from the sudden explosion.

The light fades faster than it appeared, yet it feels like a millennium has passed. The reverbing echo of the firework crackles across the sky, thundering in his ears so loud that he can feel it pounding in his chest.

(Or is that his heart? He can’t tell. He feels dizzy.)

Darkness envelops your bodies again, save for the dim glow of distant lanterns. Every part of you is seared into his memory, a floating image when he blinks.

The frog leaps from your hands back into the water, leaving nothing but ripples behind.

You stay there with your hands outstretched, looking lonely under the dark sky. Another one goes off above your heads, signalling the start of the display.

“There you are, Rin!” Bachira and Isagi come rushing over from the path, excited smiles and mirth bubbling in their laughs as they approach. “We thought you went home without us already!”

Rin slowly blinks out of his reverie. For a second, he glances in your direction again just to catch your eyes.

“I almost did,” he grumbles, forcing himself not to stare.

“Fireworks are starting!” Isagi yanks Rin to his feet and begins dragging him away before he can even protest.

Without turning around, he can feel the weight of your eyes in the back of his head. There’s an unfamiliar ache in his chest, and the name etched down his pinky burns infinitely hot.

Later at home, he stares at the spot where Sae used to sit back when he still came to Japan for anything other than to take a new passport photo.

“My soulmate’s name showed up,” he had mumbled that night to break the tense silence. It was strange that he still felt like he owed his brother that much—to make his visit as normal as possible despite having his heart carved open.

Sae only looked at him blankly, spoon halting just above his bowl. He was eerily still, quietly deciding how to react. Then,

“Good for you,” he said. And nothing more.

Rin squeezes his eyes shut and he feels warmth rolling down his cheeks. He quickly wipes the tears away, pretending as if they never existed.

He spends the rest of the night trying to forget your face.

(And the next year trying to recreate it in his dreams.)

─── ･｡ﾟ☆: *.☽ .* :☆ﾟ. ───

2019

Rin makes it another 275 days before he finally remembers every piece of the puzzle that is your existence.

He saw you in his sleep. The back of your head, anyway.

You were sitting in his favourite café, at the table he claimed for himself right by the window. You ordered a coffee but let it sit for so long that the ice melted. Then, you wiped up the condensation rolling down the frosty glass with your finger.

Rin watched you from afar, observing you the way he wished he did last summer.

Maybe then he could have dived deep into the recesses of his brain to remember why exactly you struck him so. But there he was, stuck watching the back of your head as you gazed out the window.

Tap. Tap. Tap.

Your fingers drummed mindlessly against the wooden table, reciting a rhythm just slightly louder than the pounding of his own heart.

“Can you leave me alone?” He finally called out, hoping it would stop your incessant beating.

Tap. Tap. Tap.

“You’re annoying me,” he hissed. Annoying for disturbing his peace and quiet. Annoying for plaguing his dreams even after all these days.

Tap. Tap. Tap.

“Seriously,” he grunted, standing up from his seat so fast that the chair scraped horribly against the wooden floor. Still, you didn’t pay him any mind, instead more interested in the faceless people walking by. “Knock it off!”

Tap.

He bit the inside of his cheek in hesitation, the itch in the back of his mind ever present. “What’s your name?”

Silence.

You finally turned his way. Slowly. Agonizingly slow. And Rin was right—you were still so beautiful, 275 days later.

Grinning at him big and bright, you almost seemed to collapse in on yourself with joy. Like a star about to implode, or maybe more akin to a firework.

Either way, his breath was stolen from him.

You silently mouthed your name, making sure he saw every vowel and accentuated syllable. Warmth flooded him in every way—probably brought on by the racing of his heart.

It was impossible that his soulmate was someone like this. Someone whose smile looked like it could heal even the deepest wounds.

You grabbed his attention again with a big wave of the arms, and he watched in anticipation.

“You’re—”

Rin followed your mouth as you sounded out the words without a voice.

“—smiling!”

He reached up to run his fingers along his bottom lip. And you were right, he realized, as he traced it midway up his cheek.

(When did he start smiling?)

(Why?)

─── ･｡ﾟ☆: *.☽ .* :☆ﾟ. ───

Rin thinks about you just as much in the waking world as he does in his dreams.

It’s spring, though snow is still settled over the eaves of homes that he passes on the way to the grocery store. Apparently the winter cold is supposed to be especially long and bitter this year, permeating until mid-May.

He stares at his feet as they mark the virgin snow, decorating his sneakers white and making his feet cold.

Did you walk through the same snow this morning?

Then, when he’s going through the motion of smelling the bottom of pineapples at the store:

Do you like pineapple? What if you’re allergic?

(He shakes his head and puts them away. He suddenly isn’t craving it.)

His obsession with you has only intensified as the year has gone on. If you ever peered into his mind, he would receive a well-deserved slap across the face.

The soulmate mark engraved down his pinky has never bothered him so badly.

It’s like you’re constantly with him—a ghost haunting him, or perhaps more like a curse. Thinking about you takes up unnecessary space in his head. Space that should be dedicated to football, and football only.

He's about to go home so he can make a list outlining the ways he can forget about you.

(Ironic, he knows, but in all honesty he already exhausted all of his options from his first list.)

But then he comes to a stop outside of his favourite café. It looks the same, even has the same advertisements plastered in the window as the last time he was here.

He hesitates at the door, but when he walks in it smells the same. It's decorated the same. Not a single table is out of place.

He walks up to his regular spot, runs his fingers along the wood where he remembers you tapping in his dream.

There's no sign of your existence here.

Rin shakes his head in annoyance, cursing himself out in his head because he was stupid enough to think he would run into you here.

Then disappointment floods his body, like a dam had been released in his chest and it's flowing unstoppably to every piece of him.

(Wait, why is he disappointed? He really needs to take a nap.)

He runs his hand through his hair as a nervous reflex, simultaneously relieved and irritated that you're nowhere to be seen.

It takes him a minute to recollect himself, to realize that he probably looks like a crazy person just standing beside an empty table like a lost child who doesn't know where to go, and decides to just go home.

He pulls into the line to get a drink for his walk home when—

"Thanks!"

His heart drops.

You waltz out of the back, tying your apron around your waist as you exchange spots in the break room with one of your coworkers.

Rin is about to die, seriously. You must be new here, since he's been to this café more times than he can count and he's never seen you before. Or was it that he was specifically looking out for you this time?

Whatever the reason, he's dumbfounded.

“Hey,” your acknowledgment makes him freeze in his spot. “Frog guy?”

He looks at you stupidly, rubbing his eyes like a cartoon character as if he’s imagining you standing right in front of him.

His gaze drifts down to your name tag, fresh and newly printed with white marker. Signed at the end is a little flower, petals swirled into tiny hearts.

Your existence before him is undeniable.

"Um. Yeah," he sputters in disbelief.

"I..." You clear your throat, looking as bewildered as he feels. "I didn't think I'd see you again."

'You're my soulmate. Of course we'd run into each other,' he thinks to himself. Out loud, though:

"Yeah. Me neither."

The person behind him in line coughs quietly, impatiently tapping their foot. Rin takes the hint and quietly tells you what he wants. You lean in across the counter to hear him better, and his face grows warm.

Once you fill in the boxes on the cup, you place it down and move it to the side for someone to fill. It catches his eye immediately.

Itoshi Rin is scribbled neatly down the side of his cup.

“How did you...?”

You awkwardly shift in your spot, evidently embarrassed as you fiddle with the strings of your apron. Then, with your own hands.

“W-Well…”

His eyes dare to drop down to where your thumb is nervously slathering up and down the name on your pinky.

“Oh.”

"Sorry, I just figured—"

"It's fine," he interrupts. Your mouth snaps shut.

Tense silence stretches thin in the air, ready to shatter at any moment. But for some reason, he feels as though he's choking on nothing.

You fumble over the emptiness, quickly snatching up the cup to make his drink yourself after deciding it's too awkward to just stand there.

He watches you in a daze, half shaken and half in awe. Never in a million years would he have thought a dream would lead him back to you.

When you turn back around with a full cup, you look equally stunned.

“Itoshi—”

“Rin. It’s just Rin.”

You look at him in surprise, lashes fluttering rapidly as you let it sink in.

It's not your fault. You don't know that it's a sore spot that he just so happens to share the same last name with the person he despises most in the world.

It's not your fault that he has a quick temper and his voice raises slightly, enough to make you flinch back just a tiny bit.

And it's definitely not your fault that it stings so much—that he had expected you to speak to him as if you'd already known him for a lifetime and not as if you were just two strangers looking at each other from across a bar counter.

“O-Okay," you take a deep breath, cheeks puffed out and expression unreadable.

You slide the cup across the counter and he catches it in his hand.

He debates whether or not he should say more, like apologize for snapping at you. But then someone calls you by your name, and the way it rolls so beautifully off their tongue catches him off guard.

"Sorry. See you, Rin," you smile sweetly. Maybe a little awkwardly, a small step toward the one he dreamed about. And his heart is set in motion.

Rin decides that today won't be the day.

Another day, he'll be brave enough to crack a joke so dry that you try and scrub his name off your skin. And another day, he will ask for your number because, yeah, you might be the most alluring person he's ever met.

As he turns to take his leave after just staring at the spot you were standing in for a solid few seconds, he can hear some of the other baristas clamouring for you.

He doesn't want to look. Really, honestly, he doesn't.

But he does anyway.

It's just a quick glance over his shoulder—nothing more than a fleeting moment as he takes the chance to look at you one more time.

Those two seconds is all it takes for him to realize just how much trouble he's in.

You're laughing big and toothy, waving your hand in front of your face dismissively as your coworkers poke fun at how flustered you are. Then your hands are clasped over your stomach and you've doubled down a little in your awkward fit.

His heart has never beat so loud in his own ears.

─── ･｡ﾟ☆: *.☽ .* :☆ﾟ. ───

Itoshi Rin used to smile just for the sake of smiling, once upon a time.

He had aunties who would pinch him by the cheek and fawn over him, cooing about how he looked just like his mother. How his face would cherub and the apples of his cheeks were bright red. Even when he grew out of his baby face, people would tell him how wonderful his smile was.

Sae rarely ever smiled, so it was something exclusive. He never felt like he was standing in his shadow. It was special—the kind of praise only one Itoshi would know.

Rin has forgotten how to smile like that.

He smiles to be polite to his family, if ever. Even then, it's not like he owes them that much. At some point, it became too much effort. And he had no reason to do it.

It was always a tiny thought bothering him in the back of his mind:

I'll never meet my soulmate if I'm always scowling like this.

He thought that was what he wanted, anyway. He wouldn't need to worry about running into his soulmate if no one ever looked his way. If everyone feared him enough not to spare him a second glance.

He doubts everything he ever thought as he sits on the edge of his bed staring at his desk.

It's lit up by a single lamp, shining down on his empty coffee cup like a spotlight opened up by the heavens themselves.

Your phone number is written just below his name.

Rin had almost tossed it into the trash without a second thought earlier in the day. He would have, if it weren't for the loose dog that blitzed by him and made him drop it.

Fate just loves to mess with him.

He picked it up and his thumb had stopped over the number. It was written so small, as if you had wanted him to miss it. Or perhaps you wanted to test destiny yourself—to see if the planets would align and he would discover your seven digits there for him to find.

And now he's home. He's been home, just looking. Contemplating. Stressing.

He migrates from the edge of the bed and settles into his desk chair. Then he gets up, moves back to the bed, and flops down. An endless cycle, back and forth, pushing and pulling.

Rin plops down onto his desk seat and sighs in frustration, ruffling his hair around before his forehead slams into the table.

Every part of his mind screams at him to stop. To toss the cup away and forget today ever happened. His head raises from his arms and he stares at the set of numbers illuminated on the paper, taunting him.

Finally, he exhales through his nose, sitting up straight and reaching for the cup to toss. His fingers delicately brush along your phone number.

“So dumb…” He huffs, eventually finding his phone instead and opening his contacts.

It’s nearly midnight. He tries to imagine your face as you wait by your phone for a message from him, that stupidly hopeful glimmer in your eyes, and he feels sick to his stomach as he sends it.

Rin: hey. it’s rin.

He throws his phone down on the desk again, screen down so he can’t cringe at himself. A few minutes pass in complete silence as he sulks.

He considers that you may have gone to bed already, or you were offended by the fact that he ignored your offer to connect all day and instantly blocked him. Maybe you thought he never saw your number at all.

Then his phone buzzes. His body moves on autopilot, snatching it up faster than he can realize what he’s doing. He’s halfway through the embarrassing thought that he just immediately read your message after you sent it as your text sinks in.

Unknown: hi! it’s great to hear from you ヾ(〃^∇^)ﾉ

Unknown: i was starting to think you were never gonna text lol

Rin: i wasn’t

He chews his lip for a moment before quickly following up:

Rin: but i changed my mind. just cause.

Unknown: hahaha got it got it. ‘just cause’ (˘◡˘)

Unknown: rin

Unknown: wait nvm

Unknown: whatever

Unknown: rin

Rin: what

Unknown: let’s get coffee ^ ^

He stares at the screen in disbelief, watching the typing bubble pop up and disappear again and again. He can imagine again what kind of smile you must have on your face right now, or maybe you look flustered, or maybe this all means nothing to you at all and this is your way of being polite.

Regardless of the reason, he eventually types out his response.

Rin: ok

Christ, he’s so tepid.

─── ･｡ﾟ☆: *.☽ .* :☆ﾟ. ───

2020

He comes to memorize every part of you, like how the sun kisses the horizon and the moon knows the tides.

Intimately, almost—if he didn’t overthink the way your touch lingered on him he could easily ignore the way it made his heart pound in his ears.

Rin learns the feeling of your fingers against his skin as you compress an ice pack to his knee. He knows your laugh—can pick apart sarcasm from genuine cheer unlike most other people he encounters. He’s never been good at reading people yet for some reason you’ve become an open book for him.

It’s not fair that you’ve ensnared him this way, that he can’t seem to run from you (because his favourite coffee is from your café and he can’t be bothered to find a new place). That he finds himself instinctively reaching over to his phone when he can’t sleep (he has to make sure his alarms are on, might as well text you goodnight while he’s at it). And you’ve become annoyingly comfortable (he doesn’t have an excuse for this one—your lap is just conveniently a very nice place to rest his head).

He must be an open book, too.

At some point he probably stopped trying to hide his growing feelings for you, though you either didn’t notice his sudden shift or you didn’t care.

Vulnerability has never been a part of Rin, even before Itoshi Sae ruined his life.

He despises how you so easily pry him apart, skinning him alive with your hand lathering down his chest as you laugh.

Still, he’s grown accustomed to your fingers stringing through his hair, to the way your head tilts when he explains football plays to you, to the obvious way you fluster when he attempts (poorly) at flirting with you.

He’s gotten especially fond of the way you meet him at the end of his practices with such sweet, wandering hands—pushing the hair stuck to his forehead from sweat away from his eyes; using a towel to wipe up his neck; the squeeze you give his palms as you examine them to see if there are any new cuts and bruises.

Usually, he’s the epitome of confidence in his plays. Today, however, his cheeks burn as you approach him with the same honeyed smile.

“My shots were shoddy,” he admits before you can even get a word out. You only raise a brow, hands faltering in front of you. “That was lame.”

“I think you’re good.”

“Good,” he frowns. “But not great?”

“The greatest,” you quickly correct yourself, smiling at his cravings for praise. You’re armed with a fresh towel like you always are, reaching up to clean his face as if it’s the only thing you were born to do.

He relishes in your gentle touch, peering at you through his lashes while you prattle on about how amazing he was even though he missed half of his shots.

You were so blindly supportive, it sickens him.

Not because he felt you were being disingenuous, but because he’s not deserving of your praise.

For the first time in a long time, it feels as though his soul is disconnected from his body. He used to walk the earth this way—uninterested in his surroundings and obsessed with only one thing.

Itoshi Sae. Itoshi Sae. Itoshi Sae.

Suddenly, he’s thirteen again and gasping for air; screaming into his pillow and trashing their shared awards until his mother comes rushing in to stop him. He’s alone in a field, abandoned and crushed.

It’s not like he’d never lost before, even in front of you. Loss was just a part of football as much as he hated it.

But your praise only makes his stomach turn, because he knows you mean it.

You truly do believe he’s the best, when really he’s been futile in his attempts to catch up with the big brother he admired so much as a kid.

“Stop,” he gently interrupts.

Rin tries to use his hair to hide the wetness of his eyes, with little success. You can see right through him, unfortunately. It’s a talent he wishes you didn’t have.

“Rin?” You say softly, reaching up to brush the hair out of the way. He doesn’t try and back up or swat your hand away, instead letting you see his miserable expression. You sigh quietly, looking more exasperated than surprised.

“Sorry,” he mutters halfheartedly.

You shake your head. “You have nothing to apologize for.”

Shame boils in his stomach at your reassurance. There is something to apologize for. Here you are, supporting him with all your heart, and all he can think about is his stupid brother. How he’ll never catch up. How he’ll never be good enough.

Doesn’t your kindness warrant his attention at the very least?

“Come on,” you tug at his hand. “Let’s get you a pick-me-up.”

Rin abides silently, body following yours off the field and onto the streets though his mind has floated off elsewhere.

He tries to count how many steps you take in between the field and the destination, but loses count somewhere around three hundred. Then he moves on to counting the hairs on the back of your head. He loses count at one hundred. Eventually, he gives up and opts for staring at your conjoined hands while he lags behind.

When you come to a halt, he nearly bumps into your back.

The ringing in his ears stops as he blinks at his surroundings. Waves crash against the shore of the sandbank, singing the song of the ocean. It had been so long since Rin walked down this stretch of the shore, he almost forgot what the sea looked like.

“Wait here,” you urge as you hold him by the shoulders then disappear around the corner.

He collapses at the wall separating land from sea, swinging his legs under the railings to sit comfortably as he remembers doing when he was a kid. His gym bag is abandoned behind him, cleats and all.

When you return, you shove a popsicle into his hand.

He’s confused at first, just looking absently at the packaging. It must be for a concerning amount of time, because you eventually pipe up.

“Do you need me to open it for you?”

Rin glares at you and your teasing smile. Carefully, he unpackages the treat and pops it in his mouth.

Sweetness melts over his tongue and he exhales sharply through his nose. You watch him in amusement with your own treat stuck in your mouth.

Silence engulfs you, eating Rin from the inside out until he feels ill. He holds his half-eaten popsicle in front of him, watching it melt down his hand.

You stare at him for a second before nudging him lightly with your elbow.

“I was being serious. You were really good. I can’t even imagine playing like you do.”

Rin’s stomach turns. The last thing he wants is your pity.

“You don’t have to be so nice,” he mumbles, resting his chin on the railing. “42 percent.”

“42 percent?” You echo, peering over the railing to get a better look at his face.

“The percent of shots I made today.”

“Come on,” you urge gently. “Aren’t you being too hard on yourself?”

“If I’m not hard on myself, I’ll never—” he stops, choking lightly on his spit. When you don’t interrupt, he shoves the popsicle back in his mouth. “Whatever. You wouldn't get it.”

It’s quiet again, save for the crashing of waves upon rock. Rin thinks for a moment that maybe he had gone too far, or that his little meltdown had freaked you out.

But when he finally dares to look at you again, you’re smiling.

“Maybe not,” you admit with a whisper. “But I do know this…” You reach over and cup his cheek with your free hand, thumb sweeping the expanse of his cheek soothingly. “There is no one—and I mean no one—who works harder than you do.”

He swallows thickly, subconsciously nudging his face a little further into your palm.

“You deserve to be a little kinder to yourself.”

The way his heart catches in his throat is strange. He can’t describe it. The warmth in his belly is foreign, but it’s pleasant.

For the first time in the year he’s gotten to know you, the thought crosses his mind:

I think I’m in love with you.

Rin’s mouth opens with the idea, but he forces it shut just as fast.

Fear grips his lungs and squeezes, stealing his air and forcing him to pull away from your touch.

“Okay,” he breathes in resignation.

You seem stunned by his sudden retreat, smile faltering ever so slightly. But you recover quickly, hugging yourself as you slouch over the railing.

Conversation moves on just like that. He appreciated that about you, too. He never had to dwell.

It feels nice, everything about this; to have his legs dangling over the edge of the cement, feet barely ghosting over the surface of the water; to have a popsicle melting between his teeth while he listens to you talk.

For some reason, it feels as though he’s reclaiming lost time, reliving a moment he thought he would never have again.

When he checks his popsicle stick, it tells him he’s a winner for the first time since he was thirteen.

(He finally allows himself to believe it when your knee gently knocks into his.)

─── ･｡ﾟ☆: *.☽ .* :☆ﾟ. ───

2021

“Frog cotton candy?”

“Frog shaped cotton candy,” Rin corrects, peering around the giant fluff of candy to look at you quizzically.

“Yeah,” you giggle. “But why?”

He grumbles quietly, cheeks a soft shade of pink as he shoves the treat into your hands.

“I thought you’d like it. Nevermind,” he deadpans, turning around to toss it into the garbage.

Your laugh crescendos and he feels his heart squeeze with affection. When your hand stops him by the forearm, he thinks he might explode.

“It’s cute.”

You pick apart the floss ruthlessly with your fingers, and he watches almost in a trance—hypnotized by just your existence.

(When you finally pop the sugar into your mouth, he imagines it melting on his own tongue. The thought makes him unbearably warm and he forces it away.)

His fascination with you doesn't end there.

There's a certain charm to you that he can't understand—something that draws him in, tantalizing but terrifying at the same time.

He can't help the way he watches in a daze, the way you've ensnared all his attention and taken up the space in his mind.

Rin has never been good at being kind, but here he is.

Here he is, bringing you cotton candy because he thought it was stupid but cute.

Here he is, rolling up the sleeves of your yukata with a gentle scolding when you rush over to catch goldfish.

And here he is, letting you cling to his arm as if he's the only thing keeping you tethered to the earth.

He really, really hates it—how mushy you make his brain feel.

He's halfway through re-rolling your sleeves with a half-hearted scowl on his face when you stop him, hand pressed to his forearm.

“Listen, Rin.”

“Hm?” He leans down so that he can peer at your face hidden behind your almost nonexistent candy floss.

“I have to show you something.”

Rin stops dead in his tracks, raising a brow as he fully turns toward you. “What is it?”

“Can you close your eyes for me?”

His heart does a somersault in his chest. “You’re not doing anything weird, are you?”

“Who do you think I am?” You sputter.

He lets out a long sigh before complying, squeezing his eyes shut. After a long silence, he considers peeking a little bit.

That is, until he feels your breath gently fanning over his parted lips.

Nearly leaping back, he wills himself to stay grounded and slowly slides his hands up your arms until he gets to your shoulders. As he imagined, your body is impossibly close to his.

It takes every bit of concentration he has not to waver. If he really tries, he can focus on how your breath smells sweet of candy. How your hair blows softly with the summer breeze, tickling his cheeks. How you smell. How you breathe.

(Fuck. Fuck, fuck, fuck. His heart is about to beat out of his chest. Is that okay?)

You tense up in his hold and suddenly you’re retreating from him, swiftly pulling out of his arms. Just as he’s about to ask you what happened, there’s a piece of candy shoved into his mouth.

“You wanted to try it, didn’t you?” You ask rather breathlessly. He opens his eyes, looking at you curiously.

Rin has never seen this expression on you before, lips pulled tight in embarrassment and pupils blown. You look more like a wild animal caught in a cage than someone who just made a move on him.

He gingerly takes the empty paper cone from your hands and folds it up, no longer able to meet your gaze lest he explode on the spot.

“Yeah,” he says softly, shuffling over to dump it into a bin. “Thanks.”

When he turns around to look at you again, his breath gets caught in his throat.

Why are you laughing?

You giggle into your palm, hiding your gleeful smile from him as you double over slightly.

“Your face is all red!” You holler.

He grunts in embarrassment, using the back of his hand to hide his own face. “Shut the hell up,” he spits.

“It’s almost like you wanted me to kiss you!”

“Oh my god, please drop it.”

“No way! I’ve never seen you look like that before!”

(‘Speak for yourself,’ he thinks.)

“So what if I did?”

Your laughter halts as if it was swallowed into the pits of your stomach. Slowly unraveling to stand up straight, he sees another expression he’s never been able to imagine on you, but he can’t quite place it.

“Did what?” You murmur.

“Want you to kiss me.”

Your face is warm under the glow of lanterns, eyes shimmering with the overhead lights. Rin watches your mouth open and close repeatedly as you try and formulate some sort of response.

A firework explodes atop of you, and he wonders if it just saved you.

You seem jarred for only a moment more until you jolt, grabbing him roughly by the arm and giving him a pull.

“I just remembered,” you gasp. “I actually did have something to show you!”

Rin doesn’t get a word in before you’re dragging him along by the arm. With each boom of an explosion, your footsteps pick up, building into a full blown sprint out of the festival grounds and through the thicket.

You tug him along, guiding him by the hand through the winding path of trees and logs. His stamina is better than yours but you’re pushing up the hill despite your huffing and puffing—it makes him laugh with you.

When you break free of the forest, Rin’s eyes focus on a field of plush grass and buttercups.

You let go of his hand, flinging yourself forward and spinning on your heel to exaggerate how wide the opening is with your arms.

“Isn’t it great?” You shout over the fireworks. “Away from the crowd!”

He rushes up to you so that you can stop yelling, invading your personal space until you can hear him just at his normal volume.

“It’s perfect,” he tells you earnestly.

You grin up at him widely before pulling him along to the edge of the clearing. You plop down together, eyes glued to the sky as the fireworks rage on.

Rin only lasts a few seconds before his eyes drift to the side, trying to drink in your expression. It’s become a habit of his to try and imprint your very existence into his brain.

Against his better judgment, his hand creeps toward yours until your fingers are overlapped.

Thankfully, you don’t use the opportunity to tease him about it, instead shifting a little closer until you’re practically burrowed into his side. If it were anyone else, he would have shoved them away.

(When did he stop trying to push you away?)

When your pinkies slowly close together, he feels as if he can’t breathe properly.

Mark-to-mark, it’s as though he is full of all the love he’s ever felt for you from every life—past or future. Like there’s a love that exists within him that transcends lifetimes, if it were even possible.

If he were to peer into another dimension, would you still be together like this? Would you be plucking buttercups and mindlessly twirling them between your fingers? Would he be itching to envelop you in his arms just to devour you?

His thoughts cease when you take a deep breath.

“I used to come here alone,” you admit.

“No one took you?” He asks. Your gaze is piercing the night sky, never leaving the show. He can see the bloom of colours in them.

“Not since I was little, but I always loved it here.”

The question burns hot in Rin’s mind: even if it was a little lonely sometimes?

He remembers back to the night that he first saw you, with your hands dipping into the murky waters of a frog pond and an air of desolation surrounding you. Then he remembers how he couldn’t sleep that night. Not with the image of you crouching there alone burned into his memory.

“Did you know this festival is a celebration of love?” He suddenly asks.

Oh what the fuck? Oh, god. Why did he say that?

That was so lukewarm of him. So stupid. So pointless and lame.

He just wanted something to say to you, something that would make him stop thinking about how you might have been alone for all that time before you knew him.

The silence burns between you, tense and awkward until he starts stuttering out something else to fill the void. But then you look at him, slow and intrigued and so damn amused that he can feel heat rising to the tips of his ears.

“I had no idea.”

There’s a longing in your expression that tells a different story. A twitch of your pinky against his that gives away your blatant lie.

And, damnit. Here he is again, four years later under the same stars. Under the same fireworks. Only this time, he’s able to see your face even closer as it lights up a million different colours—teal like his eyes; rose like his cheeks; golden like the heart he’s tried so hard to protect.

Four years later and he still thinks you’re the most beautiful person he’s ever seen: pinkies interlocked, sheepish smile on your face, an undeniable shake in your voice that means you have more that you’re too nervous to say.

For a moment he considers finally letting go of all the things keeping him bolted and chained where he stands, swallowing the key to the cage surrounding his fragile, thumping heart. And for that fleeting second, he feels as though he’s the bravest man alive—that nothing could stop him even if you were to turn away and snub him out with the heel of your foot.

But how could he open his mouth and tell you anything when all he feels is the sick twisting of his stomach, the daunting glare of the older brother he adored so much, and the coldness of snow soaking his clothes as he sits in a field and cries?

There’s a burning, raging fire within him. Something primal and afraid and unchanging despite how much he wants to fall into your arms the way your shared etchings say he should.

It screams at him: run away. Run. Run. Run. This will only end in hurt.

He’s too fucked up. Too messed in the head and too quick to anger because he’s actually soft at heart, easy to betray—

“Rin.”

Your hand swiftly captures his face and he’s dragged unceremoniously out of his reverie.

Of course you would be able to pick out his turmoil by expression alone. By the droop of his lips into a frown—not the annoyed one he would flash his teammates, or the grimace he would scare children away with. The kind that’s sad and slow and timid, like an animal caught in a net.

“I’m really happy that we’re friends.”

“Friends?” He breathes, half confused and half incredulous.

Deep down he knows that it’s an attempt to comfort him without being too sappy. Maybe you can sense it somewhere in your soul that he would probably break down and sob if you were to make him feel any more vulnerable than he already is with you. It’s an effort to take away whatever guilt he feels and give him a chance to relax.

However, he can see a different tale in your eyes.

Loneliness as empty as the sky on a cloudy night. A yearning for more, for someone, for him, to fill the gap. I’m tired of waiting. That’s all he can read beneath the sea of colour exploding in your irises.

It only makes him feel worse, but he allows himself to be lied to anyway if only to feel the warmth of your skin against his just a bit longer.

“Yeah.”

Your pinky twitches again. He can feel the brush of your name against his, the grate of your matching soul marks. Your eyes tear away from his and are glued to the infinite sky above once more. To the stars you know are there but are covered by smoke and fire.

Rin only stares at you. He can’t focus on the explosions of fireworks anymore, not when you’re right in front of him looking so perfect. His summer treasure.

“Yeah?”

He knows he sounds dumb, repeating everything like an oaf who can’t fathom what’s being said. You giggle and it floors him.

“Just being able to stand here with you—” you glance at him again, only for a second. He can see the exhaustion in that moment, but he’s too selfish to pry. “—I think I’m the luckiest person alive.”

“Even if…” He swallows harshly. It feels like shrapnel cutting down his throat. “Even if I can’t be more?”

“Even so.”

There’s a pause and you open your mouth to say more, maybe to give him an ultimatum or to elaborate on your feelings, but then you’re interrupted by the end of the display.

Counteless fireworks explode above you in the finale. Rin can hear the awestruck gasps of families down the hill, the distant cries of children and the faint shutter of cameras filling the air.

He realizes then: he’s been smiling. His cheeks hurt from how big it’s gotten. And you’re smiling at him, too.

(The fireworks rage on, but in the end, all he can look at is you.)

─── ･｡ﾟ☆: *.☽ .* :☆ﾟ. ───

2022

Falling in love with Itoshi Rin was one of the most foolish, most wonderful things that could have happened to you.

He was an enigma in and of itself, a mystery of a soulmate who was able to love you wholeheartedly and push you away at the same time.

There were nights where you would stay up wondering why he was your soulmate when it seemed like all he wanted to be was alone. Other times, you fell asleep smiling to yourself knowing that somewhere deep down you both belonged to each other.

The universe chose you. The universe chose him. It was indisputable, yet you still had doubts.

Tonight is one of those “foolish” nights. It seems as though you have been stood up.

For three hours you’ve waited in the same spot at the gates of the festival, watching families and couples pass by but never the one person you’d wait until the end of the world for. The sun has long since gone to sleep over the horizon and the streets are fully lit up with lanterns for the festivities.

6 pm. That was the time Rin promised he would meet you. In the past, he was always late but at least had the decency to tell you beforehand that you could go ahead without him. Only when you arrived and sat down to wait for him had he finally messaged you.

Rin: gonna be late. see you at 7.

7 pm. That was the rescheduled time. It was when you expected to see him walking up to you in his yukata that you begged him to wear this year, matching adoringly with yours. And at 7 pm you would tell him. You would tell him everything.

For months prior you had practiced almost pathetically so, recited and perfected your speech while staring at your reflection in a mirror. You’d written him a letter, too.

7 pm. You were finally going to thank Rin for everything. For accompanying you to such a silly festival even though you know he loathes it. For meeting you under the stars and the moon and the fireworks time and time again. For bringing life back into a childhood memory that you had long since hated.

7 pm. You were going to tell him thank you. You were going to tell him you loved him, just as it had been written in the stars many years before you were born.

It’s 9 pm, nearing 10 and the start of the fireworks show. He missed the entire night without explanation.

At 9:58 pm, just as you’re about to give up all hope, you finally come face to face with teal eyes and a stupidly handsome face sheen with sweat. It shouldn’t hurt so much, the way he looks at you so dismissively as if he hadn’t blown you off all night.

“Sorry,” he mutters disingenuously, attempting to brush past you without a second thought. “Let’s go, I’m thirsty.”

He has his gym bag slung over his shoulder and a windbreaker over his uniform. No sign of the yukata you had picked out for him to wear.

You don’t follow him, staring at his back in disbelief. When he realizes you aren’t trailing behind, he turns on his heel and raises a brow in question. “Are you coming?”

“I was waiting for you all night,” you tell him coldly. I was waiting for you all this time and you never showed up.

He swallows thickly, suddenly overcome by guilt because of your downcast expression. “I know. I lost track of time.”

“Lost track of time?” You scoff incredulously. Your mouth opens as if you have more to say, but you’re interrupted by a bang.

Rin’s eyes flutter closed. He can’t listen to this. He can’t watch.

He knows this all too well. He knew it all along.

The universe was wrong. Itoshi Rin was never cut out to be someone’s soulmate.

“We’re missing it…”

Your back is turned to him but all he can imagine is the terrible expression you must be making right now, twisted in sadness and anger. The worse image is a completely blank face—unfeeling and cold. He doesn’t even want to think about it.

Booms echo in the distance yet all he can focus on is the faint hum in his ears, the horrible churning in his stomach and the fog of guilt clouding his head.

“I’m sorry,” he says so quietly that he’s sure you can’t even hear him under the deep, bellowing explosions over the horizon.

He doesn’t remember the last time he apologized for anything like this. Being cold and aloof was just in his nature. Never before had he felt like it was necessary to be remorseful for the way he is—for how he was made to be.

The slight tremble of your shoulders and the way you use the back of your sleeves to wipe tears from your eyes force the words out of him before he can stop it. He tells you again,

“I’m sorry.”

He weakly attempts to grab you by the arms, holding you from behind so he can make you look at him. You jerk away fast as lightning, knocking him away as you swivel around to glare.

“Why didn’t you come?” You demand. There’s anger shaking in your voice. Rin doesn’t know how to respond to it, not when you’ve always been so understanding and kind. Perhaps he was too cruel for you if he was going to break you this way.

“I got caught up with—”

“With football, right?” You laugh bitterly, taking a generous step back. Hurt pours from every inch of your expression and all it does is make his heart ache.

“Stop,” he suddenly snaps. You flinch at his tone and shrink back, only adding to his guilt. He always had the worst temper. “Don’t be like this. You know it was important,” he explains, gentler this time. Softer, trying to coax you back over.

There’s a beat of complete silence, save for the hollowed explosions in the distance. Rin blinks at you a couple times before his frayed nerves finally calm again. And then he realizes something terrible.

The look in your eyes, the deflation of your shoulders—this is what utter defeat looks like. For a moment deja vu rushes through his blood, bringing him back to a time when he too felt as miserable as you.

Every year he’s had the opportunity to read your expression: I’m tired of waiting. But he always foolishly assumed you would still wait around for him forever. That your patience would be as infinite as the stars in the sky. That just because he had the privilege of having his name scrawled down your pinky, he would be guaranteed to have you.

It was disgustingly selfish.

Just as he opens his mouth to apologize again, you storm up to him and shove the piece of paper roughly into his chest. With the closed gap, he can clearly see the tears streaming down your face illuminated by warm lanterns.

“Just forget it.”

“Wait—” He catches your wrist as you push past him, stopping you in your tracks again despite your struggle to get away. “Come on, I said I’m sorry!”

“Rin,” you sniffle, voice breaking with just the syllable of his name. It makes him falter. “I’m tired.”

“But—”

“You can’t even spare me one night? Just this one night in the entire year?” You breathe, no longer trying to dance around the subject. “What is it with you? What are you so afraid of?”

Being put in the spotlight never bothered Rin before. It was easy enough to ignore when all his life he was watched carefully. But it’s different with you; you’re the only one looking at him in this moment yet it feels like the weight of a million pairs of eyes at once.

An answer comes quickly to his mind, almost natural. He knows exactly what’s wrong with him.

He’s afraid of being left behind again. Of being hurt. Rin is terrified of love and being loved because he’s too pathetically fragile.

The pieces of his heart are clumsily glued together and he’s scared that even the smallest turbulence would send it shattering into a billion shards again. He doesn’t know how to put himself back together properly anymore.

Itoshi Sae permanently fucked him up.

Though they were on slightly better terms now, the scars would always haunt him. The simple solution is to shut everyone else out, to protect the weak heart he harbours.

If he told you that, would you understand? Or would you try and claw his name off your skin?

You take his silence as an answer and pry away from him again, holding yourself protectively—guarding yourself from the catastrophe that follows Rin wherever he goes.

“Goodbye, Rin.”

He doesn’t watch you go.

The nearest bench becomes his temporary home. He could do hundreds of plays in a football game and never tire, but for some reason your disdain has sucked every ounce of energy from his body.

It doesn’t register that he’s still holding the paper you forced into his hands until it crinkles in his hold. He slowly unfolds it revealing ink sloppily smeared across the page.

And then he reads it. Again. And again. And again, until it’s shaking in his hold. Until the dull ache in his heart feels like the pierce of a knife.

Rin doesn’t know what to do anymore. He’s always had one clear goal for his entire life, but now everything is all muddled. Messy, like everything else he touches.

He turns everything into a disaster.

Does he chase after you and risk having his fragile heart broken all over again? Does he risk being left behind or does he close off the gate for that option entirely? He could sit in his cowardice and never change, preserving his heart forever in this moment of time; a polaroid in the slideshow of his mortality.

There’s a familiarity to this all. Perhaps he had lived through this decision a million lives before this. Maybe he would live through it again an infinite amount of times, so long as it was your name etched into his skin.

Was he as messed up in this life as he was in every other?

If he had ruined everything in this life, if he made the wrong choice and drove you away in hatred until you drew your last breath, then maybe he could make it all up to you in the next one.

Or, if that were the case, maybe he was born into this world only to love you—to make up for the millenia where he ran away.

Rin’s legs have never moved so fast. Not in football. Not even from his brother. If you were the light at the end of the tunnel then he would keep chasing you forever, he thinks. Until his wounded heart gave out.

Of all the stupid decisions he’s made in his life, have any of them amounted to anything? He’s going to give it one last try. One more chance to prove to himself that not everything he touches burns to ashes.

“Wait!”

You visibly startle, eyes wide as you turn to see Rin dashing toward you. He doesn’t give you even a moment to ask questions, to wonder why he’s coming back to break your heart again.

You’re engulfed in a hug faster than you can blink, stumbling back from the force of his body colliding with yours until your sandals get kicked off your feet.

“Rin?” You murmur his name in disbelief, breathless even though you weren’t the one sprinting down the road.

“Just give me one more chance,” he stammers out. You can feel the rapid rise and fall of his shoulders as he holds you and fights for air simultaneously. Your hands twitch at your sides but you remain lifeless in his arms.

He tries again: “Let me prove it to you. Let me prove that it wasn’t some freak accident that led me to you. That my name on your skin is meant to be there.”

“Don’t do this,” you tell him quietly, lips brushing against his ear as you speak. “I don’t want to be loved and feared at the same time.”

“But…” Rin squeezes your body against his, almost desperately. Clinging to what he has ruined. “For once in my life, I want something more.”

I don’t want to be alone anymore.

You hesitantly shift, hands slowly trailing up his back until your body is curling against his. He can trace the outline of your body against his, like a puzzle piece that he was missing slotted perfectly in his grasp.

“I thought my soulmate would only slow me down and break me. I was wrong. I know that now.”

He slowly rocks your bodies back and forth. You pull away until your eyes meet his, red with tears. It’s the messiest he has ever seen you, but his heart refuses to be still. It aches.

Beautiful. It’s the only word he can describe you with. It didn’t matter if you were lit up under the wondrous sky, or handing him coffee in a crowded café, or sobbing in his arms.

You would only ever be his infinitely beautiful soulmate.

It’s the only constant he would have in this life and every other, even if you were to break his heart. It would be the single greatest achievement in his time, above football, above any of his petty competitions—that your name is etched down his pinky.

It scares him. It thrills him.

With the distant roar of fireworks, he kisses you. And you allow him, hiccuping against his lips as you cry.

You stay like that for a long time, listening to the hollow shockwaves of fireworks exploding miles away. He’s the first to draw back, raking in shallow breaths. You chase him, finding solace against his lips once more but not fully indulging him with another kiss.

“Do you fear me?” You whisper into his mouth.

“More than anything,” he tells you.

“Do you love me?”

After a moment of contemplation, he answers,

“More than anything.”

You nod slowly, awkwardly pulling away from him and taking a step back. It’s your first kiss and you don’t know where you’re supposed to look anymore. Rin stops your nervous shifting with his hand swooping under your chin.

“One year. I promise.” You look at him in confusion, so he continues. “Next year, when the season and my contract are over, I’ll meet you there. At the pond.”

You seem skeptical still, with your brows knitted together and a lost haze in your eyes. He raises his pinky, the one with your name forever grafted into the skin, and offers it to you.

“I pinky promise.”

It’s so ridiculous, wearing his heart on his sleeve with something he learned about on playgrounds when he was a child. A pinky promise shouldn’t mean any more than the words he has already spoken. But for some reason, your eyes light up.

He feels nothing but relief when your pinkies lock together.

“Okay,” you breathe.

“You’ll wait for me?”

“Rin.” His name leaves you in a breathless laugh that makes his world spin. It sounds so tired yet so sweet. “I’ve been waiting all my life.”

“I’m sorry,” he says once more for good measure. You nod. A wordless acceptance.

Itoshi Rin is your soulmate. It’s not like that fact will ever change no matter the time, no matter the distance.

─── ･｡ﾟ☆: *.☽ .* :☆ﾟ. ───

2023

Fate is a funny thing. Soulmates are a funny thing.

The universe threw Rin curveball after curveball, beating him down until he was nothing but a husk heavenly built for one purpose only: beat Sae. Beat Itoshi Sae.

There were times when he would lay awake at night wondering why he was given this life, why he was thrust into hardship and hurt and betrayal. How could something so perfect, something so all-knowing, be so cruel?

For as long as the name had been grafted into his skin, he resented the idea of a soulmate.

He hated the idea that only one person in the world would be his eternal weakness. That one day, one person would hold every piece of his soul in their hands. Even then, his soulmate was the other half of him—his salvation. His downfall.

They would know every inch of his skin. Every bleeding wound of his heart. Every bruise and scar along his legs from cleats and nails and gravel. Having a soulmate meant having every part of him exposed, to be judged and worshiped at the same time.

At your hands, though, he’s certain this is what he was born for—to spend the rest of his days by your side even if you were doing something as mundane as catching frogs together.

“You’re scaring them,” you hiss quietly.

Your fingers sink into the pond and Rin watches your reflections ripple as water fills your palms. Your faces contort and meld into one being. In some ways, it’s a familiar feeling—to have been intertwined with you since his very conception.

“You’re terrible at this.”

“It’s your fault!”

“Right,” he deadpans. “You haven’t caught a single one all night.”

“You were late,” you remind him with a huff, cheeks inflated. “Before you got here I was catching frogs all night. Coincidence?”

Rin makes another noise, something akin to a snort. But he doesn’t acknowledge your statement, instead reaching over to gingerly roll the sleeves of your yukata up to your elbows.

“Are you always so sloppy? Your sleeves are getting all wet.”

You glare at him from the side, delivering a deadly warning. “Are you always such a pain in the ass?”

“I get it, I get it. I said I was sorry for being late. Nii-chan really wanted to try that new ice cream place downtown.”

Your gaze drifts to him in the shimmering reflection, watching his smile soften at the mention of his big brother. It was wonderful that they were trying to patch things up.

Sae had decided to come home after all, promising Rin that they would play together again once they both took a well deserved break.

You could tell that Rin was trying his best not to make a big deal out of it, but the way he cried into your shoulder later that night said it all.

“I feel bad having you come all the way out here just to see me. Your brother is back in Japan isn’t he?”

“Yeah. And he wants to meet you.”

You nearly fall over. “What?”

“Please don’t look so starstruck about that. I feel sick.”

Laughing, you recentre yourself, sitting back on your heels with your hands on your knees. “Sorry, sorry! It’s not that…”

Rin raises a brow. “We don’t have to if you don’t want to.”

“It’s just—” you fumble, cheeks burning hot at the idea of being introduced to Rin’s family after all these years. Formally, as his partner. His soulmate. The name they had all known since he was thirteen. “What would I even say to him?”

He looks at you in bewilderment. Then, he snickers, only laughing harder when you smack his arm.

“Don’t worry about that,” he assures, reaching out to pat the top of your head. “Just be yourself. My family will love you.”

“Thank you,” you whisper, studying your reflections in the water with a soft smile. You’re staring right back at yourself, but Rin is only looking at you.

“I haven’t done anything special.”

“You lit up my world,” you laugh, turning back up to look at him properly. You make a mini explosion with your hands. “Boom! Like that. A firework.”

“You’re too corny,” he murmurs in embarrassment, turning his head away to hide his flushed face. “Can’t you explain it like a normal person?”

“No can do,” you tell him, voice gentler this time. After a pause, you shuffle your sandals around in the mud and take a deep breath. “If you want me to be totally serious…”

You lunge over and tackle him into your arms. He nearly loses his balance holding the both of you upright, stumbling back on his heels before he catches your waist. You don’t seem to share the sentiment of staying pristine, knees digging into the dirt as you squeeze him tighter.

Rin feels his heart catch in his throat the same way you’ve made it for the last six years.

“Thank you. For letting me love you. For being my soulmate.”

His hand is automatically in your hair, scratching your scalp as he smiles into your shoulder.

“I’m sure I gave you nothing but a hard time,” he grumbles.

“But I still love you.”

“Even though you had to wait?”

“Even so.”

“And that I’m a pain in the ass?”

“Even then, I do.”

Rin burrows himself into your neck, hiding his face again. It does a poor job at masking the kind of expression he’s making, though, considering how warm his skin is.

“What if I’m not good enough?”

He feels terrible—guilty that he needs to keep having this conversation with you. But you always comfort him the same way. He hopes you always will.

Drawing his head up with your muddy hands, you dirty his cheeks just to get a glimpse of him. You murmur a half-hearted sorry for making a mess.

Then you’re kissing him.

“I’ll be here to remind you how much I cherish you.”

You nip his bottom lip and he opens wider. You whisper into his mouth,

“And how happy I am that Itoshi Rin was born into this world.”

Itoshi Rin, broken. He who thought that he could never be put back together.

Itoshi Rin, vengeful. He who believed the only happiness that existed for him in this world was to surpass his brother.

Itoshi Rin, who did not believe in his soulmate while staring right at them. And Itoshi Rin, who finally allowed himself to love you wholly, completely, as it was written in the stars.

“I love you,” he says, as if just those three words could encapsulate everything he feels for you.

“Always?” You giggle. He rolls his eyes.

“Wherever you are, and wherever you may be, I will.”

You kiss him one more time for good measure.

“That was corny.”

─── ･｡ﾟ☆: *.☽ .* :☆ﾟ. ───

2024

“No peeking.”

Rin folds up his piece of paper and hangs it from the bamboo tree. You’re tugging him along before he can even properly check to see if it’s been secured.

“Come on, I don’t want to miss the fireworks!”

He wouldn’t miss them for the world. You’ve always looked the most beautiful under the brightened summer sky.

The wish he scribbled down blows softly in the breeze as both of you rush by, back to the festival where it all began.

7 July 2024. I wish I had the words to tell you how much I love you.

─── ･｡ﾟ☆: *.☽ .* :☆ﾟ. ───

extra notes. hi! if you made it this far, i'd like to give you the warmest most grateful thank you ever ( ´ ω `)

so, here it is. i've been working on this since last september-ish... for some people that amount of time is not much, but genuinely, i've never devoted so much attention and time to one single fic and i hope i did this one justice. rin has always been a guilty pleasure of mine to write for. i hope this man stays far far away from me until i can stomach even looking at his name again LOL ‾́ ◡ ‾́

also i finally admitted defeat and took out all my pictures and dividers because tumblr was fighting my posts that had any. so... sorry the formatting looks like this

additional tags: @jenoutof10 @hanrinz @itoshiexx lol hi guys it made it out of the drafts i hope you like it

#— whispers in the wind: 1k event ✉️#blue lock x reader #blue lock #blue lock fic #bllk #bllk x reader #bllk fic #itoshi rin #itoshi rin x reader #rin itoshi #rin itoshi x reader #rin x reader #itoshi rin x y/n #itoshi rin x you #itoshi rin fluff #rin itoshi fluff

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coralinnii · 1 year ago

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Congratulations for 2.7k followers!!! For my request, I would like if you could write some sibling scenarios for the octatrio with a younger sibling who absolutely adores and looks up to them. They manage to visit NRC for some kind of event and the younger sibling just follows them around like a little puppy. Copying some of their mannerisms since they want to be just like their cool older brother. I just want to see some silly and fluffy platonic family moments with them, please. 〔´∇｀〕

❋ Big Brother! ❋

↳ Younger sibling!reader visiting him (+ extra Leech brothers birthday special)

feat: Azul ⭑ Floyd ⭑ Jade

genre: platonic fluff, humour

note: no pronouns used with the reader, younger sibling!reader but age is unspecified, established filial relationships, reader is heavily implied to be merfolk, nicknames are used (little octopus, little one, little eel, kiddo)

2.7K Followers Writing Event 2023

Since Azul’s mother divorced fairly early in Azul’s life, I would imagine that you would be Azul’s half-sibling born from his mother and stepfather. That doesn’t mean that Azul loves you any less.

He worked hard not only for himself, but for his younger sibling. Azul wanted to be someone who you can look up to. Someone strong, smart, successful, and most of all, admirable.

And he did a great job, because you can’t imagine anyone more amazing than your big brother Zuzu.

You managed to convince your parents to let you join their visit to NRC during their VDC festival. Even if Azul wasn’t involved with the competition itself, you always wanted to visit your big brother’s restaurant.

Imagine the merman’s surprise when he felt a pair of small hands pull on the edges of his coat. Your bright smile was brimming with joy seeing your brother get frazzled over your visit.

As much Azul wanted to entertain you, this time of year was an opportune time for business. He offered to let you stay in his big comfy office until he could find time for you.

However you refused, choosing to follow him around. Something you learned from Azul was unrelenting stubbornness, after all. You were content with grabbing hold of Azul's large coat as he walked suspiciously slower than usual. Another thing you learned from your dear brother? An itching desire for a good deal.

Your lovable charm was a hit with the customers who watched as you waddled after Azul, not quite used to feet yet. Nearby customers held in squeals as you wrapped yourself in your brother’s coat, watching Azul and mimicking the smiles and hand gestures that your brother was fond of, even pushing up the glasses you begged your parents to buy you, regardless if you needed them or not.

Enchanted, some of the customers requested a commemorative picture with you, which is where you took Azul’s skills for your practice.

“Hmm…if you buy Zuzu’s yummy drink, then I’ll take a picture. With a contract!”

With a poorly-made contract with messy ink splotches, you wore the biggest smile you could muster as you sent a thumbs-up to your brother, who couldn’t figure out if he should be absolutely flabbergasted or immensely proud.

“Naturally, I knew how adorable my baby octopus is. What kind of blind fool do you take me for?”

Floyd is the kind of brother where he loves you and protective of you but he’s still his mischievous self. Rather than being careful or responsible, Floyd is always happy to bring you to every shenanigan and adventure if you ask him nice enough. This made for some unforgettable memories (for better or for worse)

You learn so much from the spontaneous eel. For example, you learned that sharks can swim really fast when angry, but your big bro Floyd is faster, even when carrying you in his arms.

As teasing as he can be, you admired how strong and cool Floyd was, and was excited to hear stories about his life on land with Jade, especially about the stories of his new friends. You even have a notebook with pictures of specific sea creatures to keep track of the friends he made, because if your brother doesn’t bother with names, why should you? (terrible influence, he is)

Imagine your excitement when you had the chance to visit Floyd during one of his basketball games. You practiced all week walking with feet just so you could run like Floyd does across the court.

Unfortunately, the tall merman was in his less-cheerful moods during this particular game. Boredom quickly struck him mid-way into the game which caused confusion for the opposing team and great distress amongst the NRC Basketball players. Jamil was quick to call for a timeout as soon as he could as the team whispered and panicked over this predicament.

But the timeout gave you a perfect chance get your brother’s attention, waving your hands as you called out to the tall merman as Jade stood by you with a genuine smile. Your other brother was quite aware of the bond his two siblings have so he took the liberty of escorting you as you were sure to get lost on Sage’s Island.

“Floyd! Over here!” You yelled out in joy, wearing a jersey similar to your brother to show off your clear bias. But that wasn’t the only similarity you shared with the teal-haired menace.

Shimmering under the gymnasium’s lights, your earring clipped onto your right ear caught Floyd’s eyes immediately.

The day Floyd and Jade made their earrings from the scales of the sturgeon they fought, you cried when there wasn’t enough to make one for you to wear as well. You pouted and glared every time Floyd flaunted his accessory to you, but when you stopped reacting, he assumed that you'd gotten over it.

But holding onto your ear, the sturgeon scales of your earring was as dazzling as your proud grin.

“Look, Floyd! We all match!” Your smile rejuvenated Floyd’s mood, making the once-moody eel grin back. When did you get that? And how did you get it? Floyd’s mind was flooded with curious questions so he soon turned to his teammates with a sadistic smile.

“I’m gonna crush the competition today. I wanna wrap this up quick, so let’s get serious~”

And Floyd started to have fun again, at the expense of the poor visiting team. How unfortunate for them, but Floyd needed to finish the game so he could hang out with his precious family after all.

“Little eel, come with me. Your big bro is gonna show you something fun!”

As seen with his approach with Floyd, Jade is type to spoil his siblings. No matter how tall you get or how old you are, you are Jade’s precious little one, and Jade loves nothing more than to watch his cherished family have fun, regardless if nobody else is having fun in the process.

Jade is the cool older brother, someone who is calm and dependable. You always admired the way he could charm the masses with his suave words and gestures. In the sea or on land, no one is better than your brother (tied with Floyd)

No matter what anyone says, Jade is the kindest eel in the entire world. To the dismay of others, you started picking up little habits and hobbies of your idol. Your classmates were baffled by the odd terrarium filled with odd marine fungi and rocks you stole from the shores of the beach.

When the NRC’s annual Halloween event opened to the public, you were all too excited to see your brothers, especially Jade, to show off your small terrarium bowl. Once you and your family made it to the last day of the Halloween festival, you rushed to the room that your brothers were managing to greet them.

Unfortunately, you were unaware of the concerning issue of Magicam monsters the students were facing.

These rambunctious visitors, who cared little for anything, accidentally knocked you to the ground with your terrarium along with it. The glass bowl was broken into pieces, your hardwork spilling onto the once clean floor. The Magicam monsters offered nothing more than an insincere apology before immediately walking away, adding it wasn’t their fault they didn’t notice you.

Jade was passing by as he immediately recognized you at first glance. He was quick to scoop you up into his arms, a rare look of distress on his face as he tried to dry your teary face. “Little one, what’s the matter?”

You sniffled as you tried to explain what transpired, how you excitedly rushed to find him to show him your terrarium you worked hard on, which was currently a mess on the alchemy room floor.

Oh my, the merman thought. This won’t do. As an older brother, Jade felt a responsibility to teach you a very important lesson. One’s deeds does not go unrepaid in turn

Floyd and Azul had to shush you as you, a true Leech, giggled watching the looks of fear painted on the poor unfortunate souls as they ran for their lives out from the alchemy room, away from Jade’s especially frightening surprise appearance.

All for the fun of Halloween, of course. Not because they dared to do wrong to Jade’s dear little eel.

“You would like to play with me today? Of course, I cannot think of a better way to spend the day.”

BONUS Floyd and Jade’s Birthday Special

“Happy birthday, big brothers!” You screamed at the top of your lungs, throwing handfuls of confetti as high as you could to cover the pillars you call your siblings. The twins chuckled over your silliness, respectively giving their thanks.

“Thanks, kiddo!”

“Thank you, little one”

Smiling, you brought out another surprise. In your hidden hands, you held two small boxes, wrapped in ribbons matching the colors of your brothers’ dorm.

“Open them, quick!” Handing it over, your brothers obeyed your wishes. Afterall, you were the few in the world that the eels would willingly listen to.

Cradled carefully in cushioned cloth, a small keychain sat comfortably in the box. One for each brother, there was a glass sculpture of a moray eel attached to the keychain, one with a basketball by its side and the other with a cute mushroom.

Floyd and Jade stood in silence as they admired the gift, clearly made with them in mind. For the final surprise, you took out your phone where a matching keychain dangled from its case. However, your moray eel sculpture was decorated with two hearts, representing your brothers, next to it.

“I made it near the lava flows on the sea floors” you smiled brightly, hoping your brothers liked them. It was hard enough to try glass blowing but you had to find glass materials that work well underwater. But it was worth it. “I wanted to give you something to remind you of home. Where I’ll always be waiting for you two”

Needless to say, Floyd and Jade were satisfied with your gift. Even after you went home, Floyd was bragging about how adorable you were as he showed it off to everybody while Jade was suddenly pulling out his phone more than usual throughout the day, just to see your present every single time.

#twisted wonderland #twst #disney twisted wonderland #twisted wonderland x reader #twst x reader #twst imagines #twst scenarios #twisted wonderland imagines #azul ashengrotto #jade leech #floyd leech #twst azul fluff #twst jade fluff #twst Floyd fluff

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mostlysignssomeportents · 10 months ago

Text

My McLuhan lecture on enshittification

IT'S THE LAST DAY for the Kickstarter for the audiobook of The Bezzle, the sequel to Red Team Blues, narrated by @wilwheaton! You can pre-order the audiobook and ebook, DRM free, as well as the hardcover, signed or unsigned. There's also bundles with Red Team Blues in ebook, audio or paperback.

youtube

Last night, I gave the annual Marshall McLuhan lecture at the Transmediale festival in Berlin. The event was sold out and while there's a video that'll be posted soon, they couldn't get a streaming setup installed in the Canadian embassy, where the talk was held:

https://transmediale.de/en/2024/event/mcluhan-2024

The talk went of fabulously, and was followed by commentary from Frederike Kaltheuner (Human Rights Watch) and a discussion moderated by Helen Starr. While you'll have to wait a bit for the video, I thought that I'd post my talk notes from last night for the impatient among you.

I want to thank the festival and the embassy staff for their hard work on an excellent event. And now, on to the talk!

Last year, I coined the term 'enshittification,' to describe the way that platforms decay. That obscene little word did big numbers, it really hit the zeitgeist. I mean, the American Dialect Society made it their Word of the Year for 2023 (which, I suppose, means that now I'm definitely getting a poop emoji on my tombstone).

So what's enshittification and why did it catch fire? It's my theory explaining how the internet was colonized by platforms, and why all those platforms are degrading so quickly and thoroughly, and why it matters – and what we can do about it.

We're all living through the enshittocene, a great enshittening, in which the services that matter to us, that we rely on, are turning into giant piles of shit.

It's frustrating. It's demoralizing. It's even terrifying.

I think that the enshittification framework goes a long way to explaining it, moving us out of the mysterious realm of the 'great forces of history,' and into the material world of specific decisions made by named people – decisions we can reverse and people whose addresses and pitchfork sizes we can learn.

Enshittification names the problem and proposes a solution. It's not just a way to say 'things are getting worse' (though of course, it's fine with me if you want to use it that way. It's an English word. We don't have der Rat für Englisch Rechtschreibung. English is a free for all. Go nuts, meine Kerle).

But in case you want to use enshittification in a more precise, technical way, let's examine how enshittification works.

It's a three stage process: First, platforms are good to their users; then they abuse their users to make things better for their business customers; finally, they abuse those business customers to claw back all the value for themselves. Then, they die.

Let's do a case study. What could be better than Facebook?

Facebook is a company that was founded to nonconsensually rate the fuckability of Harvard undergrads, and it only got worse after that.

When Facebook started off, it was only open to US college and high-school kids with .edu and k-12.us addresses. But in 2006, it opened up to the general public. It told them: “Yes, I know you’re all using Myspace. But Myspace is owned by Rupert Murdoch, an evil, crapulent senescent Australian billionaire, who spies on you with every hour that God sends.

“Sign up with Facebook and we will never spy on you. Come and tell us who matters to you in this world, and we will compose a personal feed consisting solely of what those people post for consumption by those who choose to follow them.”

That was stage one. Facebook had a surplus — its investors’ cash — and it allocated that surplus to its end-users. Those end-users proceeded to lock themselves into FB. FB — like most tech businesses — has network effects on its side. A product or service enjoys network effects when it improves as more people sign up to use it. You joined FB because your friends were there, and then others signed up because you were there.

But FB didn’t just have high network effects, it had high switching costs. Switching costs are everything you have to give up when you leave a product or service. In Facebook’s case, it was all the friends there that you followed and who followed you. In theory, you could have all just left for somewhere else; in practice, you were hamstrung by the collective action problem.

It’s hard to get lots of people to do the same thing at the same time. You and your six friends here are going to struggle to agree on where to get drinks after tonight's lecture. How were you and your 200 Facebook friends ever gonna agree on when it was time to leave Facebook, and where to go?

So FB’s end-users engaged in a mutual hostage-taking that kept them glued to the platform. Then FB exploited that hostage situation, withdrawing the surplus from end-users and allocating it to two groups of business customers: advertisers, and publishers.

To the advertisers, FB said, 'Remember when we told those rubes we wouldn’t spy on them? We lied. We spy on them from asshole to appetite. We will sell you access to that surveillance data in the form of fine-grained ad-targeting, and we will devote substantial engineering resources to thwarting ad-fraud. Your ads are dirt cheap to serve, and we’ll spare no expense to make sure that when you pay for an ad, a real human sees it.'

To the publishers, FB said, 'Remember when we told those rubes we would only show them the things they asked to see? We lied!Upload short excerpts from your website, append a link, and we will nonconsensually cram it into the eyeballs of users who never asked to see it. We are offering you a free traffic funnel that will drive millions of users to your website to monetize as you please, and those users will become stuck to you when they subscribe to your feed.' And so advertisers and publishers became stuck to the platform, too, dependent on those users.

The users held each other hostage, and those hostages took the publishers and advertisers hostage, too, so that everyone was locked in.

Which meant it was time for the third stage of enshittification: withdrawing surplus from everyone and handing it to Facebook’s shareholders.

For the users, that meant dialing down the share of content from accounts you followed to a homeopathic dose, and filling the resulting void with ads and pay-to-boost content from publishers.

For advertisers, that meant jacking up prices and drawing down anti-fraud enforcement, so advertisers paid much more for ads that were far less likely to be seen by a person.

For publishers, this meant algorithmically suppressing the reach of their posts unless they included an ever-larger share of their articles in the excerpt, until anything less than fulltext was likely to be be disqualified from being sent to your subscribers, let alone included in algorithmic suggestion feeds.

And then FB started to punish publishers for including a link back to their own sites, so they were corralled into posting fulltext feeds with no links, meaning they became commodity suppliers to Facebook, entirely dependent on the company both for reach and for monetization, via the increasingly crooked advertising service.

When any of these groups squawked, FB just repeated the lesson that every tech executive learned in the Darth Vader MBA: 'I have altered the deal. Pray I don’t alter it any further.'

Facebook now enters the most dangerous phase of enshittification. It wants to withdraw all available surplus, and leave just enough residual value in the service to keep end users stuck to each other, and business customers stuck to end users, without leaving anything extra on the table, so that every extractable penny is drawn out and returned to its shareholders.

But that’s a very brittle equilibrium, because the difference between “I hate this service but I can’t bring myself to quit it,” and “Jesus Christ, why did I wait so long to quit? Get me the hell out of here!” is razor thin

All it takes is one Cambridge Analytica scandal, one whistleblower, one livestreamed mass-shooting, and users bolt for the exits, and then FB discovers that network effects are a double-edged sword.

If users can’t leave because everyone else is staying, when when everyone starts to leave, there’s no reason not to go, too.

That’s terminal enshittification, the phase when a platform becomes a pile of shit. This phase is usually accompanied by panic, which tech bros euphemistically call 'pivoting.'

Which is how we get pivots like, 'In the future, all internet users will be transformed into legless, sexless, low-polygon, heavily surveilled cartoon characters in a virtual world called "metaverse," that we ripped off from a 25-year-old satirical cyberpunk novel.'

That's the procession of enshittification. If enshittification were a disease, we'd call that enshittification's "natural history." But that doesn't tell you how the enshittification works, nor why everything is enshittifying right now, and without those details, we can't know what to do about it.

What led to the enshittocene? What is it about this moment that led to the Great Enshittening? Was it the end of the Zero Interest Rate Policy? Was it a change in leadership at the tech giants? Is Mercury in retrograde?

None of the above.

The period of free fed money certainly led to tech companies having a lot of surplus to toss around. But Facebook started enshittifying long before ZIRP ended, so did Amazon, Microsoft and Google.

Some of the tech giants got new leaders. But Google's enshittification got worse when the founders came back to oversee the company's AI panic (excuse me, 'AI pivot').

And it can't be Mercury in retrograde, because I'm a cancer, and as everyone knows, cancers don't believe in astrology.

When a whole bunch of independent entities all change in the same way at once, that's a sign that the environment has changed, and that's what happened to tech.

Tech companies, like all companies, have conflicting imperatives. On the one hand, they want to make money. On the other hand, making money involves hiring and motivating competent staff, and making products that customers want to buy. The more value a company permits its employees and customers to carve off, the less value it can give to its shareholders.

The equilibrium in which companies produce things we like in honorable ways at a fair price is one in which charging more, worsening quality, and harming workers costs more than the company would make by playing dirty.

There are four forces that discipline companies, serving as constraints on their enshittificatory impulses.

First: competition. Companies that fear you will take your business elsewhere are cautious about worsening quality or raising prices.

Second: regulation. Companies that fear a regulator will fine them more than they expect to make from cheating, will cheat less.

These two forces affect all industries, but the next two are far more tech-specific.

Third: self-help. Computers are extremely flexible, and so are the digital products and services we make from them. The only computer we know how to make is the Turing-complete Von Neumann machine, a computer that can run every valid program.

That means that users can always avail themselves of programs that undo the anti-features that shift value from them to a company's shareholders. Think of a board-room table where someone says, 'I've calculated that making our ads 20% more invasive will net us 2% more revenue per user.'

In a digital world, someone else might well say 'Yes, but if we do that, 20% of our users will install ad-blockers, and our revenue from those users will drop to zero, forever.'

This means that digital companies are constrained by the fear that some enshittificatory maneuver will prompt their users to google, 'How do I disenshittify this?'

Fourth and finally: workers. Tech workers have very low union density, but that doesn't mean that tech workers don't have labor power. The historical "talent shortage" of the tech sector meant that workers enjoyed a lot of leverage over their bosses. Workers who disagreed with their bosses could quit and walk across the street and get another job – a better job.

They knew it, and their bosses knew it. Ironically, this made tech workers highly exploitable. Tech workers overwhelmingly saw themselves as founders in waiting, entrepreneurs who were temporarily drawing a salary, heroic figures of the tech mission.

That's why mottoes like Google's 'don't be evil' and Facebook's 'make the world more open and connected' mattered: they instilled a sense of mission in workers. It's what Fobazi Ettarh calls 'vocational awe, 'or Elon Musk calls being 'extremely hardcore.'

Tech workers had lots of bargaining power, but they didn't flex it when their bosses demanded that they sacrifice their health, their families, their sleep to meet arbitrary deadlines.

So long as their bosses transformed their workplaces into whimsical 'campuses,' with gyms, gourmet cafeterias, laundry service, massages and egg-freezing, workers could tell themselves that they were being pampered – rather than being made to work like government mules.

But for bosses, there's a downside to motivating your workers with appeals to a sense of mission, namely: your workers will feel a sense of mission. So when you ask them to enshittify the products they ruined their health to ship, workers will experience a sense of profound moral injury, respond with outrage, and threaten to quit.

Thus tech workers themselves were the final bulwark against enshittification,

The pre-enshittification era wasn't a time of better leadership. The executives weren't better. They were constrained. Their worst impulses were checked by competition, regulation, self-help and worker power.

So what happened?

One by one, each of these constraints was eroded until it dissolved, leaving the enshittificatory impulse unchecked, ushering in the enshittoscene.

It started with competition. From the Gilded Age until the Reagan years, the purpose of competition law was to promote competition. US antitrust law treated corporate power as dangerous and sought to blunt it. European antitrust laws were modeled on US ones, imported by the architects of the Marshall Plan.

But starting in the neoliberal era, competition authorities all over the world adopted a doctrine called 'consumer welfare,' which held that monopolies were evidence of quality. If everyone was shopping at the same store and buying the same product, that meant it was the best store, selling the best product – not that anyone was cheating.

And so all over the world, governments stopped enforcing their competition laws. They just ignored them as companies flouted them. Those companies merged with their major competitors, absorbed small companies before they could grow to be big threats. They held an orgy of consolidation that produced the most inbred industries imaginable, whole sectors grown so incestuous they developed Habsburg jaws, from eyeglasses to sea freight, glass bottles to payment processing, vitamin C to beer.

Most of our global economy is dominated by five or fewer global companies. If smaller companies refuse to sell themselves to these cartels, the giants have free rein to flout competition law further, with 'predatory pricing' that keeps an independent rival from gaining a foothold.

When Diapers.com refused Amazon's acquisition offer, Amazon lit $100m on fire, selling diapers way below cost for months, until diapers.com went bust, and Amazon bought them for pennies on the dollar, and shut them down.

Competition is a distant memory. As Tom Eastman says, the web has devolved into 'five giant websites filled with screenshots of text from the other four,' so these giant companies no longer fear losing our business.

Lily Tomlin used to do a character on the TV show Laugh In, an AT&T telephone operator who'd do commercials for the Bell system. Each one would end with her saying 'We don't care. We don't have to. We're the phone company.'

Today's giants are not constrained by competition.

They don't care. They don't have to. They're Google.

That's the first constraint gone, and as it slipped away, the second constraint – regulation – was also doomed.

When an industry consists of hundreds of small- and medium-sized enterprises, it is a mob, a rabble. Hundreds of companies can't agree on what to tell Parliament or Congress or the Commission. They can't even agree on how to cater a meeting where they'd discuss the matter.

But when a sector dwindles to a bare handful of dominant firms, it ceases to be a rabble and it becomes a cartel.

Five companies, or four, or three, or two, or just one company finds it easy to converge on a single message for their regulators, and without "wasteful competition" eroding their profits, they have plenty of cash to spread around.

Like Facebook, handing former UK deputy PM Nick Clegg millions every year to sleaze around Europe, telling his former colleagues that Facebook is the only thing standing between 'European Cyberspace' and the Chinese Communist Party.

Tech's regulatory capture allows it to flout the rules that constrain less concentrated sectors. They can pretend that violating labor, consumer and privacy laws is fine, because they violate them with an app.

This is why competition matters: it's not just because competition makes companies work harder and share value with customers and workers, it's because competition keeps companies from becoming too big to fail, and too big to jail.

Now, there's plenty of things we don't want improved through competition, like privacy invasions. After the EU passed its landmark privacy law, the GDPR, there was a mass-extinction event for small EU ad-tech companies. These companies disappeared en masse, and that's fine.

They were even more invasive and reckless than US-based Big Tech companies. After all, they had less to lose. We don't want competition in commercial surveillance. We don't want to produce increasing efficiency in violating our human rights.

But: Google and Facebook – who pretend they are called Alphabet and Meta – have been unscathed by European privacy law. That's not because they don't violate the GDPR (they do!). It's because they pretend they are headquartered in Ireland, one of the EU's most notorious corporate crime-havens.

And Ireland competes with the EU other crime havens – Malta, Luxembourg, Cyprus and sometimes the Netherlands – to see which country can offer the most hospitable environment for all sorts of crimes. Because the kind of company that can fly an Irish flag of convenience is mobile enough to change to a Maltese flag if the Irish start enforcing EU laws.

Which is how you get an Irish Data Protection Commission that processes fewer than 20 major cases per year, while Germany's data commissioner handles more than 500 major cases, even though Ireland is nominal home to the most privacy-invasive companies on the continent.

So Google and Facebook get to act as though they are immune to privacy law, because they violate the law with an app; just like Uber can violate labor law and claim it doesn't count because they do it with an app.

Uber's labor-pricing algorithm offers different drivers different payments for the same job, something Veena Dubal calls 'algorithmic wage discrimination.' If you're more selective about which jobs you'll take, Uber will pay you more for every ride.

But if you take those higher payouts and ditch whatever side-hustle let you cover your bills which being picky about your Uber drives, Uber will incrementally reduce the payment, toggling up and down as you grow more or less selective, playing you like a fish on a line until you eventually – inevitably – lose to the tireless pricing robot, and end up stuck with low wages and all your side-hustles gone.

Then there's Amazon, which violates consumer protection laws, but says it doesn't matter, because they do it with an app. Amazon makes $38b/year from its 'advertising' system. 'Advertising' in quotes because they're not selling ads, they're selling placements in search results.

The companies that spend the most on 'ads' go to the top, even if they're offering worse products at higher prices. If you click the first link in an Amazon search result, on average you will pay a 29% premium over the best price on the service. Click one of the first four items and you'll pay a 25% premium. On average you have to go seventeen items down to find the best deal on Amazon.

Any merchant that did this to you in a physical storefront would be fined into oblivion. But Amazon has captured its regulators, so it can violate your rights, and say, "it doesn't count, we did it with an app"

This is where that third constraint, self-help, would sure come in handy. If you don't want your privacy violated, you don't need to wait for the Irish privacy regulator to act, you can just install an ad-blocker.

More than half of all web users are blocking ads. But the web is an open platform, developed in the age when tech was hundreds of companies at each others' throats, unable to capture their regulators.

Today, the web is being devoured by apps, and apps are ripe for enshittification. Regulatory capture isn't just the ability to flout regulation, it's also the ability to co-opt regulation, to wield regulation against your adversaries.

Today's tech giants got big by exploiting self-help measures. When Facebook was telling Myspace users they needed to escape Rupert Murdoch’s evil crapulent Australian social media panopticon, it didn’t just say to those Myspacers, 'Screw your friends, come to Facebook and just hang out looking at the cool privacy policy until they get here'

It gave them a bot. You fed the bot your Myspace username and password, and it would login to Myspace and pretend to be you, and scrape everything waiting in your inbox, copying it to your FB inbox, and you could reply to it and it would autopilot your replies back to Myspace.

When Microsoft was choking off Apple's market oxygen by refusing to ship a functional version of Microsoft Office for the Mac – so that offices were throwing away their designers' Macs and giving them PCs with upgraded graphics cards and Windows versions of Photoshop and Illustrator – Steve Jobs didn't beg Bill Gates to update Mac Office.

He got his technologists to reverse-engineer Microsoft Office, and make a compatible suite, the iWork Suite, whose apps, Pages, Numbers and Keynote could perfectly read and write Microsoft's Word, Excel and Powerpoint files.

When Google entered the market, it sent its crawler to every web server on Earth, where it presented itself as a web-user: 'Hi! Hello! Do you have any web pages? Thanks! How about some more? How about more?'

But every pirate wants to be an admiral. When Facebook, Apple and Google were doing this adversarial interoperability, that was progress. If you try to do it to them, that's piracy.

Try to make an alternative client for Facebook and they'll say you violated US laws like the Digital Millennium Copyright Act and EU laws like Article 6 of the EUCD.

Try to make an Android program that can run iPhone apps and play back the data from Apple's media stores and they'd bomb you until the rubble bounced.

Try to scrape all of Google and they'll nuke you until you glowed.

Tech's regulatory capture is mind-boggling. Take that law I mentioned earlier, Section 1201 of the Digital Millennium Copyright Act or DMCA. Bill Clinton signed it in 1998, and the EU imported it as Article 6 of the EUCD in 2001

It is a blanket prohibition on removing any kind of encryption that restricts access to a copyrighted work – things like ripping DVDs or jailbreaking a phone – with penalties of a five-year prison sentence and a $500k fine for a first offense.

This law has been so broadened that it can be used to imprison creators for granting access to their own creations

Here's how that works: In 2008, Amazon bought Audible, an audiobook platform, in an anticompetitive acquisition. Today, Audible is a monopolist with more than 90% of the audiobook market. Audible requires that all creators on their platform sell with Amazon's "digital rights management," which locks it to Amazon's apps.

So say I write a book, then I read it into a mic, then I pay a director and an engineer thousands of dollars to turn that into an audiobook, and sell it to you on the monopoly platform, Audible, that controls more than 90% of the market.

If I later decide to leave Amazon and want to let you come with me to a rival platform, I am out of luck. If I supply you with a tool to remove Amazon's encryption from my audiobook, so you can play it in another app, I commit a felony, punishable by a 5-year sentence and a half-million-dollar fine, for a first offense.

That's a stiffer penalty than you would face if you simply pirated the audiobook from a torrent site. But it's also harsher than the punishment you'd get for shoplifting the audiobook on CD from a truck-stop. It's harsher than the sentence you'd get for hijacking the truck that delivered the CD.

So think of our ad-blockers again. 50% of web users are running ad-blockers. 0% of app users are running ad-blockers, because adding a blocker to an app requires that you first remove its encryption, and that's a felony (Jay Freeman calls this 'felony contempt of business-model').

So when someone in a board-room says, 'let's make our ads 20% more obnoxious and get a 2% revenue increase,' no one objects that this might prompt users to google, 'how do I block ads?' After all, the answer is, 'you can't.'

Indeed, it's more likely that someone in that board room will say, 'let's make our ads 100% more obnoxious and get a 10% revenue increase' (this is why every company wants you to install an app instead of using its website).

There's no reason that gig workers who are facing algorithmic wage discrimination couldn't install a counter-app that coordinated among all the Uber drivers to reject all jobs unless they reach a certain pay threshold.

No reason except felony contempt of business model, the threat that the toolsmiths who built that counter-app would go broke or land in prison, for violating DMCA 1201, the Computer Fraud and Abuse Act, trademark, copyright, patent, contract, trade secrecy, nondisclosure and noncompete, or in other words: 'IP law.'

'IP' is just a euphemism for 'a law that lets me reach beyond the walls of my company and control the conduct of my critics, competitors and customers.' And 'app' is just a euphemism for 'a web-page wrapped enough IP to make it a felony to mod it to protect the labor, consumer and privacy rights of its user.'

We don't care. We don't have to. We're the phone company.

But what about that fourth constraint: workers?

For decades, tech workers' high degrees of bargaining power and vocational awe put a ceiling on enshittification. Even after the tech sector shrank to a handful of giants. Even after they captured their regulators so they could violate our consumer, privacy and labor rights. Even after they created 'felony contempt of business model' and extinguished self-help for tech users. Tech was still constrained by their workers' sense of moral injury in the face of the imperative to enshittify.

Remember when tech workers dreamed of working for a big company for a few years, before striking out on their own to start their own company that would knock that tech giant over?

Then that dream shrank to: work for a giant for a few years, quit, do a fake startup, get acqui-hired by your old employer, as a complicated way of getting a bonus and a promotion.

Then the dream shrank further: work for a tech giant for your whole life, get free kombucha and massages on Wednesdays.

And now, the dream is over. All that’s left is: work for a tech giant until they fire your ass, like those 12,000 Googlers who got fired last year six months after a stock buyback that would have paid their salaries for the next 27 years.

Workers are no longer a check on their bosses' worst impulses

Today, the response to 'I refuse to make this product worse' is, 'turn in your badge and don't let the door hit you in the ass on the way out.'

I get that this is all a little depressing

OK, really depressing.

But hear me out! We've identified the disease. We've traced its natural history. We've identified its underlying mechanism. Now we can get to work on a cure.

There are four constraints that prevent enshittification: competition, regulation, self-help and labor.

To reverse enshittification and guard against its reemergence, we must restore and strengthen each of these.

On competition, it's actually looking pretty good. The EU, the UK, the US, Canada, Australia, Japan and China are all doing more on competition than they have in two generations. They're blocking mergers, unwinding existing ones, taking action on predatory pricing and other sleazy tactics.

Remember, in the US and Europe, we already have the laws to do this – we just stopped enforcing them in the Helmut Kohl era.

I've been fighting these fights with the Electronic Frontier Foundation for 22 years now, and I've never seen a more hopeful moment for sound, informed tech policy.

Now, the enshittifiers aren't taking this laying down. The business press can't stop talking about how stupid and old-fashioned all this stuff is. They call people like me 'hipster antitrust,' and they hate any regulator who actually does their job.

Take Lina Khan, the brilliant head of the US Federal Trade Commission, who has done more in three years on antitrust than the combined efforts of all her predecessors over the past 40 years. Rupert Murdoch's Wall Street Journal has run more than 80 editorials trashing Khan, insisting that she's an ineffectual ideologue who can't get anything done.

Sure, Rupert, that's why you ran 80 editorials about her.

Because she can't get anything done.

Even Canada is stepping up on competition. Canada! Land of the evil billionaire! From Ted Rogers, who owns the country's telecoms; to Galen Weston, who owns the country's grocery stores; to the Irvings, who basically own the entire province of New Brunswick.

Even Canada is doing something about this. Last autumn, Trudeau's government promised to update Canada's creaking competition law to finally ban 'abuse of dominance.'

I mean, wow. I guess when Galen Weston decided to engage in a criminal conspiracy to fix the price of bread – the most Les Miz-ass crime imaginable – it finally got someone's attention, eh?

Competition has a long way to go, but all over the world, competition law is seeing a massive revitalization. Ronald Reagan and Margaret Thatcher put antitrust law in a coma in the 80s – but it's awake, it's back, and it's pissed.

What about regulation? How will we get tech companies to stop doing that one weird trick of adding 'with an app' to their crimes and escaping enforcement?

Well, here in the EU, they're starting to figure it out. This year, the Digital Markets Act and the Digital Services Act went into effect, and they let people who get screwed by tech companies go straight to the federal European courts, bypassing the toothless watchdogs in Europe's notorious corporate crime havens like Ireland.

In America, they might finally get a digital privacy law. You people have no idea how backwards US privacy law is. The last time the US Congress enacted a broadly applicable privacy law was in 1988.

The Video Privacy Protection Act makes it a crime for video-store clerks to leak your video-rental history. It was passed after a right-wing judge who was up for the Supreme Court had his rentals published in a DC newspaper. The rentals weren't even all that embarrassing!

Sure, that judge, Robert Bork, wasn't confirmed for the Supreme Court, but that was because he was a virulently racist loudmouth and a crook who served as Nixon's Solicitor General.

But Congress got the idea that their video records might be next, freaked out, and passed the VPPA.

That was the last time Americans got a big, national privacy law. Nineteen. Eighty. Eight.

It's been a minute.

And the thing is, there's a lot of people who are angry about stuff that has some nexus with America's piss-poor privacy landscape. Worried that Facebook turned Grampy into a Qanon? That Insta made your teen anorexic? That TikTok is brainwashing millennials into quoting Osama Bin Laden?

Or that cops are rolling up the identities of everyone at a Black Lives Matter protest or the Jan 6 riots by getting location data from Google?

Or that Red State Attorneys General are tracking teen girls to out-of-state abortion clinics?

Or that Black people are being discriminated against by online lending or hiring platforms?

Or that someone is making AI deepfake porn of you?

Having a federal privacy law with a private right of action – which means that individuals can sue companies that violate their privacy – would go a long way to rectifying all of these problems. There's a big coalition for that kind of privacy law.

What about self-help? That's a lot farther away, alas.

The EU's DMA will force tech companies to open up their walled gardens for interoperation. You'll be able to use Whatsapp to message people on iMessage, or quit Facebook and move to Mastodon, but still send messages to the people left behind.

But if you want to reverse-engineer one of those Big Tech products and mod it to work for you, not them, the EU's got nothing for you.

This is an area ripe for improvement, and I think the US might be the first ones to open this up.

It's certainly on-brand for the EU to be forcing tech companies to do things a certain way, while the US simply takes away tech companies' abilities to prevent others from changing how their stuff works.

My big hope here is that Stein's Law will take hold: 'Anything that can't go on forever will eventually stop'

Letting companies decide how their customers must use their products is simply too tempting an invitation to mischief. HP has a whole building full of engineers thinking of new ways to lock your printer to its official ink cartridges, forcing you to spend $10,000/gallon on ink to print your boarding passes and shopping lists.

It's offensive. The only people who don't agree are the people running the monopolies in all the other industries, like the med-tech monopolists who are locking their insulin pumps to their glucose monitors, turning people with diabetes into walking inkjet printers.

Finally, there's labor. Here in Europe, there's much higher union density than in the US, which American tech barons are learning the hard way. There is nothing more satisfying in the daily news than the latest salvo by Nordic unions against that Tesla guy (Musk is the most Edison-ass Tesla guy imaginable).

But even in the USA, there's a massive surge in tech unions. Tech workers are realizing that they aren't founders in waiting. The days of free massages and facial piercings and getting to wear black tee shirts that say things your boss doesn't understand are coming to an end.

In Seattle, Amazon's tech workers walked out in sympathy with Amazon's warehouse workers, because they're all workers.

The only reason the tech workers aren't monitored by AI that notifies their managers if they visit the toilet during working hours is their rapidly dwindling bargaining power. The way things are going, Amazon programmers are going to be pissing in bottles next to their workstations (for a guy who built a penis-shaped rocket, Jeff Bezos really hates our kidneys).

We're seeing bold, muscular, global action on competition, regulation and labor, with self-help bringing up the rear. It's not a moment too soon, because the bad news is, enshittification is coming to every industry.

If it's got a networked computer in it, the people who made it can run the Darth Vader MBA playbook on it, changing the rules from moment to moment, violating your rights and then saying 'It's OK, we did it with an app.'

From Mercedes renting you your accelerator pedal by the month to Internet of Things dishwashers that lock you into proprietary dishsoap, enshittification is metastasizing into every corner of our lives.

Software doesn't eat the world, it enshittifies it

But there's a bright side to all this: if everyone is threatened by enshittification, then everyone has a stake in disenshittification.

Just as with privacy law in the US, the potential anti-enshittification coalition is massive, it's unstoppable.

The cynics among you might be skeptical that this will make a difference. After all, isn't "enshittification" the same as "capitalism"?

Well, no.

Look, I'm not going to cape for capitalism here. I'm hardly a true believer in markets as the most efficient allocators of resources and arbiters of policy – if there was ever any doubt, capitalism's total failure to grapple with the climate emergency surely erases it.

But the capitalism of 20 years ago made space for a wild and wooly internet, a space where people with disfavored views could find each other, offer mutual aid, and organize.

The capitalism of today has produced a global, digital ghost mall, filled with botshit, crapgadgets from companies with consonant-heavy brand-names, and cryptocurrency scams.

The internet isn't more important than the climate emergency, nor gender justice, racial justice, genocide, or inequality.

But the internet is the terrain we'll fight those fights on. Without a free, fair and open internet, the fight is lost before it's joined.

We can reverse the enshittification of the internet. We can halt the creeping enshittification of every digital device.

We can build a better, enshittification-resistant digital nervous system, one that is fit to coordinate the mass movements we will need to fight fascism, end genocide, and save our planet and our species.

Martin Luther King said 'It may be true that the law cannot make a man love me, but it can stop him from lynching me, and I think that's pretty important.'

And it may be true that the law can't force corporate sociopaths to conceive of you as a human being entitled to dignity and fair treatment, and not just an ambulatory wallet, a supply of gut-bacteria for the immortal colony organism that is a limited liability corporation.

But it can make that exec fear you enough to treat you fairly and afford you dignity, even if he doesn't think you deserve it.

And I think that's pretty important.

If you'd like an essay-formatted version of this post to read or share, here's a link to it on pluralistic.net, my surveillance-free, ad-free, tracker-free blog:

https://pluralistic.net/2024/01/30/go-nuts-meine-kerle#ich-bin-ein-bratapfel/a>

Back the Kickstarter for the audiobook of The Bezzle here!

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#pluralistic #transmediale #lectures #enshittification #big tech #berlin #mcluhan lecture #Youtube

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mieldreams · 2 months ago

Text

Payal

Summary: Anakin Skywalker is the roommate of your best friend's crush. That's all. Well, he's also a pain in the ass. But could one dance and a lucky pair of payal change things?

pairing: Anakin Skywalker x desi!reader (or just reader who's familiar/involved with that culture, no physical descriptions involved)

Warnings: None, except for 'i haven't proofread a single fucking thing' :) sorry for the mistakes in advance.

A/n: wrote something on a whim again (this is the first ever time I've written a proper fanfic tho *_*). Happy navratri y'all

Edit: Here's some payal playbacks aka any moodboard/refs if you want to know (songs, outfits, word meanings etc.)

It was Navratri, the festival in honour of the Goddess Durga. Nine nights of colours, prayers, and a whole lot of dancing. Oh, and the sweets! You couldn't wait to just rot your teeth on those festive delicacies.

It was the 5th night of festivities and today's celebrations were mainly the daily prayer and the dandiya dance. The special event for today however, was the ladies' dance competition. Your best friend had practically dragged your ass to get your name registered along with hers and your other friend Pari's, a half-assed promise of treating you to your favourite food at that fancy restaurant on the other side of the city to bribe you into the elaborate bollywood-esque romance scheme to seduce her crush. "There's no seducing!" she whisper-shouted, standing at the booth where you had to give your name, her cheeks immediately heating up at your insinuation. "I just want him to... see me, you know?" and you couldn't help but mentally scoff at that, why was she so blind? "Plus the price is money," she added, smirking as she picked up the pen to write down the names.

"Well shit, you should've said that first girl, I'm always looking to make me some moolah" your smirk matching hers even though your brain was already exhausted just *thinking* about the hours of practice she was gonna make you do to make sure everything was perfect to the T. That was over a week back, and after hours of choreographing and practising and picking out the costumes, the day was here, and despite all the whining you had done during practice, you couldn't deny that you actually hoped that her plan worked. Was it because you were tired of your oblivious best friend and her equally oblivious man playing dog and the bone with their feelings? Nooo, you could never be tired of your darling best friend's endless rants about how 'handsome he looked at the cafeteria today, in his lucky white cashmere sweater his ex-grandma gifted him in 2019' (how did she know that?) or how 'it's so sad his little sister's goldfish died because it jumped into the pot of boiling water for tea, and they've invited us to its funeral' (what?). And it most definitely wasn't because you were starting to get sick of having to watch them make those nauseating googly eyes at each other every time you hung out, for the past year. (though you wondered if it would only get worse when they finally got together.)

That's right, when, because if those two failed to get their ship sailing after tonight, you were 100% planning on just walking up to each of them, asking them what time they're free for dinner and setting them up on a date yourself. Your mental planning however, was disrupted by the creaking of the metal gate to the lawn space that had been rented for the festival. You turned around, a smile immediately pulling on your lips at the sight of the said man you were downright ready to shake like a maraca till your best friend got her deserved confession (though you expected the same on her end as well, of course). But the smile immediately fell at the sight of another man walking in right behind him. Anakin. What the hell was he doing here? And truly, the scowl that pulled on your face was hardly your fault when his eyes met yours and his lips immediately turned up into that infuriating smirk as the two of them headed towards you. But before you could march up to him and demand why he was here, your best friend ran up to you, gripping your arm to stop herself from crashing into you (you supposed the accidental intervention was for the better, since asking him such a thing might only give him more reason to mock you, it was obvious he was here with Krish, your best friend's crush who was also very unfortunately college roommates with Anakin, seriously how did someone as sweet as that guy get stuck with a moron like him?).

"C'mon it's time for the competition to start, ours is literally the second performance!" She started to drag you by the arm only to stop immediately at the sight of Krish causing you to crash into her. "Are we sure you can dance in the competition when you can hardly manage to walk without stumbling?" his voice immediately caused you to raise your head, glaring daggers as you squared up to throw your own taunt about how he just had to be oh so special and wear black even though tonight's theme was white. Unfortunately, you were beaten by Krish as he elbowed Anakin harshly in the rib, making you snicker at his grunt of pain, before walking even closer towards your best friend. "Aamani... hi," Krish breathed out, shifting his weight from one foot to another. And though you wanted to roll your eyes at how his eyes seemed to literally twinkle as he looked at your best friend, or how he always took time to call her by her full name despite all her friends calling her Manu, like he just had to say it every time to even begin to appreciate her entire being that he was so clearly besotted with, you couldn't help the small smirk that tugged on your lips as you gently pried your arm out of her death grip. (when the hell did she get so strong?) ‘Let's leave them to it, then.’ You thought to yourself.

And with that you walked away towards the small stage, knowing they'd most likely not see or hear anything besides the other person for at least the next half hour. "They're not gonna leave each other's side for the rest of the night, are they?" Ugh, Anakin. How had you forgotten? and now he was following you. Great. "Well, they wouldn't normally, but we do have to perform our dance and we're up second, which means the lovebirds will have to sacrifice at least half an hour for final practice and the performance." Hold on, why were you entertaining him? You stopped suddenly and turned to him with a scowl, "and I'll have you know I can dance very well and I-" "Is that why you're wearing red? for the dance? I thought the theme was white today," the audacity this man had to interrupt you. "Oh did you? Is that why you instead wore black?" you popped a hip with a closed fist resting on your hipbone, raising a jeering eyebrow at him, his eyes immediately drawn to the movement and indirectly your exposed midriff and then the shiny white stud in your belly button. He gulped before quickly averting his eyes to the stage behind you. "I think they announced that they're gonna be starting the competition soon," he replied instead.

Oh shit.

"Good luck" was all he said before walking away towards the audience gathering up for the performances. Oh shit, you really had to find your best friend fast.

Half an hour later with your costumes readjusted and makeup re-touched you were ready to get on stage. You weren't worried about messing up as much as you were about not keeping the same amount of energy for the next half an hour. That's right, your original plans of going mostly unnoticed as your best friend's supporting dancer for a mere 4-5 minutes went down the drain the minute she blabbered about you being a dancer as a kid to the aunty from down the block who was arranging her own group dance performance and immediately downright ordered you to join her group as well. At the time you didn't mind much but now, now you were wondering if you could pretend to sprain your ankle after your first performance to avoid the other one. I mean a whole half an hour of continuous dancing? and worse, the traitor that was your best friend wasn't in the second one and so you'd been entirely alone with a bunch of strangers during the first few practice sessions. (you knew it wasn't her fault the lady didn't ask her to join but you were sure she might have accommodated another person considering it was a big dance number) So here you were now, about 30 seconds away from getting on stage, sending a quick prayer that you don't throw up at any point considering they were pretty much back-to-back dances. As soon as you heard your group being announced the three of you walked onto the stage to get in your positions. You used the brief gap before the music started to scan the huge crowd, immediately spotting Krish almost at the very front of the audience, closest to where Manu was standing, but Anakin wasn't beside him like you expected. Your eyes continuing their scan to find him in the crowd before you even realised what you were doing. Wait, why the hell are you looking for him? You need to focus on the count before the music starts.

And as soon as the music started your body naturally moved to the rhythm and beat, a light laughter bubbling in your chest as you felt the stress melt away with each step. You had forgotten just how fun being on stage actually was, and with the atmosphere of such joy and celebration it was that much livelier. Before you know it, the performance was over, Krish walking quickly to the side of the stage as you got off, still high on the adrenaline and euphoria of performing after so long, and everything had gone smoothly too. It was hard to keep the smile off your face, even more so when you saw Manu and Krish talk animatedly at the bottom of the stairs to the stage, her head thrown back, laughing at something he said and then nodding enthusiastically with a toothy grin. Her expression changing to that of shock for a brief second as Krish immediately picks her up to twirl her around, her laughter dancing in the cold night air once again. It was only your obnoxiously loud teasing whistle that broke their bubble, though only temporarily. You had to go back on stage in five minutes and you wanted to make sure that Manu had company since you wouldn't be by her side for at least the next half an hour. Though realistically you knew it was her who wouldn't be by your side for the rest of the night. Ah, young love... or whatever.

"So now that the two of you have finally been cured of your obliviosis, have fun kiddos," you smirked, "and make sure to be safe." You winked at the pair, earning you a half-hearted angry call of your name from Manu as Krish let out an awkward nervous chuckle, burying his face into her shoulder. Aww, you had embarrassed them. "What? I'm just saying, have her back by 11." you gave a pointed look at him to which he immediately straightened up, enthusiastically nodding to your words while Manu continued to glare at you. "Back by 11? What am I in middle school?" "If you were in middle school I'd want you home by 9 miss, just what the hell sorta parents did you have?" You looked down at your watch realising your 5-minute break was nearing its end. "Okay lovebirds, I gotta go, but seriously have her home safe if you guys decide to leave the ground," you said pointing a finger at Krish, "and you," your finger pointing at Manu now, "don't forget to text me when you're leaving and when you get back home, alright?" She left his arms to quickly walk up the stairs to the top where you stood, pulling you into a bear hug as she rocked you side to side without even giving you a chance to hug her back as she held your arms at your sides, "I'll text you." She freed you from the hug to squeeze your palms in hers, "I had a lot of fun with the dance, thank you. And good luck with your next dance, sorry I won't be there to watch it, I mean we could stay till it gets over. we'll have the rest of the night anyway. Hey Krish, maybe we should stay for–"

But you immediately cut her off, "absolutely not, you've been looking forward to this day for almost a whole month now." You shook your head as you saw her open her mouth to argue, "plus I know you have that scarf you knitted for him in your bag." you smirked as her eyes went wide with surprise, not having expected you to know that. "Pulling that lovely 'oh it's a cold night, isn't it? Here, I just so happen to have this beautiful scarf that I definitely didn't knit just for you, here, let me wrap it around your beautiful neck. Oh no, you don't have to give it back to me at the end of the night, I have a matching one at home that I totally didn't plan as a couple’s thing, no seriously you can keep it' on him? There couldn't be a better opportunity." You laughed as her ears became bright red, "I hate you and your Nancy Drew observation skills." she mumbled out of puffed cheeks before immediately pulling you into another hug. "I love you. Good luck." "Thanks, I love you." In the end, you were about 2 minutes late to your dance and the aunty's scary face as she hurriedly signalled you to get into your position made you cringe on the inside, but oh well whatever, there were so many people you doubted that anyone had noticed there was supposed to be another dancer. You were here now anyway. You were halfway through the dance, your back turned to the audience when you felt a sharp gaze on you. Weird, there were about 100 people watching you, why did you feel this one particular stare stand out? It was only when you completed the circle to turn to face the audience again that you immediately connect gazes with the sharp eyes you had felt on you. Anakin. He was standing at the very back, close to the water coolers and refreshment tables, leaning on one of the empty tables with his arms crossed. His gaze never leaving yours. For a second your thoughts drifted and you were annoyed at how good he looked in the black shimmery kurta, though the top 3 buttons being left unbuttoned was so unnecessarily extra. The sleeves folded over his forearms that stretched the fabric, his collarbones standing out from the open collar. Such a slut. But damn did he look fine. Wait, what the hell? Focus, focus, focus. You couldn't lose count mid-step. And tripping right now would mess up everyone's steps since it was a circular movement. Why the hell would you trip over him anyway? Ugh. And so you focused back on your steps, continuing to feel that strange unwavering gaze on you for the rest of your dance.

Half an hour later, you were entirely done with the dance competition. Your feet hurt, your stomach was grumbling every few seconds and you were sure you'd be getting a headache from being so close to the speakers for so long. Thankfully, the emcee had announced a short break for refreshments and such, before the rest of the dances and then the final event to end the night — the dandiya dance. Were you positively exhausted and maybe even getting real tired of all the dancing and loud music? Most definitely. But Manu had texted you saying they'd be back for the final dandiya dance and you were really hoping to get to dance at least once with her, you know, outside the competition, just for funsies sort of stuff. So your irritation? Nothing some tasty snacks and maybe a cold drink couldn't solve. That was until an unfortunately familiar face came into your view as he plopped into the seat right next to yours at the circular table. Not the two other tables that were entirely empty (wasn't he supposed to be some emo loner who preferred to sulk in a corner?) or even the chair on the other side of the table (though you wondered if having him directly in your line of sight would make it worse). But no, he just had to sit right next to you with his stupid pretty eyes purposefully not meeting yours and his annoying plump lips innocently wrapping around the spoon with a piece of gulab jamun on it. He didn't even like sweets.

"Um— what the hell?" "What?" he looked at you with doe eyes rounded in innocence, and your eyes narrowed in suspicion. "Nothing, never mind," you were too tired and too hungry to start anything right now and what would you even ask, 'Why the hell are you sitting next to me?' 'didn't know there was some rule telling me where I can sit' is what he'd say, maybe roll his eyes at you, the usual stuff. So you continued eating your puff pastry in silence. Until you just had to ask, "I thought you didn't like sweets?" You tried to make your voice sound as non-judgemental as possible, you were only curious after all. "And who told you that?" he raised an eyebrow at you. Truthfully, nobody. But you had noticed the way he always avoided the dessert table at parties and functions, the way he only drank his coffee black; not even your best friend's infamous black forest cake that she had made for Krish's birthday a few months back had tempted him to even grab a Yolanda-approved bite. Yolanda would certainly be proud. Obviously, this had nothing to do with you observing him particularly, you just observed a lot of things around you, and he just very unfortunately happened to be around you a lot, being Krish's roommate and 'brotha from anotha motha' or whatever they said. And yet, here he was eating a freaking gulab jamun that was absolutely dripping with the sugary-est syrup. Did he hit his head on the way or something?

"Did you hit—" "I ran into Krish and Aamani, she told me to give this to you," he interrupted you yet again, turning to face you and pulling out a long silver chain-like thing, which upon a closer look you realised with an elated gasp, was the missing half of your lucky pair of payal, the one you'd been looking for everywhere earlier that evening. "I thought these came in pairs," it was a question from the tone with which he said it, but his eyes remained fixated on the jewellery in his hands, thumb running over the delicate silver with a gentleness you didn't know he possessed. You lifted the hem of your skirt a little, head tilting down to point at your left ankle, "they do. I just couldn't find the other one." You shook your head, going back to taking a sip of your drink, "I like the sound they make when you dance, it's fun, so I thought ek hai toh ek hi sahi," catching his questioning gaze you translated, "if there's only one then so be it, I hardly ever get to wear these anyway." You shrugged, "Manu must've found it later and forgotten to give it to me earlier. I think their dating honeymoon phase is gonna be worse than their not-dating honeymoon phase" You rolled your eyes affectionately, expecting him to make a teasing remark too or at least give you that amused smirk. Instead you saw him give an almost imperceptible yet decisive nod, quickly sliding off his chair to kneel in front of you. "What are you-" He gently lifted your right foot onto his folded knee, his nimble fingers making quick work of the clasp on your anklet. Your stomach fluttered as you felt the warmth of his hands on your cold bare ankle, and you were sure if you still had that sip of cold drink in your mouth, your lungs would be burning from snorting it down the wrong pipe, and definitely not because he might've stolen your breath. His fingers skimmed in a barely there touch down your foot. Till now, his gaze had been entirely focused on clasping the jewellery but now that he was done he lifted his head, looking directly into your eyes from his still kneeling position, your faces a few inches apart. This time you could feel your heart burn. Dang, maybe you should cut down on the greasy food and drinks. His gaze briefly shifted to your lips, but then he quickly got up, dusting off his pants, picking up his empty gulab jamun cup, throwing a quick, "I'mgonnagothrowthis" over his shoulder and then he was gone. He quickly disappeared into the crowds while you still sat there, entirely motionless. Your mind blank except for the phantom feeling from his feather touch on your skin.

It was finally time for the last round of dancing. You had run into Manu and Krish while carrying your trash to the bin, the emptiness of your thoughts completely overthrown by the excited shout of your name. You were surprised they had spotted you first, considering all the doped-up lovey smiles and heart-eyes you noticed when they walked to you. The brief hand squeeze and wide-eyed glance from her let you know you were in for an entire night of dramatic recalling of every detail of their evening and you could only shake your head with a fond smirk. As you all walked back towards the dance area, Manu spoke up, "Oh, did you get the payal I'd given Anakin to give to you?" she looked down at your feet though they were covered with your skirt. You supposed she heard them jingle, the sound louder and more noticeable now that you were wearing both of them. But her question brought back that unwanted memory from earlier in the evening instead, and you fought real hard to keep your face from heating up, inhaling a deep breath as inconspicuously as possible, "uh– yeah, he um.. he did." you nodded your head a little too aggressively, "I mean I got it, yeah." Lightly lifting your skirt to show your pair of anklets safely secured, by the most gentle hands you'd ever felt. This time you felt your ears undeniably heat up. 'What the hell? Why were you so fixated on that one thing? It was nothing. It's not like he was sliding a wedding ring on you or something.' Though for some reason, that thought only made your breath stutter as you felt the lava-like blood now rushing to your cheeks. Ugh, get a grip, get. a. grip. And since you were too busy trying to appear totally normal and shoot the butterflies in your stomach dead, you missed the mischievous look that Manu shot Krish as she gave a quick squeeze to his hand in hers. "Should we really have been spying on them like that? And worse, taking photos of them without them knowing?" and though his question was whispered through a sigh he squeezed her hand right back.

"Oh, hush. 10 years from now when they have cute little munchkins running around, I'll have proof to show that I was the one that set their ship sailing." she answered with a smirk. "You've thought about their kids? 10 years from now??" he raised his brows with an incredulous laugh. "Of course. I think about everything." Even the things that you were too practical to consider. Your words, not hers. 'Blind' is what she would call it. You may have the observation skills rivalling that of the most infamous detectives, but she had The Vision. And she knew in her guts that you two were just meant to end up together. "Oh yeah? Then what have you thought about our 10 years? We got 'cute little munchkins' in our cards too?" he tossed an arm around her shoulders, snuggling her close to him to teasingly tickle at her exposed waist. "Mmm, for now our cards hold a very very important mission." She answered and he sighed again, knowing exactly where this was heading. "Let me guess, mission 'get your best friend and my best friend together for the last dance to recreate another Bollywood-style romantic scene?" he raised a brow, coming to a stop as they reached the edge of the canopy of lights and fabrics. "It's only been a few hours and you've already gained the boyfriend-telepathy skills. Impressive." She wiggled her brows at him while turning around in his arms, "I need you to find Anakin and somehow get him to agree to dance." Sensing his hesitation she quickly continued, "I know it won't be easy, but you'll manage. Once we get them both here we need to make sure they're on opposite sides of the circle so that when the final song comes they'll be paired together" she finished. "You really have thought this through, huh? I can't guarantee that he'll agree to dance, I mean it's Anakin we're talking about," noticing her pleading pout he rolled his eyes in fond exasperation, "but I'll try."

With that, he left and she walked to where you were standing, finishing up talking to some old lady, no doubt held hostage to some good ol’ ‘I knew you since you were thisss little’ talk for the past few minutes that the two had spent whispering their plan, but she quickly patted your cheek and left. "So, tonight's the exclusive dandiya night," she wiggled her brows like it was supposed to mean something, it was. You laughed, not understanding her implication. "What about it?" She rolled her eyes good-naturedly, "it's dandiya dumbass. As in, you know, pairs dancing," she continued when she realised your light bulb was still dim. "Oh," you hadn't thought about that, too caught up in the dance competition to care about the other stuff. "Yeah, ‘oh.’ So, who you gonna choose?" "Um...you?" though it came out unsure. "I appreciate the sentiment babe, I really do. I would choose you too–" You raised a brow at that, "but?" "But'" she made a show of dragging out the word then throwing her arms out to her sides, "look at the crowd around you, there's so many kids our age, there's quite a few guys our age too." And finally you caught onto her line of thoughts, narrowing your eyes you shook your head. "Absolutely not. We are not doing this tonight, well I mean you're settled, so I'm not doing this tonight." But the fates seemed to be on her side that night, as she noticed Krish and Anakin talking a few paces away towards the outskirts of the canopy while you both stood at the centre, you hadn't noticed them yet but she could see Anakin shaking his head in a firm no as well. Gosh why were the both of you so difficult? But she also noticed another opportunity walk towards you, and a hopeful scenario played out in her head, courtesy of The Vision. And so she immediately got to work.

"Hey AJ!" she called out to the guy just about to walk by you a few steps away, "didn't you mention that you don't have a partner for tonight's dandiya?" Your eyes widened and you subtly tried to pinch her to stop her from saying the next words but it was too late, "My best friend here also doesn't have a partner, would you mind pairing up with her if you haven't already found someone else?" In speaking to the guy, both of you had turned to fully face him, so she couldn't see Anakin’s reaction anymore. She hoped he had heard what she had just asked this guy. He had. While the two had been devising their plan off to the side, you had been standing at the centre of the canopy taking time to clear your mind and cool yourself. Your gaze was immediately drawn to the gorgeous lights and colourful fabrics that hung above you, mesmerised by how pretty they looked standing out against the dark nighht sky beyond. And though you may never know, Anakin had spotted you right then, standing there in your pretty red ghagra, face tilted to look above you, and it had looked like one of the most gorgeous things he had ever seen, you had looked so pretty with all the lights gleaming in your eyes. And though he was too far to see it, he knew your gaze held that golden twinkle that shone every time you were genuinely happy, though he had hardly been on the receiving end of it. So he had always observed from afar, just as he was doing tonight. His thoughts had been interrupted by the movement of someone approaching him in his periphery. It turned out to be Krish, who clapped him on the back as a greeting and then asked him if he had eaten anything to which Anakin's mind flashed to the almost nauseating sweetness of the tooth-rotting dessert he'd had, immediately followed by the image of the delicate jewellery around your ankle and he quickly shut the door on that thought, instead answering with a single nod.

"Good, good 'cause you're gonna need some energy for a while." Anakin only raised an inquisitive eyebrow in response, while Krish thought of the best, most convincing way to... well, to convince him. "Y/N needs a partner..." "Okay…?" "For the dance, I mean. She needs a partner for the dandiya, she doesn't have one..." he trailed off again, should he just be straightforward with it? "It's you." "What?" Anakin's head snapped to look at him like he was insane. "It's you. You're going to dance with her." "What the fuck? No, I'm not?" it came out as a question because he was baffled as to how his own best friend could say something as dumb as that. Dancing? him? That's fucking funny. "Yes, you are. She needs a partner. You need a partner. The solution is obvious." "Like hell it is. I don't need a partner, 'cause I'm not fucking dancing." He shook his head decisively. "You want to though. You know you want to dance with her." Krish said with a pointed look. "And just what the hell made you think that?" "I'm your best friend, Ani. Do you think I'm blind or—" "Hey AJ!" Aamani's voice had carried over to the two of them, halting their conversation as their attention was now on the two of you, though your backs were turned to them. Aamani's voice was somehow loud enough that they got the gist of it, she had asked this AJ to be your partner, and from the way he walked over to the two of you, your best friend introducing you to each other, him shaking your hand and the dazzling smile you gave him in return, Anakin felt an irrational sorts of a burning pit in his stomach. "Well, looks like the deal's done. She's got her fucking partner." He pushed off the pillar he’d been leaning on, walking away. "Wait! Dude! Where you go—" "Out." and with that he quickly walked towards the back exit of the ground, walking through the gates and out into the cold night. But he had been wrong. AJ hadn't yet agreed to dance with you, or rather Aamani hadn't given him the chance to, stalling him by telling you that he was studying the same thing as you, though he went to a different university. She had been buying time, hoping that any second now, Anakin and his impulsiveness would come barging and say that you've already got a partner. But time was running short as the conversation between the two of you came back to the topic of tonight's dance. "So, you don't have a partner for the dandiya either?" she heard him ask. Where the hell was Anakin? But her movie-like vision for his entrance onto the scene immediately shattered when she turned to see what was holding him, only to see Anakin nowhere in sight and her boyfriend standing alone with a small frown on his face. Catching his eyes she sent him a questioning look, to which he only shook his head dejectedly. And she knew her plan had failed. For her, at least. Because when she turned back around, she saw you agreeing with AJ to meet up under the canopy before the start of the dance before he excused himself, mentioning something about helping move the chairs or whatever. You too said something about meeting up with one of your older hometown friends you'd run into right before the dance competition. You'd promised to come find her when you were free to catch up on things. And so you left as well.

But at that point, Manu could only think about how wrong this was. She knew it was her who had asked AJ to dance with her best friend, so she couldn't blame him. But Anakin – Anakin she could blame. And she could also just about drag his ass back here to ask him what the hell was he doing? With the way the whole payal scene had gone, and knowing Anakin's possessive nature, she was almost 100% sure he'd metaphorically sweep you off your feet (before literally sweeping you off your feet during the dance). So why the hell was her best friend going to be dancing with a guy she was (frustratingly) getting along with instead?

Krish had walked his way back to stand behind her, but not even his warmth and the comforting palm he ran up and down her bare arm could stop the disappointed frown pulling on her lips. She turned to her boyfriend with a concerned expression, "Did I just accidentally push my best friend towards the wrong guy, with the right guy storming off to who knows where?"

Part 2: Jhumka

a/n: so.... there's 4 more nights left... do you think they'll ever get their dance? 👀

A/n: Thank you all so much if you spent your time on this trash wreckage fuelled by finals stress and unfulfilled dreams </3

Would love to hear feedback on this one! Don't hesitate to send me any ques or just anything that comes to mind relating to our dearest love-haters and the overzealous matchmakers ;)

#anakin skywalker x reader #anakin skywalker #anakin x reader #star wars #hayden christensen x reader #slow burn #anakin imagine #anakin fluff #hayden christensen #fanfic #fanfiction #desi reader #miel works

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pixiesholloworld · 1 month ago

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things that go bump in the night!

╰┈➤ synopsis: celebrating halloween is hard when everything scares you, though hopefully, you'll be (s)creaming for all the right reasons with your boyfriend, saturo around

cw: f!reader, reader’s scared of horror movies, established relationship, oral, f!receiving, pvssy nibbling, people can hear you, overstim, pet names (baby, princess), he holds your throat, pussy drunk? roughish sex, fingering, olfactophilia,

2.1k words

you always wondered if it bothered saturo that you couldn't handle something as miniscule as a horror movie, and no matter how hard you tried to sit through one you couldn't seem to get through one without jumping at every little thing. even movies like coraline were too much for you

october was such a wretched time of the year for you and with halloween only 13 days away the festivities were only getting worse. still, you desperately wanted to participate and you did the only way you knew how, by watching the scooby doo movie for the umptieth time. and of course who better to watch it with than your boyfriend saturo. and though this time of the year usually called for something more age appropriate, as long as he could cuddle you and eat his sweets he didnt care what you two were watching

though at times you felt like an inconvince for bringing your scary ass out to his house just to scream at every possible jumpscare, mainly because his roommates making it veryyy apparent that they don't want to hear you, knocking on the wall every time they happen to hear you scream. saturo didn't give a shit though, honestly he found your little screams cute and loved watching scary movies with you just for that reason

when he finished eating the last of his sweets he cuddled up close to you seeping into your warmth. sniffing your hair and letting his hands roam your stomach, you didn't mind of course, it was comforting especially when you'd half flinch at the louder parts of the movie. "my poor baby" he'd coo, his hands roaming a bit too closely to the hem of your pajama pants for him to have pure intentions, "you're such a scaredy cat, does being in my arms help even a little bit?"

"mm yeah, sorry 'turo, i just get so nervous"

"hm? nervous?" his finger slips into your pants and brushes down your panties to reach your heated lips, feeling his breath on your neck and his hand touch you so freely made your heartbeat quicken, "what's there to be nervous about, huh?" his finger presses right at your soddened clit, "tell me" he whispers

“‘t-turo-“

“tell me baby, why’re you always so nervous? you know id never let anyone hurt you, right?”

“y-yeah”

“then you have no reason to be so jumpy.. not like i mind either way” his voice is so calm yet so blatantly laced with lust, his need for you becomes more apparent when you feel his hand pull your lace panties right between your puffy folds. his fingers glide down your hardened bulb, his other hand sneakily makes its way to your breast and squeezes firmly, the tips of his fingers clasping down on your nipple, pressing and pulling as he chases after those sweet little sounds that leave your lips

“what about your roommates” you breathe out, turning your head to face him as he peppers kisses against your face until his lips lock with yours using it as an opportunity to make you moan in his mouth as he runs deep circles into your clit making you press your legs together and knowing that he's getting exactly what he wants makes him chuckle quietly into your mouth

“who gives a fuck” he sounds almost breathless at this point forcing his tongue down your throat. you can feel the slick soiling the lace as your throbs match up with saturo’s movements and you’re both releasing hushed and muffled moans by this point as he mindlessly humps against your writhing body. the gentle pinches to your nipples turned rough, the touch going immediately to your folds

“more— more” you say between kisses

“want more?”

“mmhm"

"alright, just keep quiet" and though he sounds like he's serious you know he's far from that, his tell being that same impish grin that leads you to moan out his name. you feel his finger hook into one of the holes in the lace and before you can realize what he's up to you hear a loud rippp come from under the blanket, it takes you by surprise until you realized he ripped luxury brand lace panties

“'turoo those were expensive”

“shhhut upp,” he says while slipping his finger between your puffed out lips, coating your clit in your sweet sticky substance, “could buy you a thousand of these, could buy you the whole fuckin store if i wanted”

you would protest but he was right, not only that but you were preoccupied covering your mouth, not expecting to him play with you so roughly. though of course, only saturo could get pussy drunk on your touch alone, “besides” he adds, leaving bite marks at your ear lobe, “you look n’feel so good in them, baby”

his index and ring push your lips aside to make room for his middle, which goes right up under the hood and hits that spot making your whole body feel as tough you’ve been electrocuted. you try to squeeze your legs and push his hand away he pulls you closer to him making you endure it

“t-turo!~” you whine, “i’m sensitive— p-please”

“you sound so good though” he says though half lidded eyes, “feels good too huh?”

you couldn’t even answer him, though he asked as if it wasnt an obvious yes by the way you were mindless grinding into his hand and moaning. your eager clit beating at every stroke he made as inaudible whines and moans graced his ears. you were so caught up in the feeling that you hadn't noticed his hand left your sore nipple to wrap around your neck, pulling you closer to him and his relentless touch, “answer me”

“ahhh yes— fuck yes”

“theres those words” he teases before tightening his grip on your neck and the added touch has got you on the brink, “my pretty girl sounds so good f'me, you gonna cum soon? gonna cum all over my fingers?”

“yesyesyes”, you could barely keep it together after a while, until eventually you reach your limit and give into your croaky finish, your clit violently beats against his wet pad a bit more, eyes rolling behind your head as if they’d find some sort of salvation there. your orgasm leaving your muscles in a state of shock until

you hear a loud knock at saturo's wall. the sudden noise makes you yelp and cower away into his arms, "awh baby, i told you you gotta be quiet" he reaches his head over and sprinkles kisses across your cheeks, leading you into some false sense of security. if you though that would be the end of it you'd be sorely mistaken

he fidgets with his pajama pants a bit until hes got his third leg out he moves his hand back over to your panties and rips them open a bit more, angling his tip rightat the entrance and slowly pushes in. a hiss leaves his lips, he moves your body into a sort of C shape so he can ogle over the way your back arches.

he groans softly at first but after the first few thrusts he’s already lifting your leg up and fucking into your cervix groaning into your ear like a mad man. you grasp onto the sheets underneath from his sudden boost in stamina, you could feel yourself starting to lose your sanity with every pivot his hips made.

another bang at the wall made you yelp, but saturo wasn't letting up he just didn't have it in him to give a fuck anymore. (or at any other time really). maybe if his roommates were able to feel how good your pussy felt they'd understand why you had to be so loud, how hearing you moan his name while you cum on his dick for the nth time makes fucking you that much more worth it, yeah, that's it. disturbing them could be the least of his worries right now, they wouldn't get it cause they don't get to fuck you like he does

this line of thinking nearly flipped a switch in him, he was being so rough. his moans were loud and deep now, he had no shame and neither did your pussy, squelching so loudly like you've never been fucked before in your life. with every second that went by its as if saturo become more obsessed with the way you felt, how your gummy walls would desperately cling to him, beckoning him to fuck you deeper when he would try to pull out.

his thrusts became sporadic after a while, feeling his balls grow heavier and heavier trying to chase a high that he didn't want to end. "ha- here baby, h-hold your leg up like this— fuckk yeah, just like that princess"

you did as he said not knowing you were setting yourself up for failure, he almost immediately switches his hand over to your beaten up clit and starts stroking it in those same tantalizing strokes from before. as if you weren't screaming enough from his thrusts alone..

"'turo- i— ahh- i cant-"

"mmm yes you can baby hold it, let me make you feel good" he whines in your hear, bottoming out with every single thrust he made

"s'too much please- fuck— 'turo!"

"s'really too much huh?" he mimics your tone and then chuckles a little as if he's about to lose it, and swiftly pulls out, coaxing a whine out of you, you didn't expect him to actually stop, "guess i need t'lube you up a bit more"

his lips kiss from the corner of your mouth to your neck, licking and fanning his hot breath all over you like a dog in heat. he gently moves you over on your back and lifts your sweater off of you exposing your breasts and stomach, a feverish smile spreads across his face and he immediately dives in sucking on one nipple while pinching the other, his white lashes bat open and close, eyes rolling behind his head every now and again as he drunkenly ruts up against your thigh

he couldn't get enough of your taste, he switched his mouth off between nipples too, sucking so hard that his tongue became swollen, molded in the perfect shape of your hardened pap all in an effort to hear you whine and moan his name. though eventually he moves down lower kissing your stomach until he's at the entrance of paradise. he looks up at your fucked out face, moving his tongue to your puffed up clit and starts sucking

he eases his fingers in, the feeling of your walls greeting him again pulls a groan from his lips, turning and curling his fingers every which way. the feeling alone has your head spinning, you couldn't cum anymore you didn't even know if it was possible to cum anymore and yet your bulb uncontrollably twitched at every suckle, every breath of his that grazed your soaked mound

"'turooo— my god, please," you tried to push his head off but he kept going, nibbling at your clit a bit too harshly as a punishment, "ah! i can't take any- ah-huh-fuckkk!~"

almost as if to a round of applause a barage of beatings fall onto the wall but none of that mattered, both of you were too fucked out to give a damn. you felt like you were having an out of body experience, tingles ran throughout your body as you shut your eyes and road out your orgasm, you don't even know how but your hand had somehow gotten ahold of a loc of saturo's hair and you were using it to run his face right into your waterpark of a cunt. he didn't mind though, using it as an opportunity to lap your candied juices right on up

though when all's said and done and your legs are fin and you stare up at the ceiling trying to wrap your head around how a human could possibly cum that much, before you see a blue eyes demon crawl on top of you and pepper kisses all over your face

"nearly crushed my fingers there pretty girl" he jokes moving his mouth down to kiss you again, you bring your hands up to his face and kiss him back giggling as his face moved to nuzzle into your neck

"stopp that tickles"

"cant help it, you just smell so good, after getting fucked" he starts kissing you on your neck, sweetly biting your neck in the process "feel good too" his hands roam up to your breasts and then you feel something warm near your leg

“we cant, your roommates are already pissed”

"sure we can pretty girl,” he angles his tip to sit right between your folds, “just gotta remember to be quiet"

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youwerenevermeanttofeelalone · 11 months ago

Text

Good Company | Bucky Barnes

✦ pairing — Bucky Barnes x female!Plus Size Reader

✦ word count — 2.8k

✦ request — For the Christmas fics thing can I ask for something with Bucky Barnes? The reader is completely tired of her grandmother telling her that she should lose weight to get a boyfriend/fiancé right in front of the whole family at every Christmas dinner. The reader is talking about it with two of her coworkers/friends until Bucky interrupts her and tells her he can go with her as her boyfriend

✦ warnings — light angst, mentions of fatphobia, mentions of food and beverages (alcohol included), fake dating, fluff, kissing.

✦ author's note — changed this one a little bit just so I could leave some stuff up for interpretation or else I would have gone overboard.

════════════════════════

You weren't feeling as festive as everybody in the building. Your work environment was good, you got along with your coworkers just fine for the most part, and the pay wasn't bad at all.

Your family, though... there was room for improvement there. A big room. Maybe an open plan apartment's worth of improvement.

It had come to the point that you weren't sure you wanted to see them for the holidays. Your grandmother always had something to say about you — your career, your friends, your weight, your relationship status.

She wanted you to be just like her and your aunts, to 'make sacrifices for a greater life' as she so eloquently put it. You were supposed to hate yourself, to change everything about you to please her.

Her excuse always boiled down to your loneliness in the romantic department. You couldn't tell her about hook-ups and fizzled-out flings so you would often nod along and take her absurd comments.

You wouldn't handle them that well this year. It was a tough one for everybody, but she would only use it as an excuse to urge you to find a partner before life got worse.

Reaching your car in the parking area, you made sure it was intact before unlocking it. You were checking the backseat when someone called your name.

You half-expected to be told you were needed for an emergency, but as you searched for whoever had called for your attention, you found Bucky.

"Oh, hi, Bucky."

He gave you a small smile, greeting you back. "Going home?"

"Yeah. I hope traffic isn't too bad."

"You free for dinner or coffee?"

"Right now?"

"Uh-huh."

"Sure. "

He led you to a small bistro, one of those hole-in-the-wall establishments he always seemed to find. Bucky gave you recommendations from time to time, and that was the extent of your dynamic outside of work.

You ordered drinks first and talked about silly things while you decided what to order for dinner. Once the order was placed and you had a few sips in you, Bucky turned more serious.

First, he cleared his throat. Seemingly not comfortable enough yet, he sighed. "I heard your conversation with Nat and Sharon..."

You hadn't even seen him at lunchtime and somehow he had managed to hear your rant about family expectations. Which meant he heard you at the edge of crying over your overly honest grandma.

You looked down at your half-empty glass. "It's... a lot, yeah."

"I'm available for the holidays." He pulled a napkin and started rolling it up into a log. "I can go with you, say I'm your boyfriend. Or fiance if you want, I know a jeweler who could lend us a ring."

"I couldn't ask that from you. It's supposed to be a jolly time."

"I'm offering."

"A tempting offer," you admitted. You didn't want to sound desperate, although he certainly knew you were. "What would be in it for you? How would I repay you?"

"Not being alone on Christmas is enough already. "

He started to fold the napkin into a tiny square, focused on making it look perfect.

"Well, I'm sure my family will be happy to keep you company. So will I."

He looked up at you, then nodded. "Tell me about them?"

So you spent dinner telling him about your parents and grandparents for the most part, small details of your siblings and nephews. You didn't want to overwhelm him too much.

You also spent days worrying it would end in catastrophe. What would your family think of you if things were to fall apart?

Bucky didn't back down when you warned him about the questions he would have to endure, or when you reminded him he would have to be affectionate to you.

He helped you wrap gifts and asked your opinion on the clothes he planned to wear. He was also curious if your family knew he was coming.

They did. You told your mom a day after your dinner with Bucky, on your daily morning phone call. She was thrilled, albeit mad that you hid your relationship status for so long.

You just hoped your grandmother would be as thrilled – maybe less offended that you kept a man hidden from her scrutiny.

He laughed when you told him she probably would try to get him for herself and grabbed your hand to tug you closer. "Can't do. I'm already taken, didn't you know?"

"Oh, really? Are they a better prospect than my grandma and her handmade blankets?"

"Hey, you never said something about handmade blankets. I might have to reconsider."

You hit him on the shoulder without even realizing you were doing it.

He didn't complain. Instead, he pulled you into him and said, "Your grandma will have to settle for having me as a grandson."

You were sure she would be glad to.

Bucky was easy to like. You weren't worried that anybody would have anything negative to say about him, not even your overprotective brother.

Looking up at him, you felt your face warm up as you realized he had been staring already. "Do you want me to drive tomorrow?"

"No, no. You just gotta guide me and look pretty."

You tried hard not to think about it, about his flirting and compliments. It came easy to him, it wasn't a big deal.

Well, it shouldn't have been.

════════════════════════

You sat on the passenger seat, letting a Christmas playlist do the heavy lifting as you did your best not to bombard Bucky with suggestions as to what to say.

He wasn't stupid, and you had found he listened to what everybody said and internalized the useful parts. He didn't need you to treat him like a distracted child.

You just needed everything to be perfect and to survive Christmas dinner without crying for once in your adult life.

As if knowing you were torn between your anxiety and the catchy song playing, Bucky reached over and rested his hand on your knee.

"I'll be the best boyfriend, doll, don't worry."

You didn't doubt it. "I've never lied to them like this."

There was a first for everything. You were just glad you weren't doing it on your own.

Bucky helped you carry the gifts while you carried the cake you got from a bakery Sharon recommended.

Your mom opened the door in all her glory, with her hair done and a glittery black sweater underneath her red apron. Her eyes lit up when she saw you and Bucky, potentially more because he was real than because she missed you, and ushered you both inside.

Most family members were there already for your grand entrance, expectant, a tad impatient to see the man they would get to judge together.

Your brother and dad tore their eyes away from the football highlights on the TV at the same time, examining Bucky from head to toe.

Bucky introduced himself as such, just Bucky, but your brother insisted on calling him James which earned him a pointed look from your mom.

"I've heard so much about you," your mom said cheerfully. An attempt to dissipate whichever tension your brother could have arisen.

Bucky laughed charmingly, sharing a complicit look with you. People around you surely saw it as a gesture between lovers. "It's a pleasure to finally meet you, ma'am."

He won her over with that, much like he did with your aunts and sister. Your brother would sneak weary glances from time to time and even looked offended when your dad laughed at something Bucky said.

But you agreed with your dad. Bucky was just so easily likable, serious on the exterior yet the funniest person you had met —a charming man who happened to be easy on the eyes.

Your grandmother, though, she almost fell in love with him. She grabbed your hand, giving it a strong squeeze. "See? I told you you'd be happier once you found a man."

You tried to smile at her.

"I'm the happiest," Bucky interjected. "Your granddaughter changed my life."

Your grandmother cooed, relishing just how right she had been. You were sure she was thinking you got lucky that you didn't even have to lose weight to find him.

If she thought so, she didn't say it. In fact, there wasn't a single comment regarding your weight the entire night. The fact that Bucky had his arm around your waist must have helped.

You saw another side of your grandmother, the fun one.

All you needed to be in harmony with your family had been to show up on somebody's arm.

It helped that Bucky was open to answering questions and patient with the kids who insisted he had to play with them because he was new.

Your brother was the only cautious one. He wasn't impolite, but his questions were as piercing as his eyes and his words too cold to come from your favorite person in the world.

He had never been anything but warm, much to some of the other men's disappointment. Raised mostly by your mom, you both were taught to be welcoming, to choose kindness even when it was the toughest thing to do.

But your kind brother didn't appear when it came to Bucky. You feared he knew you so well that your ruse had been discovered.

You followed your brother to the patio where you found him checking his phone. His fiancé was on a family trip, he probably missed them.

"You could be a little nicer," you said casually.

Your brother let out a huff, putting his phone away. "He looks like the type."

"The type?"

"Like the ones I had to beat up for breaking your heart in high school."

You tried not to think about those people and their cruel jokes. Their bets, their mocking tones. You had enough with the things your grandmother still said, the never-heard-before heartlessness she would throw your way the moment you showed up on your own again.

"This isn't high school."

"I'm looking out for you."

"Why don't you just say you think he's out of my league?"

"Because that's not it." He sounded offended, ever the protector. To make matters worse, he wisely said, "You didn't have to get a boyfriend if you weren't ready."

You frowned, trying to read his face in an attempt to find what he was getting at. Bucky wasn't the first person you had introduced your family to as a partner.

"If anything," he said, standing tall and lifting his shoulders in a shrug, "you're out of his league — who dates a coworker?"

"Me."

Your brother shook his head in disapproval, as he often did when you were younger. His semblance softened immediately. "You know what I mean."

"I don't."

He twisted his mouth, then tilted his head as he pointed —to him— the obvious, "He's more into you than you're into him."

"I wish you wouldn't say it like it's a bad thing."

"It is when you're so stiff around him."

Maybe you let your nerves get the best out of you. "I don't want to give Mom and Dad the wrong impression. Or grandma... you know how they are."

"Just... be careful. And call me if you need me; for anything."

You kissed his cheek in assurance and went back inside. Only then, you realized just how cold it was outside — you were only wearing a sweater.

You sat close to Bucky, resting your head on his bicep as your mom continued telling him about her upcoming retirement.

He wrapped his arm around you, bringing you closer. His comforting warmth seeped into you, pressed to his chest. He rubbed his hand along your arm, feeling just how cold you were.

You hoped he wouldn't want to move any time soon.

If he wanted to, he concealed it well. Bucky was hesitant to part from you when dinner was served, and even more after when your niece asked you to do her hair.

Eventually, you had to leave. It wasn't ludicrously late, but the drive was an hour long and you didn't have it in you to send Bucky home on his own while you stayed there for the night — inviting him to stay was out of the question.

He promised to visit soon, joking that he would bring you with him as a plus one. Your grandmother laughed so loudly that it scared you. It made you sad. You got your family's hopes up, and for what? A peaceful dinner that would only serve as a bitter reminder?

It was over so quickly and the aftermath would haunt you until you found someone else to lie. Or to actually date.

There was a chance you ruined it for yourself. Who would your grandmother approve of after having met Bucky?

You didn't know if you would approve of anybody else after that either. It didn’t snow this year. As though even the weather thought you had been wrong for lying to your family on Christmas from all days.

Bucky nudged you. "You good?"

"Yeah," you answered quickly

"You sure?"

"It was a long day."

"You didn't have a good time?"

"I woke up at five in the morning," you clarified. Not a lie, but you were used to that kind of schedule. "I'm surprised you still have so much energy."

"Having good company helped."

You hated that he said that.

It would have been so nice to agree, to enjoy how happy your grandmother had been, and your mom's laugh, and your sweet brother's worry...

Not hearing vitriolic comments about your body and lifestyle was lovely. You would still hear it soon, but at least your Christmas hadn't been ruined by your family but by yourself.

Sadness washed over you as your apartment came into view. You didn't know exactly why, he was still your friend, you would see him at work and have a secret just for the two of you which meant you were closer friends now.

You shouldn't have been glad to have him as a friend, to have a person willing to lie to multiple people just so you would have a good Christmas.

"Thank you. For everything." You didn't know how else to say goodbye. You would see him in a couple of days at work.

Ever the polite one, he smiled and said, "It was my pleasure."

You climbed out of the car and told him to drive safely. Bucky only nodded. Waving at him in goodbye, you smiled softly. Then, you stepped into the first front step.

"Hey,” he called for you from the car.

You turned around. “Yeah?"

He rolled the window up and killed the engine. Swiftly, Bucky got out of the car and approached you. "I liked it."

"You can come next year if you want." And if he wasn't busy. Or in a relationship.

"I didn't— I mean, yes, I would like that, but I liked the whole thing.”

Your heartbeat quickened. You lifted your eyebrows, not able to ask what he meant by that.

But you didn’t need to, Bucky was willing to openly say it, "You know, the handholding. And having you all over me especially.”

You froze on the spot, watching him get even closer. You were still on the first step, meeting his gaze by mistake.

He huffed to himself and added, "I always thought you were pretty, but having you this close... God, how did I ever go about my life without this? How can I go back to that?"

"Buck..."

"Look—"

"You wanna come in? Have some hot cocoa or a glass of wine?"

He let out a relieved laugh. “Yeah. It’s fucking freezing out here.”

It was and while you thought you looked pretty in your cozy sweater and your light coat, you really should have layered up. Bucky hung his jacket in the coat closet as though he had done so hundreds of times.

“Wine or hot cocoa?” you asked once he was comfortable in the living room.

“Wine.”

You pulled a pair of glasses out of the cupboard and set them on the counter.

Bucky stopped you from reaching for the bottle. “Wait.”

You turned around to face him. “Changed your mind?”

At the same time, he asked, “Can I kiss you first?”

You pressed your lips to his as an answer. He quickly kissed you back, cupping your cheek in one hand while the other one found the space between your hip and waist.

He caressed your cheek, making you sigh into the kiss which he took as an opportunity to deepen it. You grabbed his face, accepting the pace he chose to kiss you with.

The hold on your body became stronger as Bucky tried to pull you closer for which he lost his step, making you laugh and pull away in worry that he would hit his hip against the kitchen table.

He shook his head, assuring you he was fine.

Your hands ended up on his shoulders while he grabbed you by the waist with both hands.

"Merry Christmas," he said against your lips before kissing you again.

#bucky barnes x reader #bucky barnes x plus size reader #ficmas

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lizzy06 · 2 months ago

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Matsukawa Issei x Reader Fic Recs!!(Tumblr/AO3/Wattpad)

Haikyuu! Fic Rec Masterlist

Aoba Johsai Fic Rec Masterlist

Of Swings and Snakes | Pt.2 ✨✨by @dira333 (oneshot, angst with happy ending) [COMPLETED]

Wingman on crutches✨ by @cottonlemonade (oneshot, HILARIOUS, fluff) “Why is she talking to him?”.[COMPLETED]

Grids in the sky✨ by @myelocin (oneshot, angst, break up, lil comfort) here’s how you let go of seven years’ worth of love, while here’s how Issei’s the first to let go, then hold on to it. in which you love him a little less as the days go by, just as you love you a little more with every new goodbye that’s realized.[COMPLETED]

spare me the details/ tumblr✨✨ by @etherrreal/Dawn (etherrreal) (oneshot, fluff) matsukawa is a good friend, which is why when you ask for his help figuring out what to wear for your date, he agrees without thinking much of it. but the longer he spends watching you get ready, the more he realizes how much he doesn’t want you to go.[COMPLETED]

「Lamplight | 燈光」✨✨ by yuren Lover's Rock (oneshot, college au at start, angst with open ending, hurt/comfort)Just when you think you got the hang of things, life throws you into the wash and puts you on the heaviest spin cycle, and you think to yourself, what the fuck am I doing?[COMPLETED]

positions✨ by strawberricream (oneshot, fluff) issei never knew how much he loved touching you until he was granted unconditional permission to do so.[COMPLETED]

Crow Series:Matsukawa✨ by thisworthierking (oneshot, fluff) Your day gets worse when a crow steals your transit pass, luckily a cute middle blocker is there to help you out.[COMPLETED]

truth or truth✨ by fireflew1 (oneshot, fluff, humor) a game that you and your roommate play every friday night takes an unexpected, exciting turn.[COMPLETED]

Lavender Rose ✨by tsumuthestallion (oneshot, fluff) You were just a few minutes away from closing when the funeral director from across the street comes into your flower shop asking for a favor.[COMPLETED]

Run✨ by SolluxWantsMe (oneshot, soulmate au, fluff) soulmate AU in which you and your soulmate both have black birthmarks in the first place that you touch each other.[COMPLETED]

Flirtations✨ by @v4mptsuki (oneshot, fluff) matsukawa is crushing on the reader, and he’s oblivious to her feelings for him despite her being oikawa’s childhood best friend.[COMPLETED]

Fake Dating and then Falling in Love by @osamiiya (oneshot, fake dating, fluff)Fake dating each other to go to a wedding, falling in love.[COMPLETED]

Matsukawa x reader by @sunatooru (oneshot, fluff) Just an intese game of monopoly with mastsukawa.[COMPLETED]

Symbol of US by @umikawa (oneshot, fluff) “You trust me, don’t you?”.[COMPLETED]

Letter by @box-of-roses (oneshot, fluff) After spending the entire night trying to make the perfect confession letter you get to the end of the day. In your anxious state you find unlikely help.[COMPLETED]

Mayhem at The Festival by @cottonlemonade (oneshot, fluff) fluffy school festival with crush Mattsun.[COMPLETED]

Sleepy Cuddles With Matsukawa by @toru-oikawas-milkbread (oneshot, fluff) When the landlord can’t fix your freezing cold apartment building after the heat goes out just as it’s starting to get cold outside, you get desperate and call your boyfriend to come and help warm you up.[COMPLETED]

Can Not Sleep✨ by liillyliilly (oneshot, soulmate au, fluff) He realized his fault in tying the two of them together, and for a moment he did look apologetic. So he offered words as a condolence, “You’re pretty.” [COMPLETED]

falling back into you by tatesu (oneshot, fluff) After running back into your ex, you discover you weren't as over him as you thought.[COMPLETED]

lamp light by tatesu (oneshot, fluff) Your first night sneaking out with your best friend takes an unexpected turn.[COMPLETED]

Winning you over by Teapots_and_Teacups (oneshot, fluff, suggestive at the end) Despite Matsukawa’s initial protest at your arrival at the room share house they all lived in, you’d settled enough that no one was exactly pushing you to look at new places to live. The four of them had all admitted that they were single and looking. You just happened to be single and in the middle of it all.[COMPLETED]

Be my Boo by abswrites (oneshot, fluff) When you and Lev sneak into a supposedly haunted funeral home, the last thing you were expecting was to meet a hot (ghost?) guy. But hey, you’re not complaining.[COMPLETED]

the sweater(s) by strawberricream (oneshot, fluff) your relationship with his sweater(s) as background background character(s).[COMPLETED]

everyday is everyday by strawberricream (oneshot, fluff)[COMPLETED]

Lover's Rock by patrocues (oneshot, college au, fluff) Matsukawa is not a smoother talker, which is why he decides to talk about dancing.[COMPLETED]

Say it.✨ by moonmayhem (oneshot, fluff) Requested Prompt: "Don't go on that date." "Why?" "You know why." "Say it."[COMPLETED]

Falling by That_chump (oneshot, angsttt, fluff) When you met Matsukawa for the first time, you were immediately drawn to him. He’s tall, handsome, has a mysterious air to him. The more you got to know him, the more you saw firsthand how caring, loving, and passionate he could be. After getting to know him longer, you also began to see how self-deprecating and hard on himself he could be.[COMPLETED] Million Reasons<KINDA PART @ OF FALLING> by That_chump (oneshot, angst with happy ending smut) After everything, you know you should let him go, but you can’t help but search for reasons to stay.[COMPLETED]

Seijoh's New Manager by demxnscous (oneshot, fluff) When your good acquaintance, Matsukawa, approaches you to ask if you'd be interested in taking the job of Manager for Seijoh's volley ball team, you're conflicted on whether or not you should even consider the offer…[COMPLETED]

We're Going to Tokyo!? by GoDownWithTheShips (oneshot, fluff) It's not as if every high school couple breaks up, some end up spending forever together. However, as the final whistle blows and surprised silence turns into thunderous roars, (F/N) isn't so sure whether Issei and her will make it past graduation. All she can hope is that the final whistle doesn't blow on their relationship.[COMPLETED]

to be youthfully felt by brokejaw (oneshot, friends with benefits, suggestive themes, fluff) issei's decided he's getting too old to have a fuck buddy.[COMPLETED]

love this rain by dilfmattsun (oneshot, fluff) after the rain started to fall, you cursed yourself for forgetting to bring your umbrella to school. throughout the day the rain didn't let up, but your acquaintance made you think that maybe you just shouldn't bring your umbrella anymore.[COMPLETED]

Consternation by asahiswife (oneshot, comfort, fluff) A rough day at work leads Issei down a dark train of thought. You're there to bring him back.[COMPLETED]

Horror Movie Trope by Kuroba_Nyx (oneshot, fluff) "So…I think a source said that this was based on a true story".[COMPLETED]

Pure White Christmas by kisala10 (oneshot, fluff) It was winter again. It was your second Christmas which you spent with Issei as his lover. It has been more than a year since you started going out with him. It was fun and relaxing around him, so you always enjoyed being at his side and being able to laugh with him.[COMPLETED]

Truth or Dare by h3art_ablaz3 (oneshot, making out, fluff) What happens when the Seijoh 4 end up playing truth or dare and you're dared to make out with your best friend that you've secretly liked for years?[COMPLETED]

Thanks For The Gift by luvissei (oneshot, fluff) Y/N wishes to give a gift to Matsukawa, but Y/N unable to since she's always nervous around Matsukawa ![COMPLETED]

now we're holding hands as not quite friends, but not quite lovers by meloomi (oneshot, fluff) maybe the accidental kiss under-the-influence with your childhood friend isn't so bad after all.[COMPLETED]

135 notes · View notes

thetriumphantpanda · 11 months ago

Text

the gift that keeps giving | marcus pike

Summary | Isn't it just your luck to get the office hottie as your secret santa this year?

Pairing | Marcus Pike x F!Reader

Word Count | 1.4K

Warnings | Just... Marcus Pike being Marcus Pike, some flirting and general office banter and a steamy kiss but nothing explicit!

Authors Note | To my Cheese & Crackers. My Darling Friend. I hope this makes your festive season that little bit lighter. I hope you love this because I love you, to the moon and back and beyond. Thank you for making 2023 that little bit easier. Happy Christmas @undercoverpena 🧡

“That’s looking a little worse for wear.” Marcus, stood at your desk, waiting for his report, finger pointed at the very much dead succulent on your desk.

You look up from your desk, fingers still flitting across the keyboard as you race to finish the notes he’d asked for.

“It’s looking dead, Marcus.”

“I was trying not to rub it in,” He shrugs, running a finger over one of the branches, a look of remorse on his face when he snaps off and lands on the white of the desk, “But yeah, that’s very much dead.”

“Frank deserved it.” You shrug, eyes never leaving your screen.

“Frank?”

“Yes, Frank,” You nod your head towards the succulent, “You’re meant to name plants, makes you more attached to them, more likely to care properly for them,” Another shrug of your shoulders, “Now look at him, showing me up as a bad mother.”

Marcus can’t help but chuckle a little, “You’ll have to get yourself another.”

“If I can’t keep a succulent alive,” You sigh, fingers slowing ever-so-slightly on the keyboard, “There isn’t much hope for anything else.”

“I believe in you.” He offers.

You stare at him through your lashes, a look that warns him that he needs to be quiet, “You know, the longer you stand there distracting me, the longer it’ll take me to type these notes up?”

“I always thought you thrived on pressure?” He teases, reminding you of a conversation a few months ago where you’d admitted that the best work you produce is always to a time crunch.

“Marcus, respectfully,” You finally look up at him properly, “You need to leave me alone, if you go and sit down in your office and leave me to it, this report will be on your desk in the next twenty minutes.”

“Yes, ma’am.”

“You’re late.” Your voice is monotone as Marcus hurries out of the elevator.

“I know.” He’s stressed, twenty minutes late to his debrief meeting.

“I told you last night what time you needed to be here.”

He runs a hand over his face, taking the manila file from your hand, flicking through it to make sure he knows what the fuck is going on right now.

“I’ve just moved.”

You sigh, shake your head, but keep up his pace as you race through the office, “What’s that got to do with you being late?”

“The fridge magnet,” He offers, as if you’ll know exactly what he’s talking about, “I lost it when I moved.”

“Am I supposed to make the link myself?”

He stops at his desk, blindly opening drawers, rooting through papers to try and find something, “I used it to pin important things on the fridge, like when I need to be in to speak to the big boss.”

You shake your head, trailing behind him again as he starts walking again, “You can get a damn fridge magnet on every street corner, Marcus.”

“I know,” He says, a little breathless, as he finally comes to the meeting room door, “I’ll get around to it eventually, promise.”

There’s a small gift bag sitting on your desk when you come back from the Christmas lunch. There are an array of other gift bags and small wrapped presents on everyone’s desk. You sigh, flopping into your chair. Someone from the finance team is already passing around glasses of something fizzy, work clearly done for the day. Someone is hooking their phone up to the a speaker. You look left and right, making sure that no-one is looking, before you pull open the top of the back and peer in.

You can’t quite believe it, reaching your hand inside to grasp the pot, pulling it out. A scoff leaves your mouth, a small cactus sitting in a pot that’s been painted like a Christmas jumper. You shake your head, a laugh escaping as you drag a finger over the little spines, like you always do when trying to choose a new plant. You push the bag out of the way, setting the small plant down on your desk, right where Frank had been before.

You use your fingers to turn it around, setting it perfectly in place, when those familiar legs come into view, perfectly pressed trousers right in your eyeline, but it isn’t the legs you’re really looking at, although you do sometimes, it’s his fingers, pressing a fridge magnet onto your desk, sliding it across to you, a magnet that is now so familiar to you, having stood in that damn gift shop for almost thirty minutes try to choose the right one. One with a watercolour painting splashed across it, one that you know he likes, never shutting about what the colours mean and how it makes him feel.

“Oh my god,” You feign surprise, “Does this mean you’ll be on time from now on?”

“It looks like,” He’s got a smile on his mouth when you look at him, “Also means you’ll be able to get off my case.”

You smile back at him, “I’m pretty sure I’m the only reason you still have a job after your timekeeping this past month,” You tease, “But sure, if you want me off your case that bad, I’ll leave you alone.”

His attention moves from the magnet to the cactus already having pride of place on your desk. He picks it up, annoying you slightly as you’d just got it in the right position for you, “What are you going to name it?”

You raise your eyebrow, a knowing look in your eye, “It’s your gift, Marcus, you should name it.”

Marcus drops his head, a snort of a laugh breathing from his nostrils, “That obvious, huh?”

“About as obvious as this.” You bring your fingers to the fridge magnet.

You hold his eyes, watching as he thinks for a second, before he offers his name, “Vincent.”

There’s an actual laugh that drops from your mouth now, “You’re so predictable, Pike,” You shake your head, “Of course it would be an artist.”

He shifts from foot to foot a little, “You know,” His hand comes nervously to the back of his neck, “If it wasn’t for the damn $5 cap, I’d have gotten us a gift certificate to this restaurant downtown that I like.”

You breath catches in your throat slightly, because there’s no way, there’s no way that means what it means, “Us?”

“Yeah, I mean, if you’d like it of course,” His nervous hand running up and down the side of his neck, “I don’t need a secret santa to take you out.”

You shake your head a little, bite your bottom lip, “It’s funny, because if it hadn’t been for the $5 dollar cap, I would have got us tickets to the new exhibition at the gallery.”

Your words sink in, him realising you want him just as much as he wants you, outside of this office and the professional relationship you have.

“And what if dinner came with a kiss?”

“What if the exhibition came with one too?”

He’s taking hold of your wrist, dragging you from your chair, back out of the office and down towards the privacy of the alcove near the elevator. Your back, pressed against the wall, Marcus’ hands on your waist as his mouth finally slants over your own. It’s exactly how you’d imagined it for all these months, soft but sure, warm hands seeping through the layers of your clothes. And he tastes exactly as you thought he would, slightly sweet, considering his sweet tooth, and you can taste the beer he drank at lunch. It’s intoxicating. You slip your hands under the shoulders of his suit jacket, gripping the broadness of him as he pulls away.

“Gotta keep your hands to yourself,” He whispers against your mouth, “If you don’t we’re gonna be sat with HR in the morning.”

You bite your lip, leaning towards him a little to press your lips gently to his own, “Don’t threaten me with a good time, agent.”

He looks at you, fire in his eyes, “Go and get your things,” It’s a strict order, that floats straight to settle in your tummy, “I’m sure I can get us in for dinner somewhere.”

“Yes, sir.”

#space sisters secret santa 2023 #Marcus Pike x reader #Marcus Pike x you #Marcus Pike x female reader #Marcus Pike x F!reader #Marcus Pike #Marcus Pike fic #Marcus Pike fanfic #Marcus Pike fluff #Marcus Pike smut #Marcus Pike fanfiction #Pedro pascal #Marcus Pike Pedro pascal

299 notes · View notes

jolalibrary · 11 months ago

Text

make me like the holidays

marcus pike x f!reader | marcus masterlist

written for 12 Days of Pedro

summary: you're not the biggest fan of the holidays, so marcus makes it his mission to change that with a christmas market and a gift you have to wear.

wordcount: 3.6k warnings: smutty-themes, a teeny bit of orgasm denial, you consent to wear a vibrator controlled by marcus, vibrator worn in public, outdoor orgasm, christmas themes, marcus being a tease, his dimples, his smile, him.

an: huge thank you to @hellishjoel for asking me to be a part of this, and to @thetriumphantpanda for holding my hand, answering questions about warnings, and reading this as i shoved it at her face.

“So, what? You just don’t like the holidays?”

Snorting, you slide your fork around your bowl, licking your lips.

Because you knew eventually this would come up.

"I didn't... say that," you reply, averting your eyes. Mouth opening, closing again, unsure where to begin.

How to start.

How to begin to explain the odd feeling you get around this festive time of year. How your eyes don’t light up at tall Christmas trees, and instead your heart sinks whenever you see one of those adverts where the family all meet excitedly for the holidays.

It doesn’t matter how you dress it up—whether you hang tinsel or baubles—it always seems like an odd time of year. And because of that, It makes people pity you, aww at you, feel compelled to leave candy canes on your desk and purposefully add you to their Christmas card list, as though it's going to fix the decades of memories.

Placing your fork down, and you sigh. “I guess. I-I just don’t get super excited for it.”

Marcus is already thinking—you can tell.

The faintest line begins to appear between his brows, deepening the more he stares, drowning you in a brown you’re forever grateful to get the chance to wake up to every, single, day.

Leaning across the breakfast bar, he smirks—all devil, no angel. “I think I could change that.”

“Oh. Is that so?”

Nodding, his breath dances over your skin��all tantalising—before he softly slants his lips over yours, biting carefully on the bottom of your lip.

“That how you’re going to convince me, Pike—using underhand tactics such as your mouth?”

Snorting, he leaves his fingers lingering under your chin. “That’s a last resort. I think I can convince you in other ways to see how magical it can be with me.”

“You sound very confident.”

He smiles, and it makes something twist inside of you—a worry growing there, planting itself, all ready to grow into something ugly that he’ll eventually see. Be the thing at the top of the list when he inevitably realises he can do better than you.

Stroking your skin, he sighs. Not heavy, nor soft. Something in the middle. “I’m still going to love you if you hate the holidays, baby.”

Smiling, you look down at the counter—the one the two of you eat at whenever you can now, taking what hours you can have together.

“I promise,” he whispers. “But, you think you can let me try and make it special for you? Show you that there’s nothing quite like a Pike Christmas?”

Biting the inside of your cheek, you let out a heavy sigh, meeting his eyes—somehow feeling yourself fall even deeper in love with him when you do.

“How can I say no to such an offer.”

Bundled up, wrapped in layers—including his scarf—your gloved hand slides into his, fingers awkwardly trying to find the home between his, almost wanting to pout at the fact you couldn’t feel his palm against yours.

“Comfortable?”

There’s a sparkle to his eye, made worse by the smirk that accompanies it. The one you imagine he’s been wearing since he’d handed you the bag stuffed with tissue, arms folding as he leans in the doorway.

It’s a little bit of fun, he had said.

Your fingers unfold it, unwrapping it free as your eyes immediately land on the box containing the little purple device and its remote.

“I know the season isn’t your favourite thing, but I thought this might make it more enjoyable.”

Narrowing your eyes, you stare at the box.

“Thought it could give you something to be excited about,” he adds, tone shifting—more silky than normal. “Now, whether you’re on the nice or naughty list today, is down to you.”

"Oh, Santa Pike. Please put me on the good girls list."

Grinning, his fingers slid over your jaw as he kissed you, "I think you'd prefer to be on my naughty list, baby."

Now, that same purple, unboxed gift is resting against you, flush. Stuffed and held in position by the underwear he helped you choose—the lace of it keeping it very much in place. And while it isn’t currently switched on, but you know he could change that at any moment—the remote buried in his pocket, all within his grasp.

A thought which makes heat lick up your spine and an ember of worry knot in your stomach—

At any point you change your mind, you tell me, baby. You hear me? Just say the word.

Clearing your throat, you curl into his arm, staring up at him—watching him take in the run of wooden huts, fairy lights and overt cheer.

“Let me guess, you have a to-do list for today?”

Smirking, his arm comes around you keeping you close, before he pinches your side. “No. We’re gonna see what we get up to.”

Squinting playfully, you brush the edge of his stubbly chin. “I’m not buying it. You have a plan.”

Shaking his head, his teeth tease his lip, nose almost flush with yours. “No plan—just want a lovely day with my girl…”

Hovering your lips over his. “But?”

His eyes slowly close, nose scrunching—lips spreading into the biggest, most foolish smile. “We have to start with a festive drink—”

“I fucking knew it, Pike. Fine, come on.”

But, he doesn’t let you budge, not even as you grumble, grasping your hips, yanking you close.

He gives you a look, a pointed one—all accompanied by a grin. It’s all shit-eating, spreading delightfully up into his cheeks. One you’d usually brush over with the pads of your index fingers.

"You don't sound like you're having a good time, baby."

"Marcus..."

You don’t move them this time—leave them on his waist. Feeling his hand slide into his pocket. And you brace.

It’s the only way you’re able to stifle the soft moan which attempts to slide through your teeth and burn the air as it buzzes. Light, but good. Your breath was suddenly a challenge to find, made worse by his watchful stare.

Lashes fluttering, gloved fingers gripping into the side of his jacket as you let your breath paint against his neck. It’s all building—layering itself on thickly atop the earlier ‘testing’ he had done earlier. When you had whined his name, been tempted to shed the many layers and keep warm in an entirely different way with him.

“That feel good?” he asks, low, breathy—only able to formulate a nod.

Then, it stops.

Blinking, your thoughts suddenly cleaner, more appropriate—things beginning to speckle back into your mind.

“Kiss?” he asks, the request falling from his tongue like silk.

“Depends how good the drink is.”

It turns out, it’s delicious.

Marcus had practically whispered the name of the drink he recommended into your ear—having likely noticed the overwhelmed expression slowly etching into your face.

Trust me his expression reads, as if you’d ever trust anyone else.

As soon as the taste of his recommendation met your tongue, your body almost welcomed the season with open arms. Your groan wasn't even buried as your eyes widened at the taste, at him for suggesting it—watching him smirk before he looped his arm around your waist.

“Thoughts?”

Smiling, you almost reply that you like being close to him, preferably forever choosing to be pressed close to him. You find it calming, suddenly no problems ever seem that big when he’s next to you.

Swallowing that, you glance at him, knowing it would be easy to fight the smirk. To act placid, add a shrug, sell it. But, his eyes have widened a fraction, pupils a mere dot in a sky of brown, with the reflection of the lights acting like stars.

The hope etched into his expression is what puts the final nail in your attempt at nonchalance.

“It’s good.”

Brows rising, he grins. “Yeah?”

Nodding, you take another sip. The flavours of the hot chocolate coating your mouth as you slide your arm around his waist. The feel of his lips against your forehead spreading an additional warmth through you, that the drink would never have available.

You’re almost sad when it ends.

Not that he lets you sit in that. Quickly, he takes your cup from you, placing both in a nearby trash can, before he’s pulling you back to him. For the briefest of moments, you just stare, admiring the way you see the outline of yourself in the pool of his eyes, the way you get to witness the way his adoration spreads across his face—all lit up by swinging fairy lights in the gentle, winter breeze.

“Got cream on your lip, baby,” he whispers, tongue swiping across your bottom lip—nowhere close to the site he pointed out.

And then you feel it again.

The thrum which spreads through you, is pressed against your bundle of nerves, making your thighs quake on fixed and solid ground. With the addition of his mouth on yours, the waves lap more feverishly, it all building, all desperate to crash.

Your fingers grasp onto him, teeth piercing into his bottom lip as he kisses you, letting you bury a moan into his mouth—and Marcus is happy to swallow it. Gleefully getting to feel and taste the way he makes you feel as your walls flutter, tightening—wishing for more. Needing more. Almost begging for it when you catch his gaze.

“You know how good you look right now?”

And then it stops. Your breath hitching. Skin prickling with warmth as you let a gasp escape—it weaving into the air, encased in vapour as you blink.

“W-what’s next?”

He grins, it rising up until his dimple appears. His palm flattening to the back of your coat, fingers sliding in pulses.

“Thought we could pick decorations for our tree.”

Brows raising, you turn your head, looking at him, finding him already watching you. Something is spreading in you, a symbolic bandage extending out from his touch to around the places warped and scarred from years of bad memories.

“Our?”

Kissing your head again, you hear him repeat that one word: our.

Just like he had done when he’d moved the last box of yours, you asking whether his place would get your favourite burgers delivered—ours, baby. Ours. It felt it, too. He’d made sure of that. Created space on shelves, and moved ornaments from their homes to allow yours to have a place.

So, it wasn’t out of reach he’d do the same with his holiday, his tradition.

“What if you hate my taste?”

Snorting, he brushes your cheek. “You know I love the way you taste.”

Rolling your eyes, he laughs.

“I could never hate your taste, baby. I love everything about you.” His hand drops, and he takes a sip of his drink as you do the same. “Plus, you chose me. Can’t be all bad.”

He’s kind to you when you’re handling the baubles, even more, when the two of you wander hand-in-hand through tightly packed huts.

Your hands point out things, not just for the two of you, but for others—his parents, a friend. It allows your guard to drop, and your brain to temporarily forget the device resting snugly against the swollen nerves desperate for him—even if you’re aware of how soaked your underwear is. How it clings, how it brushes nicely against you when the two of you walk from place to place.

Marcus becomes less kind when you’re in the queue for a sugary snack, your mouth busy explaining to him where you best think the tree can go in his place—a thing he corrects to ours at every chance he can.

“You almost sound like you’re getting into all of this.”

Smiling, you rest your head against his shoulder in the line. “Maybe it’s the company.”

“Yeah,” he whispers, voice low, the corner of your eye-catching his other hand sliding into his pocket. “Could be that.”

“Marcus.”

He just raises his brow, a sly smirk passing over him, before you feel him flick it on. “How else are you going to remember that it’s our place, baby?”

Every nerve, the ones previously all frayed, now lit up—just like the tree in the centre of the market. Your mind empties with a press of a button, fingers sliding inside his open coat, grasping for him—for grip.

“You excited about the holidays now?”

Fuck, you hate him, because yes—if it’s like this you’ll forever adore Pike holidays. You’ll wish for them, count down to them on your calendar. Ticking off in red pen, making a point to excitedly cross each one of them off.

Because the two of you haven’t even put the tree up yet.

There’s still so much prep, so much you suspect he wants to replace with good, better—more excitable—memories.

“Bet you’re wet,” he whispers.

And you glare at him, unsure if it’s with adoration or anger. Both merging, swirling—concocting into something you can’t stifle as your cheeks warm and your ears burn. Because there are people around—families, small children.

“Take me home,” you plead. “Please?”

Pressing your thighs together you find only makes it worse. The pulses are far more forceful, and better aimed directly at the already needy parts of you.

The ones which he’s usually so attentive with, barely keeping you like this, all wanting and not satisfied. Marcus barely lets the knot in your stomach tighten usually, but now, you think he’s having fun with it. Likely admiring the way your pupils are swallowing colour and a sheen is crossing over the skin on show. Because you’re warm, too hot— there are too many fucking layers and not enough of him pressed against you—

“Need you, Marcus.”

His fingers brush against your chin, aiding you to take a step forward as the queue moves. “I know, but be good for me.” His mouth close to your ear, hand impossibly tight on your hip—keeping you pressed against him, able to lean, let him take your weight as your legs shake. “You deserve this—”

Your lips part, and all attempts at levelling your breathing fail, falling away from your grip. Feeling the focus on the surroundings fading, black spots appearing—this game of taunt and tease having made you so impossibly shaky on your legs.

And he turns it up.

Moves it to the next one up, an up-and-down kind of vibration. It feels good, but then it lessens—a momentary break, a chance to mumble his name less in a whine—before it returns like a second wave.

It pulsing. Something akin to a rollercoaster, a high and a low—it comes around in slow circles that makes it hard to know whether you’re close to coming or growing more frustrated.

“You want something with chocolate or prefer just sugar?”

You try to speak, mouth moving close to his ear, but only a moan escapes. Low, coming from somewhere deep in your soul as his grip tightens on your hip. The speed slowed for a moment, likely settling itself up to do another build-up.

It doesn’t matter. Nothing matters.

Your legs are unstable, more jelly than muscle and bone. It’s all too much, but not quite enough either—just needing that fraction more to stop teetering on the edge and fall over, filling with bliss, and pleasure.

Each time he slides his hand over your hip or back, you have to swallow a whimper of his name. Dangling against the edge, dangerously so—only one little push and you’d be falling, freely, willingly, likely moaning and making an embarrassment of yourself so close to Santa’s fucking grotto.

“If,” you begin, hand to his chest, fingers trying to find skin, something, anything, his still around your waist, practically bruisingly, clutching the many paper bags against you, “we go home now, we might have time to put the tree up.”

You watch him smirk, how it hits his eyes—making the twinkling lights pale under the brightness of his expression.

“Then,” you continue, lips sliding close to his ear, “you can—shit—do something no one has ever done.”

He swallows, loudly—not even swallowed by the choir. “What’s that?”

Smiling, licking your lips. “Fuck me under it.”

Pinching your side, you swear you hear him grunt.

You barely register that you’re being dragged, hip to his, being led—the little device working its magic against your drenched cunt as you pass by choir singers and a person dressed like an elf until it’s suddenly quieter.

Bags dropped to the side of you, back pressed against the side of a hut—the roof casts a shadow over his face, but his eyes still shine. They’re bright and alert. Drinking you in like you’re the only thing that he can see, ever wants to see.

"No one can see us, I promise."

You believe him. It's the only reason you allow yourself to release a pathetic moan before your fingers dig into his pocket. Searching through receipts and his phone, finding it. The thing which weighs more than gold to you, the remote that has the chance to make or break you right now.

It clicks with such ease.

Every muscle in your tightens, your eyes clench shut, all but vanishing winter wonderland from sight and painting a new picture on the back of your lids. Him—naked. Stood all soft muscles and his signature smirk. His room—ours, you hear it in your head, ours baby, ours—surrounding you.

You’re on fire.

Cracking an eye open, finding him watching—in awe, captivated like you’re a sight to behold. And maybe, clutching the remote in your hand, you were. Maybe you were illuminated in a heavenly glow and looking as though you could melt the fake snow around the two of you—you feel you could, anyway, just from the look he wears.

The fact the two of you are just focused, lost in only the other as he keeps you against the side of the empty hut—thankful, happy, that at least one of the stalls hadn’t opened so you couldn’t be heard being held against it, mind being lost to the buzzing in your underwear.

“Who knew you were so dirty?”

“You love it,” you moan, ghosting your lips over his.

Needing a little more, craving a little more.

Please, please, please you think over and over.

He takes it from your shaking fingers, sliding his knee between your thighs—pressing it more defiantly against you, flush, likely feeling the vibrations through his bones as you moan his name. Sketch it into the air, write it there, never wishing it would fade—

More, Marcus. Please, baby. Please.

You’re aching. Your ears flood with buzzing as liquid heat spreads through you when he clicks once, twice—thrice. Landing on a setting he must have seen in the instructions.

And it’s bliss.

It’s mind-melting, muscle surrendering. Your hand cupping the side of his neck, nails digging in, needing to feel him, know he’s there—wishing it was his fingers, wishing he was heavy against you. That weight you crave, that sensation of just him.

Close, so close—

You say it like he wouldn’t know. Like you can’t feel the way he’s looking for signs across your face, likely knowing more about how close you are than you even do. He spends enough time making you feel good. Too good to you, always has been, ever since the moment the two of you met, and you’re grateful, happy, content, fucking over the moon, sun and stars—

“What do you need, baby?”

“You,” you whine.

Just you, only you. Only ever you.

The coil in your stomach tightens, the knot having formed something which can shatter with far too much ease, and it does shatter.

You snap. Break. Fall apart.

He drags your face against his neck, letting you curse, and moan. His name crying out from your lips, until it falls in softer waves from your tongue, splaying across his skin, tattooing him. Squirming close to him, suddenly at ease, shoulders sliding from your ears.

“Marcus,” you whine, differently.

And you’re grateful it stops, him switching it off—a grin breaking out in its wake. Your breath slowly comes back to you, your chest unloosening from trying to bury all your pants.

That’s when you’re finally able to take him in and see the way he’s still staring, so lost in you. His mouth parted, the softest smile trying to stitch into his cheeks, eyes moving around the features of your face.

You just let him stare, and he lets you gaze. Only blinking, letting the rest of the world in when you hear a bunch of kids walk past the end of the hut, loudly laughing.

“I think I could like a Christmas with you.”

Grinning, he pockets the remote, his hand coming to your cheek. “Yeah? I told you I’d make it special for you.”

Nodding, you kiss him. Soft at first, before it deepens, nipping at his bottom lip—finding yourself meeting the hut again, his palm beside your head, able to taste the sweetness of his drink from earlier, the cream, chocolate and ginger—

“I was serious…” you mumble, “earlier.”

Pausing, he lifts his head.

“About the tree, what we could do under it.” Sliding your hand down his front, you cup him, feeling how hard he is, fingers sliding either side of him. “Think you deserve a special day too.”

“Really?”

Biting your lip, you nod, slowly at first—then more purposefully.

“Fuck, I love you, baby.”

an: merry pike christmas ;)

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