#YOU KNOW ITS A PROBLEM SO NOW YOURE JUST BEING ASSHOLES

[lauronk]

the absolute lack of awareness and consideration some people have continues to astound me. (personal life rant under the cut)

i live in an apartment complex with a neighbor across the breezeway who regularly plays music so loud i can make out THE WORDS in my own living room

and a downstairs neighbor with a sound system up against the wall so when they watch a movie it vibrates our floors despite us repeatedly going down to ask them to do something about it, be it adjust the bass or move the sound system or just simply turn it down a little (and every time they’re snippy with us about it)

and people who like to gather at the pool right across from our building and play loud music until past midnight ON WEEKNIGHTS

i’m all for people having fun in their homes and enjoying life and music and parties and whatever. but also it takes just a minute to consider that there are other people existing around you and be considerate of them

[sunsburns]

four or five moments (ii.)

pairing: wade wilson/deadpool x fem!assassin!reader

summary: you're literally just trying to do your job, and it's going great so far, you've killed trask, all you have left is to stop that truck from leaving new york. few problems: deadpool can't stay dead, you're having a moral dilemma and why is that car getting closer? oh shit-!

—or: deadpool literally hits you with a car

word count: 4k+

warnings: fem reader, wade being nasty, flirting, sex jokes, canon violence, there isn't too much plot, blood, strange conversations about morality, wade being annoying, he also breaks the fourth wall a few times, i did not pre-read this pls bare with spelling mistakes

notes: i was peer pressured to write this. it literally strays off from the og plot so bad you get whiplash!!

part one

All you really need is four or five moments.

Four or five moments to prove that you're better than them, that you wouldn't stoop as low, to prove that an eye for an eye will only leave two people blind. No blood will bring mercy. No. But it might get you some peace of mind knowing that they can't hurt you anymore, knowing that there's one less asshole on the earth that's trying to hurt you and the people you care about. It is heartless, you're well aware, but you are not trained to have much of a heart, much less to care.

You remind yourself of that fact as lights blur into neon streaks and speeding vehicles race by. Your heart pounds in your chest, adrenaline sharpening your senses, and the stab wound on your leg becomes a distant throb.

You leap onto a motorcycle conveniently left unattended by a fleeing warehouse worker, hot-wiring it with practiced ease. The engine roars to life, and you peel out onto the road, weaving through traffic. The bike vibrates beneath you, a sleek, powerful beast responding to your every command.

Behind you, Deadpool is a persistent shadow. You catch glimpses of his red suit and mask as he commandeers a car, recklessly swerving through lanes to catch up to you. His determination is infuriating, but you can't afford to be distracted. You grit your teeth, focusing on the chase.

Your earpiece crackles to life, and a familiar voice comes through. "I've got eyes on your tracker," your handler says. "They're heading towards the docks. Be careful; we don't know if it's a set-up."

"Understood," you reply, voice steady despite the chaos.

As you near the docks, the industrial landscape looms ahead, a labyrinth of shipping containers and cranes casting long shadows in the dim light. The truck is just ahead, its taillights glowing like beacons.

You accelerate closer, and with one hand, you grab an energy gun, in a quick movement, you shoot at the truck doors, immediately regaining your grip on the handle afterwards. The doors fly open, revealing giant metal scraps and wooden crates.

You nearly curse, swerving out of the way when a pipe tumbles out from the back of the truck, crashing onto the road. The clang of metal on asphalt echoes in your ears. You slow down by the truck's blind spot, knowing you'd have to stop it, especially now that the cargo was confirmed to be in it.

You stay ready with your gun, pulling it from the holster on your thigh. You wait a beat, then another, and as the truck starts to pick up speed, you make your move and roll up to the driver's window, shooting through the glass. The bullet flies through the driver's head, causing him to slump forward, pressing on the horn. The blaring sound drowns out your second shot, which takes down the man in the passenger seat before he can shoot you.

The truck starts to slow, veering erratically before it crashes into a building with a deafening crunch of metal and shattering glass. The impact takes down a few light posts and parked cars, sending debris flying. Broken electrical wires dance and crackle around the wreck, their sparks reflected in the spray of a burst fire hydrant.

"Great job," your handler's voice crackles through your comms. "Dispose of the truck. No witnesses—"

The connection cuts off as you are violently hit from the side by a black car. The force of the impact sends you flying off your bike, tumbling across the rough asphalt. Your suit and helmet take most of the fall, tearing and cracking under the friction. Your visor shatters, the protective plastic lining breaking at the base.

You feel the sting and burn of broken skin on your arms and legs, grime and dirt mixing with the blood seeping from your cuts. Your vision is blurred, and a high-pitched ringing fills your ears. Every breath you take is shallow and painful, your ribs protesting with each inhale. Biting the inside of your cheek, you push yourself to pull off your broken helmet, tossing it aside. You blink hard, trying to focus your vision and spot a figure approaching.

Through the haze of pain and confusion, you recognize the distinctive red and black suit. Deadpool. He strides towards you with casual confidence, katana in hand, his eyes hidden behind the mask but undoubtedly filled with a mix of amusement and determination. The streetlights cast eerie shadows on his suit, highlighting the dried blood and grime.

"Please, don't be mad, honeybuns." Deadpool's irritating voice is the first thing you can hear when the ringing stops. He's standing before you, gloved hands out for you to take.

You don't move, heaving, "What the fuck, Wade?"

"Oh, are we on a first-name basis now? I think I like it." Wade Wilson hums, and when you still don't take his hands, he kneels before you. The smell of sweat and gunpowder wafts off him, mingling with the metallic scent of blood. "I know this all seems a little confusing—"

"You hit me with a fucking car, you dick!" you belt out, eyes wide with rage. The pain and exhaustion make your voice hoarse, every word a struggle.

"Well, yes. But it's only fair—"

"Fuck you."

"Listen to me." He says a little desperately, and you're glaring at him through your tears. Wade doesn't let it get to him, instead, he calls out your name, barely above a whisper as he looks at you. "You are getting innocent people killed." He tells you. "Look around. This might not be a cul-de-sac, but there are civilians, and they're hurt. We need to leave. You need to call it."

You glance over his shoulder, tired eyes scanning the area. He was right. Dock workers are running around, shouting and helping people out of the old building the truck had crashed into. It's late at night, but not late enough for the place to be deserted; people are still at work, still trying to get by.

You wince as you watch a pregnant woman being led out of a crashed car by her husband, a gash on her head. The smell of gasoline and burning rubber fills the air, mixing with the acrid scent of smoke from the crashed truck.

"Killing shitty people is one thing," Deadpool tells you, and you hate the way his voice is almost earnest. His tone is different, more serious, a stark contrast to his usual unserious demeanour. "But I'm familiar with your no-witnesses rule. This would just be mass murder if I let you keep going. Not exactly my piece of cake. Just..."

He stops, letting his head hang for a moment as if he were too repulsed to say it. You can see his shoulders slump slightly, a rare show of genuine emotion. "Oh god, I can't believe I'm about to say this," he grumbles, "Four or five moments. That's all it takes. Just stop and think. It's all it takes to be a hero."

You grit your teeth, hating that Wade Wilson is your voice of reason. The biggest asshole in New York, and here he is lecturing you on morality.

Hairs are falling out of your braid and sticking to your forehead, yet you don't care. Sweat mixes with blood, creating a sticky mess on your skin. You can only glare at him. "You're the last fucking person who should be telling me how to be a hero."

Wade sighs, loud and obnoxious, his mask wrinkling around his eyes as he scrunches up his face. "I'm sorry I hit you with a car. You kinda deserved it after killing Trask. He was my last chance at becoming pretty again. Now I have to stalk another crazy scientist." He taps his chin thoughtfully, "I always figured I'd end up chasing a mad scientist again, but not under these circumstances."

It's when you can no longer hold yourself up with your arms that Wade takes in the gravity of your injuries. He winces, watching you crumble to the ground before him. "Oh, wow, that's a lot of blood," he notes, his voice suddenly devoid of humour. The sight of your blood pooling on the asphalt seems to pull him back to reality. "Should I take you to a hospital? How many fingers am I holding up?"

He doesn't give you a chance to answer.

"Three? No. Two? Yikes. It's worse than I thought." Wade stands, and the worry in his voice is poorly masked by his usual sarcasm. "Here we go. Up, up!" When he moves to pick you up, you start turning away, your body protesting every movement.

"Wade, wait—" you rasp, trying to stop him from touching you. Your voice is weak, barely above a whisper.

But it's too late. When he reaches for you, your body phases, a faint white glow surrounding you as his hands and arms fall through your body as if you're a ghost. He recoils, jumping back while a squeamish sound escapes his lips. He stares at you, then his hands, then back at you on the ground as you try to sit up again, confusion and amazement written all over his masked face.

"Oh. My. Motherfucking. Fuckballs." Wade gasped, eyes wide behind his mask. "Did my hand just go through you or is all that cocaine finally kicking in?"

You ignore him, holding onto your side as it throbs with pain. Every movement sends sharp, agonizing waves through your body. "Fuck."

"No way, you're a fucking mutant?" His tone is a mix of awe and excitement, like a kid discovering a new toy.

It's not like you kept it a secret. You used your abilities whenever you needed to, and sure, it was useful at times, especially in your line of work when you needed to get through locked doors and hidden rooms or just for the element of surprise. But it's draining. Leaves you winded after only a matter of seconds. You've always had a hard time controlling it when you're slightly delusional though. You must've hit your head really hard. Maybe that's why you haven't shot Deadpool, yet.

"Shut up, Wade."

"Hey, no need to be ashamed of it." He reassures you while trying to pick you up again. This time, he is more cautious, his movements slower and more deliberate. When he succeeds, you can tell he's grinning like a child underneath the mask.

He carries you back to the same fuckass car he hit you with, holding you with one arm under your knees, the other supporting your back. There's a faint skip to his step as if you're not on the verge of losing consciousness. While kicking open the back door, Wade continues his chatter, and you really wish he'd killed you on impact.

"Being a mutant is great! Plus, it's not the early two thousands anymore, or whatever timeline Stewart was in. Man, they sure did hate mutants in that trilogy."

He sets you down in the back seat gently, his hands surprisingly delicate. "You know, I always knew you were different. You hit me harder than regular people. I just figured you really hated me."

"I do." you mutter.

"Oh, my little sweet buns, I'm sure you do." To your annoyance, he pokes your nose playfully. "But you can't hate me too much right now, I'm literally your knight in shining armor. See, I can be nice, especially to my fellow mercs. You'd bleed to death if I left you there."

"Only because you hit me with a fucking car," you snap, the pain and frustration boiling over.

"Good to know you're still harboring great anger towards that. Means you're still conscious. Keep being mean to me, baby, that's how I'll know you're okay." He pauses before shutting the door, looking at you lying on the backseat, bleeding and all the glory that comes from it. "And it also turns me on a little bit. God, I can't believe your suit is torn and not one bit of extra cleavage is exposed. What will it take for a guy to get some rated R nudity over here?"

And with that, he slams the door shut, the car shaking with the force of it. The sound makes the ringing return to your ears, and you bite back the urge to curse him. He takes a seat in the driver's seat, starting the engine and rushing out of the scene before first responders arrive. The car roars to life, and as he speeds away, you feel your consciousness slipping, the pain and exhaustion overwhelming you.

The two of you sit in silence for the most part, only the sounds of the engine running and Wade humming the tune of a song you think is from The Greatest Showman soundtrack. You force yourself to stay awake. Mostly because you don't trust him, but it's also because you fear that if you let your eyes close you won't wake up again. Yeah, it's mostly because you don't trust Wade Wilson.

"Where are you taking me?" you finally ask, and you hate the way your voice sounds weak, barely above a whisper.

"Just a little safe house I know." He tells you, glancing back at you for a quick moment. "Very homey, trust me."

"What about the shipment?" you murmur, your mind struggling to stay focused.

"What?"

"The truck," you repeat, fighting to keep your eyes open.

"Oh, don't worry. That's no longer our problem." He says, "We're about to enter a whole new setting. That truck is forgotten plot."

Wade takes a sharp turn, and you wince as your body shifts uncomfortably in the back seat. The pain is getting worse, each bump in the road sending jolts of agony through your body. You grit your teeth, trying to stay conscious, but it's a losing battle.

After what feels like an eternity, the car finally comes to a stop. Wade gets out and you hear his footsteps crunching on gravel as he walks around to your door. He opens it carefully this time, his usual wiseass demeanour replaced by a rare show of genuine concern. He scoops you up gently, and you're too weak to protest.

The last thing you remember, before everything goes black, is the sight of a grand mansion looming ahead, its imposing silhouette framed by the moonlight. The large iron gates creak open as Wade carries you through them, the gravel path crunching under his boots. The mansion, with its towering spires and Gothic architecture, looks like something out of a fairy tale, a stark contrast to the violence and chaos you just escaped from.

When you wake up, the first thing you notice is the softness of the bed beneath you. The second thing you notice is the smell of lavender and the faint hum of medical equipment. You try to sit up, but a sharp pain in your side makes you gasp.

"Whoa, easy there," a deep, accented voice says from beside you. You turn your head slowly, the motion making your vision swim. A towering, metal-skinned mutant sits by your bed, his imposing figure softened by a look of genuine concern. "You need to rest. You are badly injured."

Your throat feels like sandpaper as you rasp, "Where am I?"

"The X-Mansion," he replies in a soothing tone, the accent heavy but comforting. "Wade brought you here. You’re safe now. I am Colossus."

You try to take in your surroundings, your head feeling heavy as you look around. The room is vast and elegant, with high ceilings that seem to reach the heavens. The walls are adorned with rich tapestries and framed paintings, depicting serene landscapes and grand historical scenes.

Large windows let in the soft, golden glow of morning light, casting gentle shadows that dance across the floor. It’s a far cry from the dingy, rundown places you’re used to, especially that old apartment with its creaky floors and peeling wallpaper.

Your eyes finally land on Wade, who is slouched in a chair in the corner. He’s flipping through a Playboy magazine with exaggerated interest, still in his dirty suit from the night before.

When he sees you stir, he grins and waves a hand in your direction. "Morning, sunshine," he says cheerfully, his voice carrying an unnerving mix of sincerity and teasing. "You gave us quite a scare. But, I've got to say, that hospital gown is doing wonders for your figure. I love the blue. Great contrast to that black you're always wearing."

You roll your eyes, too exhausted to respond properly. The gown feels scratchy against your skin, and every movement sends sharp pangs of pain through your body.

Colossus, noticing your discomfort, shifts slightly. "How are you feeling?" he asks, his voice deep and steady.

"Like I got hit by a truck," you mutter, sending a glare in Wade's direction.

Colossus chuckles, the sound deep and resonant, like rolling thunder. "Do not worry about him. We will take care of you."

Despite the throbbing pain and overwhelming fatigue, a wave of relief washes over you. For the first time in a long while, you're surrounded by people who genuinely want to help. You close your eyes, letting yourself sink into the softness of the bed. "Thank you," you whisper, the words feeling strangely comforting. For once, you don’t feel the need to be constantly on guard.

Wade's grin widens as he leans back in his chair, stretching his legs out and adjusting his mask. "Anytime, honeybuns. Anytime."

As you drift in and out of consciousness, you feel the cool, soothing touch of a wet cloth on your forehead. The gentle pressure is a welcome contrast to the persistent throbbing pain.

The sound of soft murmurs and quiet footsteps fills the room, creating a cocoon of calm around you. At some point, you notice Colossus's massive hands, surprisingly gentle, as he carefully tends to your wounds, applying bandages with precision.

Eventually, a teenager with short hair and a no-nonsense expression enters the room. You learn her name is Negasonic Teenage Warhead. She carries a phone in one hand, handing Colossus a stack of clean bandages with the other. The faint scent of antiseptic and medicinal herbs fills the air, mixing with the crispness of the freshly laundered bed linens.

Hours pass, or maybe it's days—it's difficult to gauge. When you next wake, the room is dimly lit, the golden light replaced by the softer hues of early evening. The pain has dulled to a manageable throb, and the heaviness in your limbs is slightly alleviated. Wade is still there, his previous outfit swapped for sweatpants and a dark green sweater, though he keeps his red and black mask on. He lounges in the chair beside your bed, now engrossed in an iPad, giggling softly to himself.

"Oh, man. Instagram reels are crazy," he snorts, shaking his head as he scrolls through the screen.

He looks up and hums when he sees you're awake again. "You're tougher than you look," he comments, turning off the iPad with a flick of his wrist. "Most people would have keeled over by now."

"You wish."

"Oh, trust me, I do." Wade nods vigorously, his mask bobbing with the motion. "I tried injecting poison into your IV, but your body rejected it."

"Don't worry. My handler will kill me for you."

Wade groans, dramatically rolling his eyes as he gets up from the chair. "You’re still worried about that? I already told you, the truck and all that shit is past plot. We’re in the sequel now, babe. There are new rules. Who knows, maybe this is your redemption arc where you join the X-Men. Though, I will miss your assassin era. You were so sexy in that suit."

You make a face, "Fuck off."

Just then, the door opens with a soft creak, and Colossus enters with a tray in hand. He’s followed closely by Negasonic, who carries a stack of fresh bandages. Colossus places the tray on a small table beside your bed with practiced ease. The tray is filled with a bowl of steaming soup and a couple of slices of crusty bread, the aroma wafting up and making your stomach rumble.

"How are you feeling?" Colossus asks, his voice calm and reassuring as he sets the tray down.

"Better," you admit, managing a small smile. "Thanks to you guys."

Negasonic shrugs nonchalantly, a small smile tugging at her lips despite her usual scowl. "Don’t mention it. Just doing our job."

Wade groans, clearly troubled by the kindness. "Oh great, now you’re all buddy-buddy. What am I, chopped liver?"

Colossus chuckles, the sound of a comforting rumble. "You must eat something. It will help you regain your strength."

You nod gratefully, and with Colossus’s help, you manage to sit up enough to sip the warm, comforting soup. The broth is rich and flavorful, and the bread is soft and fresh. As you eat, you can’t help but feel a strange sense of belonging. Despite the pain and the chaos, you’re surrounded by people who care, and for now, that’s enough.

Wade, not one to be left out, scoots his chair closer, setting it right next to your bed. He stretches out, propping his elbows on his knees as he leans in. "So, what do you think of the X-Mansion? Pretty swanky, right? Lots of rooms, big kitchen, danger room for training... and other things."

Negasonic scoffs, her eyes narrowing. "Gross."

You finish your meal, feeling a bit stronger. As Colossus helps you settle back into the bed, you glance at Wade. "Why did you bring me here?"

Wade’s expression shifts, becoming uncharacteristically serious. He looks at you with sincerity. "Because you’re one of us. And because... well, everyone deserves a second chance."

You blink, surprised by the depth of his words. Before you can respond, he’s back to his usual self, grinning and turning on his iPad. "Plus, it’s not every day I get to play hero. I gotta milk it for all it’s worth. And no, Colossus, I will not join your boy band, thank you very much."

The metal man grunts, waving a hand dismissively before walking out, Negasonic following right behind him. Wade stays seated next to you, his lips curled into a wide, amused grin that seems to stretch just a bit too far was he watches you.

"You're never gonna take that off?" you ask him.

Wade's laughter is a low, rumbling sound that feels almost too bright for the quiet room. "Oh, no fucking way," he says, his voice dripping with mock seriousness. "I wasn’t kidding when I said I’m ugly under this. Trust me. You’d be repulsed. Like, horror movie-level repulsed."

You give him a look, your eyebrow arched in disbelief. "I doubt it."

Wade leans in closer, the grin on his face widening. He taps his chin thoughtfully with a gloved finger, the gesture oddly contemplative. "Maybe next time I’ll take it off for you," he says, a taunting tone in his voice as he raises his brows. "Maybe that and a little more."

"There's a next time?"

"I mean, as the famous words of Natasha Bedingfield say: the rest is still underwritten."

"God, you’re fucking ridiculous," you mutter, the words coming out with a mix of exasperation and reluctant amusement. "I can’t wait to get out of here and never see you again."

Wade's shoulders slump, the white eyes of his mask narrow at you, "What, that's it? No steamy sex? No heavy petting? Is this how it ends? Not even a kiss?"

"Fuck no. Get out."

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[mostlysignssomeportents]

“Disenshittify or Die”

I'm coming to BURNING MAN! On TUESDAY (Aug 27) at 1PM, I'm giving a talk called "DISENSHITTIFY OR DIE!" at PALENQUE NORTE (7&E). On WEDNESDAY (Aug 28) at NOON, I'm doing a "Talking Caterpillar" Q&A at LIMINAL LABS (830&C).

Last weekend, I traveled to Las Vegas for Defcon 32, where I had the immense privilege of giving a solo talk on Track 1, entitled "Disenshittify or die! How hackers can seize the means of computation and build a new, good internet that is hardened against our asshole bosses' insatiable horniness for enshittification":

https://info.defcon.org/event/?id=54861

This was a followup to last year's talk, "An Audacious Plan to Halt the Internet's Enshittification," a talk that kicked off a lot of international interest in my analysis of platform decay ("enshittification"):

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=rimtaSgGz_4

The Defcon organizers have earned a restful week or two, and that means that the video of my talk hasn't yet been posted to Defcon's Youtube channel, so in the meantime, I thought I'd post a lightly edited version of my speech crib. If you're headed to Burning Man, you can hear me reprise this talk at Palenque Norte (7&E); I'm kicking off their lecture series on Tuesday, Aug 27 at 1PM.

==

What the fuck happened to the old, good internet?

I mean, sure, our bosses were a little surveillance-happy, and they were usually up for sharing their data with the NSA, and whenever there was a tossup between user security and growth, it was always YOLO time.

But Google Search used to work. Facebook used to show you posts from people you followed. Uber used to be cheaper than a taxi and pay the driver more than a cabbie made. Amazon used to sell products, not Shein-grade self-destructing dropshipped garbage from all-consonant brands. Apple used to defend your privacy, rather than spying on you with your no-modifications-allowed Iphone.

There was a time when you searching for an album on Spotify would get you that album – not a playlist of insipid AI-generated covers with the same name and art.

Microsoft used to sell you software – sure, it was buggy – but now they just let you access apps in the cloud, so they can watch how you use those apps and strip the features you use the most out of the basic tier and turn them into an upcharge.

What – and I cannot stress this enough – the fuck happened?!

I’m talking about enshittification.

Here’s what enshittification looks like from the outside: First, you see a company that’s being good to its end users. Google puts the best search results at the top; Facebook shows you a feed of posts from people and groups you followl; Uber charges small dollars for a cab; Amazon subsidizes goods and returns and shipping and puts the best match for your product search at the top of the page.

That’s stage one, being good to end users. But there’s another part of this stage, call it stage 1a). That’s figuring out how to lock in those users.

There’s so many ways to lock in users.

If you’re Facebook, the users do it for you. You joined Facebook because there were people there you wanted to hang out with, and other people joined Facebook to hang out with you.

That’s the old “network effects” in action, and with network effects come “the collective action problem." Because you love your friends, but goddamn are they a pain in the ass! You all agree that FB sucks, sure, but can you all agree on when it’s time to leave?

No way.

Can you agree on where to go next?

Hell no.

You’re there because that’s where the support group for your rare disease hangs out, and your bestie is there because that’s where they talk with the people in the country they moved away from, then there’s that friend who coordinates their kid’s little league car pools on FB, and the best dungeon master you know isn’t gonna leave FB because that’s where her customers are.

So you’re stuck, because even though FB use comes at a high cost – your privacy, your dignity and your sanity – that’s still less than the switching cost you’d have to bear if you left: namely, all those friends who have taken you hostage, and whom you are holding hostage

Now, sometimes companies lock you in with money, like Amazon getting you to prepay for a year’s shipping with Prime, or to buy your Audible books on a monthly subscription, which virtually guarantees that every shopping search will start on Amazon, after all, you’ve already paid for it.

Sometimes, they lock you in with DRM, like HP selling you a printer with four ink cartridges filled with fluid that retails for more than $10,000/gallon, and using DRM to stop you from refilling any of those ink carts or using a third-party cartridge. So when one cart runs dry, you have to refill it or throw away your investment in the remaining three cartridges and the printer itself.

Sometimes, it’s a grab bag:

You can’t run your Ios apps without Apple hardware;

you can’t run your Apple music, books and movies on anything except an Ios app;

your iPhone uses parts pairing – DRM handshakes between replacement parts and the main system – so you can’t use third-party parts to fix it; and

every OEM iPhone part has a microscopic Apple logo engraved on it, so Apple can demand that the US Customs and Border Service seize any shipment of refurb Iphone parts as trademark violations.

Think Different, amirite?

Getting you locked in completes phase one of the enshittification cycle and signals the start of phase two: making things worse for you to make things better for business customers.

For example, a platform might poison its search results, like Google selling more and more of its results pages to ads that are identified with lighter and lighter tinier and tinier type.

Or Amazon selling off search results and calling it an “ad” business. They make $38b/year on this scam. The first result for your search is, on average, 29% more expensive than the best match for your search. The first row is 25% more expensive than the best match. On average, the best match for your search is likely to be found seventeen places down on the results page.

Other platforms sell off your feed, like Facebook, which started off showing you the things you asked to see, but now the quantum of content from the people you follow has dwindled to a homeopathic residue, leaving a void that Facebook fills with things that people pay to show you: boosted posts from publishers you haven’t subscribed to, and, of course, ads.

Now at this point you might be thinking ‘sure, if you’re not paying for the product, you’re the product.'

Bullshit!

Bull.

Shit.

The people who buy those Google ads? They pay more every year for worse ad-targeting and more ad-fraud

Those publishers paying to nonconsensually cram their content into your Facebook feed? They have to do that because FB suppresses their ability to reach the people who actually subscribed to them

The Amazon sellers with the best match for your query have to outbid everyone else just to show up on the first page of results. It costs so much to sell on Amazon that between 45-51% of every dollar an independent seller brings in has to be kicked up to Don Bezos and the Amazon crime family. Those sellers don’t have the kind of margins that let them pay 51% They have to raise prices in order to avoid losing money on every sale.

"But wait!" I hear you say!

[Come on, say it!]

"But wait! Things on Amazon aren’t more expensive that things at Target, or Walmart, or at a mom and pop store, or direct from the manufacturer.

"How can sellers be raising prices on Amazon if the price at Amazon is the same as at is everywhere else?"

[Any guesses?!]

That’s right, they charge more everywhere. They have to. Amazon binds its sellers to a policy called “most favored nation status,” which says they can’t charge more on Amazon than they charge elsewhere, including direct from their own factory store.

So every seller that wants to sell on Amazon has to raise their prices everywhere else.

Now, these sellers are Amazon’s best customers. They’re paying for the product, and they’re still getting screwed.

Paying for the product doesn’t fill your vapid boss’s shriveled heart with so much joy that he decides to stop trying to think of ways to fuck you over.

Look at Apple. Remember when Apple offered every Ios user a one-click opt out for app-based surveillance? And 96% of users clicked that box?

(The other four percent were either drunk or Facebook employees or drunk Facebook employees.)

That cost Facebook at least ten billion dollars per year in lost surveillance revenue?

I mean, you love to see it.

But did you know that at the same time Apple started spying on Ios users in the same way that Facebook had been, for surveillance data to use to target users for its competing advertising product?

Your Iphone isn’t an ad-supported gimme. You paid a thousand fucking dollars for that distraction rectangle in your pocket, and you’re still the product. What’s more, Apple has rigged Ios so that you can’t mod the OS to block its spying.

If you’re not not paying for the product, you’re the product, and if you are paying for the product, you’re still the product.

Just ask the farmers who are expected to swap parts into their own busted half-million dollar, mission-critical tractors, but can’t actually use those parts until a technician charges them $200 to drive out to the farm and type a parts pairing unlock code into their console.

John Deere’s not giving away tractors. Give John Deere a half mil for a tractor and you will be the product.

Please, my brothers and sisters in Christ. Please! Stop saying ‘if you’re not paying for the product, you’re the product.’

OK, OK, so that’s phase two of enshittification.

Phase one: be good to users while locking them in.

Phase two: screw the users a little to you can good to business customers while locking them in.

Phase three: screw everybody and take all the value for yourself. Leave behind the absolute bare minimum of utility so that everyone stays locked into your pile of shit.

Enshittification: a tragedy in three acts.

That’s what enshittification looks like from the outside, but what’s going on inside the company? What is the pathological mechanism? What sci-fi entropy ray converts the excellent and useful service into a pile of shit?

That mechanism is called twiddling. Twiddling is when someone alters the back end of a service to change how its business operates, changing prices, costs, search ranking, recommendation criteria and other foundational aspects of the system.

Digital platforms are a twiddler’s utopia. A grocer would need an army of teenagers with pricing guns on rollerblades to reprice everything in the building when someone arrives who’s extra hungry.

Whereas the McDonald’s Investments portfolio company Plexure advertises that it can use surveillance data to predict when an app user has just gotten paid so the seller can tack an extra couple bucks onto the price of their breakfast sandwich.

And of course, as the prophet William Gibson warned us, ‘cyberspace is everting.' With digital shelf tags, grocers can change prices whenever they feel like, like the grocers in Norway, whose e-ink shelf tags change the prices 2,000 times per day.

Every Uber driver is offered a different wage for every job. If a driver has been picky lately, the job pays more. But if the driver has been desperate enough to grab every ride the app offers, the pay goes down, and down, and down.

The law professor Veena Dubal calls this ‘algorithmic wage discrimination.' It’s a prime example of twiddling.

Every youtuber knows what it’s like to be twiddled. You work for weeks or months, spend thousands of dollars to make a video, then the algorithm decides that no one – not your own subscribers, not searchers who type in the exact name of your video – will see it.

Why? Who knows? The algorithm’s rules are not public.

Because content moderation is the last redoubt of security through obscurit: they can’t tell you what the como algorithm is downranking because then you’d cheat.

Youtube is the kind of shitty boss who docks every paycheck for all the rules you’ve broken, but won’t tell you what those rules were, lest you figure out how to break those rules next time without your boss catching you.

Twiddling can also work in some users’ favor, of course. Sometimes platforms twiddle to make things better for end users or business customers.

For example, Emily Baker-White from Forbes revealed the existence of a back-end feature that Tiktok’s management can access they call the “heating tool.”

When a manager applies the heating toll to a performer’s account, that performer’s videos are thrust into the feeds of millions of users, without regard to whether the recommendation algorithm predicts they will enjoy that video.

Why would they do this? Well, here’s an analogy from my boyhood I used to go to this traveling fair that would come to Toronto at the end of every summer, the Canadian National Exhibition. If you’ve been to a fair like the Ex, you know that you can always spot some guy lugging around a comedically huge teddy bear.

Nominally, you win that teddy bear by throwing five balls in a peach-basket, but to a first approximation, no one has ever gotten five balls to stay in that peach-basket.

That guy “won” the teddy bear when a carny on the midway singled him out and said, "fella, I like your face. Tell you what I’m gonna do: You get just one ball in the basket and I’ll give you this keychain, and if you amass two keychains, I’ll let you trade them in for one of these galactic-scale teddy-bears."

That’s how the guy got his teddy bear, which he now has to drag up and down the midway for the rest of the day.

Why the hell did that carny give away the teddy bear? Because it turns the guy into a walking billboard for the midway games. If that dopey-looking Judas Goat can get five balls into a peach basket, then so can you.

Except you can’t.

Tiktok’s heating tool is a way to give away tactical giant teddy bears. When someone in the TikTok brain trust decides they need more sports bros on the platform, they pick one bro out at random and make him king for the day, heating the shit out of his account.

That guy gets a bazillion views and he starts running around on all the sports bro forums trumpeting his success: *I am the Louis Pasteur of sports bro influencers!"

The other sports bros pile in and start retooling to make content that conforms to the idiosyncratic Tiktok format. When they fail to get giant teddy bears of their own, they assume that it’s because they’re doing Tiktok wrong, because they don’t know about the heating tool.

But then comes the day when the TikTok Star Chamber decides they need to lure in more astrologers, so they take the heat off that one lucky sports bro, and start heating up some lucky astrologer.

Giant teddy bears are all over the place: those Uber drivers who were boasting to the NYT ten years ago about earning $50/hour? The Substackers who were rolling in dough? Joe Rogan and his hundred million dollar Spotify payout? Those people are all the proud owners of giant teddy bears, and they’re a steal.

Because every dollar they get from the platform turns into five dollars worth of free labor from suckers who think they just internetting wrong.

Giant teddy bears are just one way of twiddling. Platforms can play games with every part of their business logic, in highly automated ways, that allows them to quickly and efficiently siphon value from end users to business customers and back again, hiding the pea in a shell game conducted at machine speeds, until they’ve got everyone so turned around that they take all the value for themselves.

That’s the how: How the platforms do the trick where they are good to users, then lock users in, then maltreat users to be good to business customers, then lock in those business customers, then take all the value for themselves.

So now we know what is happening, and how it is happening, all that’s left is why it’s happening.

Now, on the one hand, the why is pretty obvious. The less value that end-users and business customers capture, the more value there is left to divide up among the shareholders and the executives.

That’s why, but it doesn’t tell you why now. Companies could have done this shit at any time in the past 20 years, but they didn’t. Or at least, the successful ones didn’t. The ones that turned themselves into piles of shit got treated like piles of shit. We avoided them and they died.

Remember Myspace? Yahoo Search? Livejournal? Sure, they’re still serving some kind of AI slop or programmatic ad junk if you hit those domains, but they’re gone.

And there’s the clue: It used to be that if you enshittified your product, bad things happened to your company. Now, there are no consequences for enshittification, so everyone’s doing it.

Let’s break that down: What stops a company from enshittifying?

There are four forces that discipline tech companies. The first one is, obviously, competition.

If your customers find it easy to leave, then you have to worry about them leaving

Many factors can contribute to how hard or easy it is to depart a platform, like the network effects that Facebook has going for it. But the most important factor is whether there is anywhere to go.

Back in 2012, Facebook bought Insta for a billion dollars. That may seem like chump-change in these days of eleven-digit Big Tech acquisitions, but that was a big sum in those innocent days, and it was an especially big sum to pay for Insta. The company only had 13 employees, and a mere 25 million registered users.

But what mattered to Zuckerberg wasn’t how many users Insta had, it was where those users came from.

[Does anyone know where those Insta users came from?]

That’s right, they left Facebook and joined Insta. They were sick of FB, even though they liked the people there, they hated creepy Zuck, they hated the platform, so they left and they didn’t come back.

So Zuck spent a cool billion to recapture them, A fact he put in writing in a midnight email to CFO David Ebersman, explaining that he was paying over the odds for Insta because his users hated him, and loved Insta. So even if they quit Facebook (the platform), they would still be captured Facebook (the company).

Now, on paper, Zuck’s Instagram acquisition is illegal, but normally, that would be hard to stop, because you’d have to prove that he bought Insta with the intention of curtailing competition.

But in this case, Zuck tripped over his own dick: he put it in writing.

But Obama’s DoJ and FTC just let that one slide, following the pro-monopoly policies of Reagan, Bush I, Clinton and Bush II, and setting an example that Trump would follow, greenlighting gigamergers like the catastrophic, incestuous Warner-Discovery marriage.

Indeed, for 40 years, starting with Carter, and accelerating through Reagan, the US has encouraged monopoly formation, as an official policy, on the grounds that monopolies are “efficient.”

If everyone is using Google Search, that’s something we should celebrate. It means they’ve got the very best search and wouldn’t it be perverse to spend public funds to punish them for making the best product?

But as we all know, Google didn’t maintain search dominance by being best. They did it by paying bribes. More than 20 billion per year to Apple alone to be the default Ios search, plus billions more to Samsung, Mozilla, and anyone else making a product or service with a search-box on it, ensuring that you never stumble on a search engine that’s better than theirs.

Which, in turn, ensured that no one smart invested big in rival search engines, even if they were visibly, obviously superior. Why bother making something better if Google’s buying up all the market oxygen before it can kindle your product to life?

Facebook, Google, Microsoft, Amazon – they’re not “making things” companies, they’re “buying things” companies, taking advantage of official tolerance for anticompetitive acquisitions, predatory pricing, market distorting exclusivity deals and other acts specifically prohibited by existing antitrust law.

Their goal is to become too big to fail, because that makes them too big to jail, and that means they can be too big to care.

Which is why Google Search is a pile of shit and everything on Amazon is dropshipped garbage that instantly disintegrates in a cloud of offgassed volatile organic compounds when you open the box.

Once companies no longer fear losing your business to a competitor, it’s much easier for them to treat you badly, because what’re you gonna do?

Remember Lily Tomlin as Ernestine the AT&T operator in those old SNL sketches? “We don’t care. We don’t have to. We’re the phone company.”

Competition is the first force that serves to discipline companies and the enshittificatory impulses of their leadership, and we just stopped enforcing competition law.

It takes a special kind of smooth-brained asshole – that is, an establishment economist – to insist that the collapse of every industry from eyeglasses to vitamin C into a cartel of five or fewer companies has nothing to do with policies that officially encouraged monopolization.

It’s like we used to put down rat poison and we didn’t have a rat problem. Then these dickheads convinced us that rats were good for us and we stopped putting down rat poison, and now rats are gnawing our faces off and they’re all running around saying, "Who’s to say where all these rats came from? Maybe it was that we stopped putting down poison, but maybe it’s just the Time of the Rats. The Great Forces of History bearing down on this moment to multiply rats beyond all measure!"

Antitrust didn’t slip down that staircase and fall spine-first on that stiletto: they stabbed it in the back and then they pushed it.

And when they killed antitrust, they also killed regulation, the second force that disciplines companies. Regulation is possible, but only when the regulator is more powerful than the regulated entities. When a company is bigger than the government, it gets damned hard to credibly threaten to punish that company, no matter what its sins.

That’s what protected IBM for all those years when it had its boot on the throat of the American tech sector. Do you know, the DOJ fought to break up IBM in the courts from 1970-1982, and that every year, for 12 consecutive years, IBM spent more on lawyers to fight the USG than the DOJ Antitrust Division spent on all the lawyers fighting every antitrust case in the entire USA?

IBM outspent Uncle Sam for 12 years. People called it “Antitrust’s Vietnam.” All that money paid off, because by 1982, the president was Ronald Reagan, a man whose official policy was that monopolies were “efficient." So he dropped the case, and Big Blue wriggled off the hook.

It’s hard to regulate a monopolist, and it’s hard to regulate a cartel. When a sector is composed of hundreds of competing companies, they compete. They genuinely fight with one another, trying to poach each others’ customers and workers. They are at each others’ throats.

It’s hard enough for a couple hundred executives to agree on anything. But when they’re legitimately competing with one another, really obsessing about how to eat each others’ lunches, they can’t agree on anything.

The instant one of them goes to their regulator with some bullshit story, about how it’s impossible to have a decent search engine without fine-grained commercial surveillance; or how it’s impossible to have a secure and easy to use mobile device without a total veto over which software can run on it; or how it’s impossible to administer an ISP’s network unless you can slow down connections to servers whose owners aren’t paying bribes for “premium carriage"; there’s some *other company saying, “That’s bullshit”

“We’ve managed it! Here’s our server logs, our quarterly financials and our customer testimonials to prove it.”

100 companies are a rabble, they're a mob. They can’t agree on a lobbying position. They’re too busy eating each others’ lunch to agree on how to cater a meeting to discuss it.

But let those hundred companies merge to monopoly, absorb one another in an incestuous orgy, turn into five giant companies, so inbred they’ve got a corporate Habsburg jaw, and they become a cartel.

It’s easy for a cartel to agree on what bullshit they’re all going to feed their regulator, and to mobilize some of the excess billions they’ve reaped through consolidation, which freed them from “wasteful competition," sp they can capture their regulators completely.

You know, Congress used to pass federal consumer privacy laws? Not anymore.

The last time Congress managed to pass a federal consumer privacy law was in 1988: The Video Privacy Protection Act. That’s a law that bans video-store clerks from telling newspapers what VHS cassettes you take home. In other words, it regulates three things that have effectively ceased to exist.

The threat of having your video rental history out there in the public eye was not the last or most urgent threat the American public faced, and yet, Congress is deadlocked on passing a privacy law.

Tech companies’ regulatory capture involves a risible and transparent gambit, that is so stupid, it’s an insult to all the good hardworking risible transparent ruses out there.

Namely, they claim that when they violate your consumer, privacy or labor rights, It’s not a crime, because they do it with an app.

Algorithmic wage discrimination isn’t illegal wage theft: we do it with an app.

Spying on you from asshole to appetite isn’t a privacy violation: we do it with an app.

And Amazon’s scam search tool that tricks you into paying 29% more than the best match for your query? Not a ripoff. We do it with an app.

Once we killed competition – stopped putting down rat poison – we got cartels – the rats ate our faces. And the cartels captured their regulators – the rats bought out the poison factory and shut it down.

So companies aren’t constrained by competition or regulation.

But you know what? This is tech, and tech is different.IIt’s different because it’s flexible. Because our computers are Turing-complete universal von Neumann machines. That means that any enshittificatory alteration to a program can be disenshittified with another program.

Every time HP jacks up the price of ink , they invite a competitor to market a refill kit or a compatible cartridge.

When Tesla installs code that says you have to pay an extra monthly fee to use your whole battery, they invite a modder to start selling a kit to jailbreak that battery and charge it all the way up.

Lemme take you through a little example of how that works: Imagine this is a product design meeting for our company’s website, and the guy leading the meeting says “Dudes, you know how our KPI is topline ad-revenue? Well, I’ve calculated that if we make the ads just 20% more invasive and obnoxious, we’ll boost ad rev by 2%”

This is a good pitch. Hit that KPI and everyone gets a fat bonus. We can all take our families on a luxury ski vacation in Switzerland.

But here’s the thing: someone’s gonna stick their arm up – someone who doesn’t give a shit about user well-being, and that person is gonna say, “I love how you think, Elon. But has it occurred to you that if we make the ads 20% more obnoxious, then 40% of our users will go to a search engine and type 'How do I block ads?'"

I mean, what a nightmare! Because once a user does that, the revenue from that user doesn’t rise to 102%. It doesn’t stay at 100% It falls to zero, forever.

[Any guesses why?]

Because no user ever went back to the search engine and typed, 'How do I start seeing ads again?'

Once the user jailbreaks their phone or discovers third party ink, or develops a relationship with an independent Tesla mechanic who’ll unlock all the DLC in their car, that user is gone, forever.

Interoperability – that latent property bequeathed to us courtesy of Herrs Turing and Von Neumann and their infinitely flexible, universal machines – that is a serious check on enshittification.

The fact that Congress hasn’t passed a privacy law since 1988 Is countered, at least in part, by the fact that the majority of web users are now running ad-blockers, which are also tracker-blockers.

But no one’s ever installed a tracker-blocker for an app. Because reverse engineering an app puts in you jeopardy of criminal and civil prosecution under Section 1201 of the Digital Millennium Copyright Act, with penalties of a 5-year prison sentence and a $500k fine for a first offense.

And violating its terms of service puts you in jeopardy under the Computer Fraud and Abuse Act of 1986, which is the law that Ronald Reagan signed in a panic after watching Wargames (seriously!).

Helping other users violate the terms of service can get you hit with a lawsuit for tortious interference with contract. And then there’s trademark, copyright and patent.

All that nonsense we call “IP,” but which Jay Freeman of Cydia calls “Felony Contempt of Business Model."

So if we’re still at that product planning meeting and now it’s time to talk about our app, the guy leading the meeting says, “OK, so we’ll make the ads in the app 20% more obnoxious to pull a 2% increase in topline ad rev?”

And that person who objected to making the website 20% worse? Their hand goes back up. Only this time they say “Why don’t we make the ads 100% more invasive and get a 10% increase in ad rev?"

Because it doesn't matter if a user goes to a search engine and types, “How do I block ads in an app." The answer is: you can't. So YOLO, enshittify away.

“IP” is just a euphemism for “any law that lets me reach outside my company’s walls to exert coercive control over my critics, competitors and customers,” and “app” is just a euphemism for “A web page skinned with the right IP so that protecting your privacy while you use it is a felony.”

Interop used to keep companies from enshittifying. If a company made its client suck, someone would roll out an alternative client, if they ripped a feature out and wanted to sell it back to you as a monthly subscription, someone would make a compatible plugin that restored it for a one-time fee, or for free.

To help people flee Myspace, FB gave them bots that you’d load with your login credentials. It would scrape your waiting Myspace messages and put ‘em in your FB inbox, and login to Myspace and paste your replies into your Myspace outbox. So you didn’t have to choose between the people you loved on Myspace, and Facebook, which launched with a promise never to spy on you. Remember that?!

Thanks to the metastasis of IP, all that is off the table today. Apple owes its very existence to iWork Suite, whose Pages, Numbers and Keynote are file-compatible with Microsoft’s Word, Excel and Powerpoint. But make an IOS runtime that’ll play back the files you bought from Apple’s stores on other platforms, and they’ll nuke you til you glow.

FB wouldn’t have had a hope of breaking Myspace’s grip on social media without that scrape, but scrape FB today in support of an alternative client and their lawyers will bomb you til the rubble bounces.

Google scraped every website in the world to create its search index. Try and scrape Google and they’ll have your head on a pike.

When they did it, it was progress. When you do it to them, that’s piracy. Every pirate wants to be an admiral.

Because this handful of companies has so thoroughly captured their regulators, they can wield the power of the state against you when you try to break their grip on power, even as their own flagrant violations of our rights go unpunished. Because they do them with an app.

Tech lost its fear of competitin it neutralized the threat from regulators, and then put them in harness to attack new startups that might do unto them as they did unto the companies that came before them.

But even so, there was a force that kept our bosses in check That force was us. Tech workers.

Tech workers have historically been in short supply, which gave us power, and our bosses knew it.

To get us to work crazy hours, they came up with a trick. They appealed to our love of technology, and told us that we were heroes of a digital revolution, who would “organize the world’s information and make it useful,” who would “bring the world closer together.”

They brought in expert set-dressers to turn our workplaces into whimsical campuses with free laundry, gourmet cafeterias, massages, and kombucha, and a surgeon on hand to freeze our eggs so that we could work through our fertile years.

They convinced us that we were being pampered, rather than being worked like government mules.

This trick has a name. Fobazi Ettarh, the librarian-theorist, calls it “vocational awe, and Elon Musk calls it being “extremely hardcore.”

This worked very well. Boy did we put in some long-ass hours!

But for our bosses, this trick failed badly. Because if you miss your mother’s funeral and to hit a deadline, and then your boss orders you to enshittify that product, you are gonna experience a profound moral injury, which you are absolutely gonna make your boss share.

Because what are they gonna do? Fire you? They can’t hire someone else to do your job, and you can get a job that’s even better at the shop across the street.

So workers held the line when competition, regulation and interop failed.

But eventually, supply caught up with demand. Tech laid off 260,000 of us last year, and another 100,000 in the first half of this year.

You can’t tell your bosses to go fuck themselves, because they’ll fire your ass and give your job to someone who’ll be only too happy to enshittify that product you built.

That’s why this is all happening right now. Our bosses aren’t different. They didn’t catch a mind-virus that turned them into greedy assholes who don’t care about our users’ wellbeing or the quality of our products.

As far as our bosses have always been concerned, the point of the business was to charge the most, and deliver the least, while sharing as little as possible with suppliers, workers, users and customers. They’re not running charities.

Since day one, our bosses have shown up for work and yanked as hard as they can on the big ENSHITTIFICATION lever behind their desks, only that lever didn’t move much. It was all gummed up by competition, regulation, interop and workers.

As those sources of friction melted away, the enshittification lever started moving very freely.

Which sucks, I know. But think about this for a sec: our bosses, despite being wildly imperfect vessels capable of rationalizing endless greed and cheating, nevertheless oversaw a series of actually great products and services.

Not because they used to be better people, but because they used to be subjected to discipline.

So it follows that if we want to end the enshittocene, dismantle the enshitternet, and build a new, good internet that our bosses can’t wreck, we need to make sure that these constraints are durably installed on that internet, wound around its very roots and nerves. And we have to stand guard over it so that it can’t be dismantled again.

A new, good internet is one that has the positive aspects of the old, good internet: an ethic of technological self-determination, where users of technology (and hackers, tinkerers, startups and others serving as their proxies) can reconfigure and mod the technology they use, so that it does what they need it to do, and so that it can’t be used against them.

But the new, good internet will fix the defects of the old, good internet, the part that made it hard to use for anyone who wasn’t us. And hell yeah we can do that. Tech bosses swear that it’s impossible, that you can’t have a conversation friend without sharing it with Zuck; or search the web without letting Google scrape you down to the viscera; or have a phone that works reliably without giving Apple a veto over the software you install.

They claim that it’s a nonsense to even ponder this kind of thing. It’s like making water that’s not wet. But that’s bullshit. We can have nice things. We can build for the people we love, and give them a place that’s worth of their time and attention.

To do that, we have to install constraints.

The first constraint, remember, is competition. We’re living through a epochal shift in competition policy. After 40 years with antitrust enforcement in an induced coma, a wave of antitrust vigor has swept through governments all over the world. Regulators are stepping in to ban monopolistic practices, open up walled gardens, block anticompetitive mergers, and even unwind corrupt mergers that were undertaken on false pretenses.

Normally this is the place in the speech where I’d list out all the amazing things that have happened over the past four years. The enforcement actions that blocked companies from becoming too big to care, and that scared companies away from even trying.

Like Wiz, which just noped out of the largest acquisition offer in history, turning down Google’s $23b cashout, and deciding to, you know, just be a fucking business that makes money by producing a product that people want and selling it at a competitive price.

Normally, I’d be listing out FTC rulemakings that banned noncompetes nationwid. Or the new merger guidelines the FTC and DOJ cooked up, which – among other things – establish that the agencies should be considering whether a merger will negatively impact privacy.

I had a whole section of this stuff in my notes, a real victory lap, but I deleted it all this week.

[Can anyone guess why?]

That’s right! This week, Judge Amit Mehta, ruling for the DC Circuit of these United States of America, In the docket 20-3010 a case known as United States v. Google LLC, found that “Google is a monopolist, and it has acted as one to maintain its monopoly," and ordered Google and the DOJ to propose a schedule for a remedy, like breaking the company up.

So yeah, that was pretty fucking epic.

Now, this antitrust stuff is pretty esoteric, and I won’t gatekeep you or shame you if you wanna keep a little distance on this subject. Nearly everyone is an antitrust normie, and that's OK. But if you’re a normie, you’re probably only catching little bits and pieces of the narrative, and let me tell you, the monopolists know it and they are flooding the zone.

The Wall Street Journal has published over 100 editorials condemning FTC Chair Lina Khan, saying she’s an ineffectual do-nothing, wasting public funds chasing doomed, quixotic adventures against poor, innocent businesses accomplishing nothing

[Does anyone out there know who owns the Wall Street Journal?]

That’s right, it’s Rupert Murdoch. Do you really think Rupert Murdoch pays his editorial board to write one hundred editorials about someone who’s not getting anything done?

The reality is that in the USA, in the UK, in the EU, in Australia, in Canada, in Japan, in South Korea, even in China, we are seeing more antitrust action over the past four years than over the preceding forty years.

Remember, competition law is actually pretty robust. The problem isn’t the law, It’s the enforcement priorities. Reagan put antitrust in mothballs 40 years ago, but that elegant weapon from a more civilized age is now back in the hands of people who know how to use it, and they’re swinging for the fences.

Next up: regulation.

As the seemingly inescapable power of the tech giants is revealed for the sham it always was, governments and regulators are finally gonna kill the “one weird trick” of violating the law, and saying “It doesn’t count, we did it with an app.”

Like in the EU, they’re rolling out the Digital Markets Act this year. That’s a law requiring dominant platforms to stand up APIs so that third parties can offer interoperable services.

So a co-op, a nonprofit, a hobbyist, a startup, or a local government agency wil eventuallyl be able to offer, say, a social media server that can interconnect with one of the dominant social media silos, and users who switch to that new platform will be able to continue to exchange messages with the users they follow and groups they belong to, so the switching costs will fall to damned near zero.

That’s a very cool rule, but what’s even cooler is how it’s gonna be enforced. Previous EU tech rules were “regulations” as in the GDPR – the General Data Privacy Regulation. EU regs need to be “transposed” into laws in each of the 27 EU member states, so they become national laws that get enforced by national courts.

For Big Tech, that means all previous tech regulations are enforced in Ireland, because Ireland is a tax haven, and all the tech companies fly Irish flags of convenience.

Here’s the thing: every tax haven is also a crime haven. After all, if Google can pretend it’s Irish this week, it can pretend to be Cypriot, or Maltese, or Luxembougeious next week. So Ireland has to keep these footloose criminal enterprises happy, or they’ll up sticks and go somewhere else.

This is why the GDPR is such a goddamned joke in practice. Big tech wipes its ass with the GDPR, and the only way to punish them starts with Ireland’s privacy commissioner, who barely bothers to get out of bed. This is an agency that spends most of its time watching cartoons on TV in its pajamas and eating breakfast cereal. So all of the big GDPR cases go to Ireland and they die there.

This is hardly a secret. The European Commission knows it’s going on. So with the DMA, the Commission has changed things up: The DMA is an “Act,” not a “Regulation.” Meaning it gets enforced in the EU’s federal courts, bypassing the national courts in crime-havens like Ireland.

In other words, the “we violate privacy law, but we do it with an app” gambit that worked on Ireland’s toothless privacy watchdog is now a dead letter, because EU federal judges have no reason to swallow that obvious bullshit.

Here in the US, the dam is breaking on federal consumer privacy law – at last!

Remember, our last privacy law was passed in 1988 to protect the sanctity of VHS rental history. 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?

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 pretty big coalition for that kind of privacy law! Which is why we have seen a procession of imperfect (but steadily improving) privacy laws working their way through Congress.

If you sign up for EFF’s mailing list at eff.org we’ll send you an email when these come up, so you can call your Congressjerk or Senator and talk to them about it. Or better yet, make an appointment to drop by their offices when they’re in their districts, and explain to them that you’re not just a registered voter from their district, you’re the kind of elite tech person who goes to Defcon, and then explain the bill to them. That stuff makes a difference.

What about self-help? How are we doing on making interoperability legal again, so hackers can just fix shit without waiting for Congress or a federal agency to act?

All the action here these day is in the state Right to Repair fight. We’re getting state R2R bills, like the one that passed this year in Oregon that bans parts pairing, where DRM is used to keep a device from using a new part until it gets an authorized technician’s unlock code.

These bills are pushed by a fantastic group of organizations called the Repair Coalition, at Repair.org, and they’ll email you when one of these laws is going through your statehouse, so you can meet with your state reps and explain to the JV squad the same thing you told your federal reps.

Repair.org’s prime mover is Ifixit, who are genuine heroes of the repair revolution, and Ifixit’s founder, Kyle Wiens, is here at the con. When you see him, you can shake his hand and tell him thanks, and that’ll be even better if you tell him that you’ve signed up to get alerts at repair.org!

Now, on to the final way that we reverse enhittification and build that new, good internet: you, the tech labor force.

For years, your bosses tricked you into thinking you were founders in waiting, temporarily embarrassed entrepreneurs who were only momentarily drawing a salary.

You certainly weren’t workers. Your power came from your intrinsic virtue, not like those lazy slobs in unions who have to get their power through that kumbaya solidarity nonsense.

It was a trick. You were scammed. The power you had came from scarcity, and so when the scarcity ended, when the industry started ringing up six-figure annual layoffs, your power went away with it.

The only durable source of power for tech workers is as workers, in a union.

Think about Amazon. Warehouse workers have to piss in bottles and have the highest rate of on-the-job maimings of any competing business. Whereas Amazon coders get to show up for work with facial piercings, green mohawks, and black t-shirts that say things their bosses don’t understand. They can piss whenever they want!

That’s not because Jeff Bezos or Andy Jassy loves you guys. It’s because they’re scared you’ll quit and they don’t know how to replace you.

Time for the second obligatory William Gibson quote: “The future is here, it’s just not evenly distributed.” You know who’s living in the future?. Those Amazon blue-collar workers. They are the bleeding edge.

Drivers whose eyeballs are monitored by AI cameras that do digital phrenology on their faces to figure out whether to dock their pay, warehouse workers whose bodies are ruined in just months.

As tech bosses beef up that reserve army of unemployed, skilled tech workers, then those tech workers – you all – will arrive at the same future as them.

Look, I know that you’ve spent your careers explaining in words so small your boss could understand them that you refuse to enshittify the company’s products, and I thank you for your service.

But if you want to go on fighting for the user, you need power that’s more durable than scarcity. You need a union. Wanna learn how? Check out the Tech Workers Coalition and Tech Solidarity, and get organized.

Enshittification didn’t arise because our bosses changed. They were always that guy.

They were always yankin’ on that enshittification lever in the C-suite.

What changed was the environment, everything that kept that switch from moving.

And that’s good news, in a bankshot way, because it means we can make good services out of imperfect people. As a wildly imperfect person myself, I find this heartening.

The new good internet is in our grasp: an internet that has the technological self-determination of the old, good internet, and the greased-skids simplicity of Web 2.0 that let all our normie friends get in on the fun.

Tech bosses want you to think that good UX and enshittification can’t ever be separated. That’s such a self-serving proposition you can spot it from orbit. We know it, 'cause we built the old good internet, and we’ve been fighting a rear-guard action to preserve it for the past two decades.

It’s time to stop playing defense. It's time to go on the offensive. To restore competition, regulation, interop and tech worker power so that we can create the new, good internet we’ll need to fight fascism, the climate emergency, and genocide.

To build a digital nervous system for a 21st century in which our children can thrive and prosper.

Community voting for SXSW is live! If you wanna hear RIDA QADRI and me talk about how GIG WORKERS can DISENSHITTIFY their jobs with INTEROPERABILITY, VOTE FOR THIS ONE!

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/2024/08/17/hack-the-planet/#how-about-a-nice-game-of-chess

Image: https://twitter.com/igama/status/1822347578094043435/ (cropped)

@fak3r@mastodon.social (cropped)

https://mamot.fr/@fak3r@mastodon.social/112963252835869648

CC BY 4.0 https://creativecommons.org/licenses/by/4.0/deed.pt

[princessbrunette]

rafe had been trying to pick a fight with bunny!reader all day due to his bad mood. however, due to her being a little ray of pink glittery sunshine — it just wasn’t happening.

first, the problem was the pink glittery dildo in your dresser that he found whilst snooping due to boredom, waiting for you to be done in the shower. he argues with himself whilst you sit at your vanity, giggling and happily doing your makeup.

“you tellin’ me you need that shit? ‘cus… ‘cus if that’s the case, don’t come begging for dick every thirty minutes when clearly you could be fixing your own problems.” he rants, huffing as you carefully brush mascara through your eyelashes.

“its not the same! pluuuus, i haven’t used that thing in ages. dont even know where you found it, daddy.” you’re clearly amused and it’s making things worse, locking eyes with your boyfriend through the mirror as he stands with his hands on his hips.

“think i’m stupid, right? if you weren’t still using this thing you would have thrown it in the trash.”

you spin on your stool, giving him a convincing pout. “i only use it when you go away on business trips with your dad, ‘cos i just miss you so much.”

he blinks, clearly not out of juice.

“you need to learn a little patience and self discipline, alright — you’ll appreciate this dick more without the fuckin’ silicone version.” he drawls and you giggle again at his word choice before bringing your manicured fingers to your lips to stop yourself.

“m’attached to it rafey. i like it. its pink and glittery and i’m not throwing it away.” you stand your ground, and his jaw ticks, looking around once more at the toy laying on your bed.

“cant do all the shit i do n’you know it… right? you call me when that toy fuckin’ chokes you out how you like it or spits in your damn asshole and shoves its thumb in there. yeah?” he mouths off before leaving the room, caring less and less about the argument as time goes on. now you really couldn’t fight him — he was playing dirty, and that made you horny.

his fighting spirit is given a new lease of life downstairs in the kitchen, when you accidentally blurt out the wrong name whilst speaking to him.

you’re giggling uncontrollably once more, grabbing at his shirt in the kitchen attempting to pull you closer as he holds his hands up, pretending to be totally disgusted.

“nah, who the fuck is that — huh? nate?”

“gosh, rafey — he’s from gossip girl! i was just thinkin’ about the show and your names sound similar! was an accident!” the fact you don’t sound sorry in the slightest is grinding his gears, not hugging you back when you manage to wrap your arms around him. “daddy hug me back.” you pout, and he peels you back with his hands on your shoulders.

“on thin fuckin’ ice today… alright?” he raises his eyebrows. you smile and nod, earrings jangling like there wasn’t a thought in your head.

it’s on the way to the country club that he’s really had enough, insisting on playing your music in the car, constantly winding down the volume to ask questions that didn’t need to be asked. your delicate hand reaches out for the volume toggle once more and he smacks it away.

“if you’re going to ask me if i’d still love you as a worm, or whatever bullshit you’ve conjured up — i suggest staying quiet, yeah? already told you that you’re pushing it today.”

he doesn’t have to look at you to know your smile is spreading.

“that wasn’t my question, but would you?”

the car pulls over to the side of the road with a swiftness, and he turns his body in his seat. you look unbothered as ever.

“why’d we stop?”

“you’re uh, you’re goin’ in the trunk. okay?” he rasps slowly, nodding his head like it would hypnotise you into agreeing. somehow, it worked — because your grin remains.

“okay!”

he marches over to your side and yanks you out before walking you round the back and opening the trunk. “i’m serious. get in.”

you do with no complaints — and by the time he is back in the drivers seat, he believes he’s taken it too far. however there’s no banging around, no crying, no screaming for him to let you out — so he drives away. the silence is rewarding, but he doesn’t feel great about it.

when he pulls up to the country club, he’s quick to walk around the backside of his truck and open up the trunk, relieved to see you happy as a clam — and lifts you out from under your arms. “that was fun! it was like you were a kidnapper, but also my boyfriend.” your eyes have a twinkle to them as he marches you towards his group of friends, gawking with questioning gazes.

“yeah you like that shit? ‘that turn you on?” he bites back sarcastically, but you nod anyway.

[earlysunshines]

just pretend(?)

danielle marsh x fem!reader ; angst, fluff

synopsis: your coworker can’t seem to fall out of love with you so you convince your best friend to fake date you. sometimes the “fake” seems a little too real.

warnings: PINING!!! ; danielle is touchy and wonderful and reader is a mess ; kinda all over the place?? I'm also a bit iffy ab the pacing on this one ; bit of angst near the end ; alcohol ; anything else not mentioned ; not proofread… none of my fics are…

a/n: this is based off my life rn bc my friend and i r literally fake dating so my coworker can stop being in love w me and i just HAD to turn this into a fic like what (but most of this is exaggerated ofc esp the whole coworker thing I made her a little over the top on purpose for the plotLOL)

"absolutely not." hanni looks disgusted, almost appalled with that stupid expression on her face. “you’re crazy.”

"please, i'll pay you." you beg, clasping your hands together and giving her your best puppy eyes.

"you're going to scare the hoes away... no, no, and no.”

"what ‘hoes’ hanni? when is the last time you've talked to a girl." you groan and pinch the bridge of your nose.

she sticks her tongue out at you, then responds, “you wouldn’t know…”

“dumbass the only reason i’m begging is because women do want me. please, it’s not going to be serious or anything—“

“i don’t care, the answer is no. ask someone else!”

you’re currently perched on the edge of your best friend's bed, practically begging for help. you seem to have a knack for attracting the strangest types of people, and this time, it’s your coworker who’s got severe attachment issues and an unhealthy level of codependency. all you wanted was a paycheck and simplicity, but now you find yourself in a situation you never asked for.

your best friend groans again, “you and your flirting… it gets you into this shit time and time again and the way you act… you know what you’re doing.”

“what?”

“shut up, you act gay and you know people fall for that. i’m not gonna help you because you want to be an asshole, if you could just be normal for once—“

“fuck you.” you flop onto her bed, shutting your eyes and rubbing your face. “i’m just nice and it’s fun to flirt! it’s nothing. i flirt with my friends and you all the time, they’re fine with it.”

“that’s because they’re straight, y/n. gay people are very vulnerable – except me.”

“you would know.” you retort, earning a glare from hanni. “who the hell do i ask then?”

“haerin?���

“she wouldn’t.”

“yunjin?”

“we don’t match, plus, she dates around.”

“sakura?”

“edating someone right now, some girl in france?”

“the hell?”

“i know.” you sigh louder and hanni just looks at you with slight, playful disgust. “what do i do.” you flop your hands onto the mattress and stare up. “dude, she’s too obsessed, i’m flattered because i mean, maybe i’m attractive and whatnot but this is just–”

“--delusion at its peak.” hanni clicks her tongue, now smiling at you; an idea pops up in your best friend's big head. you turn to face her, raising a brow. “how about dani? she’s literally perfect.”

danielle marsh is perfect, that’s the problem.

she’s a biology major whose ipad pro notes are so neat and pleasing to the eye that they genuinely keep you awake at night – most of it being because you’re leeching off her, but they’re so neat it really has you thinking how she does it all. 

to make things even more bewildering (and impressive), she’s one of two people you know – you’re unsure whether your cousin hyein counts, high school is nothing compared to what you endure – who manages to get at least eight hours of sleep daily. in contrast, everyone else in your circle, including yourself, is barely hanging on by a thread. 

yet, danielle seems to have cracked the code. she even finds time to volunteer at the library where she works, making you wonder if she’s some sort of extraordinary being. her ability to balance everything so effortlessly leaves you in awe, often questioning if she’s even real considering how remarkable she is.

the worst part is that she’s your best friend, right after hanni, and the person you’ve been crushing on since your first semester of university. 

it’s impossible not to have a crush on her—she’s gorgeous, sweet, and embodies everything you could ever want and more. she’s captivating, and every time you see her she flashes that stupid, adorable smile that makes your heart do a flip regardless of how many times you’ve convinced yourself that she’s unattainable and that there’s no way and that you don’t even like her and–

“i couldn’t.” you shut hanni down, quick. “she’s… you know.”

hanni furrows both brows, turning her head. “she’s what?”

“you know.” you make some strange gesture with your hands that only confuse hanni further. 

“i don’t, just fake date her.”

“she wouldn’t agree.”

“sure she would, let me call her!”

you shoot up and look at hanni with an expression that screams ‘are you out of your mind?’ as she finds danielle’s contact on her phone. 

before you can stop her, you hear a ringing sound and feel your body give up. hanni grins at you when danielle picks up five seconds later, both of you hearing a friendly, “hi!” as you back away from her.

“hey mo dani!” hanni greets, giving you a shit eating smirk. “miss l/n has a question for you.”

“she’s with you?” danielle’s voice is sweet like honey even from the phone. “hi!”

“hey!” you greet a little awkwardly, glaring at hanni. 

“y/n was wondering if you could date her.” 

eyes widening, you leap and grab the phone from hanni immediately, sputtering out jumbles of words nervously, “n-no! i mean, yeah… but not for real.” 

“oh,” you hear danielle respond lowly from the end of the phone. “wait, i’m confused.”

hanni watches you close your eyes tightly, clearly flustered and thrown off by her little antics. 

“y/n came over to ask me to date her, not actually, but just like, pretend.” hanni explains, “her coworker is still in love with her.”

“sarah?” you hear from the other end of the phone. “i thought you rejected her like, three months ago.”

“i did, but she’s still… ugh.” you flop onto the bed again and danielle hears hanni laughing in the background. “she’s still stuck on me i think, i don’t know, she’s been so…”

“if it’ll stop bothering you then i’ll help!”

“you will?” you respond, shocked. hanni mouths an i told you, then gets shoved. 

“yeah! i don’t want my best friend being so bothered, it must make you uncomfy too, right? working with someone who likes you?”

you start to wonder if danielle would be uncomfortable in a similar situation, maybe in one where she’s friends with someone who likes her, but she’s unaware of that. you shake your head, clearing your mind and staying present.

“kind of, it’s just… extra stress.”

“okay, then let’s date!” she beams, you can picture her eyes scrunching and smile growing. you want to die (affectionate) just thinking of it. “this should be fun!”

“thanks for helping out dani, thanks so much. i’ll let you be, okay? gotta go um… run errands.” 

“alright! just text me, bye, love you.” the call ends and you sigh again, feeling yourself sink deeper into hanni’s sheets.

hanni is very much your mortal enemy, she still doesn’t know why you’re so distraught because of danielle. whatever the reason may be, it makes her cackle next to you.

–

it’s nine in the morning, you didn’t have time to pregame the lecture on microbiology with at least three shots of espresso, and you’re yawning as you leave the room.

you hear your name being called out and turn to see no one other than the feeling of hot chocolate on a cold, snowy day turned into a person walking towards you – danielle.

“hey! hi.” she greets, smiling wide. her hair is clipped up and small strands of her hair stick out cutely. “hey baby.” 

you almost choke. “what?”

“did you forget we’re dating now?”

“oh.” dating, but is it even that if it’s not real? “um, hey babe?” it comes out uncertain and danielle laughs.

“wow, you suck at this – it’s okay, we’ll work on it.” she giggles, then links her arms with you. “let’s go get coffee, i need it in my system right now. oh my god, it’s our first date!”

laughing to hopefully fade away all signs of being flustered to oblivion, you tighten your arm that’s locked with hers. “right, yeah.”

you’re going on a ‘date’ with the prettiest girl on campus, she’s paying for your iced americano with oat milk splashed into it, and she’s smiling at you like you’re laughter in the rain. this can’t be good for you, it can’t be — it’s not. you wonder whether this will be worth it in the end because your coworker doesn’t even know about any of it.

(yet.)

–

before your next shift with your delusional coworker, you and danielle have already conjured up a storyline and backstory for your whole arrangement.

you two conversed for an hour after walking towards the park near her apartment and sitting down next to each other on the swings like kids. danielle was giggling and you were smiling at how charming she looked. unfortunately, you found yourself falling even harder for her just from making up the whole fake story.

danielle suggested keeping it simple, but cute: you two met at the library she worked at, you found her cute and exchanged numbers, went on a few dates, and have been girlfriends for nearly two months.

“but i literally told sarah that i wasn’t looking for anything.” you explain, sighing as you kick the mulch on the ground. that’s what you had said, but what you meant was that you’ve been looking for danielle the whole time. “she won’t believe it.”

“well,” danielle gives you a cheeky look and giggles. “i managed to charm you in a way that pushed that whole idea aside. that’s not too unbelievable, right?” she winks at you and you feel your heart stop momentarily.

you scoff playfully and snicker, “oh shut up.”

“it’s part of the story! are you saying i have no charm…”

she has too much charm. 

“dani, you’re such a dork.”

“a dork that caught your heart! i think this story is perfect.”

pushing aside the slight ache in your heart and the flush in your cheeks, the two of you formulate a first date story: you took her out bowling, where you lost terribly to her (danielle insisted this detail had to be included), and then you both had dessert together at your place. 

it’s not a terrible story, not at all. even hanni would be impressed, but you’re not going to tell her because she’d tease you both relentlessly, and you’re not sure your heart could handle that.

–

danielle walks you into work holding your hand, your coworker, sarah, watches the whole thing.

a pretty girl (pretty is an understatement in your opinion) smiles at you while walking you in, she’s telling you about the little kids she read to the other day and you can’t help but marvel at the excitement coursing through her.

she drops you off near the register right before the small ‘employees only’ sign, then holds both of your hands and looks at you like you’re a flower that’s just bloomed beautifully.

she pauses, observing you closely, then smiles wider. “okay, i’ll get going sweetheart.” the pet name makes you swallow subtly. “have fun at work!”

she takes her hands away from yours, making your skin feel a little colder. “bye, see you.”

danielle glances at your coworker, who’s looking at her with something mixed with confusion, anger, and a hint of disgust. she then looks back at you – a better sight in her opinion – smiling and waving once more before walking away.

you stay there, frozen for a few seconds, before walking behind the counter and setting your bag down.

as you grab your apron, you catch sarah in your peripheral and turn to greet her. “oh, hey.”

“who was that?” she asks immediately. “what’s up with the ‘sweetheart?’”

you grin as while tightening the lace of your apron, then respond, “my girlfriend.” and it feels wonderful rolling off your tongue.

“what? i thought you didn’t want anything?”

“you still in love with me or something?”

she feels her throat dry as she looks at you pat down your apron. “w-what?” she stutters, shaking her head. “no, why would i be…” her tone isn’t convincing, and neither is she when she adds, “it’s just… what’s with the change of heart?”

“she’s really charming,” the thought of danielle begging you to mention that makes you blush. “i like her a lot.”

sarah fights back a frown, instead, her lips twitch into a forced smile as she walks past you to tend to a customer.

–

danielle picks you up from work just to tighten the knot, and sarah also witnesses all of it.

both you and your coworker get off at closing, and after locking the doors, you run into danielle. 

she’s standing outside in a baby tee and jeans, a cap perched jauntily on her head. the moment she sees you, her face lights up into a pretty smile, and you instinctively return it. she rushes over, wrapping her arms around you in a warm hug. as she pulls back, she scans you with a playful yet affectionate gaze, her eyes lingering on you with a mixture of admiration and curiosity.

“sweetheart! i missed you.”

“i missed you too dani– baby…” you mutter the last part shyly, making danielle giggle. “you came? it’s late.”

“i wanted to pick you up, can your girlfriend not do that?”

it still sends a shiver down your spine – hearing danielle call you that. you rub the back of your neck and look away nervously, then respond, “of course not, i’m just surprised.”

sarah looks at the two of you, scoffing under her breath. danielle hears it, turning to look at her and grin, raising her brows along with it before meeting you again. she places a hand on your shoulder, then mumbles, “well, hanni called us over, i wanted to scoop you.”

“ohhh,” it makes sense now, she wouldn’t willingly pick you up just because of the whole ‘fake dating’ thing, there had to be a motive. “alright. i can drive? if you’d like, you know. you must be tired from work too.”

“aw, you’d do that?”

“i um,” you cough, avoiding her eyes again because she’s making you feel all flustered without doing much. “yeah, it’s nothing… baby…”

she grabs your hand, fingers intertwining before dragging you along to her small suv, then handing you her keys. 

your coworker groans now that you two are further, narrowing her eyes at danielle when she turns back not so subtly to make sure sarah is looking. any normal person would back off, getting the hint that the person they want is unavailable, but sarah sees it as a challenge, somehow.

there’s nothing she can’t achieve when she puts her mind to it, that’s her mindset.

you’re oblivious to how insane she is, too clouded with how touchy and giggly danielle is after the whole interaction when teh two of you get in the car.

–

danielle sits besides you on hanni’s couch, leaning against you a bit. “yeah, she gave me a glare, it was kind of funny.”

“pftt– i guess it’s working then?” hanni asks, walking over to hand you two juice from her fridge. danielle takes it happily and it makes you smile a little. 

“i hope so.” you sip on your peach juice. “but she’s like, clinically insane.”

“is she?” danielle questions, tilting her head as her hand finds its way to your bicep. you blush.

“dude, she was crazy.” hanni rubs her temple. “like, oh my god, she was going insane for a good while because y/n didn’t want her like that. i saw their messages and–”

“okay i’ll tell the story thank you.” you scoff. “she’s really competitive, and i guess new to romance? considering how she reacted i don’t know, she’s very…”

“sensitive?” danielle asks – you shake your head.

“i mean no, but kind of. she would get jealous over me really easily and was kind of codependent, like everything i do affects her or something. i’d just go on my day, but she’d always be so reliant on me and text me so often and i just… it’s so much.”

“ah, i see. how long has it been since you rejected her?”

“a few months. i thought she stopped liking me since it’s been so long, but lately there’s been tension and she’s looking at me how she used to…” hanni listens closely as she watches you rub your forehead, looking a little distraught. “i just, oh my god she has terrible attachment issues it’s concerning. the only thing i could think of was pretending to date someone.”

danielle nods in understanding.

“yeah, one time i went to see y/n at work and she looked so like… hostile. that’s not normal, we’re visibly friends.” hanni adds.

you know the exact afternoon that it happened, what hanni mentioned that is. 

she had pulled up to drop something off, and you teasingly flirted with her, hugging her as thanks. afterward, you rang up one of her orders and played with her fingers, a little habit you had developed to annoy her. despite the evident look of disgust and annoyance on hanni’s face, your coworker—who allegedly liked you a bit too much—looked like hanni had just slapped you in the face or spat at you.

long story short, hanni glanced over to see the coworker glaring at her menacingly. in response, hanni poked at you once more before hurrying out with a latte in her hand, confused and slightly terrified.

“yeah she’s… got a bitch face.”

“it’s not normal to glare at people that simply interact with your coworker…” danielle mumbles. “i’m sorry to hear that.”

you wave your hand, giggling lightly. “it’s nothing, really. i mean, i just don’t want her to be so obsessed and stuck on me, i think us pretending to date should tame the fire.”

pretending. 

the word makes both you and danielle tense up.

–

you clock in again, greeting sarah. 

she smiles brightly at you, waving and you have to make a little gesture to remind her there’s a customer in line. sarah turns away bashfully, then takes the man’s order with a hint of attitude. you’re not very fond of that.

he orders an americano, so you immediately get to work, weighing out grinds of espresso, tamping it down, and pulling two shots. as you do so, sarah pulls up next to you and nudges your shoulder.

“hey,”

“hi.” you respond, not looking up from the cup in your hand. “did you need something?”

“that t-shirt looks good on you, have you been working out?”

you feel uneasy the moment she says it, swallowing a lump in your throat. you pour the two shots over the hot water and force a response, “thanks, and um, no.” before calling out the order.

sarah continues to watch you closely as you throw away the used espresso, then says, “your girlfriend didn’t drop you?”

“she’s working.”

“right. i’d find a way to drop off my girlfriend anytime that i could.”

“good for you?” you look her in the eye again, clenching your jaw. 

“you don’t post her much on your socials either, are you guys really a thing?”

fuck. 

you scoff, “what kind of question is that? of course… i just… don’t post much. we’re still kind of new to this.”

“right, she’s not even your lockscreen.”

“i’m going to grab some beans from the back,” you interrupt, redirecting the conversation away from the topic of your alleged girlfriend. sarah narrows her eyes at you as you turn away from her, stepping away and disappearing towards the storage area.

once you’re alone, you sigh and pinch the bridge of your nose, feeling the weight of the strange interrogation settle on you. there was an unmistakable hostility in sarah’s tone, a sharp edge that cut through the air. hanni’s right, she always is. the mere thought of enduring six more hours with sarah makes you want to crawl into a hole. her jealousy is palpable, and it eats away at you, gnawing at your nerves.

you pull out your phone and quickly dial danielle, pacing back and forth as you wait for her to pick up.

“hello?” she responds less than ten seconds later. “what’s up?”

“she’s catching on, kind of. i think she’s jealous.” 

“sarah?”

“yes.” you groan, then lean your back against the wall. “i can’t work like this.”

“i’ll come over? do you need me to?”

“no, but can we meet after? i think we need to be more public, if that’s okay.”

you hear her confusion through the phone. “what? public?”

“like, soft launch or something. i just need to make it obvious that i’m quote on quote dating someone – you. and we need a lockscreen together.”

a giggle is heard on the other end of the line, “oh wow.” danielle mumbles teasingly, “this is pretty serious.”

“i hope i die.”

“aw, don’t say that babe. just come over to the library after, okay? good luck on your shift! i have to clock in soon too.”

“can we meet at my place?”

“anything is fine, that’s alright.”

“i literally owe you my first born, dani.”

“it’s nothing, this is quite entertaining.” she says, and you smile with the phone at your ear. “call me later, okay? send me updates.” 

“right, yeah.” you almost whisper, “thank you.”

“it’s nothing, sweetheart.” her laugh is infused into the sentence, making your chest burn.

–

“this is so dumb.” 

you are so dumb. this isn’t helping your case.

hanni and minji are fighting back laughter while you try to naturally rest your hand on danielles knuckles. you’re stiff and it looks anything but natural. 

the angle you take the picture at makes it look awkward, and the picture’s quality sucks too. 

“just relax.” danielle says, then holds your hand instead. “here, let me take the picture.”

you’re trying to keep your cool while minji and hanni watch and danielle, the prettiest girl you know, holds your hand and scoots closer to you in order to ‘soft launch’ your fraud of a relationship. her hand is nice in yours, her skin is soft, and she’s so close you can smell the vanilla fragrance she uses. 

danielle snaps a quick picture, then the rest of the bunch – including you – scoot over to look at the picture.

“well would you look at that! it’s perfect.” danielle beams, grinning at her work. “post that one.”

“holy shit.” minji says in awe. “no yeah, you could fool me with that.”

“anyone could fool you, dumbass.” you snicker, looking up at her and smirking.

“i hate you.”

“oh, i guess you don’t want free food from my work…?” 

minji groans, making you laugh. 

danielle’s hand is still in yours, you don’t fully register it until you realize you need both hands to post a picture on your instagram story. she seems a bit disappointed when you let go, though you barely notice – and even if you did, you might just chalk it up to your imagination.

it's fun, no doubt about it. yet, you can’t help but wonder what it would be like to take pictures of you and danielle that aren’t staged or orchestrated. you long for authenticity, capturing moments that are mundane and candid.

the thought lingers in your mind the whole time, even as you pose with your back to the camera, pretending to cook alongside danielle. it's all set up and artificial, every movement planned out, yet danielle starts giggling and leaning into you – a spontaneous gesture not part of your last-minute brainstorming. 

her laughter is genuine, her touch warm, and it makes you wonder if maybe, just maybe, not everything is as fake as it seems.

–

you wake up from your nap and groan as your ringtone renders you awake. blindly, you slap your hand in every direction on the bed until you feel it under your other pillow. someone’s calling you, that’s all you can make out since there’s a red and green circle. 

tiredly, you mumble, “hello?”

“hi! are you busy?” it’s danielle’s voice responding, shaking you awake. 

“oh, um, no.” you say as you sit up slowly, rubbing your eyes and running a hand through your hair. “are you okay? did something happen?”

“i’m fine! i was just wondering if you were free. you sound tired, were you sleeping?”

“i just took a power nap that’s all. what was it that you need?”

“oh, sorry to wake you.”

“it’s fine, seriously.” 

“well,” she starts, “i was just wondering if you wanted to go out together?”

“oh, me?”

you hear her giggle through the phone and smile softly. “i mean, i am calling y/n, aren’t i?”

“yeah, you are.”

“and i’m asking you, my girlfriend, to hangout. it’s like a date!”

“we’re not actually dating danielle, you don’t have to pretend when we’re calling and alone.” you say quietly, pursing your lips.

it’s not that you hate it, danielle being all lovely and playing the role of your girlfriend too well. the thing is, it feels like you’re getting led on, and the way she is just gives you false hope to something real.

danielle feels a little ache in her heart when you respond like that, but she pushes it away for the time being.

“i don’t mind it, it’s fun!” she beams. “anyway, there’s free ice cream downtown for couples, do you want to grab some?”

“is there? yeah, i’m down. do you want to take the metro?” 

“that’s perfect, there’s probably so much traffic.”

“alright, i can scoop you and take us to the station in fifteen minutes, okay?”

“perfect.” she closes the conversation, and the call ends.

you flop down on the bed again, just for a moment. your eyes are fixated on the ceiling above as you breathe in, thinking about everything. 

you and danielle aren’t dating, not for real. it’s just a show, a sham. she simply wants to hang out for free ice cream, nothing more. you know this. you set yourself up for this whole fake dating thing—well, kind of, considering hanni was the culprit behind this whole arrangement.

it’s already been over a month, and danielle doesn’t seem fazed in the slightest, treating the whole thing as no big deal. you must be insane; you can’t keep doing this knowing your feelings are growing and she most definitely doesn’t feel anything real. it’s just to benefit you, and she’s a great friend who’s willing to help you out. yet, each time you pretend, it gets harder to separate your act from reality.

despite the turmoil, you’re up and finding a change of clothes in order to make danielle happy. because even if she’s not your girlfriend, she’s your friend and you love her regardless.

(sometimes the love you have claws you from the inside.)

–

danielle clings to your arm the whole way down to the city. sometimes she clings a little tighter than usual, then goes silent, and it makes you breathe deeply.

it takes a few wrong turns and teasing to get to the icecream place, there’s already a long line with actual couples. you feel out of place in a way; there’s partners holding the other by the waist from behind, setting their heads on top of the others. a few are just holding hands or lingering close and you can just sense all the love and adoration in the air. 

you swallow shallowly, tensing your jaw because danielle is close to you, but not because you two are something more than friends.

“wow, so many lovebirds.” she says in awe, gazing around.

“uh huh.” you feel her hand slide down your forearm, then her fingers intertwine with yours as she looks up at you. “hm?”

“to seal the deal.” she shrugs, smiling. “plus, your hands are big… and warm.”

“you have small hands.”

“perfect fit for yours.” she giggles playfully, making you do the same. “what flavors did you want? it’s two scoops for free.”

“you can pick both, i don’t mind.”

“what? c’mon, you should pick one.”

“no, you wanted ice cream. i’m just here to make you happy.” you admit, tightening your grip on her hand. 

she starts to respond, but stops for a few seconds. you watch her look away bashfully, staring at the ground and grinning to herself. she shakes her head, then says, “you’re so lovely…”

“pfttt, i just want you to be happy, seriously.”

“you know,” she begins, looking at you again. “whoever manages to become your girlfriend would be real lucky.”

“oh.” your lips twitch into less of a smile and you pause for a moment. “maybe.”

“this fake dating thing is making me realize that you’re such girlfriend material.”

a small laugh stifles the tension and awkwardness in you, “thanks? you are too.”

“am i?”

“yeah.” you stare into her eyes, shes everything you could wish for in a person. “very.”

before danielle can respond, the line moves, and it’s time for the two of you to decide on two flavors. it takes a while to do so, with you declining the offer to chime in and pick a flavor you want, danielle was the one to invite you out anyway. but she looks at you with puppy eyes, pouts, then puts a hand on the side of your bicep and it makes you cave in.

the final choices are salted caramel and coffee.

danielle holds the cup in one hand, drags you away from the area littered with lovey dovey couples – some being too lovey, considering they can’t seem to get away from each other – and leads you blindly towards a small alley in a neighborhood until a bench comes into view. she pulls you towards it eagerly, making you laugh until you’re both sitting next to each other.

you frown a little as you look at the ice cream in the cup. “some of it is melted.”

“not all of it!” danielle beams, then scroops a spoonful of the coffee side – the flavor you ended up choosing. “you have the first taste.” she says, bringing it closer to your mouth.

“wait, you should have it.”

“too late,” she starts to move it in a circular motion, saying, “ahhh~” as she does so.

you scoff, then lean forward and all of it is in your mouth in one bite. danielle watches your eyes light up.

“it’s good.” you mutter, then grab the other spoon to scoop the other flavor. you mirror what danielle did before, making her laugh just as much. “open wiiiiide~”

“ahhh~”

you snicker before moving the spoon into her mouth, she closes it and smiles immediately, melting in place despite the ice cream being pretty cold. 

the street lights make her look precious, highlighting the satisfaction on her face because of some simple ice cream she’d gotten for free. you want to see her this happy everyday and as much as you can. 

a small hint of ice cream is on the corner of her lips, it urges you to bring your hand over and wipe it off with your thumb. danielle stops savoring the dessert, instead, focusing on you. 

“sorry, there was… yeah.”

“mhm.” danielle says, staring at your lips. “it’s really good.”

“i can tell.” you turn away, feeling flustered when she looks at you like that. “let me try your flavor.”

the two of you continue to eat ice cream together, subconsciously scooting closer and closer as you share it. danielle’s head ends up on your shoulder when the cup is empty in your hand, silent in her place.

you don’t budge, mainly because she seems comfortable and you don’t mind ruining your posture a bit if it’s for her. she sighs contentedly, moving her hand over to hold yours in the midst of the moment, slotting together effortlessly. she doesn’t say anything, but you feel her lean into you a little more.

“you okay?”

“just happy.”

“ah,” you rub your thumb against her skin. “that’s good.”

“being with you makes me really happy.”

“being with you makes me happier.” you say softly, staring at your hands aligned seamlessly. “do you want to stay here for a bit longer?”

“please.”

“it’s getting late.”

“i know, just a bit longer.” danielle says.

just a bit longer. if only the whole arrangement could last forever, if only you two could be this close and warm for lightyears.

minutes pass, and neither of you move, lost in the comforting silence. the only shift comes when you turn your head to press a gentle kiss into her hair. danielle feels perfectly in place, her heart fluttering at the tender gesture. a soft smile spreads across her face, a silent acknowledgment of the moment's sweetness.

–

the night prior had to be a dream, it was too perfect. it was the realest you’ve felt with danielle, the closest to something romantic. it was even enough to consider that she felt the same, and you’d love to revel in that possibility, but you have to restock the beans and cups quickly before tending to the drinks.

there’s only thirty more minutes until your shift ends, it feels like eternity.

sarah catches you smiling to yourself throughout the shift, biting the inside of her lip. she’s filled with all too much: anger, jealously, dissapointment, and really just everything that makes her uneasy. 

she still can’t believe it, you had gone on a whole tangent telling her you couldn’t be in a relationship and now you’re being a complete loser in front of her. she hates it, she wants it to be her that makes you smile randomly throughout the day.

what pisses her off more, and truly makes her lose all hope, is when you go from looking tired and drained to bubbly and smiley as soon as a familiar figure starts walking toward the counter. 

she watches you check the time on the register, your smile widening because you can clock out and be with danielle, who’s waiting just across the counter. the change in your demeanor is undeniable, and it stings sarah to see the joy that danielle effortlessly brings out in you.

you walk over to danielle, reaching for her hand. “hey.”

“hi.” the way danielle says it makes your chest warm and sarah nearly gags in return.

what makes sarah's shoulders sink, her heart drop, and her frown deepen is when danielle suddenly kisses your cheek. 

the shock is evident on your face as you stand frozen, your hand instinctively moving to hover over the spot where danielle's lips had just been. the tenderness of the moment is overwhelming, and sarah can't help but feel a profound sense of loss. the realization that your heart belongs entirely to danielle crushes any lingering hopes she had, leaving her to face the painful truth.

“w-what was that for?” you look over and make eye contact with sarah, who’s grimacing. “there’s um, you know… bystanders.”

“i missed you, so much. i couldn’t stop thinking about you.” danielle says simply, not bothering that sarah is the only one who’s witnessing this, and from a few feet away too. “do you want to get dinner?”

“it’s three in the afternoon silly.”

“well, anything is fine. we should study before we eat! i heard the module mr. lee assigned us was really helpful for…” 

the rest of what danielle says doesn’t register in your coworker’s mind. she studies you closely, her frown deepening with each passing second. it’s painfully clear to her now—you’re genuinely in love with danielle, and there's nothing she can do to change that. the way you look at danielle, like a child seeing a rainbow for the first time, leaves no room for doubt. 

it dawns on her that giving up is the only option, and she feels a pang of resignation settling in her chest.

–

nearly three months have passed and both of you have still been ‘pretending.’

neither of you acknowledge that it’s fake, not during the weekly dates, study sessions, and late night walks or movie nights that end up in the two of you falling asleep together. danielle doesn’t think twice when kissing your cheek here and there, even your knuckles when she thinks you’re asleep. 

you figure that maybe it’s okay to kiss her cheek too sometimes because she’s her lips turn each time. and when you pick her up for weekly dates, she happily jumps into the passengers seat of your car as if it weren’t just a mutual agreement. sarah has already given up, considering she seems defeated, and you wonder if you should too. 

you can’t tell if it’s just how danielle is, which eats you inside. everything feels all too real, and your feelings only grow more unbearable.

–

you shouldn’t have let jimin drag you out to minjeong’s party. she’s already left the moment you stepped into the house, she’s probably gotten a hold of a drink already.

jimin had noticed how deeply stressed you've been lately. your responses were slower, your shoulders seemed permanently slumped, and the stress was practically etched into your face. being one of your closest friends, jimin decided that it was time for a change. she was determined to get you out and help you relax, knowing how crucial it was for your well-being (and social life, to be completely real).

walking around, you scan the crowd for a familiar face. unfortunately, the only people you recognize are sunghoon and jake, who have a history of hitting on you despite your clear disinterest. they still haven't grasped that you're a lesbian. you quickly decide to steer clear of them.

the only reason you’re here is because you’ve been throwing yourself into your studies, staying late at the gym, and doing too much to avoid danielle – or even the thought of her.

(which is unfortunately impossible since every little thing reminds you of her.

the flowers on the counter at your work remind you of her smile, the couch in your apartment is where you two have spent hours together, and really, you’re hopeless.)

you find jimin outside on the porch with her other friends that you’ve only talked to once or twice. they’re all talking about something, clearly tipsy, and you’re walking over to linger near your friend.

“y/n! oh my gosh girl, where have you been? come here, have a drink!” jimin grabs your arm, pulling you in and hugging you like she hasn’t seen you in forever. “here, take a shot.”

she hands you a shot of what you assume is some cheap vodka, you didn’t even have time to pregame for this. you’re not against drinking, not at all, if anything you’re all for it. there’s videos of you in groupchats shotgunning beer and finishing with barely any reaction – but tonight, you don’t know if you’re in the mood for it.

one won’t hurt, maybe it’ll erase danielle from your mind for a moment.

“fine.” you grab the small glass, then bring it to your lips and cock your head back, eyes pinching for a brief moment as you swallow. “shit,” you mumble, “give me another.”

you don’t know what has taken over, because you’re downing two more without hesitation. jimin laughs and smiles proudly at you.

for a brief moment, everything feels fine. the music blasting from inside the house, a mix of charli xcx and the chatter of your friends mocking one of your professors and jake, makes you laugh out loud. amidst the chaos, you find a beer in your hand, and somehow, you manage to tolerate the taste. wonyoung appears too, and hands you another after you quickly finish the first. you accept it, even though you're already starting to feel a bit fuzzy.

jimin looks at minjeong with a sparkle in her eyes, and you subtly push her a little closer until their shoulders touch. they exchange smiles, and you watch, feeling proud of your matchmaking. 

your heart sinks as it suddenly reminds you all too much of danielle. the fondness and spark between jimin and minjeong make you frown, your grip on the beer tightening as the bittersweet memories flood back.

“fuck,” you practically whisper. “i need to, i’m going to get more um, drinks.” 

“hm? okay.” jimin says quickly, then turns back to the girl she’s linking arms with.

your head pounds, so you gulp down the can of beer in your hand, then crumple it and toss it toward a trash bin in your line of sight. 

as you make your way to the kitchen, you spot a bottle of vodka and pour yourself a shot into a plastic cup you found. the liquid burns your throat, intensifying the ache in your head. despite this, you pour another shot, perhaps a bit too generously, hoping to numb the growing pain and the emotions clawing at your heart.

the room feels like it’s spinning, you’re walking down some hall and blinking and blinking until you reach a bathroom. thankfully, no one is making out in it, but you check the shower for safety measures. 

you’re finally alone, groaning as you fall against the wall of the bathroom and slide down until you’re sitting on the bathroom floor.

clumsily, you grab your phone from your back pocket. the screen lights up to a picture of you and danielle, cheeks squished together and smiling. 

you stare at it for too long, your breath hitching and your vision blurring as the ache in your head intensifies. the happy memory contrasts sharply with the heaviness you feel now, making it all the more difficult to look away. she just looks so cute in it.

you tap your screen again, and another picture of her appears. it’s a picture of her asleep in the passengers seat, head tilted uncomfortably and lips parted slightly. you had set up your lock screen to cycle through images of danielle, initially to fool sarah, but also because seeing danielle’s face as soon as you pick up your phone makes you feel at ease. each photo captures her different expressions—laughing, pouting, lost in thought—and they all make you grin. 

the happiness you feel is bittersweet, knowing it’s all part of an arrangement that feels increasingly real to you.

your vision is a little unclear, but somehow it sharpens just so you can see her perfectly.

“fuck,” you gasp out, unlocking your phone and trying to navigate to your recent calls. you had called hanni earlier and she had just been lounging at her place. you figure that she’d be able to take you away from here.

you squint, pressing on the contact that has a and n, assuming it’s hanni, then wait as the phone rings.

“hello?”

“hanni, i’m… can you pick me up?”

“y/n?” her voice is muffled when it reaches your ears, “are you okay? what happened, where are you?”

“jimin… dragged me out. i drank… soooo much.”

“y/n, oh my gosh.”

“hanni, stay on the line, please.”

“i’m not–” the voice cuts off, you drop your phone on the carpet. “hello?”

“you have my location… right.” you slur, head leaning against the wall even more. “hanni i can’t do it anymore.”

“y/n, i’m on my way. are you alright?”

“hanni, i can’t.” you groan, staring up into space. “i don’t want to fake date danielle anymore. it feels too real, i hate it.”

silence follows before you hear the voice on the other end of the phone.

“you can’t? why, why didn’t you tell her?”

“she seems happy, and… we just, don’t acknowledge that it’s not real.”

“y/n…” 

danielle sits in her car, heart sinking. 

you dialed her on accident, and it doesn't seem like you know it’s her. 

“please come. please.”

danielle gulps, feeling tears forming in her eyes. 

–

danielle scavenges through the house your location on her phone has brought you to, looking around for you helplessly. 

she makes her way to the porch and spots jimin, who’s hands are on minjeongs neck as she holds her in place. danielle walks over, not wanting to disturb the intimacy, but you’re her biggest priority, so she’s willing to do so.

“jimin,”

she turns around, looking at danielle confusingly. “oh, when did you get here?”

“where’s y/n?”

“hmmm… she went to get drinks a while ago, she hasn’t come back yet. try the kitchen?”

“okay, thank you.” danielle says hurriedly, then rushes back inside.

she checks the kitchen, only to see jake and sunghoon with beers in their hands as they cackle loudly. you’re nowhere in sight, making her bite her lip in frustration.

danielle goes through every room on the first floor until she reaches a bathroom. she pushes the door open, and it suddenly stops, hitting someone. a groan escapes from behind the door.

"i'm so sorry!" danielle rushes out, peeking around the door to see who she’s just collided with. "y/n?" she gasps, eyes widening in recognition and concern.

you’re sitting against the wall, hair tousled and cheeks red. there’s a white tank top hugging you, the thin straps of it loose against your skin from your posture. 

“hanni?” you look up, squinting. “i wanna go home.” 

you see the figure move closer to you and close the door, then she squats down and you realize it’s not hanni. danielle comes into view, her eyebrows creased with concern. your cheeks flush even harder, and your lips part.

she puts a hand on your forehead, then cups her cheeks with both. “are you okay?”

“you’re not… hanni.”

danielle’s shoulders fall down a bit. “hanni um,” danielle hates lying, but she’s doing it now to save you from spiraling. “she sent me over.”

“oh.” the response from you cracks her heart slightly. “okay.”

"let's go," she says firmly, helping you up. despite being taller and more muscular than her, you lean on her for support. danielle manages to steady you with surprising ease, guiding you out of the bathroom and through the house, her grip strong and unwavering.

–

you collapse onto danielle’s couch and groan, your body is limp against the cushions.

a few moments later, she comes back with a cup of water, placing it on the coffee table before she sits you up. she tilts your chin up and you look at her with wonder as she grabs the cup and holds it to your lips, “drink.”

“mhm.” you mumble, sipping slowly and swallowing. 

your vision clears slightly, though it might just be danielle who’s grounding you. her concerned eyes meet yours, and while guilt tugs at you, you're also captivated by her beauty in this moment. you're drunk and out of your mind, thoughts muddled and unfocused.

“pretty.” you sigh dreamily. 

“y/n,” her voice is laced with uneasiness. “drink more water.”

“okay.”

“and stay the night, okay? you um, left…” she swallows hard, fighting back a frown. “you left your clothes here, i’ll go grab them.”

“can you stay with me though? will you? i really… just… i want you here.” 

danielle bites the inside of her lip, her eyes wide with confusion. just moments ago, you had admitted that you wanted to stop the whole ‘relationship’—that it had become too intense, too overwhelming. and now, you’re asking her to stay? her mind spins with the jarring shift in emotions.

you lean in, clinging onto her. danielle feels the warmth of your breath and the softness of your nose brushing against her neck. the touch sends a shiver through her, and she swallows hard, struggling to steady her breathing. as you pull back, your faces are mere inches apart. you lock eyes with her, your gaze heavy with so much. 

there’s a lump in her throat. “okay.”

–

danielle wakes up with you on top of her and your head in the crook of her neck. she hears you breathing softly and subconsciously, her hand slides into your hair.

why are you so confusing? danielle wonders, twirling your hair with her pointer finger. is this what you really want?

you’re incredibly considerate, a trait that’s always shone brightly. the way you go out of your way for her—planning dates, cherishing every moment together, simply because it makes her happy—fills her with a bittersweet feeling. she adores these shared moments, savoring the illusion of authenticity. but now that it’s clear that all of it strains you, it weighs heavily on her heart.

you stir awake, your breath warm and rhythmic against danielle's skin. as you hum softly, her cheeks flush a delicate pink. she feels the gentle pressure of your arms tightening around her, pulling her closer. you shift, nestling deeper into her, finding a more comfortable position. each movement sends a shiver through danielle, leaving her heart fluttering like crazy at eight in the morning.

she doesn’t know what to do.

–

danielle doesn’t ask you out or come over the whole week, excusing herself by saying she’s busy or caught up with things. of course, you don’t comment on it – she’s not really your girlfriend, you shouldn’t expect her time and affection. 

but then another week passes by and you don’t get any texts back, sometimes she even leaves you on delivered for hours. that’s not like her at all. 

you catch her in class and she’s still the same danielle you know – bubbly, pretty, and sweet – but that’s really the only time you see her these days. 

it’s confusing, all too confusing, so you barge into hanni’s apartment on a thursday evening because she’s the only one you can rant to about this.

“you didn’t even text me–”

“oh my god i think danielle fucking hates me.”

hanni lets you storm in, walking towards her room and flop onto her own bed. you look devasted, especially when you rub your face in your hands and groan loudly.

“okay, first of all: why the hell would she? second of all: yeah, why… why would she…?”

“she’s been avoiding me and i have no fucking clue why.”

“dude what.” 

you recount the entire story to hanni, animatedly illustrating every detail with exaggerated hand gestures. “so, jimin practically dragged me out to unwind, and i ended up drunk out of my mind!” you say. your hands wave dramatically, punctuating the story as you describe stumbling around, the room spinning, and how the whole ordeal felt like a whirlwind. 

hanni watches, her amusement growing as you explain the night’s events. “jesus.”

“yeah, and then danielle came and picked me up.”

“she did?”

“yeah… you called her over… didn’t you?”

“dude, what are you talking about.”

you pause, looking at her with confusion evident all over your face. then grab your phone, heart feeling strained when you see danielle posing with a stuffed animal that one time – out of many –  you two went to the mall together. you click on the phone app, looking at your recent calls and scrolling down to roughly two weeks ago.

you see hanni’s contact name, and then danielles after.

“hanni, did i… did i call you that night? two weeks ago, the friday night i went out.”

“dude you only called me that morning or something, you left something here.”

“oh my fucking god.” you gasp, putting a hand over your mouth. “oh my god.”

“y/n what.”

“i drunk dialed dani and i thought it was you. she told me you sent her to grab me…”

“what did you say to her?” hanni asks, looking at you with slight worry.

you groan, rubbing your face again. “i… i said i didn’t want to fake date her anymore.”

“oh, well that’s not too bad.”

“no, i remember it somehow. i said i hated it.”

your best friend looks at you, confused again. “you do?”

“yeah, but like, no?” you groan once more and fall onto the bed again. “hanni, i’ve… i’ve liked danielle since first semester.”

“oh.”

“yeah, oh.”

“you’ve been fake dating and simultaneously in love with her?”

you sigh. “yes.”

“holy shit.”

“yeah. i think she took it the wrong way, maybe she thinks i hate her?”

“you need to talk to her.”

“she doesn’t want to see me.”

“no, she’s so fond of you. i honestly think she likes you back.”

“okay it’s not the time for that–”

“shut the hell up bro.” hanni pinches your cheek and you slap her hand away. she begins again, “dude, she rambles about you and shit. there were times i actually thought you guys were really dating.”

“i wish.”

“then make it come true!” hanni groans. she pulls you up, then puts both hands on your shoulder. “you need to go talk to her, stop being a pussy.” 

“it’s not that–” 

your phone vibrates in your hand, snapping you out of your animated retelling. instinctively, you glance down and see a notification from danielle. hanni notices the shift in your expression, quirking an eyebrow as you stare at the screen, looking visibly distressed. she leans closer, peeking at the notification.

as your face unlocks the phone, the text is revealed: "can you come over? we should talk." your mouth drops open slightly in shock, and hanni mirrors your expression. the room suddenly feels heavy.

“dude.” hanni points at the screen – the obvious. “she–”

“fuck me.” you mutter, “fuck me.”

“dumbass,” hanni says, pushing you off her bed. you curse and look at her with “what the fuck?” written all over your face. hanni stands up and continues to push you out her room, saying, “go see your ‘girlfriend,’ even if it’s not real you better go talk to mo dani.”

you sigh, pushing her off you and grabbing your things before you walk towards hanni’s apartment door. you stare at the handle, then the text, and linger for a moment. hanni puts a hand on your shoulder and you look at her.

“i’m fucking terrified.”

“well you’ll feel even worse if you don’t go, so go.” hanni urges, opening the door and nudging you out.

–

the air is cold, it’s really just cold outside and it makes you shiver more than you already are just from the thought of the interaction.

you’re outside danielle’s work, sitting on the steps because you can’t bring yourself to go in and approach her directly. maybe it makes you a coward, but you’ve always been nervous about seeing her willingly and making the first move. the minutes stretch on, each one making you more anxious, but you can't help it. the thought of facing her, of initiating that crucial conversation, ties your stomach in knots. she called you out here anyway.

wind hits your cheeks and you bite your lip, walking around in your place in an attempt to warm up. then, you catch someone in the corner of your eye, so you turn around and meet danielle.

a loose sweater drapes over her frame, and wide-fit linen pants hide the shape of her legs. the wind tousles her hair just as it does yours, but she looks effortlessly angelic, stopping your heart for a moment. her hair, caught in the breeze, frames her face in a way that makes her seem almost ethereal, temporarily making you forget your worries.

then she’s walking toward you, and you remember why you’re here.

you swallow hard, body tensing. 

“thank’s for coming, i’m sorry i haven’t been.. um, able to spend time with you.” she looks nervous, her eyes avoiding yours and hands fiddling with each other. she stares at your necklace instead as she continues, “i’ve just… i wanted to talk to you about what we have.”

“right, i wanted to talk to you about it too.”

“oh,” danielle says quietly. “i’m sorry, i didn’t want to be a burden. you called me instead of hanni the night you got drunk and i know how you feel about fake dating. i’m sorry that you had to do it with me and it caused you so much stress i just–”

your heart aches as you listen to her ramble, guilt evident in her voice for something that’s not her fault. you can't bear to hear her blame herself. your brows furrow with pity as you gently cut her off, “danielle, no, let me–”

“stop, i want to make myself clear. i want to explain a lot of things to you, you’re so lovely and sweet and you don’t deserve to be so stressed. it’s just, okay, wait.”

she pauses, breathing in, and looking at you with tears lining her eyes. your breath shakes looking at her like that, you can’t breathe or speak in the moment.

danielle purses her lips before continuing, “okay, when hanni first said you wanted to date me, i got so excited because well, i always thought you were cute.” she turns her head to the side and bites her lip before looking back at you. “and then you said it wasn’t an actual date, you wanted it to be fake. i don’t know i just, i felt really sad when it happened but at the same time the thought of fake dating you didn’t seem too bad because i’m selfish and i mean, i liked you a little and i thought i could just fake it and revel in the artificial aspect until i got over it but i ended up falling for you so much and i’m sorry. i don’t want you to think im anything like sarah–”

“danielle, stop.”

“no, y/n i just want to explain myself–”

“danielle, shut up, oh my god.” you gasp, looking at her in disbelief. “you, are you fucking with me?”

she looks at you, still feeling guilty. when she blinks, two tears fall down her cheeks and she inhales sharply as she conceals a sob. she turns away, then murmurs, “no, i’m so sorry.”

“n-no, no. dani, danielle.” you almost breathe it out, then bring both hands to hold her face. your hands cup her cheeks making her face you. “please stop crying, i’m sorry, baby, i’m sorry.”

“b-baby?” she says, confusing taking over her features. you had gotten so used to calling her endearing pet names that it slipped out so suddenly in the heat of the moment.

the lights outside shine just enough for you to see her clearly. her eyes are watery, tears staining her cheeks, and you use your thumb to gently wipe them away. her nose is a little pink, and so are her cheeks. of course, she’s a pretty crier too, but you look at her with guilt, shaking your head as you continue to stroke her cheeks with your thumb. the sight of her like this breaks your heart even more.

“i only said i hated it because it was all too real, but not in a bad way. not at all.” 

“really?” she says between sniffles. “w-what do you mean?”

“i’m saying that,” you use your thumb to rub a tear threatening to fall from the corner of her eye. “i hated it because i couldn’t take the fact that it wasn’t real. i wanted it to be real. danielle, i’ve wanted to be yours since you first gave me the notes from the first lecture we had together.”

“what?”

“danielle,” you almost whisper, then kiss her forehead. “i like you so much. i don’t hate you, or this – i hate that it’s not real.”

her mouth opens in shock as she looks at you, sniffling. you anxiously wait for a response, hoping she'll say something, but she doesn’t. instead, she hugs you, wrapping her arms around you tightly. you return the embrace, holding her just as tight. the world around you fades away, leaving only the two of you in the nerveracking moment.

“i like you too – a lot. i was so scared when you said you hated it, i thought i was making you uncomfortable and gosh i just felt so bad and–”

you rub her back with your hand and cut her off, “i was anything but uncomfortable, i felt like i was living in a fantasy.”

“thank god.” danielle sighs in relief. 

you pull away, looking at her again and wiping remnants of tears with your thumb again. “i’m sorry for making you cry.”

if you could go back and punch yourself for being stupid — you’d do it in a heartbeat. a dumb slip up and miscommunication from your lips is the reason danielle’s nose is still tinted pink from crying, you feel guilty as ever.

in your hands, it feels like you hold the world. she shakes her head in your hold, then smiles from relief.

“it’s okay.”

“are you busy after this?”

danielle giggles, shaking her head again. “if you’re asking me out on a date – a real one – then absolutely not.”

“dinner? it’s on me for being stupid that night, and this whole time.”

“perfect.”

you smile sweetly at her, your gaze lingering on her lips. before you know it, you lean in and boldly peck her right then and there. she gasps when you pull away, looking at you with widened eyes as you back off. but then, she reels you in again, leaning closer and kissing you once more. the kiss is soft and warm, filled with all the unspoken words and emotions that have built up between you. you feel her smile against your lips, and everything else fades away.

when you part again, you look at her fondly and ask, “wait, this is real, right? like, we’re…”

danielle laughs, hastily pecking you once more and lingering close.

“i don’t think it’s the alcohol that made you so dense and stupid.”

[azulpitlane]

vicious pt two I ln4

pairing: ex!lando norris x reader, charles leclerc x reader summary: you are trying to move on from lando but he refuses to notes: more dramaaa and asshole lando sorry, this is short cause i kind of got busy🧍‍♀️ part one, masterlist

yourusername

liked by charles_leclerc, maxfewtrell and 3,268,379 others

yourusername emails i cant send is officially yours💌

it has been a long and emotional process writing this album but i loved and enjoyed every bit of it<3 im so excited to share this piece of my life with you and officially close this chapter and move on

thank you for the support, ill see you all soon❤️

view all comments

user OMGG IM ALREADY CRYING ITS SO AMAZING

user stfu is that charles in the fifth pic?!?

user it is!! he was credited in a few songs for instruments🥹🥹

user because i liked a boy hits so different when u know what she went through :(

maxfewtrell running on stream to listen to it

yourusername pls dont hate im still sensitive user omg noo i cant watch whats he saying about it?? user he loves every song, hes being so supportive and said hes team y/n😭

user her friendship with charles is so cute omg

user “friendship” rightttt😏

user lost lando but got charles, a win is a win

francisca.cgomes love love love💌

user omg i know charles introduced them

user ‘ill see you soon’ ARE YOU TOURING???

pietra.pilao so incredibly proud of you❤️ such an amazing album

yourusername p ily and miss u sm🥹❤️ pietra.pilao i miss you more we need to get together soon! yourusername otw to text u so make plans rn🏃‍♀️🏃‍♀️

user the fact that landos friends are still supportive despite the breakup tells me everything i need to know

user “officially close this chapter” new era fr🫶

charles_leclerc so honored you even asked me to be apart of this❤️so proud of you ma cherie

yourusername so grateful for you❤️ user JUST DATEEEE user now kiss!!!

Lando so you and y/n huh?

Charles she's my friend is that a problem?

Lando i dont remember ever introducing you two?

Charles not that its any of your concern but i introduced myself last year on the paddock while you were too busy ignoring her

Lando so when i had back turned, you took the chance to steal my girlfriend?

Charles dont try turning this into something its not she's trying to move on so i think its time you do the same lando dont ask about her again. read

f1gossip

463,582 likes

f1gossip Following Y/n Y/l/n's album release, Lando and Charles have unfollowed each other on instagram! It is not confirmed if Y/n is the reason why, but it is heavily speculated. It seems Lando was the first to unfollow and Charles quickly followed suit.

view all comments

user all too much for little lando norris

user y/n breaking up a friendship now🙄

user she didnt do anything except release an album on how she felt, if lando gets offended by that then hes clearly the problem here

user 16 4 fans lost today but then again lando started it🤷‍♀️

user karma works in funny ways @landonorris

user lando has every right to be mad imo

user not at all, he treated her like shit then cheated and now hes mad she has friends in f1? make it make sense

user why watch soap operas when you can watch f1

user 2024 season is gonna HIT

user charles is going to have the motivation for wdc now, ferrari fans won🙏

user even though im a lando fan, i have to be team charles and y/n on this one sorry

user yup, after listening to her album i definitely support y/n

yourusername

liked by charles_leclerc, francisca.cgomes and 3,295,204 others

yourusername first time performing my new album at my one night show was the best time ever!! thank you for all that showed up you were an amazing crowd❤️

and just in case you missed my little announcement, bet u wanna is my next single of this album...this one's a little funny when you know the context🙊

view all comments

user wish i was able to go :(

user WHATS THE CONTEXT??

user listen to the lyrics, lando definetly wanted her back after his side girl cheated AHAH

user i need to know if charles was there

francisca.cgomes such a wonderful night💌 liked by yourusername

user your stage presence is so amazing

luisinhaoliveira99 so great seeing you🤍 liked by yourusername

user SHE WAS THERE?!? user pls tell me you guys took pictures together

user bet u wanna is so good omg

user are you opening for eras tour in europe

user it is rumored, i hope its true😭

f1gossip

376,845 likes

f1gossip Charles, Pierre, Kika and Luisa leaving Y/n Y/l/n's concert in LA tonight! Thoughts on the singer's new friendship with the drivers and girls?

view all comments

user i love them😭❤️

user i was there and saw charles with pierre and kika singing along to every song🥹

user SHUT UPPPP user stop theyre so cute

user luisa and y/n mean everything to me

user them supporting y/n despite the drama with lando shows a lot about him

user ive never wanted to part of a gc so bad

user charles is so supportive, yk who wouldnt be....

user i need them to date, he would treat y/n so good

scuderiaferrari

liked by charles_leclerc, yourusername and 1,402,440 others

scuderiaferrari Special guest for the first qualification of the season! Thanks for coming to the our garage❤️

tagged yourusername

view all comments

user OMFGGG

user i need pics of her and charles NOW

user charles got p1 cause bae was watching🙈

user is she staying all weekend!?!

user her and charles supporting each other omg

user are they finally dating??

user he was asked about it in an interview and he said they were just friends! user ugh can charles make a move already? i dont want another lando situation..

user i wonder if she bumped into lando😳

Lando was y/n really in ferrari garage?

Carlos yeah... are you okay mate?

Lando how can i be? he stole my girlfriend and is now parading her around the paddock its fucked up

Carlos he did say they were just friends and i didnt see them acting like a couple or anything

Lando there's gotta be something more i just need y/n to see who he really is

Carlos i dont know, maybe its time you move on mate

Lando no, i cant give up now do you have an extra paddock pass?

Carlos why...

Lando remember charles' crazy ex girlfriend who was obsessed with him? i heard shes in town to see him what if we send her the paddock pass so she can show y/n how charles treated her

Carlos this seems a little crazy lando why dont you just talk to y/n?

Lando she wont even let me get near her just please carlos? and then i wont ever bring it up again if it doesnt work

Carlos fine but dont tell anybody about this

Lando thank you mate, i owe you

tags: @iamahallucinationnn, @sofiacblair

[inkskinned]

no, but really, we need to talk about the casual objectification that has become the fallback discourse of the internet: if you're pretty and dressed nicely, you're a slut. and if you're even vaguely outside of their body standard, you're fucking disgusting.

too-frequently, people position sex workers as being "the problem". they sneer you're addicted to pornography, you don't know what a real woman looks like. but real women are in pornography. the real bodies on display are not the issue here: the issue is that other people feel extremely confident when commenting on someone's physique.

2000's super-thin is slowly worming its way back into the public ideal. recently i saw someone get told to "go for a run", despite the fact she was on the thinner side of average. not that it would ever be appropriate to say that: but it's kind of like sticker shock when you see it. people think that is fat? holy shit. do they just have no idea about things?

but what are you going to do about it? that's the problem, right. because chances are - you're a normal person. we can say normalize carrying fat on your body, but we are not the billion-dollar diet industry. we are not the billion-dollar fashion industry. we are just, like. people. who are trying to make content on the internet, without being treated shittily.

as someone who has been on both sides of things: you are treated better when you are thin and pretty. this is statistically correct. i am not saying that you cannot be bullied for being thin; i'm saying there are objective institutional biases against certain bodytypes. there are videos of men and women who lost weight all saying: i now know for a fact exactly how much worse you're treated. in the comments, some asshole inevitably says something akin to you deserved to be dehumanized when you were fat.

which means that ... the easiest thing to do is be pretty and thin. it is the path of least resistance, because of course it is, because any time you post a picture of yourself without a thigh gap, someone immediately comments something like you need to try a diet.

the other half is also dehumanizing though, huh, just in a different way. when i put on makeup and nice clothes, i am told i slept my way to the top as a professional. do you know how many women in STEM have told me they purposefully dress to "unimpress" because they already struggle to be taken seriously and if they're ever considered pretty - it for some reason takes away from their authority.

so they make it seem like it's your fault. you, existing in a body - it's your fault! if you didn't want shitty comments, don't have a body. they position us against each other like chess pieces; vying for male attention we don't even need.

and i can be an authority on this unless you think i'm fat and unattractive. when i am pretty and thin, i'm an activist. when i am just a normal person who makes a good point: i am immediately dismissed. nobody fucking believes you if you're not seen as attractive. you literally lose value. you cease to exist.

but the whole time, it feels like - is anyone actually grounded the fuck in reality? the line of "pretty and thin" keeps shifting. nobody seems to understand what "a normal weight" even looks like, because it's not something that exists - you cannot tell a person's health by looking at their body. even if you think you could tell that, even if you're sure a person is dangerously overweight - people are not your dolls. they do not need to be dressed up or displayed properly to soothe your aesthetics. you aren't concerned for them, you're stealing their agency. you don't get to say if they're "allowed" to take pictures and post them on the internet - you don't get to tell them how to exist.

people hide behind "the obesity epidemic" without any actual qualifications. they crow things about "normalizing unhealthiness".

but it's bullshit. i have visible abs. there is a pair of parallel lines on my body, even when i'm relaxed; where my obliques meet my abdominal wall. i am proud of this because it means i'm strong, because i overcame an eating disorder only to be ripped as fuck. it is genetic and physical luck that i even get any definition, i'm pleased as punch.

but it does mean that my abdominal wall sticks out a little bit. the other day i posted a video of myself dancing, and, for a moment, my shirt slipped. you could see a little bit of my stomach. i was cartwheeling to the floor. moments before this, i'd had my foot over my head.

a guy slid into my DMs. a row of vomiting emojis prefaced: you should really lose some weight before you think about dancing.

i stared at it for a long time. there was a time when i would have been triggered by this, where it would have encouraged me to starve myself. i would have ignored the fact i'm flexible, agile, good at jumping: i would have lost the weight for a stranger's passing comment. i would have found myself and my body fucking disgusting.

and for what? to please what? because why? so that he can exist in this world without an unchallenged eyeball? what would my self-hatred even accomplish? usually i write paragraphs. obviously. on this particular occasion, in this body i've been at war with for ages: i just felt exhausted.

it shouldn't be even worth saying. it shouldn't be hard to explain. all of this emotional turmoil when he cannot even comprehend the most basic truth: i am not an object on display for him.

[goldfades]

PARDON MY EMOTIONS / I SHOULD PROBABLY KEEP IT ALL TO MYSELF ── 𝐉𝐁⁵

❪ requested -> "jude angst to fluff WITH PLOT!" ❫

─ pairing | jude bellingham x fem!reader

─ word count | 1.7k

─ warnings | lots of angst to fluff, miscommunication (kind of), jude being an ASSHOLE but making up for it.

─ ev's notes ! | i'm now in my football kick due to the euros and copa america so please send in requests!!! 🤗🎀

⇨ missing out on updates? check out my masterlist!

BEING IN A RELATIONSHIP with England's star football player had its ups and downs.

You got to be a WAG, enjoying the glamorous lifestyle that came with dating Jude. From attending high-profile matches and exclusive events to traveling the world and mingling with other footballers and celebrities, life was never boring. The media attention was overwhelming at times, but you learned to navigate the spotlight and maintain a sense of normalcy.

However, that was the problem. You longed for a sense of normalcy, that was all you wanted was for your relationship. The glitz and glamour of being a WAG was only fun for a bit, not it seemed like you never got a moment to yourself. This was the root of all your relationships, somehow ─ Jude never understood why you wouldn't like all the media attention.

"It's overwhelming," you muttered as you played with the bottom of your of your coffee cup, the warm ceramic providing little comfort. Jude sat across from you, his expression both of concern and confusion.

"What do you mean, overwhelming?" He replied, his gaze locked on you. "This is part of the life we have. The attention, the media... it's just something we have to deal with."

You sighed, looking out the window at the city outside. "But that's just it, Jude. I never wanted this. I love you, and I support your career, but I miss having a private life. I miss being able to go out without cameras following us or people recognizing us everywhere we go."

"Overwhelming for you?" He sighed, his expression hardening. "How do you think I feel? Look, I'm not asking for much ─ I've given you the best life I can,"

You scoffed, he wasn't listening to what you were saying. "This isn't about you or-or what you've given me. I'm grateful, I really am-"

"Doesn't sound like it," Jude cut you off, his voice rising in frustration. "It sounds like you're not happy with anything I've done."

You felt a surge of anger, the words bubbling up before you could stop them. "That's not fair, Jude," you sighed. "I've been by your side through everything, and all I'm asking for is a little understanding. I need space, I need to feel like my own person, not just an accessory to your life."

Jude stood up, his chair scraping loudly against the floor. "So, what? You want me to quit football? Give up everything I've worked for?"

"No!" You stood up as well, your heart pounding. "I don't want you to give up anything. I just want you to see things from my perspective for once. I'm losing myself in all of this, and I feel like an accessory you just get to show off."

"Well, you know that's not true," his eyes softened for a moment, but then the frustration returned. "I thought we were a team. I thought we were in this together. But it feels like you're just... giving up."

"I'm not giving up," you said, your voice breaking. "It's hard for me too, like I'm just a pretty face with no dreams or aspirations. That's what they think-"

"Who cares what they think? I know you're more than that, everyone you care about knows that." Jude let out a huff as he glared at you.

"Well it's always just been about you, Jude," you didn't mean it to come out so harsh ─ your tone hard and cold. "Moving to Spain and-and all this, it's hard on me too."

That seemed to hit a nerve because Jude's eyes went wide before he scoffed. "You think this has been easy for me? You think moving to a different country, dealing with the pressure of a new team, and trying to keep us together is all about me?"

You flinched at his words, but your frustration was too strong to back down now. "That's not what I'm saying, Jude. I just want you to see that I'm struggling too. I left everything behind to be with you. My friends, my family, my life — everything."

Jude's face softened slightly, but his jaw was still tight with anger. "I need you to understand that this life comes with sacrifices. We both have to make them, this is what you signed up for."

"I know that, Jude," you said, tears welling up in your eyes as you sniffled. "But sometimes it feels like I'm the only one sacrificing. I feel like I'm losing myself, and I don't know how to fix it."

You wiped away a tear before continuing, averting your gaze from Jude. "I just need to feel like I'm more than just your girlfriend. I need to feel like I have my own purpose."

"You are!" Jude snapped, before sighing.

You sent him a glare as you sighed loudly, getting tired of not being heard. "Don't raise your voice!"

"You're being ungrateful, I've given you everything! A nice house, a nice car, you know how many girls would kill to be in your position?"

That was the last straw. Your mouth was slightly agape as you took in his words. Ungrateful? How could he say that after everything you've sacrificed to be with him?

"Fuck," you sighed as you looked up, meeting his gaze. "Is that how low you think of me? Fine, then. Let them have my position, since apparently, you think I'm just here for the perks," you said, your voice trembling with a mix of hurt and anger.

Jude's face fell, a mixture of regret and panic crossing his features. "I didn't mean it like that. I'm just frustrated. I love you, and I want us to be happy."

You shook your head, taking a step back. "That's not enough, Jude. Love isn't just about the nice things or the glamorous life. It's about understanding each other. And right now, I don't feel understood."

"That's not what I meant," Jude sighed as he began rubbing his temple. "Jesus, I need some space from you."

You glared as he grabbed his keys from the counter and you watched him walk out of the room, feeling your stomach twist in anxiety and hurt. The sound of the door closing echoed in the silence, leaving you standing alone in the kitchen. Tears streamed down your face as you sank into a chair, feeling the weight of the argument pressing down on you.

You sat there for a while, trying to process everything that had just happened. The love you had for Jude was undeniable, but the constant feeling of being misunderstood was taking its toll. You needed to find a way to reclaim your sense of self, to feel heard in your relationship.

After a few moments, you wiped your tears and took a deep breath. You needed to do something, anything, to clear your mind. You decided to go for a walk, hoping the fresh air would help you think more clearly. Grabbing your jacket, you stepped outside and started walking aimlessly through the streets of the city.

As you walked, you reflected on your relationship with Jude. There had been so many beautiful moments, but lately, it seemed like the challenges were overshadowing the good times. You loved him deeply, but you needed to find a way to communicate better, to make him understand how you felt without it turning into a fight.

After a while, you headed back home, feeling a bit more centered. When you entered the apartment, you heard the TV and sighed. You took off your jacket and made your way to the living room, your gaze landing on Jude was too immersed in the show he was watch to realize you'd come home.

He finally met your gaze and instantly muted the TV, the tension palpable as you walked toward him.

"Hey," you whispered as he gave you a small smile.

He tapped to the spot next to him, inviting you to sit down. You hesitated for a moment before joining him on the couch, the silence between you heavy with tension.

"Hey," he said softly, his eyes filled with regret. "I've been thinking about what you said."

You nodded, your heart aching at the sight of his earnest expression. "Me too. I just... I need you to understand how hard this is for me."

Jude took a deep breath, his hand reaching out to gently take yours. "I know I've been incredibly fucking selfish, and I haven't been listening to you. I didn't realize how much you were sacrificing and how it was affecting you until now and... and I'm sorry."

Tears welled up in your eyes again, but this time they were tears of relief. "I appreciate that, Jude. I love you, but I need to find my own way, to have something that's mine."

He nodded, squeezing your hand. "Yeah, I get that. And I want to help you find that. We can work on this together, maybe you can look into things that interest you here, find something that makes you happy."

A small smile tugged at your lips. "I’d like that. And maybe we can set some boundaries with the media, try to keep our private life a bit more private."

"Yeah, absolutely," Jude agreed, his eyes shining with determination. "I'll talk to my manager and see what we can do about that. Your happiness is important to me... you are important to me."

You leaned your head against his shoulder, feeling a sense of reassurance. "Thank you, Jude. I just want us to be happy together, without all the pressure and stress."

He kissed the top of your head, his arm wrapping around you protectively. "We will, I promise."

"I love you, a lot," Jude continued, his voice soft. "I didn't mean anything I said earlier, I was just angry. I don't know..." He trailed off, before pausing. "I don't know what I'd do with you, baby."

You looked up at him, your eyes meeting his brown ones, and you could see the depth of his feelings for you. "I love you too, Jude," you whispered, your heart swelling with emotion.

As you cuddled together on the couch, the warmth of his embrace enveloping you, you felt a sense of peace.

"How about we start fresh tomorrow?" Jude suggested, his voice gentle. "We can spend the day together, just us. No media, no distractions. Just enjoying each other's company."

You nodded, feeling a wave of relief. "I'd love that. It sounds perfect."

He smiled, his eyes twinkling with affection. "Good. It's a date then."

↳ make sure to check out my navigation if you enjoyed! any interaction is greatly appreciated !

↳ thank you for reading all the way through, as always ♡

[wynnyfryd]

Trailer Park Steve AU part 3

part 1 | part 2

(tw: guns, accidental death)

Robin’s already in full panic mode by the time Steve pulls up to her place, flinging the passenger door open and throwing herself into the car with so much force that the car bounces on its wheels a little. “Drive!!”

“Jesus Christ, good morning to you, too.”

“Steve!”

Steve starts to drive.

Beside him, Robin flips the visor down to look at her reflection; groans and scrubs her hands down her face in misery at whatever she sees. Steve doesn’t really get it. He thinks she looks beautiful, with her hair gently moving in the breeze from the open window, with her freckles lit up by the early morning sun.

“Ugh,” she says, turning to look at him, “I can’t believe I look like a zombie and you’re gonna make me late to the first day of school.”

“Wow.” Fuckin’ ingrate. And when he was just being so nice to her in his head. “How about a thank you, huh? ‘Thanks for picking me up, Steve. Thanks for bringing my backpack, Steve. Sorry you almost got shanked by your neighbor, Steve.’”

“You what???”

“Doesn’t matter.”

“Um, yes it very much does matter, what the—”

“—I’m just saying, a little gratitude? Wouldn’t hurt you.”

He licks at the corner of his mouth, spritzes wiper fluid to clear the bugs off the windshield. Robin’s eyes are bulging out of her head, but he really doesn’t want to talk about how he still feels the ghost press of steel against his throat, so: “You’re not even right, by the way; I don’t know why you’re complaining.”

“Huh?”

“School started yesterday. I’m making you late for the second day of school.”

“Yesss,” she draws the word out like he’s stupid, rolling her wrist in a hurry up and get it motion, “but everyone knows that syllabus day doesn’t count. The first pep rally is the real first day of school.”

Ah, there it is.

Steve steals another peek at his best friend while they’re on a straightaway, notes the nervous twitch of her hands as she goes back to fussing at her reflection; the way she’s clumping her lashes together with seven coats too many of some drugstore brand mascara. She’s wearing lipstick. “This is about Vick—”

“—Don’t talk about—”

“—It’s about Vickie, isn’t it?”

“Ughhhhh.” Robin folds forward and thunks her head against the dash. “Fine, okay? Fine! Yes! This may have something to do with a distressingly cute fellow marching band member. Are you happy now?”

“Ecstatic.”

“Oooh, big word for you, Steven.” She swats him on the shoulder, face all twisted up in offense. “Stop laughing!”

“Stop hitting me,” he laughs. “I’ll dump your ass out on this highway.”

She gasps and narrows her eyes at him. “You wouldn’t.”

Steve eases his foot onto the brake.

“Okay, okay! Mercy! I’m being an asshole, alright? I’m sorry. I’m just— I’m stressed! Being gay is very stressful.”

The knife incident pops back into his mind. “Yeah,” he mutters, “I imagine it is.”

—

He catches himself slouching down into his seat a bit when they pull up to the school. Has to force himself to sit upright, hears his mother’s tutting in his ear about bad posture and the message it projects to the world.

It’s not that he’s embarrassed to be here; really, he isn’t. He’s just hoping to avoid being spotted by the nuggets now that they go here, too, lest he be accosted for evading his chauffeur duties.

God.

Dustin’s nerd shit is infecting his brain.

Robin grabs her bag out of the back seat, plants a parting peck on Steve’s cheek as she gets out of the car. “See you later?”

“Yeah, I’ll pick you up for work.”

“Love you, dingus.”

And then he’s alone again.

With Robin gone, Steve finds himself driving. Wandering and aimless, like a ghost who doesn’t know he’s gone. It’s not like he has nothing to do — he’s supposed to be out finding a second job, finding a way to support himself and his mom, because he’s the man of the house now. Because his life has turned into one of those shitty, overcomplicated word problems from math class.

If a recently widowed mother works no hours and her minimum-wage son works as many as Family Video will allow, how much mold-riddled dogshit housing can they afford?

Not much.

Inevitably, he finds himself circling the scorched bones of Starcourt, driving tired loops around the barbed wire perimeter. His ghost likes to guide him here; can’t shake the place where he shook off the mortal coil.

He didn’t know it at the time, but Steve Harrington died the day the mall burned down. Embarrassing, to not hear the death knell as his family name went up in smoke.

It was hard to hear much at all that night, between the concussion and the fireworks and the shrieking of a monster being torn apart, but the memory caresses his mind now in cruel whispers: the headrush of victory; the blood and the sweat; the relief that they’d won, they’d done it, it’s over, they won.

Steve tugs at his bad ear ‘til the ringing subsides.

Some fucking grand prize.

The thing is, you can’t go around exploding an eldritch horror without alerting the US government, and the US government can’t go around letting major investors in a hostile commie invasion keep their assets once they find out about their treasonous schemes. It happened fast: the arrest, the bail, the impending trial and the seizure of property. Richard Harrington was once a small town god on an invisible throne, making deals with devils in shadowy boardrooms, and suddenly he was looking at life in a cell.

Maybe it was a blessing he died before his reckoning was due. Maybe it was no accident at all.

The second, and perhaps more important, thing is: stray bullets don’t care about your looming court date.

Dad had a habit of cleaning his guns while he was drunk, nursing a whiskey in one hand while he polished the gleaming barrels with the other. Pointless, really, because the guns were always pristine to begin with. Dick Harrington didn’t hunt. Didn’t shoot. Claimed the pistol was for home defense, that he kept it loaded in case anyone ever tried to hurt his family, but Steve knew the truth.

His dad just liked to flirt with death. Liked to handle pretty, deadly things, stroke his fingers over ruthless metal and feel the rush of power when he walked away unscathed.

He didn’t walk away that night.

Didn’t even face death standing.

Sliced through his femoral artery and rolled right out of his chair.

They found him lying on the ground in a dark, sticky puddle, gasping like a fish as blood spurted from his thigh. Crazy how fast it happened. Steve had been in his room when the shot rang out, and he barely managed to reach the bottom of the stairs before the gurgling noises stopped. Just boom! whizz! bang! and Dick Harrington was gone.

Maybe it’s a good thing, too, that they lost the house.

The image of his mother in the hallway that night — shellshocked in the doorway, one pale hand shaking in front of her open mouth, features wide and wet with waking horror as she stared into the room — was enough to make him never want to step foot in the place again.

So now they live in a rundown piece of shit on the wrong side of town, with hideous burnt orange carpet and wood paneled walls, with cracks in the ceiling and cigarette burns in the walls, some parting gifts from whatever feral hick lived there before them, and it feels like another cruel, cosmic joke. Like the universe is delighting in the Harringtons’ comeuppance; like the blackened beams and brick rubble of Starcourt are all twisting to form one great, mocking mouth; the better to smile and laugh at their misfortune.

You bought your bed, now you have to lie in it.

He didn’t even know that the Harringtons owned Forest Hills until it was the only asset left to their name.

He’s pretty sure his dad bought it more as a joke than a genuine investment. Meant to teach Steve a lesson, like how he used to bring home Waffle House applications whenever Steve got a C on a report card. This is your future if you don’t straighten up, son.

Kill yourself, dad.

Oh, wait.

You already did.

—

part 4

[yikesmary]

PREGNANCY CRAVINGS — choi seungcheol x reader

summary: where being pregnant comes with its struggles, and one of them just so happens to be the random pregnancy cravings. so, in the middle of the night, you try to sneak out and go to the convenience store nearby and buy something to satisfy your craving. however, your husband wakes up and insists to accompany you—even if he’s barely awake.

notes: the convenience store i've pictured in mind are like the ones i've seen in korea. but i don't really address where this occurs in, so use your imagination!

disclaimer: i'm not pregnant or have been pregnant so everything i write about pregnancy is most likely not true and therefore shouldn't be taken as fact (unless it's true, but make sure it's validated by an actual medical professional).

join my taglist!

“Oh, Cheol, you absolute asshole,”

You tried using all your strength to push your husband’s sleeping figure away from you, the heat coming from his body was too much for you. Trying to move him away was an obstacle, especially because he was working out more as of lately.

But finally, you had managed to cause enough noise in trying to move him that Seungcheol finally moved himself, scooting more onto his side.

You looked down at your pregnant belly and told your unborn child, “All that effort I put into moving him, and all he has to do is move himself?”

Huffing, you stood up and went to your closet, looking for an appropriate shirt to change into in order to go to the convenience store. In hindsight, you could probably have used your phone to order something, but the problem was you didn’t know what you were craving.

You knew that the baby was craving something, but didn’t know what. So, you decided that you were going to walk to the store and let the baby decide while walking through the aisles.

You rummaged through your clothes before going through Seungcheol’s side of the closet. As the pregnancy goes on, you’ve found yourself wearing more of Seungcheol’s clothes since they seemed to fit you better and were comfier than the maternity clothes that you never wore.

"What are you doing?"

You turned around in surprise to see Seungcheol standing, looking quite comfy in his pajama pants and a random old shirt. Being the one for dramatics (which you probably got from your husband), you put your hand on top of where your heart was. "You scared me! I think I almost gave birth then," you said.

He rolled his eyes and then rubbed the sleep out of his eyes. "What are you doing?" He repeated.

"Oh, I was gonna go to the convenience store. The baby wants to eat something," you told him.

"Can't the baby wait for the morning?"

"The baby wants to eat, now."

"Then why don't you order something?"

"The baby doesn't know what to eat," you sheepishly said.

He looked at you for a moment, before reaching behind you to grab a hoodie. "Fine, let's go," he said, turning to leave yours and his' bedroom.

"I'm fine on my own," you insisted.

"You're pregnant and it's two in the morning. I'm coming with you," Seungcheol said, before yawning.

"Cheol, you're barely awake enough to be coming with me. You need your sleep," you gently said, but he was stubborn.

"I'm suddenly hungry too, so I'll just come with you to buy some food," he said.

Once you and Seungcheol entered the convenience store, you were greeted by the quietness of the place and the single employee that was stood behind the cash register.

You looked around the aisles while your husband followed not too far away from you. "Choose what you want, I'll be paying," he instructed and you didn't bother to argue, considering he always insisted on paying.

Wandering around, you grabbed your favorite snacks, a couple ramen cups, and a few of Seungcheol's favorite foods. Realizing that you should've gotten a basket, you looked at Seungcheol, who seemed to be amused with your current predicament of full hands.

"Don't laugh, it's not funny!" you whined, but he only seemed to amuse further with your comment.

Wordlessly, he left the aisle to grab a basket. When he returned with the basket, you dumped everything in it, and he carried it while you walked around the aisles one last time.

After making sure you didn't want anything else, Seungcheol went to the register, with you waddling behind him.

"Was it worth it to ruin our sleeping schedules for this?" Seungcheol teased, and you nodded with a mouthful of ramen noodles.

He shook his head but opened his mouth and you put a chopstick with ramen noodles on it in his mouth. "Not bad," he said and you beamed at his compliment.

"Is the baby satisfied with the food?"

"Yep, and the baby is finally tired enough to sleep," you said.

Waddling to your bedroom, with Seungcheol not too far from you, you settled into your bed, and closed your eyes.

"Sweetie?"

"Yes, Cheol?"

"I can't sleep now,"

[emoangel44]

The thing I've always loved most about aa4 is how much darker the tone is than the rest of the series in a way that isn't just edgy for the sake of it, but subverts your expectations from the original 3 games in a really interesting way. The trilogy was built upon the trust Phoenix had in others, and it was something we as players could almost always feel certain in. AA4 flips this on its head and makes it so Apollo effectively can't trust anyone but himself.

Your mentor, who the in the trilogy was a paragon of wisdom you could always turn to no matter what, gets revealed to be the culprit and sent to jail in the first trial and by the end of the game his list of crimes has stacked high but you still have so few answers on why he did any of it.

Your boss, the goofy protagonist of the trilogy, is now inexplicably a washed-up, disgraced, cheating poker player with an implied drinking problem who seemingly found a new hobby in evidence forgery and jury rigging.

He has a codependent relationship with his daughter, your assistant, who usually is a completely innocent and hapless victim of circumstance. She sees herself as the provider for the house and will help her father cheat at poker, or forge evidence, or guilt trip the poor attorney they knowingly screwed of out of a job into working for them for dirt cheap.

The detective, the only other returning main character, a previous assistant, is completely changed since we last saw her. In the trilogy she was chipper and bright despite the hardships she faced, and now she's unfriendly and burned out, turned bitter by the world. The scene we're first properly introduced to her in Apollo genuinely spends several minutes thinking his boss is making him bribe her with cocaine.

Every single defendant is a criminal guilty of something other than what they're charged for. Each case centers around an underground black-market poker ring, a mafia family and medical malpractice, a smuggling ring, and a family of forgers and an incredibly shady troupe of magicians. The one thing all of these people have in common is that none of them will tell you literally anything about what's happening, half of them clearly reveling in being as big of cryptic assholes as possible.

The only person who doesn't fit this description is, for once, the prosecutor. Usually your biggest obstacle and the most morally corrupt of the main cast, he's the only person who's both 100% on the side of truth and on the same page as you for the entire game. He's just as clueless as you, being used nothing more than a chess piece just like you are.

But the truly masterful thing about AA4 is how morally grey it is. These characters aren't just one note villains. They're not even villains at all. Most of them aren't even malicious.

Your boss, for all the low levels he stoops to, is underneath it all the same guy he's always been, doing everything he can to bring a criminal to justice and protect his family. Your assistant is a sweet girl who truly cares about you, she's just prioritizing herself and her fathers safety before anything else. The detective is the same passionate and kind woman under everything else. The rest of the defendants are genuinely well-meaning young people who got involved in shady stuff they didn't fully understand.

The game is filled with good people trying to make the best of bad circumstances. The game has just as many fun moments as the original trilogy. For all it's rough appearance, the game has a similar heart. For every unanswered question or unrighted wrong, there's a smile or a hope for a better future. For every bad action, there's usually someone trying their best behind it. The game is melancholic and dark, but isn't afraid to let good shine through. It knows there's no shadows without the light.

[hqbaby]

eighteen — just wanted you know to know

mess it up — gojo x reader & sukuna x reader

⁀➴ when i told you i’m fine, you were lied to. when the love of your life falls for someone else, you decide to move on—by pretending to date your best friend, the campus fuckboy.

previous — masterlist — next

word count. 2.4k content. profanity, everyone’s bad with feelings

Satoru was having a lovely day. Although “lovely” would be a relative term considering the fact that finals season has descended upon the general student population and he is one of its many victims. Still, he woke up on the right side of the bed, he managed to find some clean clothes, and the barista at the coffee shop down the road wasn’t as mean to him as he usually is.

Overall, his day had gone fairly well. As he walked over to the library, he didn’t dread finishing the mountain of papers he had to write or the problem sets he had to review. He even texted Suguru to come join him in his study session so that they could compare notes—something he usually steers clear from because the man always distracts him.

Overall, Satoru was having a lovely day.

Until that asshole showed up.

There he goes, with his usual lazy smirk, walking over to a table with his friend. They’re chatting—about something shitty, Satoru suspects—and laying their books out on the surface, pulling laptops and notes out of their bags. Satoru wonders what would happen if he just walked over, grabbed the guy and—

“What the fuck are you doing?”

Satoru looks down at his hand where a pencil has already snapped in half. You should really just get a mechanical one, your voice echoes in the back of his mind, the hint of a laugh bubbling beneath your words.

“Satoru.”

He looks up.

Shoko.

“Hey,” he says, flashing her that grin of his. As if he wasn’t just trying to stare your boyfriend to death. “What’s up? Wanna join me?”

The girl rolls her eyes, obviously seeing through his nonsense. “Why are you looking at that guy?” she asks, glancing over at the table where Sukuna is gesturing frantically as he explains something to Choso. “You into him or something?”

Satoru scowls. “That guy is dirt,” he says. “Worse than dirt actually. He’s the scourge of the earth.”

Shoko watches him with an amused look as he directs his attention at Sukuna, sending daggers at the guy that he obviously can’t feel at all. She’s known Satoru for a while, since they were freshmen. He’s usually the kind of guy who tries to be nice to everyone. He calls it being a nice person. She calls it being a people-pleaser.

She doesn’t think she’s ever seen him look at anyone the way he looks at Sukuna. He usually hides his disdain until the other person is out of his general vicinity. So this, him looking at the poor guy like he wants his whole family dead, is both ridiculous and completely strange.

“What did he do?” she asks, sitting down at the table. She takes a sip of her coffee as Satoru wills himself to rip his gaze away from Sukuna. When she realizes it might take a while, she busies herself by digging through her bag to grab the things she needs to study. “Did he steal your girlfriend or something?”

The silence that her question meets leaves Shoko curious, glancing up at Satoru as he turns away looking a little defeated.

“Oh shit,” she says. “Really? That’s why you broke up?”

“No,” Satoru tells her. He groans, slumping onto the table. “I don’t know, okay? All I know is that one moment she’s breaking up with me, the next she’s with that guy.”

Shoko looks back at Sukuna, waiting until she finally recognizes the man. Her eyes widen. She didn’t know who he was before, but now she definitely does.

“That’s the best friend!” she whispers to Satoru like it’s some big secret. “He’s the one you told us about!”

Satoru sticks his tongue out. “Yeah. Duh.”

She swats his shoulder. “Don’t be a fucking brat,” she says. “I can’t believe she jumped ship like that. What a bitch.”

“Don’t call her that.”

“Well, I’m a bitch, so I know when someone else is being a bitch.”

“Shoko.”

She raises her hands in apology. “Fine, fine. Sorry,” she says. She takes one more look at Sukuna then sighs. “You know, at least you’re free of all that now. You and Kimi seem great.”

That seems to cheer him up.

“We do, don’t we?” he says, beaming. “She’s just the best, you know. Lights up every room she walks into.”

Shoko curses herself as Satoru launches into a whole spiel about how great and wonderful Kimi is. She knows that she brought this on, she knows that the best way to distract her friend from his melancholy thoughts of you is to get him to talk about his new girlfriend, but fuck does it make him annoying.

“She does this little thing when we kiss, where she takes her hand and she—”

“Holy shit, please stop!” Shoko says. “I don’t wanna know about that!”

Satoru smirks. He knows just how much this annoys Shoko. It’s half the fun.

“She grabs my butt.”

He gets a well-earned smack on the arm.

“Hey, why are you starting the violence without me?” Suguru slides into the chair beside Satoru, beaming at Shoko as she glares at him. “What did he do?”

“He was being annoying,” she tells him, slouching in her seat. “I brought up his girlfriend once and off he goes on a whole tangent. ‘Oh, Shoko, you should see her eyes! You should smell her hair!’”

Satoru shrugs. “Not my fault you’re painfully single.”

“I’m pre-med, I don’t have the time,” she says like she always does. “I’d also like to point out that you fall in love way too easily. It’s gross.”

“I do not!” he gasps. “I’m very careful with my heart, you know.”

“Nah, I have to agree with Shoko on this,” Suguru chimes in, oh-so-helpfully

“You have to agree? You don’t have to do anything!”

He pats Satoru on the back. “Why don’t we just study like you said we would?” he says. “Take your mind off your fickle heart.”

“I’m gonna throw you into a dumpster,” Satoru says, glaring.

“After my finals, buddy. After my finals.”

It takes a while, but they do manage to get Satoru back on track and start working on his papers.

At a table a few feet away from them, Sukuna is trying to focus too. And failing miserably of course.

“Shut up,” Choso says without even looking up from his laptop.

“I haven’t even said anything.”

“But you were going to.”

Choso sighs. “Dude, I swear I’m gonna leave if you don’t let me focus.”

Sukuna pouts, trying his best to put on the best whole “woe is me” performance of his life. “But I have something really important to ask.”

“I have something really important to study for.”

 “You don’t want me to fail, do you?” Sukuna asks. “If I don’t get this off my chest, I may just flunk out of here.”

“Okay,” Choso nods. He waves at Sukuna. “Bye, dude. It was nice having you here.”

“Choso!”

“Seriously, man! We can talk all you want after we die from our exams, okay?”

“Fine,” Sukuna says, clearly not fine at all. He gets up and grabs his belt bag. “I’m gonna go take a smoke.”

Choso raises his brow. “I thought you quit.”

“Yeah, well, I’m stressed,” is all Sukuna says before he marches out of the library, completely unaware of the fact that he’s just walked past your ex-boyfriend who has not only noticed him but decided—against his friend’s wishes—to follow him outside.

Technically, no one is allowed to smoke around these parts of campus. But technicalities haven’t seemed to stop the group of distressed students camped out behind the library, heads in their hands as they all ignore each other and take their misery out on the ozone layer.

Sukuna leans against the brick wall, fishing a pack of cigarettes out of his bag. He’s just about to light it when someone scoffs at him. Now what piece of shit would do that?

“She hates those, you know.”

Oh, that piece of shit. Of course.

“What do you want?” Sukuna says, his voice as cold as steel as he meets Satoru’s eye. He lets the cigarette dangle from his fingers. Yeah, you wouldn’t like this at all. “Come to beat me up? Your little girlfriend not around to stop you?”

Satoru doesn’t budge, just continues to stare him down. “Have you told her?”

“Told her what?” your boyfriend spits. “That you’re a creep who can’t seem to get out of his ex’s life?”

“If you don’t, I will,” Satoru tells him. He runs a hand through his hair and crosses his arms over his chest. What is he doing? He knows that Sukuna’s right. That he should just let you live your life. Make the mistakes you want to make. It’s not like you didn’t cause them.

But he can’t do that. He could never do that to you.

“Listen, I don’t know why she chose you,” he says, the venom dripping from his tongue. “But the least you can do is not treat her like shit.”

Sukuna rolls his eyes. He lets the cigarette drop to the ground. “How do you know how I treat her?” he asks. “This is getting pathetic, man. You have a girlfriend, don’t you? Why don’t you just move on like any other sane person would.”

“You fucking ass—”

“She doesn’t want you,” Sukuna whispers. His voice is low and threatening. Any other man would be scared shitless.

But not Satoru.

His lips curl into a smirk. All smug and cold and heartless. “She misses me, you know?”

Sukuna sneers. “Oh, yeah? Who told you that? Your fucking delusion brain?”

“No. She did,” Satoru says simply. “I ran into her a few weeks back and she told me.”

“Oh, please.” Sukuna tries to maintain the stoic facade he’s put up, but that bugs him. Did you really tell him that? Why? “You’re insane.”

He pushes past your ex and heads back into the library.

When he plops back into his chair, Choso shoots him a confused look, but he just ignores it, turning back to his notes. He tries his best to read through his scribbles about something, but he can’t help his mind from drifting to you.

He knows he should tell you about the party. It’s not like the two of you were actually together yet, and you did tell him you didn’t mind if he kept fucking seeing other girls. You’re not vindictive. You’d be just fine with it—all he has to do is tell you.

He reaches for his phone and stops short of calling you.

You wouldn’t care. You would be fine. The two of you would be fine.

But would you? Things between you are so new. So fragile. You’ve barely just crossed the line between friends and an actual proper adult relationship. Everything is still hanging in the balance. Sukuna knows that one wrong move could wreck it all. He just doesn’t know what that move is.

And then there’s Satoru.

“She misses me, you know?”

What would possess that man to say something like that, Sukuna will never know. Maybe he’s just jealous. Maybe he’s just trying to get in Sukuna’s head. Maybe he just wants to mess with your relationship so that you come running back to him.

But maybe he’s right.

You wake to the feeling of your phone buzzing somewhere on the floor of your living room. It’s the middle of the day, but you, Maki, and Nobara have managed to pass out in the middle of your studying. Figures. If you had the choice between sleep and school, you definitely know what the three of you would pick.

You lift your head and pat the space around you until it finds your phone. Your eyebrows furrow when you see the contact name on the screen. You answer.

“‘Kuna?” you say, voice a little hoarse from sleep. “Is everything okay?”

“Yeah!” he answers immediately. “I just wanted—were you sleeping?”

You chuckle, placing a hand on your forehead as you rest your head back on the floor. “Yeah, we needed a break,” you tell him. “Why are you calling?”

The other line is silent for a moment. You can already picture the way he looks right now, rubbing his thumb over his lower lip as he considers his words carefully.

“Sukuna, what is it?”

You hear him exhale. “Nothing,” he tells you. “I just wanted to let you know that I miss you.”

“We saw each other yesterday,” you say teasingly. You wish you could leave the conversation there, but you know there must be some other reason why he’s decided to call you out of nowhere. You know Sukuna. You know that there’s something going on. “What did you really call me about though?”

“Nothing,” he says again. You can tell that he knows he’s not convincing you. “I just thought… you remember when we snuck into that reservoir?”

You groan at the memory. The two of you were stupid back then, trying to escape the realities that you lived in. But you have to admit it was fun.

“Of course I do,” you tell him. “You called me just to remind me of that?”

He laughs, the memory apparently just as fun for him as it was for you. “That was when I knew.”

“Knew what?”

“You’re really gonna make me say it?”

You frown. “Sukuna, what are you talking about?”

You hear him sigh. Hear him ruffle something. Probably his hair. “That’s when I knew that I loved you,” he tells you softly.

You nearly drop the phone. “Oh.”

“You don’t have to say it,” he says. “I just thought you should know.”

Now, it’s your turn to be all jumpy. This is just like Sukuna to drop something on you like that. To drop the fact that he loves you, just like that. The fact that he’s apparently loved you for a while now.

“I love you too.”

The words hang in the air for a while. You’ve told him you loved him before, but that was always different. Always spoken beneath the cover of your friendship. Never something that meant anything important.

But is it really different this time?

You try to keep the thought out of your mind.

“‘Kuna? You there?”

“I’m here.”

You clear your throat. “Is that really why you called?”

“Yeah…” he says. “I just—yeah. I just wanted you to know that I love you.”

notes. me while writing this: *just sweats profusely*

[dollfacefantasy]

Rookiepillz: Here We Go Again

pairing: leon kennedy x fem!reader

summary: almost a year after the rookiepillz incident, you and your now-boyfriend play some video games together. he's got a special strategy to help you win.

cw: nsfw (18+), smut, p in v, brief cockwarming, daddy kink, rookiepillz

word count: 1.8k

a/n: finally. rookiepillz has come back to tumblr. the most anticipated come back of the century in my book. i just needed something silly as a break from school. we'll be back to regularly scheduled programming momentarily. part 1 is here.

“ANOTHER GOJO!” you yell at your tv, flinging your controller to the other side of your couch. You feign a growl and look up at your boyfriend who’s lap you were laid up on. “Another fucking Gojo killed me. Can you believe this? It’s like a curse or something.”

He chuckles right next to your ear and kisses your temple. “You’ll get the win soon. You placed third that time, that’s not bad,” he tells you as you ready up again.

He was one to talk considering he planned and acted out a whole revenge scheme on you when he placed second. But hey, look at the two of you now. Snuggling on the couch, you wearing one of his shirts, playing video games in his lap while he gives you little smooches and whispers sweet nothings to you.

Sure, he used to be your stepdad, but he’s your man now. Sure, he dated your mom just to get back at you for beating him in a Fortnite match, but he also gave you the best dick of your life. And plus, he was pretty sweet when he wasn’t being a total asshole, so who are you to complain?

His arms squeeze around your waist, and he nuzzles the back of your neck, inhaling your scent as you beat on some innocent player in the lobby for having the default skin. He smiled as he watched your eyes light up with glee. He took in every word you said about how dropping at the pool house was the best strategy. He couldn’t get enough of you.

Yeah, he had fucked your mom as part of a long revenge plot over losing a victory royale. Yeah, he did humiliate you by spanking you and then revealing said revenge plot in the middle of fucking. But it’s only cause he knew you’d be his girl in the end. He was just having some fun with his sweetheart, right?

He half-watches you running around the map, giggling when you drive a car off a cliff or start doing the weeknd emote. A smile breaks across his face whenever you kill someone because you lightly tap his forearm and go “Look! Did you see that? I gottem.” And then he’d whisper to you, “mhm, that’s my girl” before planting another kiss on your cheekbone.

But what really got him going wasn’t the precious moments of joy or the sweet expressions of tension when you started losing health. No. What really fired him up was your rage. What could he say? It reminded him of nearly a year ago when he’d pulled you over his knee, the fire that had burned in your eyes. A day he’d never forget. 

All he had to do was be patient for your match to start winding down. Once that notification came up that said there were only 25 people left, that red monster inside you would start rearing its head. The “motherfucker’s” and “god damn it’s” would start flying, and in no time at all, you’d be wearing that adorable pouty expression.

Like right now. He watched your character explode into a pile of loot. You slammed the controller down on your laps and crossed your arms, sinking back into his embrace. “That’s such bullshit. At least it wasn’t Gojo again,” you grumble.

Fuck, it got him hard.

“I think I know your problem, baby,” he says. 

You look at him with a raised eyebrow. The one piece of certain leverage you had over your boyfriend was that you were a better Fortnite player. Whenever he gave you unsolicited advice on your playing, you made sure to bring up the fact that you had beaten him before.

“You’re getting so frustrated, y’know. I think you gotta calm down a bit. Let yourself relax so you can think and focus better. And I think I have a way you can do that,” he says.

“And what would that be?” you ask, tone growing softer as you start to catch on.

“How about you relax on daddy’s cock? I know you can only think straight once you’ve been filled up,” he purrs. His hands smooth up your stomach to your tits, coasting over your nipples that were already starting to harden out of instinct. Because if there was one guaranteed piece of leverage he had on you, it was that special word that you’d seemed so averse to just a few months ago.

“I think that’s a good idea,” you answer. It felt shameful that he could get a rush of arousal from you with just a simple word said in a particular tone.

You stand up, still working the controller as another match starts up. He tugs down your shorts for you, grinning like the madman he was at your lack of panties.

“Look at you all prepared,” he coos and kisses your hip, “You knew you’d be getting a treat from daddy today, hm?”

“Lucky guess,” you respond as he guides you back down. Your knees rest on either side of his thighs. He lines himself with your entrance and pulls you down until he’s bottomed out. You whimper and bite your lip, locking your eyes on the tv to focus.

For the beginning, he really does just let you sit there, nice and full. And maybe he was sort of right. You feel pretty calm so far. Everything is less stressful when, in the back of your mind, you’re noticing the way he twitches within you or the small grunts he lets out when you tighten around him.

You were so warm and tight. Felt just as good as the first time, and fortunately for you, there was no bombshell plot twist waiting around the corner. His fingers rub little circles on the outside of your thigh.

“What do you think? Is it helping, babydoll?” he asks.

“Mhm, thank you, daddy. Fits just right,” you say.

He chuckles at the cute way you say it. You work on sniping some people, he tests out rolling his hips. You sharply inhale but don’t protest. So he does it again. His cock slides through the warm embrace of your walls, kissing your favorite spots deep inside. You still seemed focused enough, so using his hands to hold you in position, he begins thrusting upwards.

Your breaths become longer and shakier, but you will yourself to maintain focus. The number of players was dwindling fast. He was bouncing you on his cock which normally left you empty-headed in seconds. But you needed this victory royale. You really were his girl.

He lets out a groan, leaning back against the couch cushions with his head tilted back. It wasn’t like he needed the win this time. He could let go. And so he did. He pistons his cock up into you faster by the moment.

“Fuck fuck fuck. Daddy there’s only two other people,” you whine in a plea for mercy.

“Almost there, baby,” he grunts. You honestly didn’t know if he was referring to your game or how close he was to cumming.

You don’t have time to think about that though because the circle is closing. You grit your teeth and grip the controller with all the focus you have left.

“Daddy, c’mon, I could win,” you whimper.

“I know, princess. You got this, pretty girl,” he mumbles while his eyes flutter. His abdomen twitches as he feels himself gearing up for release. “Tell you what. If you win this one, daddy’ll make sure you get a special reward later on.”

Now it is absolutely on. You can’t lose this. That’d be even more humiliating than the original rookiepillz incident. You’re dashing around the map as your boyfriend pumps in and out of you. It’s a difficult task, managing to hold off your release and try to win.

But soon enough you spot your targets. At the same time, it seems that Leon is reaching his. “Oh fuck, baby. So fuckin’ good. Daddy’s gonna fill you up just how you like,” he whimpers from behind you.

He bounces you, and you know your own peak is imminent. But you see the other players, and in an absolute miracle, you down one and then the other. The tv flashes gold with your victory as your body seizes with the white hot pleasure of release. Simultaneously, he unloads inside you, firing rope after rope into your tight cunt.

He fucks into you a few more times before actually coming back down to reality. You’re coming down too, melting back against his chest. He’s stroking your face when his eyes catch on the tv.

“Holy shit, you actually won?” he asks. His tone gives away that he’s actually impressed. and that’s your ultimate victory royale.

“Mhm, all for you,” you tease and lazily kiss his cheek.

“God, baby. Making me feel like the luckiest man alive right now,” he replies and reciprocates your small gesture of affection.

The two of you cuddle for a bit longer. You’re finished with the game, having finally gotten the win you wanted. And like always, he was such a sweetheart after, giving you kisses and praise, holding you close, even cleaning you up once he got up. Unfortunately, he had to go into work today, so it wasn’t long until he had to leave. He makes sure you’re content before he says goodbye with a kiss to your forehead.

Later that night though, you were alone at your place just as Leon was at his. You get a text. His contact lights up your lockscreen with the message “Get on Fortnite?”

You smile, hopping on your couch and turning on your console. You text back a “yeah hehe :)” He facetimes you, and you beam when you see his face, something you would have never thought possible when you met him. While you wait for everything to turn on and connect, you ask him about his day and how he’s feeling. He answers softly, heart melting at your interest.

To your surprise, when the game finally loads up, you have a gift. From rookiepillz himself.

“Leon…” you say excitedly.

“What?” he asks, playing dumb at first, “Just open it.”

So you do. You burst into laughter as Gojo appears on your screen next. “You’re so funny. I love you,” you giggle. It slips out so casually, he’s not even sure you registered what you’d let slip. He lets it go for now. He would tease you about it later. Right now, he was just so enamored with you.

As you prattled on about wanting to be the skin with the blindfold on and how he should get one for himself so you could match, he realized something. He’d lose every Fortnite match for the rest of his life if it meant he got you. His own personal victory royale.

[mostlysignssomeportents]

No, “convenience” isn’t the problem

I'm touring my new, nationally bestselling novel The Bezzle! Catch me in CHICAGO (Apr 17), Torino (Apr 21) Marin County (Apr 27), Winnipeg (May 2), Calgary (May 3), Vancouver (May 4), and beyond!

Using Amazon, or Twitter, or Facebook, or Google, or Doordash, or Uber doesn't make you lazy. Platform capitalism isn't enshittifying because you made the wrong shopping choices.

Remember, the reason these corporations were able to capture such substantial market-share is that the capital markets saw them as a bet that they could lose money for years, drive out competition, capture their markets, and then raise prices and abuse their workers and suppliers without fear of reprisal. Investors were chasing monopoly power, that is, companies that are too big to fail, too big to jail, and too big to care:

https://pluralistic.net/2024/04/04/teach-me-how-to-shruggie/#kagi

The tactics that let a few startups into Big Tech are illegal under existing antitrust laws. It's illegal for large corporations to buy up smaller ones before they can grow to challenge their dominance. It's illegal for dominant companies to merge with each other. "Predatory pricing" (selling goods or services below cost to prevent competitors from entering the market, or to drive out existing competitors) is also illegal. It's illegal for a big business to use its power to bargain for preferential discounts from its suppliers. Large companies aren't allowed to collude to fix prices or payments.

But under successive administrations, from Jimmy Carter through to Donald Trump, corporations routinely broke these laws. They explicitly and implicitly colluded to keep those laws from being enforced, driving smaller businesses into the ground. Now, sociopaths are just as capable of starting small companies as they are of running monopolies, but that one store that's run by a colossal asshole isn't the threat to your wellbeing that, say, Walmart or Amazon is.

All of this took place against a backdrop of stagnating wages and skyrocketing housing, health, and education costs. In other words, even as the cost of operating a small business was going up (when Amazon gets a preferential discount from a key supplier, that supplier needs to make up the difference by gouging smaller, weaker retailers), Americans' disposable income was falling.

So long as the capital markets were willing to continue funding loss-making future monopolists, your neighbors were going to make the choice to shop "the wrong way." As small, local businesses lost those customers, the costs they had to charge to make up the difference would go up, making it harder and harder for you to afford to shop "the right way."

In other words: by allowing corporations to flout antimonopoly laws, we set the stage for monopolies. The fault lay with regulators and the corporate leaders and finance barons who captured them – not with "consumers" who made the wrong choices. What's more, as the biggest businesses' monopoly power grew, your ability to choose grew ever narrower: once every mom-and-pop restaurant in your area fires their delivery drivers and switches to Doordash, your choice to order delivery from a place that payrolls its drivers goes away.

Monopolists don't just have the advantage of nearly unlimited access to the capital markets – they also enjoy the easy coordination that comes from participating in a cartel. It's easy for five giant corporations to form conspiracies because five CEOs can fit around a single table, which means that some day, they will:

https://pluralistic.net/2023/04/18/cursed-are-the-sausagemakers/#how-the-parties-get-to-yes

By contrast, "consumers" are atomized – there are millions of us, we don't know each other, and we struggle to agree on a course of action and stick to it. For "consumers" to make a difference, we have to form institutions, like co-ops or buying clubs, or embark on coordinated campaigns, like boycotts. Both of these tactics have their place, but they are weak when compared to monopoly power.

Luckily, we're not just "consumers." We're also citizens who can exercise political power. That's hard work – but so is organizing a co-op or a boycott. The difference is, when we dog enforcers who wield the power of the state, and line up behind them when they start to do their jobs, we can make deep structural differences that go far beyond anything we can make happen as consumers:

https://pluralistic.net/2022/10/18/administrative-competence/#i-know-stuff

We're not just "consumers" or "citizens" – we're also workers, and when workers come together in unions, they, too, can concentrate the diffuse, atomized power of the individual into a single, powerful entity that can hold the forces of capital in check:

https://pluralistic.net/2024/04/10/an-injury-to-one/#is-an-injury-to-all

And all of these things work together; when regulators do their jobs, they protect workers who are unionizing:

https://pluralistic.net/2023/09/06/goons-ginks-and-company-finks/#if-blood-be-the-price-of-your-cursed-wealth

And strong labor power can force cartels to abandon their plans to rig the market so that every consumer choice makes them more powerful:

https://pluralistic.net/2023/10/01/how-the-writers-guild-sunk-ais-ship/

And when consumers can choose better, local, more ethical businesses at competitive rates, those choices can make a difference:

https://pluralistic.net/2022/07/10/view-a-sku/

Antimonopoly policy is the foundation for all forms of people-power. The very instant corporations become too big to fail, jail or care is the instant that "voting with your wallet" becomes a waste of time.

Sure, choose that small local grocery, but everything on their shelves is going to come from the consumer packaged-goods duopoly of Procter and Gamble and Unilever. Sure, hunt down that local brand of potato chips that you love instead of P&G or Unilever's brand, but if they become successful, either P&G or Unilever will buy them out, and issue a press release trumpeting the purchase, saying "We bought out this beloved independent brand and added it to our portfolio because we know that consumers value choice."

If you're going to devote yourself to solving the collective action problem to make people-power work against corporations, spend your precious time wisely. As Zephyr Teachout writes in Break 'Em Up, don't miss the protest march outside the Amazon warehouse because you spent two hours driving around looking for an independent stationery so you could buy the markers and cardboard to make your anti-Amazon sign without shopping on Amazon:

https://pluralistic.net/2020/07/29/break-em-up/#break-em-up

When blame corporate power on "laziness," we buy into the corporations' own story about how they came to dominate our lives: we just prefer them. This is how Google explains away its 90% market-share in search: we just chose Google. But we didn't, not really – Google spends tens of billions of dollars every single year buying up the search-box on every website, phone, and operating system:

https://pluralistic.net/2024/02/21/im-feeling-unlucky/#not-up-to-the-task

Blaming "laziness" for corporate dominance also buys into the monopolists' claim that the only way to have convenient, easy-to-use services is to cede power to them. Facebook claims it's literally impossible for you to carry on social relations with the people that matter to you without also letting them spy on you. When we criticize people for wanting to hang out online with the people they love, we send the message that they need to choose loneliness and isolation, or they will be complicit in monopoly.

The problem with Google isn't that it lets you find things. The problem with Facebook isn't that it lets you talk to your friends. The problem with Uber isn't that it gets you from one place to another without having to stand on a corner waving your arm in the air. The problem with Amazon isn't that it makes it easy to locate a wide variety of products. We should stop telling people that they're wrong to want these things, because a) these things are good; and b) these things can be separated from the monopoly power of these corporate bullies:

https://pluralistic.net/2022/11/08/divisibility/#technognosticism

Remember the Napster Wars? The music labels had screwed over musicians and fans. 80 percent of all recorded music wasn't offered for sale, and the labels cooked the books to make it effectively impossible for musicians to earn out their advances. Napster didn't solve all of that (though they did offer $15/user/month to the labels for a license to their catalogs), but there were many ways in which it was vastly superior to the system it replaced.

The record labels responded by suing tens of thousands of people, mostly kids, but also dead people and babies and lots of other people. They demanded an end to online anonymity and a system of universal surveillance. They wanted every online space to algorithmically monitor everything a user posted and delete anything that might be a copyright infringement.

These were the problems with the music cartel: they suppressed the availability of music, screwed over musicians, carried on a campaign of indiscriminate legal terror, and lobbied effectively for a system of ubiquitous, far-reaching digital surveillance and control:

https://pluralistic.net/2023/02/02/nonbinary-families/#red-envelopes

You know what wasn't a problem with the record labels? The music. The music was fine. Great, even.

But some of the people who were outraged with the labels' outrageous actions decided the problem was the music. Their answer wasn't to merely demand better copyright laws or fairer treatment for musicians, but to demand that music fans stop listening to music from the labels. Somehow, they thought they could build a popular movement that you could only join by swearing off popular music.

That didn't work. It can't work. A popular movement that you can only join by boycotting popular music will always be unpopular. It's bad tactics.

When we blame "laziness" for tech monopolies, we send the message that our friends have to choose between life's joys and comforts, and a fair economic system that doesn't corrupt our politics, screw over workers, and destroy small, local businesses. This isn't true. It's a lie that monopolists tell to justify their abuse. When we repeat it, we do monopolists' work for them – and we chase away the people we need to recruit for the meaningful struggles to build worker power and political power.

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/2024/04/12/give-me-convenience/#or-give-me-death

Image: Cryteria (modified) https://commons.wikimedia.org/wiki/File:HAL9000.svg

CC BY 3.0 https://creativecommons.org/licenses/by/3.0/deed.en

[earlysunshines]

downstairs neighbor

danielle marsh x fem!reader ; fluff

synopsis: in which you party so often that you get another complaint, but this time it's from a very pretty girl that really has you considering shutting the whole function down.

warnings: alcohol and weed mentioned ; readers an asshole at first but danielle is danielle so reader goes through a whole crisis ; yeah they're adorable, basically black cat and golden retriever trope sorry not sorry ; anything else i didn't mention ; not proofread

a/n: get it because usually it's the upstairs neighbor but i'm quirky so its not... ok nvm ill delete my account i gues ... anyways FIRST DANI FIC UNDER 10K! guys im so in love with her i need to be put into an asylum do u see these pics of her LOOK AT HERR!!! i need to die like rn

danielle has settled in quite alright into her new university. she's moved in with one of her close friends from high school, decorated her side of the room, and all of her professors are oddly sweet--much better than the professors from her old school.

she makes it to the first friday of the semester, deciding to settle in and watch a movie, maybe call her mom and dad later if she doesn't doze off. but when she hears muffled music and disturbing footsteps from downstairs, she pauses the show she's two minutes into and gets out of her bed.

hanni's on the other side of the room completely slumped, her headphones peeking out from the blanket sprawled on top of her with no care in the world as to what is happening downstairs. danielle purses her lips before getting out of bed and slipping the university sweatshirts over her tank top.

she looks back over at hanni, who’s still sleeping, before heading out into the living room area, past the kitchen, and out the door.

when she reaches the floor below, she follows the noise, it gets louder as she steps through the corridors, and then she stops in front of what she suspects is the source of all this disruption before knocking on the door—no response.

“hm.” she mumbles, knocking again in a little pattern—still no response.

before she can knock again, her fist in the air ready to hammer a little harder on the door, it opens.

a girl—probably her age—answers it, eyes narrowed at danielle. she’s slightly taller, but still, danielle feels a little small with how scrutinizing she checks her out. 

“did kazuha invite you? yujin? or was it jungwon?” the girl looks at her with raised brows, expecting an answer with a slightly bothered look. it seems like danielle had interrupted their little… event? whatever event it was, did they really need to have house music being blasted so loudly?

danielle rubs her thumb against her pointer finger, trying to steady her nerves. “oh, no, i um… wasn’t invited,” she says, her voice wavering slightly. the words sound even more pathetic out loud than they did in her head, but there’s no taking them back now. she pushes on, though it feels like her confidence is slipping away with every syllable. “i was just wondering if—well, if you could turn the music down? my roommate is sleeping and it’s just… really disturbing.”

the girl in front of her snickers, a look of disbelief crossing her face as she sizes danielle up. it’s clear she finds the request ridiculous, and danielle feels her cheeks heat up in embarrassment.

“you know what, this isn’t even my party—hey y/n! come out here!” the girl calls over her shoulder, her tone dismissive as she waves danielle off like she’s someone else’s problem now.

you hear your name being called, and with a sigh, you push yourself up from the couch. the group you were sitting with whines in protest as you leave, but you roll your eyes—they’re all drunk, their complaints nothing more than the amplified nonsense of intoxicated minds.

“what is it, yunjin?” you call out, rubbing your eyes as you approach the entrance, the taste of the cheap beer sakura handed you earlier lingering unpleasantly on your tongue. “what—”

the words die in your throat as you spot the girl standing just inside the doorway. she’s probably, no, definitely new here—new to the party, new to the scene. you’ve never seen someone that makes you stop in your tracks like this. her long eyelashes flutter as she looks up at you, her big brown eyes sparkling with a mix of nervousness and something else you can’t quite place. she’s dressed in baggy sweats and an oversized university sweater, the logo stretched across her chest in signature block letters. there’s an air of innocence about her, something that feels out of place amidst the environment both of you are in right now.

you take her in, noting how pretty she is—adorable, if you’re going to be honest with yourself. she looks like a lost puppy, especially with those pleading eyes and the subtle bite of her lip—

you push the thought aside, telling yourself it doesn’t matter. you’re just here to deal with whatever minor inconvenience yunjin has decided to dump on you.

“who are you?”

“um, my name is danielle, i live right above.” she has an accent, something strong and similar to that girl yunjin’s been bickering with – was it lily? no, bangchan? hell no, she hates him and his little group. ah, hanni that short girl that came complaining during your second party of freshman year, yunjin still brings her up. 

“right, what do you want?” you ask, sensing yunjin’s departure when you feel her brush against your shoulder. “is there a problem or?”

“well, yeah, kind of…” she’s actually adorable, especially when she avoids your eye contact like that. “it’s kind of loud, you know. i was wondering if you could turn down the volume a bit? there’s a lot of thumping i can hear from above, i can’t imagine how it must be for the downstairs neighbors…”

“you must be new.”

“sorry?”

“you’ll get used to it.” you say simply, poking the inside of your cheek before starting to close the door. “i recommend a pair of some good noise cancelling headphones—and a signature study spot. see you around danielle.”

you feel a strange pang of guilt, something unfamiliar and uncomfortable twisting in your chest. you’ve done this before—brushed off people’s complaints, shut the door on them without a second thought. but there’s something about her that makes you hesitate, something that tugs at you. maybe it’s the way she looked at you, those big brown eyes wide with a mix of hope and desperation, like she was really counting on you to help. you give her one more glance, catching that puppy-dog expression that makes your resolve waver for just a second. but then, before you can think twice, you close the door on her, shutting out the sight of her pleading face.

–

danielle spends the whole night tossing and turning, the faint vibration of the music seeping through the ground and into her restless mind. it’s not loud enough to keep her fully awake, but just persistent enough to keep her from finding any real rest. she considers going back downstairs, maybe trying to have a proper conversation, coming to some kind of compromise. but every time she thinks about it, the memory of how things ended—the snickers, the dismissive attitude—fills her with embarrassment, making her shrink back into her bed.

the next morning, she’s awake before the sun, the lingering fatigue making her body feel heavy and sluggish. still, she forces herself out of bed, the need to talk to someone—anyone—pushing her into action. with a deep breath, she reaches over and starts shaking hanni awake, the clock not even close to ten a.m. on a weekend. hanni groans in protest, burrowing deeper into the blankets, but danielle is relentless, her fingers poking at hanni’s sides until her sleepy roommate finally stirs, blinking up at her with bleary eyes.

“what the hell man? the sun is still rising!”

“what do you know about the downstairs neighbor?”

“w-what?” hanni mumbles, rubbing her eyes as she turns to lay on her back and squint at her roommate. “y/n? is this about her?”

“the girl directly below us—taller, mean, arrogant, tattoo on her arm and wrist, kind of pretty, nice lips, and jawline… ugh! her!”

“that’s y/n, but you’re reaching with the whole kind of pretty part. petty? yeah, more accurate.”

“last night i went down and asked her to–”

“you went to her place? to do what, complain?” 

“yes!” hanni shuts her eyes and sinks her head deeper into the pillow, sighing softly again. her roommate is new, she can’t be harsh, and plus, it’s danielle. 

“dani… the ra is literally in love with her, and y/n uses that so she can party and get high in her fuckass living room.”

“what?”

“danielle, mo dani, please listen.” hanni sits up, blinking hard as she reaches out ot put a hand on her friends shoulder. “you’ll get used to it, you can use my old headphones and i’ll show you my favorite cafe.”

“you’re just going to let this slide?”

“well until y/n stops flirting with jiyoung; there’s nothing we can really do other than cope every friday—and sometimes saturday—night.” hanni explains, flopping onto the bed and returning to fetal position. “can you put the blanket over me, please? i’m tired and cold… please.”

danielle frowns before covering her roommates body with her weighted blanket, sighing before she returns to her bed, laying down and recollecting all her memories from the night before–of you.

—

you’re late. of course you’re late on the second week of classes, as if last weeks twenty minute surprise appearance wasn’t humbling enough. 

as you rush out of your apartment, you’re met with jiyoung standing right by the exit, as if she’s been waiting for you—she probably has. this has happened at least once a week last year. she greets you with her signature smile and a small piece of chocolate, a gesture that would be sweet if you weren’t in such a hurry. you force a smile and mumble a quick thanks, but you know what’s coming next. the compliments, the small talk, the forced out, cliché lines she always uses. it’s all part of her routine, but you really don’t have the time for it today. you need to get to class.

fifteen minutes later, you’re finally free from jiyoung’s conversation, but you’re also running dangerously late. again. you sprint across campus, your heart pounding in your chest as you mentally prepare for the inevitable stares and the professor’s disapproving remarks.

when you finally reach the classroom, you throw the door open a little too forcefully. the room falls silent as heads turn to face you, the sudden interruption catching everyone’s attention. you freeze for a second, cringing at yourself when you’re caught in the spotlight, before the professor’s voice cuts through the silence.

“late on the second week? what was it, kim… no, yang…” he trails off, squinting at you as if trying to remember your name.

you clear your throat, feeling your face heat up. “l/n, l/n y/n,” you correct him, trying to keep your voice steady.

“well, you’re lucky i’ve just started the lecture. please hurry and take a seat, you’ve already made quite the impression.”

“sorry, sir,” you mumble, pinching the bridge of your nose in frustration as you scan the room for an empty seat. most of the rows are full, and the weight of all those eyes on you makes your skin prickle with discomfort.

finally, you spot an open seat in the fourth row from the top, right at the edge. you hurry over and drop your bag beside the chair, quickly unzipping it to pull out your laptop. your hands move with practiced speed, signing in and opening a page for notes before setting your bag on the empty seat next to you. you look up, hoping to catch up on what you’ve missed so far. 

and that’s when you see her.

danielle. she’s sitting just two seats away from you, her gaze locked on yours the moment you look up. her big brown eyes, framed by those impossibly long lashes, are full of recognition—and something else you can’t quite place, and why are they sparkling? your jaw tenses as you force yourself to look away, zipping up your bag with a little more force than necessary. three seats. that’s all that separates you from the girl who showed up at your doorstep last friday, the one you dismissed without a second thought. and now here she is, sitting way too close for comfort, her presence making the air around you feel heavier.

of course you blindly chose the spot next to her. the new girl who filed a complaint, only to have the door shut on her. it’s just your luck.

you catch her in your peripheral staring at you for a few more seconds before she redirects her attention towards the professor. you let out a breath of relief, now you just have to get through the next hour and fifty minutes near the cute girl you were an ass to.

–

as soon as the class ends, you’re out the door without sparing a glance at danielle. she watches you hurry out, noticing how you started packing up your things five minutes before class was even dismissed. it’s like you couldn’t wait to get away.

you make your way to the engineering building, where you know your roommate yunjin’s class ended a bit earlier. when you spot her in the lobby, you walk up with a bothered look on your face.

“good morning…?” yunjin greets you, her smirk showing she’s amused by your expression.

“you won’t believe who’s in my sociology class,” you say, still reeling from the encounter.

“everyone takes sociology, even the finance freaks,” she replies, shrugging as if it’s not a big deal.

“nevermind.” you roll your eyes, scoffing. “whatever, let’s grab a bite. i’m hungry.”

“you always are,” yunjin chuckles, stepping beside you.

the two of you end up at your favorite local thai place, sharing a large bowl of fried rice. it’s a familiar routine—since freshman year, you’ve known one bowl is more than enough to satisfy both of you. the memory of that first time, half-drunk and thinking the portions would be small, makes you smile despite your lingering annoyance.

as you chew on your second bite, glancing at a notification on your phone, yunjin’s voice cuts through your thoughts. “so, who’s in your sociology class?”

“danielle,” you reply, not looking up from your phone.

“who?”

“the girl from friday.”

yunjin frowns, trying to recall. “at our party? there wasn’t anyone i didn’t know–”

“no, no. the girl you made me deal with. she knocked on the door—big eyes, long lashes.”

“oh, her,” yunjin hums, finally understanding. “what about her?”

“i closed the door on her that night after she complained or whatever. i didn’t think much of it, but then i was late to class because jiyoung wanted to talk to me, and i picked a random spot… turns out it was three fucking seats away from her—danielle.”

yunjin laughs, thankfully before she can take another bite of rice. “seriously?”

“shut up.”

“that’s hilarious. you think she’s going to give you shit?”

“i mean,” you poke at your rice, hesitating, “she doesn’t seem like she will…”

but even as you say it, the thought nags at you. danielle doesn’t seem like the type to hold a grudge—polite and sweet even when you were being arrogant—almost too good to be true. she looks like she belongs in a fairy tale, with her princess-like appearance and demeanor. meanwhile, you feel like the ugly villain in her story, lurking under the bridge, ready to cast a spell or something like that. the more you think about it, the more ridiculous it seems.

“then you’ll be fine, you were fine shutting the door on her anyway.”

you were fine, but that version of you was under the influence of cheap beer and too focused on going back to your conversation than dealing with someone’s complaint—even if it were from danielle.

“i guess.”

–

the next time you host a party, the volume’s turned down by two notches. you tell yourself it’s because yunjin’s been saying “huh?” to you more often, but deep down, you know that’s not the real reason.

you’ve also decided to stick with one can of beer instead of three. even yujin seemed surprised when you declined the second. 

these parties used to be at jake’s place, but he argued they should be at yours since the ra is madly in love with you, and your place is slightly bigger. you were against it at first, but socializing never hurt, and it made you happy to see others happy. you’d also be lying if you said you didn’t enjoy the occasional expensive drink that someone brought when their paycheck had been a bit fatter that week.

now, you’re leaning against the counter while minji rummages through a cupboard, searching for spare plastic cups. you take a sip from your sprite—the second can of the night, and surprisingly, neither has been alcoholic (you don’t count the bitter can of beer, it’s only five percent alcohol). yunjin’s voice cuts through the music just loud enough for you to hear, “you think that girl will show up again? give you shit?”

“i’d hope not.” you pretend it’s a truthful statement, your tone firm, a little snarky, and a bit confident, but there’s a small part of you that hopes she does. you catch yourself imagining her showing up in her oversized sleepwear again, her eyes wide, her voice so soft and sweet it makes your chest tighten a little. 

“and if she does?”

“i’ll shut her out again.”

“and if you show up late, then sit three seats away from her again?”

“ignorance.” you sip on your sprite again, licking your lips to savor something that actually satisfies your tastebuds. 

“you’re good at that.”

“aw, thanks.” you say bitterly, hearing yunjin snicker as she tears open a new pack of red plastic cups. “asshat.”

your orange-haired roommate leans against the counter across from you, then says, “i think jungwon brought penjamin.” his infamous pen, the one you took way too many hits of last time that it had you seeing the stars. 

“not again, i don’t trust myself.”

she laughs at you again, “i don’t trust you either, let’s stick with a hit or two instead of five.”

“and you need to stick with a few drinks instead of passing out on the floor again. you’re lucky you were leaning against the couch.”

“womp womp.” you can’t believe her, what an idiot.

“say that again when you wake up with your legs in the fucking blinds, or something. i still don’t know how you don’t have liver damage, and doesn’t that affect your performance on the court?”

“conditioned to drink and score three’s.”

“whatever.” you sigh, then hear a few knocks from the door.

yunjin raises her brows, then chuckles, “hey, it’s your lovergirl.”

“she’s not my— ugh. be right back.” 

lovergirl, yunjin is going to wake up upside down in her closet if she keeps it up. there’s no chance that she’s attracted to you in the slightest, not with your first impressions. the thought makes you a little dissapointed, but you shake your head, you’re being ridiculous again. 

you shake the thought away, forcing yourself to focus getting to your door and not tripping on the shoe that had been blindlessly kicked off. there’s a quiet anticipation simmering beneath your calm exterior as the music gets more faint in your ears. you tell yourself you’re being stupid, but the truth is harder to ignore—there’s a part of you that wants her to be at the door, even if it’s just to scold you again.

you open the door, and there she is—miss lovergirl herself.

“another party?” she asks, her tone light, almost teasing.

“are you going to tell me to shut the whole thing down? still haven't invested in headphones, have you?”

“actually, i wasn’t going to—the shutting down part, i have headphones being delivered tomorrow.” she replies, smiling. maybe your brows furrow, just a little. “but the music is a little quieter, that i noticed, so maybe my efforts did pay off.” she pauses, then adds, “anyway, my roommate told me there’s no getting through to you about these parties. so, i came here to give you this.” 

she holds out a keychain with a cardholder attached, and you see a picture inside—a photo of you and your little brother at your high school graduation. he’s about twelve in the picture, braces on and cheeks still chubby. it’s one of your favorite photos, and your eyes widen as you take it from her slowly, almost carefully.

“where’d you get this?” you ask, voice a bit more cautious than you intended.

“you dropped it under your seat last lecture. seemed like you were in such a rush to leave, or to avoid me…?” she tilts her head, batting those impossibly long lashes.

you realize she’s not in her sleepwear this time. she’s dressed in everyday clothes—a zip-up over a fitted white shirt, jeans, and some well-worn sneakers. a nike cap sits snugly on her head, her long, wavy hair flowing down in a way that makes you look twice. she’s wearing light makeup, and it strikes you for the first time how nice her lips are, and—

“um, thanks,” you mutter.

“it’s no problem.”

“are you going to ask me to turn the volume down now?” 

she shakes her head, adjusting the backpack slipping down her shoulder. “no, but i'd appreciate it. you’ve already made baby steps.”

if it had been anyone else saying that, you’d have rolled your eyes, maybe even scoffed in their face. but there’s something about the way danielle says it—so genuinely, so kindly—that catches you off guard. you’re used to sharp words and snide remarks, not this… breath of fresh air, this three a.m. glass of water in the form of a person.

“right, okay,” you manage to say.

“well, i'll get going then. my roommate’s friend is coming over to watch a movie with us, so we’d appreciate it if you could maybe turn it down. but, that’s up to you, mate.” 

“oh, okay, yeah.” you feel like you’re melting into a puddle. what is going on with you? “i’ll see what i can do.”

“night then.”

“night?”

she walks off, your eyes follow her until she reacehs the end of the hall. it was the most casual encounter you’ve ever had in a bit, and yet, it felt like so much more. 

–

haerin sits back, watching without a word as hanni and minji bicker over the remote, their voices rising slightly above the hum of the tv. hanni has her arms crossed tightly over her chest, a scowl forming when minji suggests yet another sappy romance. haerin half expects them to start wrestling for control, but just before the tension hits a breaking point, the sound of the door lock twisting stops them. both heads turn to see danielle stepping inside, her hand raised in a small wave, a polite smile on her lips.

“sorry i’m late,” danielle apologizes.

“you’re good,” hanni replies, running her fingers through her hair to fix it. “movie time? can you choose, please…”

“yeah! let me get changed first, okay?”

“okay, okay, but hurry or else minji’s gonna have my limbs cut off or something. and we both know haerin would rather watch than save either of us.” hanni jokes, drawing a chuckle from haerin and a playful glare from minji. 

a few minutes later, danielle is back in an old t-shirt and plaid pajama pants. she drops herself right between hanni and minji, effectively acting as a buffer. she grabs the remote, settling under the blanket as her legs casually stretch across hanni's lap.

“where were you, by the way?” hanni asks, feeling danielle’s legs settle more comfortably over her own. “if the bus was late, you could’ve called.”

“my bus came early. i just stopped by y/n’s,” danielle replies casually.

minji’s head snaps toward danielle so fast it’s a wonder she doesn’t get whiplash. haerin even lets out a small gasp of “what?”

“y/n? you mean l/n y/n?” minji echoes, her tone filled with disbelief. “you went to her place?”

danielle nods. “she dropped something in the class we have together, so i returned it.”

“and she didn’t bite your head off?” minji asks, eyes wide. “you’re really something, danielle.”

danielle just laughs softly, her fingers scrolling through the endless netflix catalog in search of a movie they all might actually agree on. she seems unfazed by the shock that mentioning your name has caused, a slight smile playing on her lips. she can’t quite understand the big deal. you’ve been… normal, for the most part—pretty normal, actually, in the three times she’s spoken to you.

“she’s really not that bad,” danielle shrugs, finally stopping on a rom-com that catches her eye. “i can fix her.”

“you can what?” hanni swivels her head toward danielle, eyes wide in disbelief.

“what?” danielle grins. “she doesn’t bite.”

“well, her friend yunjin does,” hanni mutters, thinking back to the group project from hell with yunjin, who’d spent every meeting hungover and useless. “she’s probably just like the people she hangs out with.”

“no, i bet she’s nicer deep down.”

“you’re too pure for this world,” minji murmurs, feeling danielle’s head lean on her shoulder. “she’s got a bad reputation, you know.”

“well, she turned the volume down for us,” danielle insists.

“she did?” hanni raises an eyebrow, surprised.

“yeah, just before i visited her. i told her we’d be having a movie night and said i’d appreciate it if she toned it down a bit. now we can barely feel the bass.”

hanni thinks for a moment. maybe the music is a bit quieter, but she’s gotten so used to it, she barely notices the difference. minji and haerin, on the other hand, don't deal with the noise often—haerin lives with her parents, and minji’s dorm is on the other wing.

danielle presses play, and the conversation shifts. they all settle in, pushing the topic of you, the downstairs neighbor, out of their minds as they focus on the opening scenes of the movie.

hanni leans into haerin, a smile on her lips as her legs tangle with danielle’s. “you’re so interesting, man,” she mutters, half-amused, half-bewildered.

–

there aren't any assigned seats—it's university, for crying out loud. still, you find yourself three seats away from danielle again, like last time, pretending not to notice her as you settle in, determined not to drop anything today. you set your things down carefully, opening up your laptop and pulling out your ipad, keeping your eyes firmly on the screen.

out of the corner of her eye, danielle watches you fumble with the apple pen, spinning it between your ring and middle finger. she sees it slip from your grip and clatter to the floor beside you. you let out a soft sigh, standing to retrieve it, making your way down two rows. when you straighten up and head back, you catch danielle trying to hide a smile, her shoulders shaking with quiet laughter.

“what’s so funny?” you ask, a little defensive.

“your pen-spinning skills,” danielle says, turning fully toward you with that same amused smile. “slippery fingers?”

“shouldn’t you be reviewing before the lecture?”

“i usually get here fifteen minutes early,” she replies, still grinning. “i’ve already done that.”

“whatever.” you drop back into your seat, tapping away at your keyboard as the professor approaches the front, fiddling with the hdmi cable. you open your notes app, trying to ignore the way danielle’s laughter still lingers in the air.

“you know i don’t bite, right?” her voice breaks your focus.

“what?”

she nods at the empty seats between you. “you’re sitting pretty far… come sit next to me.”

“i’m not getting up. my stuff’s already out.”

danielle rolls her eyes, moving the desk platform in front of her as she stands, gathering her things without a second thought, and before you know it, she’s dropping into the seat beside you. you weren’t expecting that—her choosing to sit next to you so boldly. but there she is, right next to you, with that grin stretching across her face as she adjusts her notebook.

“there, lazy bum,” she teases, her tone light, eyes flicking back to the professor as he sets up the projection.

you find yourself staring, caught off guard by how close she is. she smells sweet—like cherries, with a mix of amber and jasmine. you quickly shift your gaze back to your laptop, opening your calendar and planner and, almost instinctively, the tab with the jacket you’ve been eyeing for weeks.

when you steal another glance at danielle, she’s put on a pair of glasses. stupid, adorable glasses that make her look even cuter—something you didn’t think was possible. 

you can’t help the small grin that creeps onto your face as you focus back on the slides on the big screen, but your mind is still partially with her, sitting beside you, close enough to feel the warmth radiating off her skin.

—

for the next month, sociology becomes your favorite class—not because of the subject, but because it means you get almost two hours near danielle. she’s just as sweet as she looks, always greeting you with a warm smile and tossing out casual small talk that somehow feels more personal every time. she compliments you now and then, little things like “your hair looks nice today” or “i like your shoes,” which leaves you more flustered than you’d care to admit. soon enough, it's routine—you both leave class together, walking side by side until you reach the main lobby of the science building. danielle always waves goodbye with that bright smile, her eyes sparkling, even when the sky is overcast. you smile back, feeling a little bashful, but somehow, it feels right.

sometimes, you even meet up at the entrance of your little dorm complex to head to class together. danielle's just a floor above, so you run into her in the elevator sometimes too. there’s something about her—something so effortlessly charming and magnetic. it’s like she’s a light, and you’re a moth, drawn into her presence without even realizing it.

what you don’t realize is that jiyoung, your ra, has noticed these little interactions. she catches glimpses now and then, her curiosity piqued.

after another class ends, you wave goodbye to danielle, planning to meet up with yunjin, but before you can leave, jiyoung intercepts you. 

"hey, didn’t see you this morning,” she says, her tone casual but her eyes narrowing slightly. “i haven’t been seeing you around as much, actually."

"oh, yeah… i’ve been…” you start, your gaze flicking past her to danielle, who’s almost out of the building. jiyoung looks in the same direction to see danielle as well, her brows furrow just a bit. you continue, “um, spending more time with this girl in my sociology class."

"right, danielle? she’s on the floor above you, right?”

“yeah…”

“hm,” jiyoung murmurs, more to herself than to you. “you’ve been spending a lot of time with her, haven’t you?”

“i mean, yeah. she’s nice and—why does it matter?”

“you’re not into her, are you?”

the question catches you off guard, like a punch you didn’t see coming. you stare at jiyoung like she’s lost her mind. “w-what? n-no, no, she’s just— you know, we’re friends. we’re friendly.”

“nothing more, right?”

“i mean, no, but even if it were… why does it matter to you?”

jiyoung’s gaze drops to the floor, and she mumbles, “i don’t know? i mean, you said you didn’t even want to date.”

you pinch the bridge of your nose, exhaling in frustration. “look, i’ve got to meet up with yunjin. i’ll see you around, okay?”

you turn to leave, but jiyoung’s soft scoff stops you in your tracks. she hesitates for a moment before speaking again.

“by the way,” she says, her tone light but pointed. you turn your head slightly, just enough for her to see the edge of your expression. “you can’t party this weekend. there’s been an increase in complaints.”

you pivot to face her fully, opening your mouth to argue but then closing it again. you bite the inside of your lip, letting the frustration simmer before you finally nod, muttering a resigned, “fine.”

jiyoung watches you, her expression unreadable, as you walk away, but you don’t look back. the weekend suddenly feels a lot quieter than you planned.

—

even if you’d wanted to party, it wouldn't have been an option. yunjin’s gone home for the weekend to help her sister, and you’re stuck in your dorm, feeling sicker than you’ve ever felt.

the day started off fine, just a light headache that you shrugged off. but somewhere between the gym and a quick grocery run, everything went downhill. by the time you made it back to your place, it felt like your body had been run over by a truck. your head throbbed, every limb ached, and a wave of dizziness nearly had you collapsing against the wall as soon as you stepped inside.

you barely made it to the kitchen, dropping the paper bag of groceries onto the counter before stumbling toward your bedroom. the cold hit you like a slap to the face, making you shiver uncontrollably. you rummaged through your closet for the thickest sweatshirt and sweatpants you could find, pulling them on with shaky hands. 

you didn’t even think to check your temperature; the pounding in your head and the chills wracking your body were enough to know you were in trouble. grabbing two ibuprofen from the drawer, you swallowed them dry with a couple of forced gulps of water, then collapsed onto your bed. 

you pulled the covers around you, but they did little to stop the violent shivers. your teeth chattered, and you curled in on yourself, hugging your knees to your chest as if that would somehow keep the cold at bay. every breath felt heavy, every blink longer than the last, until finally, exhaustion pulled you under.

—

the music is noticeably quieter these days, sparing your hearing and everyone else a floor above or below you. really, it’s all danielle's doing. she's somehow found your weakness—those soft, pleading eyes and that gentle voice asking you to turn it down. it’s a saturday night, and normally she’d hear the faint beats of charli xcx or troye sivan vibrating up through the floor, but tonight there’s nothing. 

danielle seems to be the only one in her shared dorm—and probably the whole building—who feels unsettled by the lack of music. the silence is almost unnerving. 

“finally, i can take a nap without those headphones on,” hanni sighs, dropping face-first onto her bed like a log. 

danielle, leaning against her bedframe, bites her lip. “don’t you think it’s weird though? no party tonight?”

“weird? dani, this is a miracle,” hanni mumbles, already half-asleep. “it’s been months since she hasn’t partied, and that was only because we were all gone during summer break.”

but as hanni's breathing evens out and she drifts off, danielle’s frown deepens. it is weird. you’ve never missed a saturday night. she doesn’t even have your number to text and check if everything’s alright.

minutes pass, and her mind races with possibilities—maybe you’re just tired, or busy with something else, or… sick? before she knows it, danielle is up and moving, driven by a strange concern she doesn’t fully understand. she tucks hanni in properly, pulling the blanket up over her instead of letting it dangle off the bed. 

once she's sure hanni is comfortable, she heads for the door, slipping on her slides and grabbing her key. she feels a small surge of determination as she steps into the hallway. if something’s wrong, she needs to know. danielle isn’t sure what she’ll find out, but she's already halfway down the hall, her feet carrying her to your place almost on their own.

she gets to your door quickly, fixing her hair because you’re somehow the only person who makes her feel the need to fuss over her appearance. 

danielle knocks twice, softly at first, just enough to be heard over normal conversation, but there's no answer. she waits, listening for any sound from inside, even from your orange-haired roommate—but nothing. she knocks again, a little louder this time, about the same level as when you party. still nothing. 

determined, she finally bangs on the door with all her might and shouts, "y/n! hello?" her voice echoes in the hallway, and a few curious heads peek out from behind their own doors, wondering what’s going on.

there's a long moment of silence before she hears a faint, “coming! coming...” it sounds like you, but groggier, almost as if the sound is muffled by the door between you two.

danielle waits, her heart pounding in her chest, until the door opens just a crack, and you peek out, looking utterly exhausted. 

“y/n?”

“w-what, what...” you murmur, your voice barely more than a whisper, and slightly slurred, like you’ve been asleep for days. "who— danielle? what are you doing here? there's no party," you mutter, breathing heavily like you’ve just run a mile. "you don’t have to… have to yell at me."

“i’m not here to yell at you, i never yell at you, silly," danielle says softly, a small smile on her face. "can i come in?”

you hum in agreement, and she pushes the door open further, stepping inside. 

the apartment is dimly lit, with only the glow from the streetlights outside and a small lamp in the living room. danielle’s eyes dart around—she’s never actually been inside before, just caught glimpses through the doorway during those parties. it’s surprisingly clean, smelling of lavender and fresh laundry instead of the stale beer or weed she expected. 

you stumble forward, catching yourself on the kitchen counter, your legs shaky and unsteady. 

danielle rushes over, her hand reaching for your arm. “are you okay?”

“y-yeah, i’m fine," you mumble, but your voice is rough, strained. 

she flicks on a light, and you wince, shielding your eyes with the back of your hand. danielle guides you to the couch, sitting you down gently. you slump back into the cushions, and she takes a closer look—your hair is stuck to your forehead, cheeks rosy, and there’s a dullness in your usually sharp eyes.

without thinking, she presses the back of her hand to your forehead, feeling the intense heat radiating from your skin. “you’re burning up,” she says softly, concern etched in her voice. “how long have you been like this?”

“i– i don’t know… i’m so tired…” you murmur, your eyes fluttering closed for a moment.

“let’s get you to your bed,” danielle suggests. “can you show me?”

you nod weakly, and she helps you to your feet. you sway slightly, leaning heavily on her as she tries to steady you. you’re taller, heavier, and she’s not exactly built for this—but she does her best, slipping an arm around your waist to support you.

your head drops forward, and you breathe slowly against her shoulder. danielle's heart races as she feels the warmth of your breath, and when you look up, your faces are inches apart, close enough that she can feel the heat radiating off you. her cheeks warm up, she wonders if your fever is contagious.

but she shakes it off, tightening her grip on you. “come on,” she whispers. “let’s get you to bed.”

you lead her to your room, and she’s a little surprised by how tidy it is. the walls are painted in soft, earthy tones, the furniture minimalistic and neatly arranged. polaroids and film photos cover the walls, snapshots of you and your friends, some of family, too. there’s a warmth to it, a sense of calm that she hadn’t expected. she notices a movie poster above your bed—something she doesn’t recognize. you collapse onto the bed immediately, curling up into a tight ball, yanking the nearest blanket over you with a groan.

danielle watches you for a moment, then quietly slips out of the room. you lie there, thoughts buzzing in your foggy mind. how did she know you were sick? why is she here? did she come just for you? did you forget something? but the craziest thought of all is that danielle is in your apartment, just the two of you. the realization sends a tiny thrill through your chest.

she returns a few minutes later, carrying a bowl, a bottle of medicine, and a thermometer. she sits beside you on the edge of the bed, nudging you over gently so you're lying flat on your back, your tired eyes meeting hers. she sets the bowl beside you and slides the thermometer into your mouth. you stare at her, feeling a bit dazed, and she offers a small, reassuring smile.

when it beeps, she pulls it out and checks the screen, her brow furrowing slightly. “you’ve got a fever, it’s pretty high,” she murmurs, setting the thermometer down and reaching for a water bottle. “i kind of went through your place to find this, i hope that’s okay.”

you nod weakly, letting her help you sit up on your elbows. she presses the bottle to your lips, and you sip slowly, a few drops spilling out and dribbling down your chin. you reach up, embarrassed, to wipe them away, but danielle just grins at you gently, wiping them with her sleeve.

she places the bottle down and dips her hand into the bowl. you lie back, too tired to care, hearing the soft sound of water being wrung out. then, without warning, she presses a cool, damp cloth to your forehead, and you wince at the sudden chill, a small whine escaping your lips. danielle clicks her tongue softly, using her thumb to swipe a stray drop of water away from the corner of your eye. 

“i know it’s cold, but it’ll help bring your fever down,” she explains gently.

you feel her hand slide down, and suddenly her fingers are wrapped around yours. her thumb brushes over your knuckles in slow, soothing circles, and you let out a shaky breath, feeling a warmth bloom in your chest. you hum softly, the tension easing out of your body.

"is it okay if i stay for a bit?" she asks quietly. "i don't want you to be alone, but this is your place, after all."

“p-please,” you whisper, gripping her hand tighter, needing the comfort. “please stay.”

she smiles warmly, nodding, and you feel the weight of her presence, steady and calming, beside you. “i’ll stay close then,” she promises softly. “don’t worry.”

—

you wake up with a low groan, feeling like you’ve just been hit by a bus. every muscle in your body aches, and your head throbs just a bit. blinking against the dim light filtering through the blinds, you sit up slowly, rubbing the sleep from your eyes. you look around, trying to get your bearings. 

your gaze falls on the bowl of water beside the bed, with two rags soaking in it, and the thermometer resting on the edge. memories from before you passed out come flooding back, and your cheeks heat up at the thought of danielle sitting by your side, taking care of you. your heart does a little flip at the memory, and you shake your head, trying to steady your thoughts.

there’s no sign of her in your room. she’s not in your bed, and you exhale a breath you didn’t realize you were holding. honestly, if you had woken up to find her next to you, you’re pretty sure your heart would’ve just exploded right then and there. 

with a bit more urgency than necessary, you get up and make your way to the living room. your steps are quiet as you peek around the corner, and there she is, curled up on the couch. she’s asleep, head resting on a pillow, her zip-up hoodie pulled over her legs like a makeshift blanket. the sight tugs at something in your chest, a mix of guilt and gratitude. she stayed the whole night.

you hurry back to your room, grabbing another blanket from your bed, and return to her side. you drape it over her carefully, making sure not to wake her. danielle shifts slightly, mumbling something you can’t quite make out. her face softens in sleep, and you find yourself smiling without meaning to. 

the morning light slips through the blinds, casting a warm glow across her face, illuminating the soft curve of her cheek, the way her lashes fan out against her skin. she looks peaceful, so pretty in the soft light, and you let yourself enjoy the sight for just a moment longer than you probably should.

you let out a small sigh and decide to leave her be, tiptoeing away quietly. but as you move, you can’t help but glance back one last time, her serene expression etched into your memory. then, feeling a strange mix of comfort and nerves, you head to your room to get yourself ready.

— 

danielle wakes up only thirty minutes after you, sitting up a minute after she’s blinked herself awake. she sits up and catches you on the floor by the coffee table, knees drawn to your chest, a bowl of fruit and two pieces of toast in front of you. her vision clears, and she catches you popping a blueberry into your mouth, scrolling absently through your phone.

"good morning..." she mutters, stretching and rubbing her eyes.

you turn at the sound of her voice, surprised to see her up already. she's quicker at waking up than you; you would have stayed in bed for another ten minutes at least, but the pounding in your head forced you up earlier. "hey, i didn’t think you’d stay the whole night."

“i just wanted to make sure you were alright," she explains, moving to sit next to you, mirroring your posture, knees tucked in. "i checked in on you during the night to change the rag on your head and everything, seems like you’re back to normal.”

“you didn’t have to, danielle,” you say, feeling a wave of gratitude mixed with embarrassment.

“but i wanted to.” she shrugs lightly, her eyes softening as she looks at you. “how are you feeling?”

“i took two advils before brushing my teeth," you say with a small smile. "feeling pretty great now.”

“i’m glad. your fever was pretty high.”

“was it?” you raise an eyebrow, grabbing a piece of strawberry and popping it into your mouth.

“yeah.” she picks a piece of kiwi from the bowl and eats it. “i was worried.”

you turn your head, meeting her gaze directly. her eyes look a bit tired, her face bare of makeup, but she still looks good—so natural, so effortlessly beautiful. a thought crosses your mind: you owe her for this, for being so kind and caring when she didn’t have to be.

";ast night i didn’t hear any loud noises from downstairs," danielle continues, “there wasn’t a party going on, and i got a little concerned.”

you chuckle, setting your phone aside, resting your cheek against your knee. “so you came because… there wasn’t a party?”

“it was pretty suspicious,” she insists with a playful grin. “then you opened the door looking like you’d just fought a bear, stumbling around. it was kind of funny, and cute.”

her compliment catches you off guard. you turn away quickly, pretending to be more interested in the fruit than you are. "thank you, danielle," you mumble. "i owe you."

“it’s nothing,” she says softly. "as long as you’re okay, that’s all that matters." her words feel like a direct hit to your heart, it’s as if cupid had a gun instead of a bow and shot you right in the chest, making you feel strangely warm and fluttery inside.

“you’re so… hey, what about your roommate? isn't she wondering where you are?”

“oh, hanni,” danielle giggles, checking her phone for any messages but finding none. “she was passed out before i left last night. it's not even ten yet, so she’s probably still asleep.” she stands up, and you rise with her, feeling a slight pang of disappointment. “but i should go check on her, and fix myself up. i probably look like a mess right now.”

you look perfect. it almost lips right off your tongue, but you manage to shut your mouth.

you lead her to the door, wishing she could stay a bit longer, just a little while more. “of course,” you say, feeling a knot tighten in your chest. “thank you again for everything.”

danielle places a gentle hand on your shoulder. “it’s nothing,” she says warmly. “i’ll see you around.”

you open the door, watching her step outside, but she turns back, hesitating. before she can say anything else, you speak first. "hey, danielle?"

“yes?”

“are you free later?”

“i’m free all day,” she replies, though she adds, “but i might run errands with hanni.”

“right, well.” you play with your hair nervously. danielle tilts her head, noticing the shift in your demeanor. “you should come over tonight. i’ll cook you dinner—to repay you, of course.”

she chuckles, a faint blush coloring her cheeks. “that’s quite intimate,” she teases. “is this your way of asking me out?”

“uh—” your heart races, but you nod, swallowing hard. “yes. and i'd hope your way of accepting is… coming over around six?”

danielle's smile widens, her eyes sparkling with amusement. “i’ll see you then, as long as you’re not sick again.”

“i’d count on that if it meant having you take care of me again.”

she glances away, hiding a smile, and you catch sight of the tiny moles on her face. "you're really good at this," she says softly.

“i’m really not,” you admit, “but it’s you, so i thought i’d try a little harder.”

she rolls her eyes playfully, then steps closer and presses a soft kiss to your cheek. your skin heats up instantly, heart racing faster than before. she pulls back with a grin, waving as she says, “see you tonight, six p.m.!”

“see you…” you reply, still stunned as you watch her walk down the hall. she glances back twice, each time your smiles mirroring and growing wider.

you wonder if you should cut down on the weekly parties, maybe dedicate more time to being with her. but that might be getting ahead of yourself. for now, all you know is that you have to prepare the best dinner ever tonight—something that might just earn you another kiss, maybe on the lips this time.

[bimbowrites]

Loser Yan Smut

since the poll got 94% for yes to loser yan smut imma do it ^^

Losers do smth to me istg 😩

anywho— fem reader! reader implied to have slight muscle mass. (For all the strong girlies out there)

Warnings: Story build up, pegging, face sitting, sub character, dom reader, slight biting kink???, teasing, slight bondage, cowgirl (yan riding reader), slight feminization, masc fem reader, reader has a pussy, and cumming on stomach in pt 2

NSFW STORY BUILD UP BELOW CUT

You and Ozzie, didn’t know each-other- Well you didn’t know Ozzie. Ozzie knew everything of you from your favorite color to your date of birth. He was really just a loser that rambled about anything and the legend of Zelda any chance he got. Meanwhile you were the schools star female football player. Ozzie had drooled over rival football players getting tackled, wishing that it was him.

It was a regular high-school day, you were walking towards your algebra class and you see in the corner of your eye, a slim, pale, boy staring at you in awe. He quickly looked away and blushed, you smirk and find this amusing, maybe you’ll entertain this little big crush of this mysterious boy. You sit in your usual seat and start your assignment, solving the problems with slight trouble, you wonder and ask your seat mate next to you and he says he doesn’t understand either. So you ask the boy who was staring at you earlier for a bit of help.

“hey- do you know the answer to number 5 and 6?”

“Oh— uhm, it’s -27.96 and for number 6 it’s 2684.29..”

The poor boy struggled with the simple sentence and was a blushing mess. You smiled and thanked him, before writing the answers down on the paper. Ozzie then finished the assignment with ease and watched as reader, you, struggled a bit. He was about to offer up help, but didn’t want to be a burden for you. Ozzie then sighed and pulled out his sketch book and doodled your beautiful toned figure and your beautiful face off of memory, it was almost identical to you. Near the end of class, Ozzie quickly collected his stuff and walked out of the classroom, trying to speed to his next class and not get targeted by assholes. Alas, luck was not on his side and he got slammed into the locker by two boys and their girlfriends giggling as their boyfriends target the poor boy. You then walk by the group of people and head over to them, noticing one of them was your teammate on the football team. Then seeing the bloody nose loser on the floor panting, and teary eyes. “Hey- back off Elijah! Leave him alone!”

“do you know this freak, [name]?”

You roll your eyes and push the guy out of the way and help the guy on the floor up and walk away from the now, annoyed group. The boy now looking at you with a blush and bloody nose from being slammed into a locker. You glance at the scrawny looking man and smile. The boy looks away from your glance, his face turning a deep red hue.

“th-thank you for helping me from those guys..”

“oh? Those ass holes, don’t mind them, they’re just insecure jerks”

You shrug and walk the mysterious guy to the nurse, walking awkwardly beside him, his slight heavy breathing and eyes darting towards you every few seconds. You two soon approach the nurses office and get Ozzie’s nose cleaned up. You then awkwardly say goodbye and get to your next class with a tardy pass.

———

1 week later

———

It was another late Friday afternoon; game day. Where you had its final game against your biggest competition! You put on your shoulder pads and cleats, making sure your jersey was on correctly. You then hear the coach call for your team, you smile proudly and jog up to the bench on the sidelines, watching teammates look at each-other with fierce eyes and snarling faces.

Half way into the game, and it was your turn to shine, you get into position. Another male teammate teases you before they blow the whistle and everyone scrambled to get the ball. As you caught the ball you threw it to your teammate, the teammate fumbles the ball and falls, tearing the muscle in his knee. Ozzie watches as the game stops, envying the teammate getting your attention, seeing both teams get on their knee as they check the players knee, they then take the player out of the game, tending to him. Ozzie watches as you get back into position and sigh, seemingly stressed.

Ozzie watches until the end of the game, his eyes observing both your beauty and brawn like perfection. He thinks for a bit before walking over to you, ‘accidentally’ bumping into your chest. You look at the boy who fell on the ground and smirk. Your ego getting the best of you.

“Hey baby, what are you doing here, Ozzie, right?”

Ozzie almost creamed his pants at the nickname, but he let out a shaky breath. His face red and heated, as he looked up to your beautiful face. “Sorry.. I wasn’t looking where I was going (reader)” Ozzie says in a quiet and elated tone. Ozzie then was taken aback when you pulled him in by his waist, your tits pressing against his collar bone.

“I think that you’re lying to me, pretty girl.”

You said in a flirtatious manner, your hands still on his waist. Ozzie could blissfully live like this but his body started to react. His dick began to harden, he quickly realized and tried to hide his erection. You notice and chuckle, your breath against his face. You pull away and let go of his waist, slipping a piece of paper into his hoodie pocket.

As you walked away, he starts to read what’s on it. It reading your house address and a little message stating; ‘wanna have a good time pretty boy?”

He shutters and smiles sickeningly sweet, his dick straining against his pants as he already knew what you had in mind. He hopes that you don’t mind that he already knows where you live, and that he knows your parents are on vacation for the next two weeks.

As he walked to his house happily, when he opened his door, his maid greeted him and took Ozzie’s bag off of his back and calmly put his bag away before bowing and turning to finish cleaning. Ozzie then walked out to his room and started to prepare for his punishment for being a perverted loser, so he locked his door and walked to his closet and opened a hidden, locked, drawer. Filled to the brim with toys, one being your old vibrator and another being your dildo you’ve lost recently.

Ozzie then grabs lube and your underwear and pulls down his pants and underwear before pouring the the cold lube on his man pussy whilst grabbing your vibrator and dildo and sets the vibrator on medium, while he gently fingers his hole to loosen it up before plunging the dildo in his hole.

Ozzie lets out whines and moans as he accidentally brushes against his prostate in a rushed lust filled vision.

Pt 2??