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ruesol · 7 months ago

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ex-convict!sukuna gets into a bar fight for burnt out reader but she’s embarrassed of being seen with him. For more context, read this prompt.

ex-convict!sukuna series masterlist

There’s a fine line between procrastination and being burnt out, and you weren’t sure which part of the spectrum you belonged to. However, you could blame part of your confusion to the toasty bitter liquid in front of you. Condensation collecting around the large jar. College bars weren’t exactly crowded during finals week, but the bartenders were glad to have you there as you single-handedly kept them in business after downing drink after drink.

Your friends had long ditched you to catch some sleep before their study session the next the day—an event you weren’t invited to because you simply slept the entire time, not being much help with memorizing naming reactions in organic chemistry.

Your notes from the first half of the semester were still incomplete. Forget revising for the final. You were fucked, winging your past quizzes and exams by getting Cs.

Life felt stationary. No internships, no friends you could actually rely on, car broken down, and no boyfriend.

Boyfriend. Funny word. The closest thing you had to one was the older man you were messing around with. To make matters worse, he was an ex-convict without a job.

His truck, however, said that he had enough money to spare. His apartment? Not so much. Heat pooled between your legs as you thought about his room. His bed. A Pavlovian response. You only went there to momentarily forget about your struggles after all.

“You’re looking worse for wear,” a smooth, rich voice calls out from beside you. Geto Suguru—English Literature major. Honors student. Persistent ex-hookup from your second year. You were surprised that you were even able to recognize the midnight-haired man. He eyed your figure—slouched and red (courtesy of the alcohol).

“Need me to drop you home? I live nearby.” You knew he meant well. But a small voice deep in the corners of your consciousness told you that you were most likely going to invite him in. Finding solace in one man’s arms were enough. You were not going to split your loyalties. At least for the time being. You were too mentally exhausted.

Also, you weren’t sure how Sukuna would react knowing that you were sleeping around with other people.

His angry grunt after you asked if he had been hooking up with other girls was enough to tell you that your arrangement was exclusive. It was a good thing that you asked him while he had you sheathed around his dick. Who knew what he would’ve said if he was in his right mind?

“I’m alright, Suguru. Thanks for offering,” you slurred out. He wrapped an arm around you, probably to shield you from the leering eyes of the other drunk patrons at the bar. “It’s just colder than usual here. And you don’t have a jacket.” You simply nod at his reasoning. Relishing in his warmth and the smell of his subtle cologne. Much tamer than Sukuna’s and even then you’re able to sense his heavy natural musk.

Maybe it was because you’d been intimately entwined with him more times than you could count. You couldn’t even remember what Suguru’s scent reminded you of. All that clouded your mind was that darned tattooed ex-convict.

“You know, I’ve been watching you around campus for a while. I can tell you haven’t been feeling well for a while and—“ Suguru sighs before tightening his hold on you “—if you ever feel like you need to talk to someone, please know that I’m always there for you.” His warm smile almost feels fake. You couldn’t remember the last time someone showed you genuine kindness. Save for Sukuna immediately replying to your text where you’d told him you needed to let out some steam.

“Thanks,” you choke out, a singular tear falls down and for the first time in a while you see something other than pity in a peer’s eyes—concern. True and genuine concern. You felt cared for. Your tears began to flow out your eyes yes and you sobbed uncontrollably, unsure if it was the alcohol or the shred of kindness you were just shown.

“Hey, hey, it’s okay,” he said as he rubbed his arms up and down your shoulders. “It happens to the best of us. You’ll be ok-“ You’re suddenly left cold without Suguru’s warm hold. You turn to see his hand in the grasp of another man’s.

Sukuna. He was in front of you.

“Get the fuck away from her,” he spat at Suguru. “If you know what’s good for you.”

Suguru ignored the older man’s imposition and turned to look at you. Eyes softening again. “You know this guy?” Your tongue was too thick for your mouth to answer him.

What could you say? If you agreed then all the people in this bar (who were in your university) would know that you liked to mess around with strange men. If you said no then you’d have Sukuna’s supposed wrath to deal with.

You didn’t even know what he went to jail for.

Too overstimulated and confused to answer, you simply glanced around the bar. All eyes were on you three. An unwanted spotlight.

“Tell him you know me,” Sukuna’s red eyes bore into your delirious state through a frown. “At least I know where you live.”

You felt conflicted. On one hand, you had a man who was genuinely concerned for you and was explicit with providing you with support. On the other, was a man who knew about your emotional state and didn’t let you feel afraid to put your guard down despite never asking you about your troubles.

“That doesn’t matter. She didn’t say anything about knowing who you are. Hell, I haven’t even seen you around campus. Are you even a student at our school?” Suguru snapped. You were grateful that a mere acquaintance was so protective of you, but at this moment, everything felt uncomfortable.

Cold sweat prickled the back of your neck as you watched both the men raise their voices with each insult thrown at one another.

And to your horror, both the men started fighting one another. You looked away, shielding yourself and cringing. You heard a distressing crunch and didn’t want to guess whose nose had gone bust. It was all so embarrassing. Your friends always joked that you had the worst taste in men and they were right.

Humiliated, you ran out the bar, too frantic to pay your tab. The fight had gotten so bad that you could hear the faint sirens of the local police patrol cars driving towards the bar.

The bus ride back home was as excruciating as ever. Its rockiness and constant bumps on the mussed streets made it a nightmare to hold your bile in. The acidity of it had travelled up to your mouth, and you were grateful for the bathroom being in close proximity to your front door.

A few uncomfortable belches and spurts of vomit later, you dragged your dehydrated and exhausted body to your couch, scrolling through your phone to order hangover soup for the next day.

But your finger stopped before you could tap anything because a text had popped up.

11:27 pm | Sukuna Ryomen: are you okay

—

No part two for this. The “storyline” (?) is more focused on reader’s unhealthy coping mechanisms, and how sukuna affects her life 🥸

#jjk x reader #jjk x y/n #jjk x you #jjk sukuna #sukuna x reader #sukuna #sukuna ryomen #sukuna fluff #sukuna angst #sukuna ryomen smut #ryomen sukuna smut #ryomen sukuna x reader #ryoumen sukuna #ryomen sukuna #jujutsu sukuna #sukuna x female reader #sukuna x reader angst

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justinspoliticalcorner · 4 months ago

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Amanda Marcotte at Salon:

It's starting to look like Donald Trump is deliberately wrecking the economy. As Robert Kuttner at the American Prospect wrote this week, "no other president has gone out of his way to create a collapse," but there's no other way to interpret Trump's actions. Pointless tariffs will only jack up inflation. Illegally shutting down much of the federal government and laying off thousands at random will suck money out of the economy, forcing a recession. Both consumer confidence and the stock market are diving and a likely surge in unemployment — driven in no small part by Elon Musk recklessly firing federal workers without regard for law or necessity — will make it worse. And if all these federal cuts lead, as expected, to people not getting Social Security checks or health coverage, the disaster will likely spiral. Kuttner can't decide if Trump wants the economy to crash or if his actions are "based on sheer ignorance and impulsivity." Trump, however, indicated malicious intent during his seemingly endless speech in front of Congress on Tuesday night. Trump mocked the fears over imminent inflation by sneering that it's merely "a little disturbance." It's a familiar rhetorical move of his to paint his victims as whiners. In this case, however, his victims include most Americans, who aren't independently wealthy and can't simply afford rising costs and massive job losses. Trump mocked the fears over imminent inflation by sneering that it's merely "a little disturbance." It's a familiar rhetorical move of his to paint his victims as whiners. It's an understatement to call it "unprecedented" to have a president who hates most Americans, including his own voters, and wants them to suffer. But, as Jamelle Bouie of the New York Times persuasively argued Wednesday, Trump's psychology makes it explicable. Trump's "every executive function exists to satisfy his ego," Bouie wrote. He continues to whine on a near-daily basis about losing the 2020 election. "[I]t stands to reason that Trump would want revenge against the public," Bouie concluded, adding that Trump is now undergoing "a retribution campaign against the American people." Thomas Edsall of the New York Times spoke with psychologists who confirmed Bouie's layman understanding of Trump's disordered mental state. They affirmed that Trump suffers from "a congenital sense of entitlement," whose personality is like that of "street toughs, bullies, abusive husbands and hate-crime perpetrators." Even in the 2024 election, he didn't get over 50% of the vote. It makes sense that, after nearly a decade of most Americans rejecting him, a malignant narcissist like Trump would detest Americans categorically, and wish nothing more than to punish them all. As for his supporters, there's good reason Trump enjoys hurting them, as well. One of his favorite moves is to humiliate people who are dumb enough to fawn over him. Even during Tuesday's speech, he reminded us he loves to kick someone in the face after they bent to kiss his feet. After congratulating Marco Rubio for getting the secretary of state job — for which Rubio had to repeatedly prostrate himself — Trump threatened him. "Good luck, Marco. Now we know who to blame if anything goes wrong," Trump said, relishing one more bit of public shaming of a man who has done so much to flatter him.

Like most abusers, Trump's go-to move when challenged is to blame his victims. Unlike most abusers, however, Trump has a small army of spinmeisters and apologists who will echo his victim-blaming rhetoric. As the economic damage starts to balloon out, the number of people who will be told that they brought this on themselves will grow — likely until most Americans are being blamed for what Trump inflicted on them.

Malignant traitor Trump victim-blames Americans for his struggles to get a functioning economy.

#Donald Trump #Social Security #Economy #Trump Administration II #Victim Blaming #Veterans

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octaneink · 3 months ago

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The Aftermath

Will Lenney x Reader

Summary: The reader takes care of Will after the 2025 Charity Match Warnings: None Notes: Based on this request! Part two of Custom Fit. Sorry this was so short 😞this week's been pretty busy.

The stadium lights dimmed to a honey-gold haze, but the chaos was far from over.

Will stood pinned against a concrete pillar by a swarm of cameras and microphones, other YouTubers interviewing him for content, his post-match grin strained at the edges. Sweat dripped from his hairline, carving clean lines through the grime on his face. Someone had tossed him a towel, but it hung limply over his shoulders, forgotten. His voice had gone hoarse but retained its trademark charm.

“Nah, mate, the header wasn’t planned—just saw the ball and thought, Christ, that’s going on YouTube,” he said, grinning crookedly as the people laughed. His eyes flicked to you leaning against the cold concrete wall outside, just for a heartbeat, before darting back to the cameras. The fifth time he’d done that in ten minutes.

You clutched the Allstars kit tighter, its fabric coarse and damp against your fingertips. The acrid bite of sweat clung to the jersey—sharp and sour, layered with the grassy musk of turf ground into every fibre. It should’ve repelled you, but instead, you pressed the fabric to your chest like a relic, thumb tracing the embroidered patch until the threads snagged your skin.

Talia materialised beside you, holding two foam cups of warm stadium drinks in one hand and a grease-stained paper bag of Sides in the other. “He’s like a golden retriever with separation anxiety,” she said, nodding toward Will, then glared at her drink. “And before you ask—yes, this is piss-warm chamomile. Blame this one,” she added, patting her barely-there bump. “Keeps checking you’re still here,” she continued, rolling her eyes at Will’s fifth glance in your direction. “Someone’s gotta be the caffeine-deprived babysitter.”

“Shut up,” you muttered, flushing as you snatched the decaf from her. The chamomile’s floral tang clashed violently with the lingering musk of Will’s jersey still pressed to your side. “Don’t ‘shut up’ me. You’re basically holding his emotional support jersey.” She plucked at the fabric on your arm, wrinkling her nose. “Though, god, it reeks. Love really is blind.”

Freya snorted, materialising behind Talia with Faith and a dozing Olive in tow. The toddler stirred, her Sidemen scarf slipping askew as she sleepily gummed a fist. “And nose-dead, apparently,” Freya said, plucking a fry from Talia’s bag with a joking grin and gesturing at the jersey with it, neon cheese glooping onto her thumb. “You sure you don’t want to burn that?” She pulled a face like she’d licked a battery, playfully rolling her eyes. “You two are worse than my Nana’s telenovelas—and that’s saying something, considering her main character literally died of a paper cut last season.”

With a dramatic sigh, she pressed the back of her hand to her forehead, putting on a pretty good aristocratic accent: “Behold! The tragic Victorian widow clings to her scoundrel’s sweat-rag! A tale as old as tiiiiime—”

Talia jabbed Freya’s ribs with her decaf cup, nearly sloshing chamomile over the rim. “Keep the melodrama PG,” she said, though her twitching lips betrayed her. “Olive’s going to start quoting your nonsense at daycare.”

Freya glanced at the toddler, now drooling peacefully on Faith’s jacket, and dropped her tragic widow pose with a snort. “Relax—see? She’s out cold. Besides,” she added, elbowing you with a wink, “we all know you’d dive into a dumpster fire for his crusty socks. No judgement here.”

Will chose that moment to escape the locker room, his smirk sharpening as he caught the tail end of Freya’s jab. “Jealous, Freya?” he called, limping toward you with exaggerated swagger. “I’m sure Josh would get you one too, if you ask nicely.”

“Took you long enough,” you said, stepping forward to shoulder his duffel bag. Grass stains still streaked his neck, the custom #LENNEY 2 jersey clinging to him beneath his unzipped hoodie like a second skin.

Faith shifted Olive’s sleeping weight, nodding toward the exit. “Go. Before this little one wakes up and demands another pretzel the size of her head.”

“Seconded,” Talia said, crumpling her empty nacho bag with a yawn. “Your ‘tragic Victorian widow’ act is killing the vibe. Take your possibly concussed Romeo home.”

Will saluted lazily. “Yes, Mum.” You shot them a mock glare but couldn’t suppress your grin. “Bye, ladies,” you said, throwing a wave over your shoulder as Will slung an arm around your neck, his weight leaning into you like a human limpet.

“Text us when you’re home, preferably not dead in a ditch!” Freya called.

“Or do!” Talia added. “Drama’s good for the group chat.”

“Wouldn’t want to deprive you,” Will muttered, though his voice lacked its usual bite. He raised two fingers in a tired salute as you guided him toward the garage, the girls’ laughter fading behind you.

The walk to the car was quiet, murmured voices echoing through the large open space of the concrete garage. Will’s shoulder bumped yours every third step—less a nudge than a loss of balance—his duffel strap slipping down his arm until you hooked it with two fingers. He didn’t object.

At the Audi, he sagged against the bumper, head thunking back against the rear windscreen. “Let’s go,” he drawled, patting his pockets with sluggish determination. You intercepted the keys mid-air, their fob still warm from his grip.

“C’mon,” he groaned, reaching halfheartedly. “I’m not that knackered—”

You rolled your eyes. ”You just headed a ball. You’re probably still seeing double,” you said, pointing to the faint bruise already blooming on his temple. “And don’t even try to lie.”

He opened his mouth, then shut it with a click, shoulders sagging. “...Could’ve let me pretend I’m still invincible for five more minutes,” he muttered, but there was no real bite to it.

You popped the passenger door open with a smirk. “Boot or seat? Your choice.”

“Seat,” he grumbled, folding himself into the leather with all the grace of a collapsing deck chair. His knee cracked audibly against the glove box as he buckled up. “Christ—fucking—”

“Language”.

“You’re lucky you’re fit,” he added, tilting his head back against the rest. The garage lights cut across his face, sharpening the shadows under his eyes.

“Keep talking”, you said, adjusting the rearview mirror, “and I’ll make you ride in the boot for real.”

The Audi purred onto the rain-slicked road, tyres hissing against wet asphalt as neon signs bled into liquid gold across the windscreen. Will stabbed at the climate control panel with the heel of his hand, cranking the heat until the vents roared like a dragon.

"Christ, that's vile," he groaned as warmth hit his sweat-damp shirt, muscles seizing. The sharp cedarwood of his cologne turned cloying in the sudden humidity.

"Told you to ice your knee." You didn't look up from the road, thumb tapping the rhythm of some pop atrocity oozing from the radio. "But no. Had to be the martyr in head-to-toe Under Armour."

"Frozen peas give me existential dread." He peeled his back from the leather seat with a wet sound, grimacing. "They’re the vegetable equivalent of passive aggression."

"You’re the one who tried to throw the ball like you’re eighteen again. Newsflash, Granddad – your ligaments have a retirement fund now."

He scoffed, rolling his neck until it cracked. "One tactical stumble—"

"—Tactical?" You snort, teasing him more. "You folded like a Poundland lawn chair."

"Fuck’s sake, it was a stumble. It was—" You interrupted him by swerving around a pothole, grinning when the jolt made him suck air through his teeth. "Admit it. You just wanted the stretcher crew to carry you. Again."

"Jealous the med students didn’t swarm your touchline?" His mouth hooked sideways, all mischief and challenge. "I’ve seen the way you eye them. What’s your type – the one with the trauma shears or the guy who looks like a thumb in a fleece?"

"At least they hydrate properly." You flicked the half-empty water bottle in his lap, droplets arcing onto his joggers. "This isn’t a prop, Will. Actual humans need fluid to survive."

"Darling, if you wanted me undressed, you could’ve just—"

"Don’t." You cut him off, heat crawling up your neck as his laugh rolled through the car, low and knowing. The steering wheel creaked under your grip. "I’ll crash us. I mean it."

"Liar." He settled back, victorious, stretching his legs with a groan. "You’d miss the view too much."

You rolled your eyes, but he caught your chin with two fingers, tilting your face toward him. The traffic light bled red across his smirk. “C’mere,” he said, voice gravel-rough. His kiss was all heat and hubris, teeth nipping your lower lip as the light turned green. Horns blared behind you. He pulled back, eyes glinting. “Told you. Best view in London.”

His bravado lasted exactly three seconds.

The adrenaline finally bled out of him in a rush—shoulders slumping, smirk softening into something frayed at the edges. He tried to mask it, drumming restless fingers on his thigh, but the rhythm stuttered as his eyelids dipped. “Keep dreaming,” you said, quieter now. His retort dissolved into a yawn, jaw cracking audibly.

Rain smeared the world beyond the glass, but the car held its own galaxy—the ping of his phone charging, the syncopated drip of his damp hair hitting his collar, the way his knee brushed the gear shift one last time before going still. Always pushing. Always there. Until he wasn’t.

By the second traffic light, his temple met the window with a soft thunk. The city painted him in fleeting strokes—neon blue highlighting the curve of his slack mouth, sodium gold gilding the stubble along his jaw. A bruise bloomed above his eyebrow like storm clouds, yet he looked younger in the quiet, fingers slack around the water bottle. Even his breathing changed, the sharp edges of his banter smoothed into slow, syrupy exhales.

You turned the radio down.

He didn’t stir.

The kitchen fluorescents buzzed like angry wasps. Will collapsed onto a barstool, chin propped in his palm, as you shoved leftover carbonara into the microwave. He watched the plate spin through the greasy glass, eyes glazed. The microwave beeped sharply, and he flinched. “Eat,” you ordered, sliding the steaming plate toward him. “Properly. Or I’ll start spoon-feeding you.”

He smirked, dragging a noodle through the sauce with deliberate slowness. “Promises, promises.” Sauce smudged his thumb, and he licked it off absently, gaze drifting to the fridge plastered with magnets from your trips abroad. “Should’ve ordered Nando’s,” he mumbled around a half-chewed bite.

You flicked a bread roll at his chest.

“Oi.” He caught it mid-air, his grin lopsided. “Trying to maim me further?”

“Trying to keep you alive.” You leaned against the counter, arms crossed. “Your body’s running on fumes and ego.”

“Ego’s renewable energy, love.” He tore the roll apart, crumbs cascading onto the plate like shrapnel. A fleck of parsley clung stubbornly to the corner of his lip—a bright green against his pallor. You let it linger, watching his gaze drift past you, fixed on some invisible point in the middle distance. His eyelids dipped like weighted curtains, snapping open every thirty seconds with robotic precision.

You hooked your foot around his ankle beneath the counter, jolting him. “Will.”

He blinked, slow and syrupy, as if surfacing from underwater. “Hm?”

“You’re zoning.”

“Am not.” The denial cracked halfway. He shovelled a forkful of carbonara into his mouth, chewing with the enthusiasm of a man gnawing cardboard. The shadows under his eyes weren’t circles anymore—they were craters.

His damp hair coiled in rebellious curls at his nape, the sterile scent of the stadium’s complimentary soap clashing with the sour tang of his abandoned jersey slung over the chair. Your gaze snagged again on that damn parsley, flagrant as a flare. Without thinking, you reached out, thumb brushing the corner of his mouth.

He froze mid-bite, fork suspended. A crumb fell. You swiped the green fleck away, your nail catching faintly on his chapped lip. His throat worked—a dry, audible click.

“Bed.” You lobbed the ibuprofen bottle at him. It thunked against his palm, his reflexes still sharp even as the rest of him unravelled.

“Bossy tonight, aren’t we?” He rattled the pills like dice, squinting at the label.

“Someone’s gotta be.”

He lurched into the bedroom, shedding his hoodie mid-stumble. The fabric pooled on the floor like a deflated shadow as he collapsed face-first onto the bed, limbs splayed in haphazard surrender. The duvet swallowed his groan, his voice muffled but insistent: “Massage or death. Your choice.”

You followed, floorboards groaning underfoot. Will lay motionless, face buried in the sheets, one arm dangling over the edge. His back rose and fell in shallow waves—the only proof he hadn’t fully dissolved into the mattress. The bed frame creaked as you climbed up, knees sinking into the downy surface on either side of his hips. Heat radiated through his thin t-shirt, seeping into your joggers as you settled over him.

His breath hitched, fingers curling into the duvet. The bed tilted under your weight, rolling his body subtly toward yours. Your palms hovered above his shoulders, the muscles beneath twitching even before contact—a battlefield of tension, coiled like steel springs primed to snap.

“Drama queen”, you muttered, thumbs carving into the rigid terrain of his upper back.

He hissed, spine arching sharply, shoulder blades jutting like fractured wings. “Christ—”

Your thumbs found the knot first—a hard, defiant bulge beneath his left shoulder blade, shaped like a clenched fist. You circled it slowly, testing. Will’s breath stuttered, his spine tensing like a bowstring. “Breathe,” you muttered, pressing down with the heel of your palm.

He didn’t. Not until the pressure forced a ragged exhale from his lungs. “Fuck—”

“You played at Wembley,” you repeated, quieter now, knuckles grinding into the epicentre of the tension. The muscle quivered under your touch, a live wire sparking. “Acted like you were bulletproof. What’d you expect?”

“Sympathy?” He turned his face sideways, cheek smeared against the duvet, words fraying. “A fuckin’ parade?” His laugh was a hollow rasp, muffled by fabric.

“You’ll get a tombstone.” You leaned your weight into the knot, relentless, until it finally surrendered with a sickening pop. His groan vibrated through your knees, low and visceral, as his body sagged into the mattress.

“Knew you’d fuss,” he slurred, voice thick with exhaustion. One hand fisted the sheet, knuckles blanching.

“Shut up.” You traced the curve of his jaw, calluses catching on stubble, before retreating to safer territory—the slope of his neck, the wings of his shoulders. “You love it.”

His breath hitched. Not from pain.

The room softened around you—the storm outside reduced to a whisper, the lamp’s glare dimming as if chastened. You worked in silence now, kneading the remaining knots with methodical precision. His body unravelled by degrees: the iron grip on the sheets loosening, the hitch in his breath smoothing to something shallow and steady.

His breath hitched—a stuttered inhale you recognised instantly. You felt it everywhere: in the twine of his pulse under your wrist, the minute tilt of his head toward your touch. You pressed harder, thumb skating along the ridge of his shoulder. “Well?”

Will turned his face into the pillow, but you caught the grin in his voice. “Well, what?”

“You love it.” You repeated yourself.

He snorted, the sound dampened by cotton. “Of course I do.” Casual as a shrug, but his ear had gone pink at the tip—the tell he’d never managed to hide. “Your hands are witchcraft. Should charge for this.”

“You’d owe me six figures by now.”

“Mmm. Just add it to my tab.” He shifted, wincing as you hit a fresh knot. “Christ—easy, assassin.”

You lightened the pressure, fingers brushing the hair at his nape. He leaned into it like a cat, sighing. “Should’ve subbed out after the header,” you said, quieter now.

“And miss your custom jersey reveal?” His hand fumbled backward, swatting blindly at your thigh. “Worth the possible concussion.”

You caught his wrist, thumb skimming the pulse point. “Idiot.”

“Your idiot.” He twisted just enough to peer up at you with one sleep-silted eye. The bruise looked worse in the lamplight, but his smirk was pure mischief. “C’mon. Tell me you’re not impressed.”

You flicked his earlobe. “By your talent for concussions?”

“By my commitment.” He caught your hand before you could retreat, pressing a lazy kiss to your palm. His lips were chapped, his stubble rough against your skin. A familiar calculus. “Admit it. You’re dazzled.”

“Dazzled,” you deadpanned, freeing your hand to resume the massage. “That’s one word for it.”

He hummed, cheek squashed against the sheets. “Knew it.”

You felt the exact moment. Will tipped over the edge into sleep. His breathing deepened, the rigid line of his shoulders going slack under your palms. His fingers, which had been idly tracing circles on your knee, stilled mid-motion, hand sliding off the bed to dangle limply toward the floor.

For a moment, you didn’t move. Watched the rise and fall of his back, the way his parted lips smudged the duvet with each exhale. The lamp cast his profile in gold—eyelashes fanned dark against cheeks still flushed from the post-match shower, hair curling damp at his temples. Even bruised and battered, he looked younger like this, the day’s tension dissolved into something soft and unguarded.

Careful not to jostle him, you slipped off the bed. The floorboards creaked a protest, but Will didn’t stir. His arm remained outstretched where you’d been, fingers twitching faintly as if chasing your warmth.

You moved through the flat on autopilot: deadbolting the front door, twisting the handle of the back window twice to secure it, and clicking off lights one by one until only the bedroom lamp remained.

When you returned, Will had curled onto his side, knees drawn up like a comma. The duvet pooled at his waist, exposing the twin dimples at the base of his spine, the constellation of freckles he’d gotten from the last boys trip. The lamp’s glow cutting abruptly after you flick it off, plunging the room into darkness.

You slid in beside him, knees slotting behind his like puzzle pieces worn smooth by repetition. His body curled toward you even before the mattress settled—a reflex etched into his bones, as automatic as breathing. His hand found your hip, calloused palm sliding under your shirt to press warm against bare skin, anchoring you in place. Even half-conscious, he knew the map of you: the dip of your waist, the curve of your shoulder, and the way you’d always tuck your cold toes between his calves.

He nuzzled the back of your neck, stubble scraping skin. “Love you,” slurred into your hair, barely audible.

You smiled against the dark. “Love you too, idiot.” You laced your fingers through his where they rested on your stomach, his grip slackening as sleep pulled him under.

His breathing deepened, slow and syrupy, chest rising against your back in a rhythm older than Wembley, older than YouTube, older than the both of you. The rain had hushed to a murmur, the room holding its breath around you. You closed your eyes, letting the heat of him seep into your marrow.

Somewhere between his thumb stroking your hipbone and the distant trill of a nightingale, sleep crept in. The last thing you registered was his content sigh, warm and damp against your nape, as his hand slid up to cradle your ribs—craving more of you even in dreams.

I hope you like this 🔫 anon! Like I said in the notes, sorry it's short… But I hope that you like what I made nonetheless 😊. Thanks again for requesting it!

#willne #will lenney #willne x reader #willne x fem!reader #will lenney x reader #willne oneshot #🔫 anon's request

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mostlysignssomeportents · 2 months ago

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Trump can’t do ANYTHING for his base

I'm on a 20+ city book tour for my new novel PICKS AND SHOVELS. Catch me in PITTSBURGH on THURSDAY (May 15) at WHITE WHALE BOOKS, and in PDX on Jun 20 at BARNES AND NOBLE with BUNNIE HUANG. More tour dates (London, Manchester) here.

Trump's coalition includes a huge number of people who will suffer terribly from his policies, but who voted for him anyway. Trumpism requires that he find ways to keep those Christmas-voting turkeys happy, or at least distracted.

Trump's go-to move for keeping his base happy is inflicting pain on people they hate, like immigrants, racialized people, queers and women. That goes a long way, obviously: there's a kind of person who can be distracted from their own deteriorating material condition by the spectacle of cruel treatment for their enemies.

But Trumpism can't just run on sadism. There's a lot of people who enjoy the sadism, but not so much that it cancels out their own rage at their deteriorating personal conditions. Trump's main tactic is to blame the suffering of his base on the rest of us: "radical leftists," "wokeism" and other hobgoblins of the small-minded. That, too, has its limits – especially when Trump controls Congress, the courts, the senate and the White House. Obviously, Trump isn't above blaming his own people for being traitors (e.g., by sending a literal noose-bearing lynch mob after his own vice president), but there are limits to this, even for Trump. If all the power-brokers in Trump's coalitions are branded as disloyal, cowardly, or traitorous, Trump will have no one left to do the actual work of advancing his agenda.

Ultimately, keeping Trump's base happy requires providing some form of material benefit to that base. Every authoritarian has a version of this – like the cash handouts that Poland's former far-right government gave out:

https://pulitzercenter.org/stories/poland-model-promoting-family-values-cash-handouts

For Trump, this presents a problem: because he represents the interests of exploitation, extraction and looting, everything nice that he gives to everyday people in his base potentially gores the ox of someone who really matters to him. It's no surprise, for example, that he reversed Biden's price-cuts for Big Pharma's most expensive drugs – the cheaper drugs are for sick people, the less profitable they'll be for pharma companies:

https://www.levernews.com/trump-already-disarmed-the-war-on-drug-prices/

Luckily (for Trump), Biden's consumer protection and antitrust agencies teed up a long list of extremely good policies that would directly shift money from rich parasites to everyday people. For example, the Consumer Finance Protection Bureau passed a rule that would make it very easy to find out which bank would charge you the least and pay you the most, and let you switch banks with one click:

https://pluralistic.net/2024/11/01/bankshot/#personal-financial-data-rights

It was a move that would have shifted $667m/year from banks to everyday people, every year, forever. But Trump's most important barons, like Elon Musk, hated the Consumer Finance Protection Bureau and insisted that it be shuttered, so that $667m/year will go to the banks after all – indeed, virtually all of the good things Biden's CFPB decreed the American public would enjoy henceforth have been destroyed. Sure, Trump would have liked to have taken credit for these, but the conflict between stolen valor and displeasing Shadow President Musk will always cash out in Musk's favor.

It's not just the CFPB. The FTC also set up a whole roster of ambitious projects to improve life for Americans. Some of these made the news in a big way, like the antitrust case against Meta:

https://pluralistic.net/2025/04/18/chatty-zucky/#is-you-taking-notes-on-a-criminal-fucking-conspiracy

Trump has lots of upsides from pursuing the Meta case. Everyone hates Meta products, including (especially) the people who are trapped using them because that's where their friends, family, communities, customers or audiences are. Breaking up Meta would be hugely popular with the American people. But also, once a court has convicted Meta of violating antitrust law, Trump can solicit favors – cash and favorable algorithmic treatment – from Meta in exchange for ordering his FTC to go easy on Meta in the "remedy phase," letting them off with a fine, rather than forcing them to spin out Whatsapp and Instagram:

https://pluralistic.net/2024/11/12/the-enemy-of-your-enemy/#is-your-enemy

But even if Trump lets Meta walk, there's plenty of great stuff Biden's FTC did that he could take credit for – policies that would help everyday people.

The most prominent of these is the FTC's "Click to Cancel" rule. It's a pretty simple rule: companies have to make it as easy to cancel a subscription as it was to sign up for it.

In other words, they can't do that thing – beloved of everything from the New York Times to every manosphere influencer's supplement business – where you can sign up for a subscription with one click, but you can't cancel unless you phone them, wait on hold, and beg them to let you off the hook.

Companies do this on purpose, because it's super profitable. Amazon executives carried on internal email threads where they straight up said that they'd deliberately made it confusingly easy to sign up for Prime and basically impossible to stop paying for it:

https://pluralistic.net/2023/09/03/big-tech-cant-stop-telling-on-itself/

This is a no-brainer. Companies make signing up for subscriptions into a greased slide, and they make canceling subscriptions into a greased pole.

No wonder, then, that when the FTC solicited public comments on a proposed "click to cancel" rule, they had no trouble building up the evidentiary record needed to pass the rule.

Now, Trump's FTC has announced that they are delaying enforcement of the rule until mid-July:

https://techcrunch.com/2025/05/10/ftc-delays-enforcement-of-click-to-cancel-rule/

This is the second time they've delayed enforcement (originally, the rule was supposed to go into effect in January). Trump FTC chairman Andrew Ferguson had no trouble getting the votes for the suspension, because he illegally fired the two Democratic Commissioners, Alvaro Bedoya and Rebecca Slaughter:

https://www.theverge.com/decoder-podcast-with-nilay-patel/657115/ftc-bedoya-slaughter-trump-fired-supreme-court-interview

Ferguson is proof that the FTC can't do anything material for Trump's base. Sure, he can set up a snitch-line so tht FTC employees can rat each other out for being "woke":

https://www.ftc.gov/system/files/ftc_gov/pdf/bedoya-statement-emergency-motion.pdf

This should be a slam dunk. It epitomizes the "unfair and deceptive" business practices Section 5 of the FTC Act empowers the agency to snuff out. The Trump admin is unwilling to gore the ox of out-and-out scammers, people who trick you into unkillable subscriptions. It seems that there's no material benefit that Trump's oligarch backers are willing to cede to working people. All they can offer is cruelty.

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/2025/05/12/greased-slide/#greased-pole

Image: Vis M (modified) https://commons.wikimedia.org/wiki/File:Slide_at_Thenmala_deer_rehabilitation_center.jpg

CC BY-SA 4.0 https://creativecommons.org/licenses/by-sa/4.0/deed.en

#pluralistic #materialism #gored oxen #click to cancel #ftc #ftc act #ftc act section 5 #ftca 5 #ftca #unfair and deceptive #scams #ripoffs #dark patterns #trumpism

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toxicanonymity · 8 days ago

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Dear Anon Haters (Not just mine),

You don't have to like everyone. People can rub you the wrong way. But sometimes hate without real cause goes too far. Hating Elon Musk or Stephen Miller? Rational. *Productive* even, if it leads to activism or building community. Hating members of fandom so much that you can't stop watching them or sending hate? That's a problem.

The solution isn't to justify the emotion by convincing yourself that anyone you hate must be doing real harm. Slapping them with labels that are universally considered vile and hate-worthy is a desperate move. Doing this serves no one except those who benefit from the dilution and misuse of those terms. Like predators and the far right. It hurts everyone else, including you.

Obsessive hate is a form of self sabotage.

It can raise cortisol, disrupt sleep, and weaken libido. Hate is a black hole that sucks up mental energy and space that could be used on things with actual payoff. You don't wanna look back and wonder what you could've done with all the time and effort you spent stalking, dragging, or stewing over someone. You'll never know what you could've created, learned, or experienced. If you're in an echo chamber, it's robbing you of these things.

Making someone else's life miserable will never make you fulfilled. I'm not asking you to swear off being a hater for life, and I'm not saying no one is ever worthy of hate. But for your own good, try being honest with yourself and open to the idea that there is a better use for that energy, even if your only motivator is self-interest.

I know you care less about the impact to the other person, especially if you've truly deluded yourself into believing everyone you dislike is a terrible person. But it is worth remembering that behind every screen, there is a real person with an entire life and inner world and people in their life. People behind the screen have their own responsibilities, goals, regrets, dirty dishes, bills, trauma, shortcomings, failures, losses... You might have more in common with them than you think. They might even be actively involved in something IRL that you would support. And you never know what someone is going through. But you do know they are not responsible for your core insecurities.

You and the person you hate have common enemies, for sure. Like the ones devaluing human life and taking health care away and militarizing ICE, sending BIPOC and immigrants to alligator alcatraz, destroying the earth, and literally poisoning marginalized communities. If spite/hate is the only motivation that works for you, maybe try a placebo like redirecting it to one of these common enemies.

These common enemies are so insidious, so much more worthy of that hater energy. But you already know that, so what's the deal? Maybe the idea of upsetting someone lets you feel some kind of power and control you lack elsewhere. Maybe, with those more deserving of hate, the instant gratification isn't there compared to lashing out at someone more likely to read your message. But where is that gratification even coming from? What is it made of? What does it say about you? Because I promise you, it doesn't say anything at all about the person you hate.

Ty for reading, even if you hate-read. 🖤 ☠️

Managing your tumblr experience

How to stop obsessing over someone you hate

12 steps to stop feeling bitter:

1. Do a genuine re-evaluation, being honest with yourself. Often, in telling our story to others, we stop telling the truth to ourselves. What actually haunts you, versus what you tell your friends bothers you because they all agree it should?

2. Put your story on hold. What would happen if, just for a week, or even a few days, you take a break from telling it?

3. Take what responsibility you can for your feelings. The point is not to blame yourself, but to reclaim your personal power.

4. Stop spying. Spying on the person who triggered your upset is self-torture that inevitably lowers self-esteem. Spying on others can also be addictive. If you can’t stop spying, you might need support.

5. Face up to your hidden fears. Bitterness often is a perfect disguise for fear of failing. If the odds are stacked against you and nothing is fair, it's not your fault if you don't succeed how you want. If you deal with the fear, you won’t need the bitterness.

6. Forgive when feeling bitter? Sure, but only at your own pace. Fake forgiveness can be a way of just denying how you feel, or even hold you back from processing emotions and situations.

7. And don’t forget to forgive yourself, too. It’s possible to hold on to feeling bitter for a long time so you can focus your anger on someone else because the hard truth is that you are furious at yourself.

8. Step into the now. Bitterness lives in the past and the future. Get into the now moment by concerning yourself with current opportunities and goals.

9. Branch out from feeling bitter. Bitterness tends to fade in the face of excitement and joy. In other words, new and better experiences.

10. Set mini goals for yourself each day. Bitterness is a powerful tide, and best intentions to try new things and be mindful can soon be caught in its tug. The way around this is to not just make big goals, but also small, achievable goals that keep you on the road away from feeling bitter.

11. Try a new perspective. Feeling bitter can have us seeing life from a very narrow perspective indeed. Imagine what the situation you are struggling with would look like from a different viewpoint entirely.

12. Seek support. Feeling bitter can be quite the battle to move on from. And sometimes the strongest tactic and easiest way forward is to accept help.

----

#discourse #fanfom discourse #anon hate #ppcu fandom #pedro pascal fandom #essay #pedro pascal fandom confession #pedro pascal fandom confessions #fandom confession #anti hate #anti anti #anti harassment #incel gymnastics #hate anons

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alchemistc · 11 months ago

Text

i present my latest offering of an au first meeting: the poker game.

Big Blind

Tommy's been on plenty of bad dates in his time, but this one might actually take the cake for worst first date he's ever had. They're just -- not right for one another, and it's clear they can both feel it, but for some reason Jeff just -- keeps talking. About his border collie rescue, and his sixth fourteener (this year), and the his upcoming promotion and the Cybertruck he's thinking about getting wrapped in matte black --

"Jeff," Tommy cuts in, when he starts in on Tesla stock talk. "I'm gonna pay the check and head out. It's been..." he gestures. Considers calling Stout right here at the dinner table to tell him no more blind dates with his stock broker brother-in-laws friends, no matter how gay they are.

He's gonna get shit from Stout's wife the next time she stops by with a casserole, but honestly a half-hour tirade on politeness from Heather Alexandra Stout sounds better than learning how much of an Elon Musk fanboy Jeff really is. Jeff looks like he might be offended by the implication that he wouldn't have paid, but Tommy's already waving down his server and gesturing to the bar by the time Jeff even thinks to reach for his wallet.

"You have a good night."

Andrea slides his check under his elbow with a raised brow and doesn't say a word when he hands her his card immediately, but he can tell she's judging him. Third date in a month he's barely contained his disdain for long enough to pay up, although this is the first he's outright ditched before the bill was even paid.

Gary slides a beer across the bar to him and refuses the cash Tommy tries to give him for it. "Do I look that pathetic, Gary?"

Man of few words, Gary just taps his nose and tips his chin to his date, who is doing a terrible job of trying to sneak out the door.

"You're too good for him, anyway," says Andrea, back already with his card. He tucks an extra twenty into her folder and downs the beer in silence while they watch through the window as Jeff seems to get into an argument with the Uber pulling up in front of the restaurant.

"Maybe it's me," Tommy says, and Gary hums in commiseration. Or maybe he just has gas. "Maybe I'm the problem."

It's been a string of bad dates, and before that a relationship that'd gone up in metaphorical but nearly literal flames. Tommy's spent a lot of introspective time wishing he could kill Gerrard with lasers so that he doesn't have to blame himself for staying in the closet so long that blind dates and Grindr meetups were his real introduction to the dating scene.

"Someday, Tommy, you'll meet someone who can't get enough of your morbid humor and your pessimism and your obsession with haunted cars."

"One car," Tommy argues, although that's beside the point. "I think maybe I should give the search for love a break, Gary."

Gary hums, again.

Tommy drinks the rest of his beer in companionable silence and pulls up his phone to order an Uber himself. Jeff is, thankfully, long gone, and Tommy's halfway through confirming his home address when he remembers the invite he'd received last week that he'd hesitated scheduling a date around. He shoots off a text instead, and updates the address before he slides from the bar stool.

Gary shoots him a look. "Headed home?"

Tommy shifts on his feet. Shoots a look behind the bar. "Nah. Gonna try to hit up a work thing. Pour me a shot of Tullamore for the road?"

Gary accepts the twenty this time and doesn't make a comment about the way Tommy downs a sipping whiskey, which Tommy appreciates.

He's halfway to his destination, enjoying the chat with his driver, when the text comes in from Lucy.

Had to bail, but you should go if the date went that badly. Williams will enjoy slowly ruining the remainder of your night.

Tommy taps his phone once, twice, three times before he makes up his mind not to be the asshole who changes his destination halfway through the ride. Worst comes to worst, he'll tap out early and Venmo Mehta the rest of his stake.

Better than moping at home with the pint of freezer-burned Ben and Jerry's.

-----

He's fairly rushed down the stairs once he's in, because apparently Williams is on some sort of time crunch, or something, and he's fairly certain the drinks are catching up to him as he takes in the table. Mehta and Wilson are regulars, and he's seen Rosen around, but there are two new guys settling in across the table and Tommy has to take a long, long moment to remind himself this is technically a professional setting before he can look too closely at either one of them.

Yeah. Shit, he'd definitely drank most of that second pitcher by himself, listening to Jeff talk.

"Kinard. We weren't expecting you." Rosen's eyes glimmer with amusement. He'd caught maybe six months of her probationary year, but every time she sees him she likes to remind him of the first time she'd seen him post-transfer, at a gay bar in WeHo, and introduced him to the first guy he'd dated seriously in his entire life. Tommy returns the favor by reminding her exactly how terribly that had ended for all parties. "Poker night dress code usually includes more buttons than date night," she jabs, finger circling the olives in her martini glass, and Tommy contemplates tossing one of Mehta's chips at her. Her grin goes wide.

With the momentary distraction, Tommy feels a little more prepared to face the two men now eyeing him curiously.

"Tommy," he says, leaning over the table, hand out to shake. Turtleneck raises a curious eyebrow when Mr. Red Velvet Smoking jacket practically leaps across his lap to shake back. "I'm over at 217."

"This is Eddie," Red Velvet introduces, and Tommy's gaze dances between them, curious. "I'm Evan. We're with the -- wait, 217 -- Chimney's Tommy?"

Tommy's brows dance up the same time as Eddie's do. He is still shaking hands with Evan. Or - holding is more accurate, he supposes, but for the sake of his sanity and the possible date Evan and Eddie are on, if he's reading the introduction or any of the vibes right (they're both stunning and Tommy is smarting from another shitty date, so who knows), Tommy keeps it to shake in his mind. "Well I don't think Howie can claim ownership of my person, but -."

"Sorry, no, I just meant..." Evan's gaze drops to their clasped hands, still now over the felt of the poker table. He gives one more firm pump and drops Tommy's hand. "We're both at the 118. Pretty sure you helped save this guy's ass once." He tips a thumb sideways to indicate the man he'd introduced as Eddie.

Tommy's eyes drift. He's had a few drinks, and up until about halfway through the date he'd been expecting a very different outcome for his night, so he's maybe not keeping a lid on things the way he normally would in a work setting. He's guessing the ass he's purported to have saved would look great, if it weren't firmly planted in his chair and out of view. The rest of the view ain't bad, either.

And.

Shit.

Williams is giving him a look, which means he's not being even a little subtle. "The gas main explosion," Tommy finally gathers from the cobwebs of his brain, and wouldn't it be his luck to transfer out of the 118 just in time for two annoyingly attractive men who may possibly be boning each other to take his place.

Evan grins. Beams, more like, and Tommy slides firmly into his own chair and tries not to be blinded by it. Or entranced by it. God he needs to get laid. Get this - whatever this is - out of his system.

Tommy's cool. Tommy's calm and collected and he hadn't even had that much to drink, actually, so why is he having such a hard time behaving like he's had forty years of experience dealing with attractive men?

Tommy sorts through the memories.

Eddie he can pinpoint fairly easily -- he'd shot off a message to Chim the moment they'd learned one of the 118 had been shot, and had been happy to break the news of his recovery to an anxious Harbor station in the tense days after it had all gone down. Evan, though - he doesn't have a clue who that could be. He's still got a few buddies from B Shift he talks to on occasion, but he doesn't remember any stories about an Evan from them, and Howie hasn't mentioned one, either.

Of course, it's not like either one of them does a great job of keeping in touch.

The mystery is solved a moment later when Williams tips her head at him. "Feels like we're being overrun by the 118 tonight," she says with a grin, but her gaze slides to Evan, rather than Tommy. "And we've got an honest-to-goodness legend tonight."

"You know I still can't believe you survived that, Buckley," Mehta says, and the puzzle piece slots itself into place. "Uh, although we're all glad that you did."

Buckley. Tommy shifts. Reassesses. Eyes the glance between Diaz and Buckley like he's gonna figure out their deal while he's already four and a half drinks deep into the night and hasn't already heard the larger than life tales of this duo from half-a-dozen gossipy paramedics. According to some, there's a secret torrid love affair going on behind the scenes of their codependent friendship. According to others, the ones he more or less trusts not to stretch the truth too far, they're friends -- closer than most, and maybe a little weird about each other, but friends all the same.

Buckley's a shark. Or, if Williams is to be believed, a bit of a cheat.

As the game goes on, and the conversation drifts from the morbid details of Buckley's three-minutes-seventeen-seconds of lifelessness, past the special skills near death experiences are rumored to cause, past the time out where they'd all admired the pictures of Buckley's Lichtenburg scars ("They faded pretty quickly," Evan says, with a soft little frown like he's a bit disappointed not to have any physical proof beyond a few shots of his naked brick shithouse of a chest.) Tommy can't help but admire the shift from bashful to smirking and smug as Evan keeps racking up monumentally improbable hands. He's a bit of a brat, actually, and Tommy can feel Rosen's eyes burning into the side of his head every time he ups the ante just to watch the flicker of triumph aimed in his direction every time Evan wins a hand Tommy raised.

Tommy's no slob with cards, on a normal day, but he's too busy trying not to read anything into the way Evan's eyes keep drifting to the v of the shirt he hadn't buttoned back up just to spite Rosen, or the way he keeps licking his fucking lips every time Tommy takes a sip of the whiskey at his elbow to really care as his chips dwindle to nothing. Tommy can't be entirely sure, but it seems like maybe Evan pouts, a little, when Tommy pushes back from the table to join the rest of the losers crowded around to watch Williams, Mehta and Buckley battle it out.

He's trying to think of a subtle way to ask Howie if Evan Buckley is just like that with all the men in his life when Eddie slides in beside him with a refill on his whiskey. Tommy grimaces. "I shouldn't."

"Thought you were trying to drink away a bad date?"

Tommy shoots Rosen a glare over Eddie's shoulder, but she's too busy chasing her straw with her tongue to notice.

"He was a Tesla fanboy," Tommy intones, and the braces himself for the reaction. He's used to it, now -- the constant cycle of coming out and waiting to see which new acquaintances bow out of getting to know each other any better. This is... earlier, than he usually drops it, but he hasn't been in the mood to lie about it in years, and Eddie had asked. He gets a raised brow and a grimace.

"Don't tell me you didn't know ahead of time," Eddie says, and Tommy loosens the grip on his glass.

"Hazards of blind dating."

Eddie's look is commiserating. He tips his beer bottle against Tommy's rocks glass. "Yeah, my tia keeps finding reasons for me to run into the eligible daughters and granddaughters of all her friends." Which Tommy supposes is answer to half of the question that's been plaguing him since he sat down.

Buckley gets cocky a few times, but it's clear the night is going his way even before Jeshan Mehta's pot gets swept up in Evan's arms. Williams holds out as long as she can.

"Beginner's luck!" Buckley crows, when Williams' last chip is added to his pile. Eddie's been supplying him with a steady flow of drinks for the past thirty minutes, and his smile is crooked as he tilts backwards in his chair for a fist bump. His eyes flick to Tommy's once he's received his congratulations from Eddie, and Tommy pretends he's not a little bit fascinated by the pull of his jacket over his arms, or the way his closed hand lingers near Tommy's even after Tommy has smacked his knuckles against his as well.

Evan Buckley is frustratingly adorable. Tommy's had too many drinks for any kind of decent decision making. He bows out while Evan and Eddie are collecting his winnings.

-----

Tommy's eyes flick to the readout on his phone. He doesn't recognize the number, but it's a local area code, so he picks up on the forth ring. "Go for Kinard."

"Uh - hey, hi. Hey Tommy." The voice is familiar, sweet and low. "It's Buck - Evan. Evan Buckley. I uh -- I got your number from Chim, I hope that's alright?"

Tommy's got a solid fifteen minutes before he has to leave for work, a raging headache that has thus far refused to accept electrolytes or Advil as tribute to his overindulgence the previous evening, and a full understanding that he's going to spend his shift listening to Donato swear up and down she's the better option for finding him a man, but the voice on the other end of his phone might at least give the headache a run for it's money.

"Evan. Hi."

"Hey. So -- you dipped before I could ask -- which is fine, obviously, I'm not -- uh..." He pauses. Tommy can practically picture the way he wets his lower lip while he searches for the right words. "Anyway I was wondering -- would you maybe wanna grab a beer, sometime?"

Tommy spends about fifteen seconds rearranging his entire schedule in his mind. Says, cool, calm, collected: "Sure. When are you free?"

Evan's voice goes distant for a second -- he's putting Tommy on speaker. "I, uh -- I didn't expect you to say yes so quickly. Actually I didn't expect you to answer -- who answers unknown numbers, anymore?"

"Who calls expecting to get sent to voicemail?"

The brat rises up immediately. "Uh, literally everyone. The missed call is just an excuse to text. It's basic phone etiquette, Tommy."

Tommy likes the way he says his name. Soft, sweet and slow, rolling over his tongue like molasses. This feels incredibly like flirting, but he can't get a fucking read on this kid. "Clearly I've missed out on an important cultural shift. I can hang up and we can do this the right way, if you want."

"No!" It's sharp -- louder, like he's raising the phone back towards his mouth. Tommy can't hide the grin leaking across his face. "Uh -- no, it's fine. Too late, anyway, I already know you don't know phone rules."

"Hopefully that doesn't change your opinion of me too much."

"I could be convinced to ignore it, with the right incentive."

"I'll buy first round," Tommy says, and wonders if he's got any other shirts he can play off as fitting better with three buttons undone. The flirting should be enough, but -- Tommy's still not sure drinks isn't just drinks.

"Wednesday night," Evan says, voice further away again. Tommy has a sudden, desperate urge to see what his Google calendar looks like. For all that he'd cut loose at the poker game, Tommy bets it's color coded by type of activity. "If that works. Or Saturday, any time, really. I'm uh -- I'm free then."

If Tommy bows out of trivia on classic car week Cynthia will have a whole ass bitch fit. And it makes him seem a little less eager, to boot. "Saturday. I've got a shift early Sunday, though, so maybe something in the afternoon?"

"Yeah -- yes, th-that works." The stammering isn't something Tommy can get a read off of. He'd done it just as much with Eddie as he'd done with everyone else. "There's a new brewery just off Pico and Prosser -- Chim said you were a fan of craft beer?"

Sounding more date like by the minute, but -- some guys toe the line. Could be Evan Buckley just wants to know more about flight operations, for all Tommy knows. "Text me the details. Look, Evan, I'd love to stay on this rule-breaking phone call and chat but I've got to head in for a shift. Just -- let me know the plan." He's got five minutes to brush his teeth and rue the moment he'd asked Gary for his first whiskey of the night. He's also rolling back his last few sentences and cringing at how abrupt he'd been. "And yeah -- good to know Chim hasn't forgotten the three facts I ever told him about me."

Evan laughs, just a soft little huff but Tommy already knows the grin behind that sound is all sorts of knee-meltingly sweet. "Cool. So. Yeah, I'll text you."

"I'll talk to you later, Evan."

"Yep. Talk to you -- talk to you soon."

Tommy waits a moment in silence. The call doesn't end. "Goodbye, Evan."

Evan huffs out another awkward laugh. "Yeah. Bye, Tommy."

The call disconnects just in time for Tommy to press his forehead into the cool tile beside his bathroom mirror. He might be monumentally screwed if this isn't a date. He hasn't been this fucking charmed by a man since -- well, it's been a while.

Tommy's phone buzzes in his hand. It's a pinned address from a number he doesn't have saved. Tommy swipes into the contact and updates it before the next text makes it through. Saturday 3PM?

Tommy brushes his teeth, downs the rest of his preworkout in the hopes that it'll ease some of the nastier parts of his stupid decision to keep drinking liquor past midnight, and stares at the text all the way out to his truck.

See you then, Tommy sends back, and he has to toss his phone into his passenger seat when he gets a series of incomprehensible emoji's almost immediately in response.

He holds up a hand to Donato the moment she catches his gaze, halfway across the parking lot. The brow goes up, the hand slots to her hip, and she rolls her tongue over her teeth, clearly ready for her speech about how Stout doesn't have a clue how to find Tommy a proper date. Tommy has other problems.

"You worked with Evan Buckley, for a while, didn't you?"

Her head tilt rights itself. The second brow dances up to meet the first. Whatever she'd meant to say disperses behind her eyelids as she seems to work through something in her mind. "Oh, this is compelling," she says, and practically skips forward to loop her arm in his.

#bucktommy #bucktommy fic #tevan fic #listen idk shit about poker #i do know tommy would be absolutely smitten with evan buckley as he got cockier and cockier with every hand of that poker game #anyway after this tommy realizes the drinks aren't a date but they COULD be #and like an idiot he decides he's gonna befriend and then romance the shit out of the oblivious bi boy #tommy helps buck deliver kam and connors baby and buck maybe kisses him about it #bucktommy alternate meeting

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saeish · 11 months ago

Text

MDNI 18+ , fluff

simon riley who is a walking contradiction.

“leave and go find someone else worthy of you” except his hips piston into you at such a quickened yet deep angle as his arms trap you between the sheets in an undoubtedly possessive manner - as if he was to go absolute insane if you were to ever leave him or even dared having such a thought like that.

it reminded you of that ‘bastard from your workplace’ who had offered you an evening out to dinner to discuss ‘work matters’ one friday night, simon would glare at you across the room leaning on the door frame in the process of your getting ready in a way that if any stranger was to witness such a glare they would of sworn he was your enemy “where ya going looking like that pretty girl?”. eventually you found out your coworker was trying to take you home to his and get into your pants. that day you came home to a pissed off simon blaming himself for letting you go, he’d already seen through the idiots plan - call it common sense but it was definitely part of the forward thinking he’d developed from time in the military. “stop getting yourself involved with miserable blokes who don’t even know a thing or two about how to treat a woman proper dove” his fingers delicately remove your necklace lightly tracing your neck with one rough finger. it took a lot trying to convince simon to let the situation go.

simon riley who always reminds you of the analogy he tends to make whenever he notices you get a bit too clingy. “ just a weed that happen’ to be kept alive beside a pretty flower”, you continue kissing down from his jaw to neck practically inhaling his musk in attempt to have it instilled into your senses. his words just end up falling on deaf ears every single time.

“leave and go find someone else worthy of you”, except he accepts the hand crafted bracelet you give him as you say quietly: “you don’t have to wear it, i just thought it would be a nice memory of us when you’re deployed”. he’s brought back to a point in time when you asked what his favourite colour as you run off in suspicion after getting your answer. now he looks down at the bead combination of your favourite colour with his closely inspecting the thing. you begin to mistake his intense stare at the bracelet as a disinterested one causing you to immediately withdraw your hand back muttering how you knew it was a silly idea, however a quicker gloved hand gets a hold of yours as he snatches the bracelet from your hand without thought. “sorry dove i ain’t mean it like that i’ve just never been gifted such a thing like this before, i really do appreciate it. it’s not silly at all.” moments after your wrists are engulfed by simon’s hands on the sheets as the bracelet adorns his own wrists. “better not hear news that you let some bastard in your panties when i’m gone, ya hear love?” you hastily nod as you throw your head back in ecstasy to then pull simon down to indulge in a deep kiss.

simon riley who feels it necessary to firmly claim you as his in front of his fellow task 141 members to avoid them making jokes about stealing his “pretty thing away from him”. oh how he regrets so deeply the time when he accidentally revealed a picture he took of you that one time you were in your pretty yellow sundress; it was something simon just couldn’t let go of or else it would of been gone in a blink of an eye so he decided to take a picture. as much as you hated being caught off guard in pictures simon’s photo was different, he managed to capture a radiant smile that was enhanced by that sundress you wore that day. such a prized possession reached the eyes of people that weren’t him. his intentions to show them pictures of the enemy base sight took a turn when in the middle of his swiping the men would catch a glimpse of your picture. “pretty lass you haven’t introduced us to yet?” johnny raises his brow with a wide grin on his face. “is she your missus? didn’t know you were into young women like her”, price lets out a chuckle and lightly elbows simon. “better shut your bloody mouths”. now they get a glimpse of your bracelet as it falls down from his wrist to his lower hand but none of them dare to say an inch. shit, and you were debating on how long the string should be and stuck with the smaller side of the scale. “did ya see the thing?” price mutters to johnny, “eh, what are you on about?” “the bracelet ya knob!”. johnny gives him an expression of sudden realisation letting out a long ’ahhhh’. “I know it ain’t one that you can get from ya local jewelry shop down the road, it’s definitely from the missus he still ain’t tellin us about”. “you guys are still going on about simon’s mystery woman?” kyle walks into the mess room shaking his head, “you know how simon will react if he catches you guys talking about her.” johnny gets off of his chair slapping a hand against the table, “oi we weren’t talking about his bonnie lass in particular but we were actually-

simon walks into the room with a flat expression on his face causing complete silence among the men way too quickly. “oi is there a problem?”

simon riley who eventually returns at the end of his deployment with the belief that no one was at home waiting for him anyways except to his irony you were there patiently waiting for him the whole time, waiting to welcome him back and accept him in such comforting arms. when he’s finally in your hold you urge him to stop his bluffs, stop all the pushing and insisting you to stay as far away from him as possible and you finally finally tell him you don’t care about whatever terrible thing he could possibly be in comparison to you, you just want to be able to hold him and truly declare that “you’re the only one worthy of me and you’ll always be the only one worthy of me”.

requests always open ･:*

#simon riley x reader #simon ghost riley x f reader #ghost x reader #cod x reader #simon riley smut #cod smut #simon ghost riley #cod x female reader #simon riley x female reader #cod mw2 #cod modern warfare #cod #ghost call of duty #simon riley x you #saeish writes

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stupittmoran · 3 months ago

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🚨 ANTI-TRUMP & ANTI-MUSK PROTESTERS EXPOSED! Woke-Left protesters UNABLE to explain why President Trump is a Facist, pulls out a paper handout he was given with talking points AND still can't explain himself! Reporter: "So what makes Trump a fascist?" Protester: "Uh, I mean… does things without—" Reporter: "You've got to talk loud, I don't have my mic on." Protester: "I'm not really good at interviews or stuff." Reporter: "Sorry?" Protester: "He just does everything he wants and, you know, not following laws or… He was a convicted felon, you know, that's all I know." Reporter: "But your sign says he's a fascist, and I'm just curious, what makes him a fascist?" Protester: "One of the things is that he's trying to control the media, right?" Reporter: "Say that again?" Protester: "He's trying to control the narrative. Like—" Reporter: "How is he trying to control the media? Doesn't every president try to control the narrative?" Protester: "They try to control their own narrative but one of the things that Trump's has done, for example, is the renaming of the Gulf of Mexico and then not allowing the Associated Press to come into the White House. Basically, you know, trying to get…" Reporter: "What are your feelings about him renaming the Gulf of Mexico as the Gulf of America when a majority of the Gulf is in fact on the coast of America as opposed to Mexico?" Protester: "I mean, it's kind of pointless. People—" Reporter: "Is it pointless?" Protester: "Yeah, people call it the Gulf of Mexico, what's the point?" Reporter: "Don't you think it could have a positive tourism impact, potentially?" Protester: "Tourism has been down heavily." Reporter: "So I don't want to get into a tourism debate. My question is, this sign says: 'The Fascist Trump regime must go!' And so I'm just curious, what makes him a fascist? You pointed out that maybe something about his relationship with the media, he wants to control it, but… yeah—again, you're specific—you're calling him a fascist?" Protester: "Yeah, well, one of the core tenets of fascism is creating an enemy, right? And blaming those problems on the enemy." Reporter: "What's that?" Protester: "It's a paper they gave me, yeah." Reporter: "Who gave you that?" Protester: "The people that gave me the sign. It's a free sign." Reporter: "Someone gave you the sign and then they gave you the handout? So are you reading it now to try to answer the question?" Protester: "Yeah, but I mean…" Reporter: "Can I see that? Can you hold that up?" Protester: "You can have it." Reporter: "I can have it?" Protester: "Yes, you can have it." Reporter: "Alrighty. So where did you get the sign?" Protester: "All the way in the gatekeeper's house. Yeah, it was just laying around." Reporter: "And that's another one? They gave you two pieces of paper?" Protester: "Yes, you can have both." Reporter: "Oh, okay. So what brings you guys out here today?" Protester: "Just because I saw people were hanging out with people, for, you know, the same thing as everyone else—executive overreach."

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chugging-antiseptic-dye · 3 months ago

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love in a bottle ⛫💨

pairing: perfumologist! joshua hong x reader contains: friends (idiots) to lovers, too many descriptions of perfume, swearing, fake dating out of spite, the perfumologist job as a plot device, etc. a/n: requested by @studioeisa, my loml <3 official playlist of love in a bottle can be found here.

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love-in-a-bottle Jo Malone's Mimosa and Cardamom cologne sprays mists of honeyed, golden mimosa float above the spiciness of freshly crushed cardamom. Creamy tonka and smooth sandalwood woven under powdery heliotrope and Damask rose picked at dawn. Warm, ethereal, mesmerising. On top, cardamom spice has hints of lemon and adds an effervescent contrast to the warm floral heart. However, Powdery mimosa adds a honeyed and warm floral character illuminating the heart of the fragrance.

View all comments user1 great recommendation as always! user2 adding this to my wishlist rn! yourusername it's not bad. but, you should not wear it if you are going to a wedding. no matter how nice it smells, it can't fix your bad mood when people start flirting with their plus ones 🙃 ⤷ love-in-a-bottle hello! please don't blame it on the cologne if you can't tell your date when something bothers you. user3 i smell drama ⤷ user5 don't bother. this is their usual flirting. i WISH there was drama. at least then there would have been some progress ⤷ user6 i think this time it's more serious?? booseungseung i am never sitting at the same table as you guys ever again. ugh oblivious idiots make me so angry ⤷ nonver 👍

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love-in-a-bottle Santal 33, developed by perfumer Frank Voelk, opens with leather, wood notes (some entangled cedar and sandalwood with a dash of turpentine) and a creamy accord (smelling a bit like mixed coconut and tonka bean). Then, after about three hours of wear, Santal 33’s leather, sandalwood and most of its cedar disappears (along with its early promise) and an inexpensive-smelling, candied, slightly floral musk aroma appears. The sandalwood might seem overpowering to some at first however, I recommend that you give it a chance. Like love it needs time to grow and after a few hours, you will see the iris and violet notes shine.

View all comments yourusername i love it!! especially recommend it if you are a couple ⤷ love-in-a-bottle Since it's unisex, it can be a couple's item too. A special thing connecting them 👀 user1 AAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAA user2 CHAT ARE YOU SEEING THIS ⤷ user3 god me when 😭 user4 can someone tell me why are people losing their minds in the comment section????? ⤷ user5 the admin of this page and @_yourusername know each other irl and had been flirting-teasing-bantering for almost a year. and they finally got together. hope this helps! ⤷ user6 dude i was this close to banging their heads together and just KISS ALREADY user7 pls pls pls pls pls i need to know who confessed first? ⤷ yourusername he did 🙊 ⤷ user7 HELP I AM GOING TO CRASH OUT user8 MY SHAYLAAAA user9 omgomgomgomg my parasocial relationship is canon dsdaskjdks

dividers from @thekagemusha and @firefly-graphics

#seventeen #svt #seventeen imagines #seventeen drabbles #seventeen fanfic #seventeen scenarios #joshua #joshua x reader #joshua x you #joshua x y/n #joshua x oc #joshua fluff #writings of tie-dye

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sodaneko · 2 years ago

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✱ visiting the cat café with JJK men (pt. 1/?)

a/n: first time writing for JJK aaaa. i should have done this a whole lot sooner! happy to be taking those fine gentlemen out for a date at the cat café hehe. and with the current events in both manga & anime i think it's fair to say we deserve to have a bit of a slice of life delulul moment, right... （πーπ）

❦ 𝐆𝐎𝐉𝐎

“did you roll around in catnip before we got here or…”

Gojo only grins at you before he starts a monologue, something about his natural musk that makes him irresistible to little meow meows, explaining how cats are attracted to cursed energy and how he has a limitless amount of it, yada yada yada…

you aren’t listening anymore, only feeling slightly jealous of how he’s swarmed by cats without any effort, like he didn’t have to go through the whole humbling process of getting to the floor and mumbling pspsps until your mouth is dry only for the cats to ignore you

every single cat in the café is practically begging for his attention and honestly, can you blame them

the cats are in heaven. Gojo is in heaven. the staff is in heaven.

a chonky white Persian cat is extra persistent and secures a spot on Gojo’s shoulder, chewing on his hair and that’s when you know you will be leaving this café either without your boyfriend or with a new cat

in the end Gojo simply ends up buying the cat café (oh to be stupid rich) and treats it as his own personal oasis from there on and you can’t even be mad because you get to see his beautiful bright smile whenever you head there together

❦ 𝐍𝐀𝐍𝐀𝐌𝐈

at first, Nanami isn’t too eager when you suggest going to a cat café

the thought of cat hair all over his sandwich doesn’t please him, but he can never resist your pleading eyes and from the reviews he read the food there is supposed to be excellent, so he reluctantly agrees

skeptical at first, he sits down with you, trying to study the menu when an extra curious cat jumps on the table, bumping their tiny head against his chin which makes Nanami frown

“aww, someone likes you”, you croon and try not to laugh at Nanami, hesitantly petting the cat in front of him which starts purring loudly

which attracts even more cats

suddenly you’re swarmed with them and Nanami is doing his very best to give each of them a fair share of his love, even loosening his tie a bit and sleeves rolled up

forget about the food, he’s on a mission now

Nanami will lie awake at night, wondering if owning a cat could fix at least a dozen of his problems (they’re all Gojo related)

❦ 𝐒𝐔𝐊𝐔𝐍𝐀

majestic Sukuna, King of Curses, allergic to cat hair

oh, he’s trying. he’s fighting for his life, sitting on the floor and trying to pspsps the cats with four hands at once

but his sneezes are so earth shattering loud that it spooks the kitties and they gather everywhere but in his lap

except for that one deaf and blind cat that’s always drooling a little which happily lets Sukuna pick them up

the King of Curses will look at you triumphantly, like see, I’ve made this peasant cat obey me, but his eyes are tearing too much to even make out the silhouette of you

good for you because it gives you enough time to snap a good hundred photos of him cuddling with the cat, too stubborn to admit that they might be killing him softly

back home (and after stopping by a pharmacy for allergy pills) you’ll see a dozen tabs open in his browser (you taught him how to google), searching for “anti allergy cats”, “if i shave my cat will i stop sneezing”, “cat hair allergy why” and “why cats won’t obey me”

❦ 𝐇𝐈𝐆𝐔𝐑𝐔𝐌𝐀

local tired lawyer man needs a fucking break

you know how prone your man is to overworking himself, so you make it your own little mission to take him out on small dates during his lunch break

he doesn’t even bat an eye when you suggest a cat café. maybe if he’s surrounded by cats he won’t have to think about the injustice of the whole world, so sure, he’s in

Higuruma feels a sense of calm wash over him the moment he sits down and a kitty rubs their head against his legs, ready to activate their cursed purring technique on him

of course he remembers your favorite drink and orders it for you, something sweet to go along with it as well, and then he’s completely absorbed by the various cats in the café

he’ll point out every kitty that catches his attention and takes lots of photos of them and from you (and he’ll make it his new lockscreen)

kisses you goodbye once you drop him off at the office again and will text you later that he had the most fun in a long time

will also send you the most candid photos he took of you and will smile to himself when you make one your new profile photo, already excited to go back to the cat café with you

#jjk x reader #gojo x reader #nanami x reader #sukuna x reader #higuruma x reader #jujutsu kaisen x reader #gojo satoru x reader #nanami kento x reader #jjk fluff #jjk imagines #jjk scenarios #-`♡´- .txt

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anamericangirl · 1 year ago

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What's telling to me about how sick people can be is that Trump was nearly killed, someone in the crowd WAS killed, multiple other shots went out, the whole thing was a terrifying event that everyone in the world should be able to agree was scary And yet I see the media on the left trying to spin this "Well this is to be expected, he's so radical and so fascist that of course someone tried to kill him" and "#YOUMISSED" is trending on Twitter Mask is fucking off and I'm done hitting Anon when I send asks to you, these people have truly shown they have no empathy, no sympathy, and are bloodthirsty. People get shot up in a school and their first thought is "This is why we need to ban guns" and "This is because of ultra-MAGA"

Some unhinged motherfucker actually attempts to kill the former president and kills someone in the crowd and the left turns it into a fucking hashtag and an opportunity to try to blame it on Trump even though he's the one that got shot at.

The left are fucking deranged, and I know better than most because I used to be ON the left. I shaved half my head, I had blue hair, I lived with liberal pedophiles (literally) in Ohio for 2 years who wore diapers around the house and bitched about Elon Musk and Trump every fucking day. I know these people are psychopaths and now they have finally just outright announced to the world how sick they are.

Even fucking Biden tried to call the hospital Trump was at to ask if he was okay, EVEN DARTH FUCKING BRANDON CARED ABOUT TRUMP and yet these Twitterlibs and liberal media fuckwads are just jumping on the opportunity to go "Aww man #YouMissed, you fired 5 shots how come you couldn't get him, you fucked up, omg"

For fuck sake hate the man all you want but SOMEONE TRIED TO KILL HIM AND AN INNOCENT PERSON'S BRAIN GOT REMOVED FROM THEIR HEAD, FOR FUCK SAKE HAVE AT LEAST A MODICUM OF SYMPATHY FOR ONCE IN YOUR LIFE YOU FUCKING SAVAGES.

If this doesn't turn people away from the democrat party then nothing will. Trump was not the only victim of this shooting. A couple of people were injured, an innocent person was killed and still the only thing we hear from leftists is annoyance that the shooter missed.

And while we are rightly angry at the spins the msm is putting on this assassination attempt, they have to put that spin on it or eat their words for the last 8 years. They've been characterizing Trump as a fascist tyrannical dictator since 2016. They've spun him to be Hitler 2.0 telling everyone he's a threat to democracy and leading people to believe he's a threat to their very lives. The "trans genocide" and "kids in cages" the "don't say gay" bill all that nonsense is always, always linked back to Trump and if they turn around now and condemn this attempt on his life what would that say about them? Either they will have to expose themselves as the liars and propagandists they are or they will have to be seen as being sympathetic towards literally Hitler. And narrative is more important to them than anything.

Which explains why they were trying to avoid reporting what happened like the plague. The headlines I saw in the aftermath, after we already knew Trump had actually been hit by the bullet were things like "Trump escorted offstage after gun shots were heard." "Loud popping noise heard at Trump rally." And other variations of that headline. And still leftists don't question why after Trump was shot every single mainstream media outlet had the same headline and they all avoided saying Trump had been shot or an assassination attempt had been made.

They can’t come out and say this was wrong because it will mean they will have to admit to something even worse: that they were wrong.

But of course the people currently in office can't come out and condone the shooting. That would look very bad. So yeah, it's good that Biden stood up there and said the right words and made an effort to contact Trump but how convenient that this happened a mere couple of weeks after the democratic party has abandoned and turned on Biden so his words and condemnation will be buried and ignored and mean nothing.

For the last 8 years, though, Joe Biden and every other democrat in office, paired with the media, have been villainizing Trump for his rhetoric. Everything bad thing that happened was directly the fault of Trump because of his "dangerous rhetoric." But the rhetoric they've employed against Trump and all conservatives since that time has been the worst fearmongering and slander I've ever seen so they are directly to blame for this shooting because of their rhetoric. No more "rules for thee but not for me." They have to live in the world they made.

Leftism, as I'm sure you've seen first hand what with your experience of being one and living in that environment, is no longer about what you support, it's just about who you hate. And every sane person still aligned with them is waking up. The mask has been slipping for years and most of us were able to see who they really were way before it fully fell off but there is no mask now. They're not even trying to hide it.

They have the ideas they pretend to support when told to, but all leftists are only united by one thing: hate.

Their heroes are criminals like Michael Brown, George Floyd and Trayvon Martin. And they hate police until they shoot and kill Ashli Babbitt who's only crime was being a Trump supporter at the capitol on January 6.

They still bemoan the killing of a pedophile, wife beater and injury of a career criminal who were shot because they tried to murder a child while villainizing the child they tried to kill because he successfully defended himself against their attack.

To this day they spin their violent riots as "mostly peaceful protests" while the January 6 protest was a "violent insurrection."

The rapes and murder on October 7 were a justified response to "occupation" but anything Israel does is "genocide."

During covid they freaked out about "public health" and wanted everyone vaxxed and masked to "save lives" but when Trump got covid they all immediately wanted it to kill him.

When a white boy shoots up a school it’s an example of how evil white people and right wing gun nuts are but when a trans person shot children at a Christian elementary school the main focus of leftists, all the way up to the White House, was the danger the trans community would allegedly be in from right wing retaliatory violence and how “hateful Christian rhetoric” was responsible for the shooting.

And none of this has anything to do with the values they claim to adhere to. All of their positions on every single issue come down to who it is they hate the most of the people involved. So their "values” change by the second.

So the violence, depravity and dangerous rhetoric is pretty much 100% on their side but watch them try and spin this assassination on Trump as Trump's own fault. And watch leftists just unquestioningly go with it or just try to distract people with more fear mongering about Project 2025 or something else stupid like that.

The only thing that bothers them about this shooting, other than the fact that the shooter "missed', is that this has pretty much guaranteed Trump is going to win the election. And of course they can't stand that after all they've done to try and make sure that doesn't happen.

#answered

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messenger-of-stupidity · 8 months ago

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Dude, this is killing me.

I genuine cannot understand how trump voters are choosing this guy. Like, WHY???

This man is a nepo baby and has never worked a real day in his life.

He's friends with Diddy and praised the bastard.

He's found guilty of 34 felonies.

He wants to turn the US into a fascist country.

He was friends with Jeffery Epstein.

He's friends with Elon Musk, a fellow nepo baby who's kids don't even want to associate with him. Who think women shouldn't be able to vote. Who didn't even design Tesla, but just bought it. Who's a massive fucking hypocrite. Who is a hateful bastard.

He hypersexualizes and objectifies women.

His only real defense is anti-immigration (bullshit), anti-LGBT (more bullshit), and misogynistic (surprise surprise, even more bullshit).

He's a horrible person. He doesn't care about this country, or the majority of people in it. He doesn't care about women's bodily autonomy. He doesn't care about survival.

He feeds lies and propaganda to make you think he'll make a change.

The only thing this man cares about is power and winning. And the people that voted for him are supporting that.

And if you're worried about the economy, let me tell you something.

Democrats don't fuck up the economy. Republicans do.

The way the government system works is that every policy takes time. A republican gets into office, and starts putting forth all these policies that aren't really going to take a strong effect until their term is almost up. Then a democrat gets into office and gets the blame for the negative effects that the policy has taken. They put in changes to fix it, which takes time. Their term is up. A republican takes office, and gets the credit for the benefits, only to fuck it all up again.

Also, Kamala Harris can't use tax dollars to fund sex changes for illegal immigants (because we've all seen that one ad). That's not the way the American healthcare system works, and sex changes are done through the American healthcare system. We'd have to be more of a socialist country for our tax dollars to go towards that. (Not that anyone should care about what someone wants to do to their body to feel more comfortable in their own skin.)

This man does not care about this country, so he should not be getting votes. And not voting for Kamala or Trump isn't going to help either. Independent parties pull votes away to give power to the Republicans. Most of the people who vote outside of the two major political groups are liberals. Which makes it more likely for the Republican party to win.

Stop voting for yourself, if you do this. Vote for the people who are going to be affected. Vote for the women who are going to die because they can't get the healthcare they need. Vote for the transgender individuals who are going to be hurt and attacked for something that we should all be sympathetic for. Vote for the people who aren't going to be able to marry those they love. Vote for the people who are going to lose the ability to safely practice their religion.

I've seen so many Republican woman talk about how "well it doesn't affect me, so why should I care?"

You should care because of human decency. Because of empathy.

Also, fun fact, the more educated you are, the more likely you are to vote liberal.

(It's British, but the point remains. I couldn't find the one specific towards US statistics. But it's almost 2 in the morning, so forgive me.)

And one of the first groups to be attacked in a fascist state is the more educated and intellectual individuals.

Secondly... Do you really want this being the face of America for four more years?

#messy rambles #us election #us 2024 election #2024 election #donald trump #kamala harris #us politics

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nevernonline · 2 years ago

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✧.* he's not into you; hvc

synopsis: curious what the problem is in your dating life where you just can’t seem to get guys to commit fully to you beyond a second date, your work associate offers his help.

part of my ninety minute movies one shot series. ♡︎

paring: vernon x fem! reader.

genre: co-workers2friends2lovers (? lmao)

warning/s: mentions of substances (alcohol, weed, cig, vape etc.) swearing, very bad jokes!, sexy time (y/n has female genitalia!) pls no minors!!

word count: 6.3k

content: . non-idol idolings, some other svt members. y/n and vernon work at a bar.

note: our next stop in my fav little movie inspired writings is he's just not that into you!! a true classic in my eyes. and who better to be our male lead than bernon himself, a perfect silly goofy man. i acc tried to edit and be good?? for once.. lmao. love u xo. HAPPY NEW YEAR.

Waltzing around your co-workers behind the bar like a choreographed dance, handing out drinks to some of your familiar customers, soaking cherries in alcohol, and stuffing your tips inside of your folder for the night it was a perfect distraction from the thoughts running through your mind about that awful date you had gone on the night before.

You were convincing yourself all the guys you’ve been out with just weren’t for you, maybe to make yourself feel better, maybe just to put blame on someone else for the reasons you can’t seem to surpass a second date.

“Y/N, could I get two vodka martinis. One dirty and one with a twist, twice shaken please.”

“No problem, Som.”

Somi was one of your co-workers and someone you’ve become close friends with working with her over the course of a year when the bar first opened. standing by your side on the busiest night of the week, the other was Vernon, he was slightly newer and unfamiliar standing next to you behind the bar, girls flirting with him left, right and center hoping to crack open his quiet yet charming exterior.

Taking orders upon orders your body was craving a moment to yourself, being an introvert and working in a high volume environment with the type of company that spends hundreds of dollars a night just to sit at a table and feel important takes a toll on you.

“Vernon, would you be cool if I stepped outside for a second?”

“Yeah, no problem. I’m good.”

“Alright, thanks I’ll be back in five.”

“Sounds good.”

Nothing more than his simple answers, for the most all you know about him is he’s your age, in college not sure what major he could possibly be studying, and he lives decently close to the bar, coming in on his days off with groups of his friends to have a drink of his own made at your own hands.

Stepping outside the employee entrance into the back of the building, feeling the cool air light up your body, you decided to light up something of your own, a small perfectly rolled cigarette wrapped up in its signature strawberry flavored paper and vanilla tobacco inside.

Three minutes into your first break of the night, the door slid open revealing the quiet boy standing in its frame.

“Shit. I’m sorry, I actually need your help. A big group of finance dudes came in.”

“It’s alright, I’ll save it for later.”

Dipping the pastel candy like cigarette into the ashtray, basically kissing it and saying you’ll see it soon, you stepped back in with Vernon to your front strolling through the back room full of fresh liquor bottles.

“This is a weird question. But what were you smoking? It smells good. Actually, normally cigarettes make me nauseous as hell.”

“Oh. It’s a vanilla tobacco, but my rolling papers are strawberry so it’s kind of sweeter that way.”

“No wonder. I always thought you smelt like vanilla musk, but I knew it was something different. I just assumed it was perfume. I like it.”

“Thanks, Vern.”

“Yeah. Want to take the table? Or wait for them to come up to us?”

“I’ll go.”

“Alright.”

Cutting around the marble countertop, trying to avoid the patrons sitting at the end of the bar. You spot the group of men wearing their fancy suit jackets, and various colors of button down tops. One of them in particular was your date from a few weeks ago. The one who left you a post it note on your nightstand to wake up to basically telling you he wouldn’t call but thanks for the fuck.

Swilling your pride, you stayed walking towards them, now with the pretty smile usually wiped across your face lost and turned into a closed lip grin.

“Hey, what can I get for you guys?”

“I’ll take you with a side of bourbon on the rocks please.”

“Clever. I’m not on the menu. Anything for you.”

Your fingers pointed towards the rest of the helm just patiently waiting for more unusual comments and weird flirting tactics.

Your date though, kept his head buried in his menu, avoiding making eye contact with you out of his own embarrassment making you decide to fuck with him a little in front of his annoying crowd of friends.

“And anything for you, Chris? Jack Daniels and Coke with a splash of cherry I presume? Or are you going to write your order down on a post it note?”

His crowd erupted in laughter, clearly aware of his tactics when he leaves girls and decides to not call them back.

He muttered back it was fine as you walked off back to Vernon watching on with a smirk on his face.

“You know him I assume?”

“Unfortunately I do.”

“Can I ask how?”

You contemplated telling him a lie, just something simple like he was an old friend or an ex-boyfriend, but in order to keep him from opening up to you, you chose the real reason.

“Actually we went out a few weeks ago. In the morning I woke up to a note taped to my pillow saying how he wasn’t interested in seeing me anymore but thanking me for being a good fuck and being so accommodating and sexy.”

“No fucking way.”

“I’m not kidding.”

“Want me to spit in his drink?”

“Yes. But I don’t want you to lose your job. It’s alright, not the first time for me unfortunately and actually maybe one of the nicer ones.”

“Not the first time a dude you’ve fucked wrote you a note saying he’s not into you?”

“There’s been worse believe it or not.”

“You’ve piqued my interest.”

“I’m sure.”

“How do you meet dudes like that?”

“I’m a lucky girl, now do me a favor and take these drinks to them, because if I do I’ll probably say some shit I’ll regret.”

“Alright. What’s his name?”

“Who?”

“Asshole over there.”

“Chris”

“Cool. Thanks.”

“Vernon why?”

“No reason, keep working.”

“Don’t do anything stupid.”

“My whole vibe is stupid, be back in a second.”

Watching the boy out of the corner of your eye, you watched as he placed everyone’s drinks for them, reaching Christopher last, pretending to trip over his chair, spilling the alcoholic concoction over his pants.

“Dude what the fuck?”

“Oh shit, my bad. Let me get you a new one.”

“Why the fuck are you so clumsy, how am I going to get a girl here when I look like I pissed myself?”

“The girls that come in here don’t want some bitch who drinks cherry whiskey and Coke, they like real men. But I’ll be back in a second.”

“What the fuck did you just say?”

“You heard me, man. One second alright I’ll be back with your bitch drink.”

Chris’s friends seem to be enjoying watching his night being turned into a shit storm, assuming they maybe don’t enjoy his company much either.

“Why did you do that?”

“He seems like a tool, he’ll be fine.”

“Well thank you. It was funny, I had to hold my laughter in so he doesn’t think I made you do that for me.”

“Safe bet.”

Your night continued on until midnight when all the happy and drunk patrons exited the restaurant and you got to cleaning up the bar space, leaving you, Vernon, and Somi alone in the dimly lit room.

“Vernon? Want to stay and have a drink as a thank you for helping me out. Somi would but she has to get back to her ball and chain.”

“Are we allowed to do that?”

“Well my dad owns the place, I don’t think he cares much.”

“You’re dad? Wait what the fuck, I never put that together.”

“Yeah. Him and his friends.”

“Holy shit.”

Laughing along with Somi at his amazement, you bid her goodbye before sliding into a bar top table, holding the glass of vodka in your well manicured fingers.

Much to your surprise your more than shy coworker decided to stay with you sliding in next to you holding his own glass of beer.

“So wait. I’m confused. Your dad and his friends opened the bar. Why do you want to work here?”

“Easy. I always liked the idea of being a bartender and my parents would kill me for being a kid who didn’t have a job or work ethic and just using their money.”

“Got it. Aren’t you in school?”

“ I haven’t decided what to go for yet so I’m taking some time. Not sure yet. You?”

“Journalism.”

“For real? That’s cool as hell.”

“Yeah.”

Your phone lit up on the table blasting the ringtone really loudly in between you and Vernon, flashing the name Matthew on the screen.

“Hey. Yeah, this is her. Oh really? Can you hold on just ONE second. Thanks.”

Vernon waved you along letting you go on with the conversation with the guy who's been taking you on dates for the past week, curious why he’d be calling you late.

“Wait since I’m out of the loop, who was that?”

“You really want to know?”

“Yeah.”

“Okay, so his name is Matt. We met at the coffee shop a few weeks ago. He was cute. He paid for my drink and we just sort of hit it off.”

“Have you guys slept together?”

“Yeah. The first day we met.”

“Y/N no. You’ve got to make these guys wait. Like they’re getting exactly what they want from you before you even know if they’re fucking idiots or not.”

“Really? Does that actually work though? I mean you heard him say he likes his ex there’s nothing I can change about that?”

“Did you ask when his last relationship was before you guys started dating?”

“Yeah he said he’d been single for two months.”

“Two months? And he’s already back with her? Or was he always seeing her when you guys were together? What kind of dates did you go on? Dinner? Or?”

“Coffee sometimes, then he’d just come hangout at my place most of the time.”

“So you never went to his?”

“No.”

“So he was cheating on his girlfriend with you?”

“What? No, he said he was single.”

Vernon ran his hands through his hair and let out a sigh before looking back at you.

“You guys met for coffee, you’d have him over to your place during the day, you’d have sex and he’d leave? You never saw his apartment? He just confessed that he’s been seeing his so-called ex over the phone the whole time you guys were quote on quote dating. He definitely lives with her and was fucking you for fun. You weren’t dating.”

“Speaking from experience, Vernon?”

“No. I’ve only ever dated one person seriously.”

“So why are you giving me advice about my dating life?”

“Because I had a successful five year relationship and you’ve had none? And you seem to need it.”

“Wow. I would normally be pissed, but you’re right. I can’t seem to tell what I’m doing wrong actually. Maybe I'm destined to be single.”

“Not true. You’re pretty, nice, and you’ve got a cool ass life. You’ll be fine, you just need some editing maybe.”

“So what? You want to be my relationship guru? Or?”

“Yes.”

You outstretched your hand to his and he shook it for you, confirming your now partnership where he would help you with your dating life.

“Wait, before we go further. Try this.”

Lifting the straw to your lips for you, Vernon offered you a sip of the drink he made.

“Wait, that's good, what is that?”

“That assholes drink.”

“I hate that I actually fucking like it.”

“Me too.”

You and Vernon spend the rest of your night together shooting the shit and getting to know each other more, once two am rolls around you both decide to head out and walk home.

“This is me.”

Much to your surprise Vernon swipes his key card to enter the same building as you.

“Wait, you live here? How come I’ve never seen you in the building?”

“I just moved in like three weeks ago. I spend most of my time in my apartment with my cat if I'm not at school or work.”

“What floor?”

“Seven.”

Pressing the number seven on the elevator button before you tapped number thirteen, you and Vernon rode silently up to your separate homes.

Before stepping off onto his floor, he pressed the hold door button.

“Come over tomorrow around six? I know you have the night off so we can hangout or whatever.”

“Okay. What should I wear?”

“You’ll figure it out. You always look nice. Casual is fine.”

Rolling your eyes to his back as he strode off to his front door, you yelled a goodnight out of the door before they clocked shit and ran you up to your own place.

Waking up the next morning you stepped out of your bed and pulled out all the ingredients to make a perfect cup of coffee, something that was like a religious ritual for you to clear your head before starting your day.

After the brew was finished dripping though your pour over carafe you decided to take in some sun on your balcony and prepare your mind for the rest of the day until you were set to get ready to hangout with Vernon.

The unexpected invitation to go on a quote in quote fake date with the boy had your head confused. What should you wear? What should you do with the little information given to you about what’s going on?

After spending a few hours outside with your coffee and disconnecting from your phone, you decided to head back inside and go through your closet in search of the perfect casual outfit.

Placing options on your bed, you hopped into the shower and spent time under the hot steam scrubbing your body from head to toe. After you were satisfied with your cleanliness, you stepped out and sat at your vanity, drying your hair and curling the front two pieces of your perfectly done up-do, painted your nails a perfect cherry red color, and put on your typical makeup look.

Sliding your slippers back on you stood now in front of the three tops hanging in front of you feeling them for the perfect vibe. Eventually selecting a simple white button down top to match your gray pleated short skirt, slipping up a pair of simple tights and black heeled knee high boots.

Finally the time came for you to run down seven floors and step off to find Vernon, knocking on the door to the left of the elevator a woman who you’ve seen around the building once or twice answered.

“I’m sorry, I think maybe I have the wrong apartment. Excuse me-“

“You’re y/n?”

“Yes. Hi.”

“Hi, I’m Vernon’s friend Chae. I like your outfit, it's super cute.”

“Oh. Thank you.”

Stepping into the similar shaped apartment to yours, you notice the colorful paintings all over the walls, the beautiful soft blue couch, and the cozy smell of fresh linen hitting your nose, as you walked in further you saw a group of various people sitting around in his living room, some pouring themselves drinks, some standing around eating snacks and talking.

“Would you like water or a beer or anything?”

“Oh no, I’m alright for now thank you.”

“No problem, I’ll just go see what he’s up to. Excuse me.”

“Sure.”

After waiting five minutes in the threshold of Vernon’s front entry, he peeled around the corner, dressed in an oddly similar outfit to yours, minus the heels and mini skirt.

His crisp white shirt and matching gray coat and pants, a black leather bag, carrying a pair of nice black sneakers in his hand.

“Hey, sorry I accidentally spilled cola on my other shirt, I had to change.”

“That’s alright. I like your outfit though, you look cool.”

“Thank you, I like yours too. I told you about casual dress though.”

“This is casual?”

“If you say so. Want a cocktail or something?”

“Uh, sure? Wait though I thought we were going out or something, I didn’t know you had company. I can leave?”

“No. Well, we’re going out a little later to a party, I wanted to invite you, come on.”

You stepped into his kitchen where he had various types of alcohol scattered on the counter, next to slices of pizza and a couple bags of chips.

You looked around the room at the new faces, some of them you recognized from Vernon bring them to the bar with him.

“Want the asshole special again? I actually made myself one.”

“Weirdly I do, yeah.”

Vernon laughed as he mixed you the same concoction he spilled the night before, handing it over to you gracefully.

“Thanks.”

“Yeah, no problem. This is a weird question, but did you roll any of your cigarettes or have any of those cute papers you use? I told my friend about them and he wanted to find some to roll a joint with.”

Digging through your bag you pulled out the small case full of tobacco and papers from inside, holding out the pack to him to give to his friend, someone who you’re sure you’ll meet at one point or another.

“Wow. Thank you.”

“It’s cool, I have a bunch anyway. So, what does this have to do with you being my relationship guru anyway?”

“Nothing actually. Just wanted to hangout with you more.”

“Oh, right.”

Something about Vernon being so kind to you and sticking up for you last night and today was making you see him in a different light almost like you were starting to have a crush on him. But he could never be into you that way, especially seeing how he interacted with his friend Chae.

Walking around his apartment and saying hello to his friends, you chose a seat adjacent to the couch, one that was unoccupied and slightly out of the way.

Some of his friends knew who you were without you even having to mention it. Talking and getting to know them. You excused yourself to the bathroom, but stumbled upon a room adorned with movie posters and music equipment.

“The bathroom is right here.”

Vernon pointed to the unlatched door down the hall, the same position as yours.

“I know. I live here too. I was just being nosy.”

“Oh. That's cool, you can check it out if you want.”

Stepping into his office space, you smiled looking around at his various media and collectables, staring at the framed record on the wall signed by an artist you like yourself.

“This is yours?”

“Yeah. I got it as a birthday present when I was like eighteen. I love it.”

“Sick.”

“Sick? You’re so weird. Do people say that shit still?”

“Fuck off. People definitely still say that.”

“Not cool people.”

“You literally told me I was cool yesterday?”

“I spoke too soon.”

As you and Vernon were standing in his room laughing, Chae appeared behind you both without your knowledge and gripped Vernon’s side, scaring the both of you with his reaction and finding her laughing her ass off.

“You should have seen your guys’ faces. It was too easy.”

“You’re such an asshole, I almost hit you.”

“I’d like to see you try, big boy.”

You just smiled, feeling a little awkward watching Vernon flirting with his friend.

“We want to head out, are you guys ready?”

“I’m good, I think Y/N had to use the restroom though?”

“Yeah. It’s okay, I think I might just head back to my place. I have a headache, but you guys have fun.”

“No way, come on, take some tylenol and let's go.”

“Chae. Let her leave if she doesn't feel good.”

“She obviously wants to leave because she found your weird collection of fucking disney vhs tapes, not because of her headache.”

“Not true.”

“It’s fine. I’ll come, just let me use the restroom fast. I’ll meet you.”

“Are you sure?”

“Yeah.”

Leaving you to do your business, Chae handed you two small white pills from her bag, and a swig of her beer to wash them down with before heading behind Vernon as they got ready to leave for the next location.

After a few minutes of walking you and Vernon’s friends pulled up outside a bar you’ve never been to but heard a lot of your friends enjoyed, amply titled Love Bites.

Vernon held onto your shoulders and walked you into the front door of the bar, pushing you towards a table where he told you to sit down and wait, as he walked away and left you with his friend to order everyone a round of drinks.

The seat next to you that you’d hoped Vernon would fill was taken by a dark haired boy you hadn’t recognized from earlier back at the apartment.

“Y/n? Hi, I’m Joshua.

“Oh. Hi, nice to meet you.”

“Vernon’s friend just so you don’t think I’m some random dude.”

“Right. I figured.”

“Actually I was the one who asked for the papers, thank you by the way.”

“Yeah, no problem. Do you smoke? Like weed or?”

“Yeah, just weed. I used to smoke cigarettes and vape for a while or whatever, but I stopped for a while. I just realized it was a boring habit.”

“How’d you know I had strawberry papers, did Vernon tell everyone?”

“No, no. He just said you were cool. Very friendly, but you didn’t talk about yourself enough and that you have nice smelling cigarettes that you smell like sometimes. Nothing too much really.”

“Oh. No dirty details about my weird dating life he pressed me about?”

“Nothing about that, but he knows about my awful habits too. He always tells me I need serious help.”

“Yes. Me too, I called him a relationship guru.”

“He thinks he is, but he’s had a crush on the same girl for a while. I'm not sure who she is, he never told me anything more about it. I’m not sure he’s the guy I’d trust to set me up that's for sure.”

“Oh really? Is it, you know?”

You pointed with your eyes across the table to Chae who was seated next to Vernon’s side.

“I don’t think so. She’s definitely been in love with him forever, they were friends when they were kids and rekindled a few years ago when she moved back to town. She's really obvious about it, but he never said anything.”

“Ah, I don’t know he seems to flirt with her alot.”

“He’s just like that with everyone, overly friendly, kind of dorky.”

“I see that.”

You spent the entire night talking and getting to know Joshua, surprisingly finding out a lot of things that made you more and more intrigued about him.

When the night finally came to a close, you left with his number and a plan to go out with just the two of you a few days later. Maybe Vernon being your friend was going to pay off more than you knew and his relationship guru advice brought you right into the hands of his very good friend.

In the next few weeks you continued working and getting to know the pervious shy boy you thought Vernon was and going on actual good dates with his friend Joshua, who much to your surprise wasn’t the type to fuck you and forget you on a first date.

Months passed by as your casual dating with Joshua went on and on, thinking that while it was good something with him was missing. But, you kept giving him a chance anyway. Unaware what that something was.

On a night where you were getting ready to go out for a date you found Vernon outside of your apartment door, knocking on it wildly waiting for you to come and answer.

“Is everything alright?”

“Y/n.”

“Want to come in?”

“No. Yes? Is that alright?”

“Are you okay? You’re acting weird as hell.”

Vernon just nodded his head and sat down on your couch.

“Are you getting ready to head out? You look really nice. I feel like I’m interrupting something.”

“No. I just got home from a date actually. Why?”

“Fuck. I’m sorry.”

“It would help if you stopped saying sorry and told me what was wrong.”

“Chae.”

“Oh?”

“She was over at my apartment. We were just playing video games and having some beer or whatever, but she tried to kiss me. And I let her at first, but I didn’t want to kiss her. I never have. I know she’s pretty and whatever, but like..”

“Wait. So why did you come up here?”

“Because I didn’t know what else to do? She’s still downstairs, she said she won't leave until we talk about what happened and she’s crying. I tried to tell her I wasn’t interested in her romantically and I liked being her friend, but she won’t take no for an answer. I just didn’t know what else to do. I’m sorry I interrupted your nice night like this.”

You walked over into the kitchen and poured Vernon a glass of water to hopefully settle him from rambling so much.

“Can I ask you why you aren’t interested in her? I always assumed you guys had something going on.”

“No. Never. She’s not my taste, I mean she’s really cool. But we’re really similar and I don’t want to date someone who reminds me too much of myself otherwise I’d get bored, but never break it off maybe because I’m too nice or maybe because I feel too comfortable. Does that make any sense?”

“Yeah.”

“Plus, I told her I liked someone else anyway and she got even more upset. She started accusing me of being a liar and leading her on.”

“I’ll be honest and when I first met her I thought you liked her too, but the more I got to know you I realized you pretty much act that way around everyone you’re comfortable with.”

“Right.”

“Want me to help you get her out of your apartment?”

“You would?”

“Yeah. I still owe you for spilling that drink a long time ago.”

“My god, no you don’t”

“Shh, in my heart I do. Are you staying here or coming?”

“I’ll come.”

Heading down the elevator still in your nice date outfit, you grabbed his keys and unlocked his front door to find Chae still sitting on his couch, waiting for him to come home.

Looking her up and down you found her dressed in shorts two sizes too small with Vernon’s T-Shirt draped over her body. Clinging to his pillow and looking you up and down.

“What the fuck is she doing here, Vernon? She’s not a part of this at all.”

“Actually, I’m here to ask you to politely get the fuck out of his apartment and stop making him feel bad for not liking you.”

“You’re such a bitch, he does like me. The person he doesn’t like is you, so maybe you should get the fuck out of here. He just feels sorry for you.”

“Chae, that’s not true and don’t talk to her like that.”

“You’re actually defending her? She hasn’t been nice to me once since she met me. She just acts like an entitled brat around me all the time, making me feel stupid. She’s not a part of this conversation at all, don’t you understand how insane this is?”

“She is a part of it actually, because she’s the girl I have a crush on and if I wasn’t so focused on making everyone else around me happy at the price of myself I would’ve been able to tell her that already instead of doing it like this.”

“Verno-”

“Her? You fucking like her? Seriously? She told me she never would date someone like you and that you’re dorky and a loser.”

“What the fuck is wrong with you? That’s never happened. You’re the one who parades around making me feel like an idiot and that I'm not good enough to be friends with Vernon. You know who’s being an entitled brat? You. You’re kicking this poor guy out of HIS apartment for not liking you back like a child, you’re sitting on his couch in HIS clothes, waiting for him to come back to you to try to pressure him into being with you when he told you he likes someone else. If you’re such a good ass friend to him like you constantly claim to be, then maybe be that good friend and get the hell up, give him his shirt back and get the fuck out or you can talk to him like the adult that you are and try to understand how he feels and continue being his friend. If you don’t like either option I don’t know what else to tell you. So, what will it be?”

“If I talk to him, you need to get the fuck out of here, I don’t want you around.”

“Fine with me, but stop being such an insufferable bitch and maybe have some compassion. Goodnight.”

Not wanting to wait around for the elevator, you slammed Vernon’s door shut leaving them to have their conversation and walked up the seven flights of stairs back into your cozy home untainted by her bad energy.

Hours later after you were showered and ready to destress from the absolute chaos your night has been, you poured yourself a glass of wine and sat on your to smoke a nicely rolled joint as a treat to yourself, leaving your phone inside your room and out of your eyesight.

Suddenly mid-inhale another knock came to your door, half of you wanted to pretend you were asleep, but another part of you assumed whoever it was must have an issue with you smoking inside your home.

Looking through the peephole of your front door, you saw for the second time in the night Vernon standing outside, now in his plaid pj pants and a hoodie pacing around waiting for you to answer.

Taking in a deep breath you opened the door and took one look at his messy hair, realizing he must have been trying to sleep, but couldn’t.

“Yes?”

“Can I come in?”

“Be my guest. Sorry I’m smoking weed inside, it smells weird.”

“Can I have a hit actually?”

“Sure.”

“Thanks.”

Handing over the pink flower, Vernon took an incredibly long hit of the weed, exhaling it creating a cloud over the two of you.

“Wine?”

“Uh, not yet. Can I confess something to you?”

“Is it about the girl you like?”

“Sorry you had to find out like that. I was planning on telling you, but then you started seeing Josh and whatever else it just got away from me, it wasn’t the right time I know. I just let it slip.”

“It’s okay, Vernon”

“It’s not, especially when you’re not single. I feel like I ruined any relationship we had with saying it, even our platonic one.”

“When you talked about ruining my nice night before? Didn’t you wonder why I was coming home from a date at 7:00pm? It was because I actually just broke it off with Joshua. He was really nice about it of course, but I just felt like we were friends and nothing more.”

“Oh. So you’re not?”

“Dating him? No.”

“So I didn’t ruin it?”

“My night? Not at all, it wasn't that great anyway.”

“Seriously?”

“Yeah.”

Vernon took the opportunity to steal your glass of wine and downed it right then and there whispering a small sorry to you for doing so.

“Okay, so. I knew I liked you the moment we started working together. I wasn’t sure how to tell you ever, I wasn’t even sure how to talk to you because you made me feel so awkward, not because you were mean or anything, just because I knew I’d sound like a fucking dumb ass. But, that night we first walked home together and had a drink. I found out so much about you, I liked you even more so I asked you to come and hangout with us at my place, I figured I could get some courage to finally ask you out, which ultimately I failed at again and it just spiraled out of control. It’s just gotten more and more bad for me, like bad in the sense I just can’t stop falling for you and you didn’t know. Until I essentially fucked it up further telling you I like you infront of Chae, which was a mistake too. I keep fucking it up.”

“You're doing pretty good if you ask me, but you should’ve just told me a long time ago then none of this crazy shit would have happened.”

“That's charming, no?”

“Only because it's you.”

“Look, I don’t need an answer from you now or ever, just know I wont be fucking weird about it anymore. I’ll let you go to bed. I’ll see you in a few days at work and everything will be good.”

Vernon got up and tried to walk towards your front door for an exit, but you caught up to him in time, grabbing him by his shoulders and spinning him around just in time to plant a perfectly placed kiss on his pink lips.

“I like that you’re fucking weird and for your information I admire your dumb vhs tape collection.”

Vernon took his opportunity to kiss you again, even longer this time than the first one, pushing his tongue into your mouth, making you moan as his hands snaked their way around your body.

“You taste like vanilla too.”

“Nice?”

“Perfect.”

“Would us having sex count as us fucking on the first date?”

“This would be considered fucking before the first date.”

“Ah, I see. Is that a no-no?”

“I’ll let it slide.”

Vernon lifted you up, prompting you to wrap your legs around his long torso, and carried you onto your couch, setting you down to be perfectly face to face with his enclosed penis, now beginning to grow inside of his pants. Dipping your fingers into the waistband of his pants you grazed the tips of your fingers over the head of his dick, making him shiver from the cold touch of your hands.

Unwrapsping him like a present, his penis flew from his waistband and you quickly wrapped your lips around the soft pink skin, slightly creating a suction cup with your lips as his hands found their way to the back of your head and he fucked your face gently.

As his speed picked up, the head of his dick was pounding its way to the back of your throat making him weak in the knees and unsure how much longer he could go on like this without relieving himself inside of your mouth.

In order to savor this moment further, he against his better judgment pulled you off of him and got on his knees in front of you, running a finger down your neck, placing soft kisses on your lips and all the way down to your sternum, his fingers following along.

Pushing over your panties to the side he ran those same fingers up and down your wet center, making you moan and push onto him, begging for him to put them inside of you without many words.

When he was finally done teasing you, he placed his first two fingers at the entrance and ran his thumb over your clit making you squirm and let out a small moan, trying to grind your way further onto him.

With the same speed as before he started pumping his fingers into your wet center, crawling his way into your body and making you overwhelmed with pleasure.

Suddenly he was four fingers deep stretching you out as a preparation for you to be comfortable fucking his much larger dick when suddenly you squirted all over his bare chest, slinking back onto the couch in a fit of heavy breathing.

Vernon didn’t let you off the hook though, he grabbed onto you hips, carrying you onto the floor under him. Finally fucking you through your previous orgasm, riding into the sensitive waters of your clit, softly sucking on your nipples as he slowly thrusted himself onto you, almost like it was the only way to cure the aching in your center.

As the sweat and your bodily fluids mix their way together, the heavy breathing slowed to near silence, watching him in ecstasy fucking into you, noticing the beauty of the way his eyelashes ran across his cheeks and the small light gold flecks in his eyes. He’s never been more beautiful to you than he was tonight.

Suddenly in your daze his lips came onto yours before he slightly lifted them off of you to whisper while they still grazed over the top.

“Can I come inside?”

“Please.”

And with your verbal confirmation Vernon filled up your body with his semen and rode into his very own orgasm as well.

Kissing you once again he got up and ran into your bathroom to grab a clean towel for you both to clean up with and laid back down next to you on the floor.

Suddenly the two of you erupted into laughter, just thinking about how stupid you both were to see chemistry between you was about as hot as the sex you both indulged in.

“I can’t believe you were going to leave.”

“I can’t believe I thought you weren’t into me.”

“Who said I wasn’t lying?”

“The way you were moaning and fucking into me told me all I needed to know.”

“Ok, hot shot.”

“So about that first date?”

“It’s on.”

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