#that I didn’t do anything terribly wrong

[artinvain]

toxic!bff! abby tries to get you back! pt 1. here plus combining this with another ask that asked for high sex. men and minors dni! lesbian smut under the cut! reader x ellie & reader x abby ✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ:*✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ:*✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ:*✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ:*✧･ﾟ:

abby had called you over twenty times in the past week. her messages riddled with apologies and begging for another chance to speak to you, she just wanted to explain herself and then she’d leave you alone her message had said. you’s spent the weekend at ellie’s but honestly she just listened while you mostly spoke and hugged you when you cried. put your favourite movies on when you told her what they were.

It’s as you’re starting the second scream film that abby starts to call you and text you. you’d put your phone on silent but still you could feel it buzzing incessantly against you and hear it buzzing on Ellie’s coffee table.

“just answer it,” ellie pleads, she’s not the biggest fan of anderson herself but she understood her — you were a hard thing to lose and ellie decided she would fight for you if you decided to give abby another chance. “I’m right here,” she says, rubbing circles on your ankles where they lay over her lap.

ellie is wooed, even through your teariness this week you’d managed to make her laugh more than anyone she’d seen, you still tried to anticipate her needs. you were honest and kind. she didn’t want you to go, but she didn’t want to cage you in either.

“hi abby,” your voice is stale and your eyes keep flicking back to ellie’s

“are you free to talk?” abby asks and you look over to ellie who nods, “yeah I guess,” you reply and ellie reaches out to hold your hand.

“i’m so so sorry-“

“you already said so abby,” you groan and lean you head back against the couch. “tammy, it — she doesn’t mean anything to me,” she sighs into the phone and your eyes prick with tears. “then why did you leave me for her — again?”

“because I’m an absolute dumbass with no courage and I was so afraid of fucking it up with you that I ended up sabotaging us because I know I’m a terrible -“

“you’re not a terrible person abby. you - i mean this is the most honest you’ve been with me in a while,”

ellie let’s go off your legs as you get up and move into the kitchen. you’re out of earshot and she can’t tell if that’s worse or better. of course she doesn’t want you to leave but what would she do? lock you inside? maybe she could convince you to stay. ellie’s leg begins to bounce as she hears you giggle over the phone. okay maybe she should fight harder — sooner. well she had taken care of you an entire weekend, couldn’t you see that she was better for you than abby?

“ i don’t know can you come over?” abby asks and you sigh, you’d already given in. “yeah, yeah I’ll be over in like ten minutes.”

you felt guilty, you shouldn’t be going to meet Abby after spending an entire weekend with ellie. but she was so supportive and she offered her company and she didn’t want anything from you. and although you obviously found her attractive it felt wrong, like you were betraying abby. all you can think about is that hollow, rageful look on her face when you talk about other girls, the tears that well up in her eyes.

but no, it was abby who had fucked up, ellie had reminded you of that all weekend. ellie who was meeting you by the door, your jacket in her hand and pursed lips.

“I’ll see you around yeah? maybe we can do this again some time,” ellie says you pull on your shoes. you nod your head and lean up to kiss her cheek but Ellie moves her head just then and your lips brush. neither of you move, both gingerly running your hands over hips and shoulders until you lean in and kiss her, press your mouth to hers and taste her lips if only for a few seconds.

ellie can’t fucking believe she’s dizzy for a few seconds of kissing you, she regrets her every movement going forward. opening the door for you and letting you go.

when you arrive at abby’s you tip your driver and knock on her door who’s swings open before you can do it twice.

“hey,” abby smiles softly and invites you in. “you made dinner.” you’re disbelieving and maybe even irrational when you say “do you have someone over right now?”

“no - god no. i’m -I’m sorry I’ve done so much to make you think I could do that,” abby scratches the back of her neck. the pasta is dished onto a plate and abby nervously pulls a chair out for you. gulping gratefully when you sit and she tucks you in.

“thank you,” she says when you start to eat, “so much-“

“why am i here abby?” you asked, sipping on the glass of red she’s poured you.

“I - I don’t know I wanted to really show you how sorry I am, show you that I’m still your best friend. I still know your favourite pasta dish, and I still know you’re wearing my hoody because it’s saturday, and we don’t see each other saturday because I have basketball, which I skipped out on tonight to make dinner and — are you laughing?”

you’re eyes are teary as you chuckle, “I just, I’ve missed you,” you smile and abby nods.

“I’m here now,” she reaches out for your hand and you take it. the night is spent eating and laughing and you don’t know how but you end up on the couch, coughing as you pass her the dab pen and boldly sitting closer to her. you know this strain. it always makes your head fuzzy and your body buzzes, aching for touch.

you don’t blame abby when she looks at you with hooded eyes, beckoning you forward and exhaling smoke into your mouth. abby lurches forward as she smoke less your nose and kisses you, her hand on the back of your neck when she licks into your mouth gently. you pull back and grab the pen from her and a bottle of water. leaning back with a smile at abby gawking at you.

It’s in the middle of an episode of something you’re not really watching, red eyes glazed over with the thoughts of abby’s hand on your thigh. she looks over at you, a small dopey smile on her face, bites her lip as she leans forward. “c’mere,” she brushes her lips against yours. “you’re so fucking pretty,” abby sighs, allowing her other hand to rub up and down your thigh, tracing higher to you as as you start to kiss her jaw and neck. “promise I’m gonna treat you right,” she moans at the feeling on you marking her neck, sucking and biting until her skin is throbbing and so is her clit.

abby’s always so fucking easy for you. whining when you kiss back up her jaw and catch her mouth, sucking on your tongue and pushing you down onto her large and plush couch, you feel like you’re sinking into it. you’re head light as abby caresses your tummy under your hoodie.

abby starts to lift your hoodie over your chest and sighs at the sight of your bare breasts, her breathing picks up and she bites her lip. leaning forward to suck and kiss your boobs, pulling the hoodie up over your head. your skin so fucking soft in her mouth. she moans at the feelings of your nipples in her mouth, her glossy eyes shutting and she whines when you dig your hand into her braid, keeping her head close. “yeah abby, like that,” you groan as her fingers come to rub your clit under your sweats. she whimpers at the feeling of your wetness.

“shit,” she gasps as two of her fingers slide into you, “like this cunt was made f’me, all mine,” she inhales through her teeth, leaning forward to kiss you, letting you pull off your pants and spread your thighs.

“god you’re — thank you, I promise you I’m gonna take care of you,” abby groans, her thumb running your clit “christ it’s like you’re begging for it, you’re fuckin dripping down my arm, fuck,” she moans, as you yelp,

“abs, shit you have to - you can’t - ah!” you’re cut off when abby’s fingers slide to the hilt and curl, rubbing on your gspot, her dumb never letting up on your clit as you go dumb. “gonna take such good care of you, see? I know what’s good for you.” She kisses your temple as your back arches and your chortle at the feeling of Abby tugging and sucking on your nipples.

“yeah, precious baby cum on me,” abby commands and your body obeys as your thighs constrict around her, “yes, yeah that it perfect, so good f’me. gonna give it to you good every day, fuck — just like this, won’t even have to think or ask, just gonna spoil you,” abby says peppering kisses all over your face, watch your eyes roll back. you can feel her thick fingers stretching you out, heat paradoxically making goosebumps rise on your skin, tightening your nipples — shit you could feel everything all at once. and the waves of euphoria just kept coming as abby’s fingers kept fucking into you. “more,, please god more!” somehow you needed it deeper, more more it was like a chasm had opened up in you, needing to be filled. abby’s fucking glad to give you another finger, twisting them in and out and you can’t help it.

“shit sweetheart you’re making a fucking mess,” abby’s pussy is fucking soaked and she can feel herself sticking to her boxers but tonight has to be about you, if she was going to keep you. and she needed you, she could never fucking lose you again. she’d sooner kill whoever was trying than let you go.

you’re leaking down abby’s wrist, spurting hot cum onto abby’s thighs as she rubs your clit and goes down to suckle on your clit until you’re wetting her face, her cheeks and chin. and you’re squirming and griping her head and shoulders pushing and pulling her away, whining as tears spring from your eyes and your body shudders with the pleasure.

“fuck, please please can I fuck you again, need to see you cum on my dick please,” abby whines as she kisses up your body, her hips grinding and snapping into yours. you whine and grip her ass pulling her in and nodding. she’s back faster than you can comprehend, still fisting her cock with lube even with the wetness that’s covering your thighs. abby kneels between your legs and rubs your thighs, “abby, make me feel good, please,” you whine and abby sinks into you, folding you in half as she leans after you.

abby groans as she fucks into you, the strap rubbing and bumping against her clit as she grinding and bucks her hips. “you’re my girl yeah?” Abby whines into your neck and you nod, her strap so deep inside you, her fingers going down to rub your clit. “yeah, yes I’m yours. m’yours abby!”

“fuck fuck that’s it sweetheart just cum on my cock. so good. shit, swear I can feel you, pulling me in so deep fuck,” abby groans, her hips snapping hard and deep until you’re both faltering and cumming, tightening and holding each other close.

abby sighs deeply as you start to chuckle, she removes herself gently and kicks the strap off, making a note to clean it as she grabs a blanket and covers you both. “I’m really fucking sorry,” abby says kissing your temple,

“just - don’t ever do that again abby,”

“never, m’yours.” she squeezes you close and kisses your eyelids, your nose, your cheeks until your giggling. kissing the palm of her hand that comes to rest on your cheek.

🏷️ : @lesbian-useless @sexysapphicshopowner @iamaboringrattat @sapphicsgirl @bimboprincezz @abbysprettygiiirl

[mariacallous]

I plan on voting for Biden in November.  But it’s terrible.  A vote for him is still a vote that will not significantly improve our deepest and most troubling social problems.  He won’t give us Medicare for All or any other badly needed boosts to social programs.  He will probably continue to support policies that actively oppress BIPOC.  He will not help us.  He’s also a sexual predator.  Truly, I do not want to vote for this man.  This is not the man I wanted to vote for.  I don’t want him in office.  He is simply not good enough.  This man doesn’t represent what I want at all.

But if I don’t vote for Biden in November, I feel like I’m making it that much easier for Trump to win another election.  And I want that even less than I want a Biden presidency.  I don’t want another 4 years of what we have now.  No fucking way.  No.

I’m so conflicted.  I feel like there is blood on my hands.  I feel like I’m casting a vote for death and misery if I’m not voting for a progressive candidate with a progressive platform.  I feel like I’m committing nothing short of an atrocity no matter what I choose to do.  I don’t want to harm people, and yet, won’t I essentially be doing exactly that?  I just want to do the right thing.  I don’t want to bring harm, or perpetuate harm towards anyone.

Trump will probably win anyway.  He’s doing all he can to ensure that, and it will probably work.  The impending climate disaster will kill us all because we will clearly continue to do nothing.  Our bodies will be riddled with micro and nanoplastics.  America will become an even more of an inhospitable police state.

 Nobody will hold Biden accountable for anything if he wins, and he’ll never give us the public policies we desperately need. 

“Is this what hope feels like?  I’d forgotten,” you tweeted recently.  How?  And for what?  I see nothing but bad things to come.  I feel a deep sense of hopelessness and despair.

There are plenty of reasons to feel hopelessness and despair right now, but with regard to Joe Biden, you are wasting a whole bunch of negative emotions on a giant pile of shitty beliefs that just aren’t true.

First, and let me be very clear on this one, Joe Biden is not a sexual predator. He’s just not. Believe me, I would be shouting it from the rooftops if I thought he were. When Tara Reade went public, I took her allegations very seriously. I gave her extra helpings of the benefit of the doubt, but it turned out there was a mountain of evidence suggesting that Reade has always been a lying, manipulative grifter (which I didn’t want to be true), and there was another mountain of evidence suggesting that the predatory behavior alleged by Reade is simply not in Biden’s character (which I was very reluctant to trust). There was a time when I was hopeful that Reade’s accusations might even knock Biden out of the race, but I’m not the kind of person who believes a thing merely because I want it to be true. It’s fine if you want to criticize Biden for what appears to be a history of awkward or retrospectively inappropriate behavior. Hell, you can even buy into all that “Creepy Uncle Joe” bullshit, but you’re just plain wrong if you insist that Joe Biden is a sexual predator. (Obviously, the same cannot be said of Donald Trump, who is a straight-up serial rapist with a list of at least twenty-five women who have publicly and credibly accused him of sexual assault.)

As for your policy concerns, I understand your frustration. I would love to be voting for a far-left ultra-progressive firebrand of a candidate in the upcoming general election. That would feel wonderful, right up until the moment that she loses in a landslide, and I guarantee you, a far-left ultra-progressive candidate would get her ass handed to her by Trump. That’s not an outcome we can afford as a species, much less as a nation. You understand this, which is why you still plan on voting for Biden. Good. I’m really glad you’re not being a purist asshole about this. The evil garbage monsters in the GOP just love a left-wing purist who refuses to vote responsibly. Republicans are desperately praying to their imaginary white Jesus that all the Green Party crunch bars will fuck it up for the rest of us like they did back in 2016. We cannot let that happen again.

Listen, I’m not gonna try and convince you to like Joe Biden. You’re already gonna vote for him, so I’m perfectly fine if you hate his breathing guts. What I do want from you is a little maturity, some vision, and a realistic sense of scale. No one candidate will ever be the solution to our problems — not Bernie, not Liz, and certainly not Joe. At best, a candidate is a vector, a course correction, a desperately needed step in the right direction. That’s all we can expect from Biden, and he is bringing it. He’s bringing it every single day with a list of policy positions that are more progressive than any President’s in the history of the United States, and he most certainly brought it with the selection of Kamala Harris as his running mate.

Biden recognizes his place in history. He knows he is little more than a national stop-gap, a post-Trump tourniquet to stanch the bleeding. His Vice-Presidency and eventual Presidency will be a line of demarcation between two very distinct chapters of American history. This is more than just bridging the Boomer/Millennial generational divide. In the distant future (if we have one), it is my sincerest hope that Biden will be remembered as “The Last of the Old White Men,” a happy warrior who marked the end of a certain kind of Modern America and who helped usher in a new kind of Postmodern America. Those terms are clunky and loaded and absolutely will not stand the test of time, but we’re not the ones who get to name what we’re about to become. We’re the ones who have to keep doing the hard work to finally get us there, and that’s why I really need you to change your whole fucking attitude. 

This shit is going to be grueling. The fight will be brutal if not bloody, and there is absolutely no room for whiners and layabouts. You want to improve our deepest and most troubling social problems? Great. Quit moaning about doing harm with your vote and go do some actual good with your own two fucking hands. Pulling a lever in a voting booth every couple years is the bare minimum. In terms of civic duty, it is the absolute least you can do. Of course Biden won’t give us Medicare for All. Neither would Sanders or Warren. That’s not how any of this works. Presidents don’t give us shit. We do it ourselves. We demand it, loudly and with force, and over long stretches of time, with enough solidarity and sustained action, laws are enacted and policies change. 

I was around when the Clintons tried deadlifting their universal health care plan off the ground back in 1993. Maybe you remember it, maybe you weren’t even born yet, but that’s how long this shit takes. It’ll have been three fucking decades and two fucking generations of Democrats trying desperately to kick that gutbucket up Capitol Hill by the time we finally get around to some semblance of a single payer healthcare system. Thirty fucking years, my friend. That’s the kind of patience and perseverance the American experiment demands of us, so quit your fucking whining. Enough with all the pearl-clutching and hand-wringing. Take all your conflicted navel gazing bullshit and toughen the fuck up, buttercup.

You are on the right side of history. You are with the good guys. Quit your fucking bitching, and get out there and help us win.

[danibee33]

The Queen’s Guard - Chapter 8: Soot & Ash

knight!simon riley x queen!reader

cw: sa, non-con, some gore, generally dark themes *pls read at your own discretion*

>>parts in italics are flashbacks

[<<< chapter 7]

You wake in a cold sweat- a shrill gasp carried away in the wind as you scramble to untangle yourself from the furs. In your fuss, you feel a familiar, strong arm wrap around your waist, pulling you back into a wonderfully warm embrace-

“Shh.. You’re alright- you’re safe-” Simon’s other arm comes to rest over your chest, providing a comforting weight as his lips press gentle kisses to your shoulder; softly shushing you again, “Another one?”

All you can do is nod, because, yes- it was another nightmare. Yes, you had been forced to relive that terrible moment over and over. At this point, you swear you feel as if the gods themselves are punishing you, manipulating your mind so that whenever your eyes close all you can see is blood- and when you take too deep a breath, all you can smell is soot and ash-

“Does it ever go away?” Your voice is broken and meak, turning in his arms so that you could nuzzle further into his chest- replace the metallic char with his rich, earthy scent, “Or will he always haunt me?”

Simon tightens his hold on you, gently tugging you into his lap, “No, sweet girl..”, he pets your hair before pushing it away from your face, “It will fade, I promise.”

Wiping your tears, you feel his whispered apology against the corner of your lips- replacing the words with a kiss, and then another.

You think about how many times he’s apologized for your part in what happened, quietly, genuinely- how he whispered it in your ear that first night. And again, when he found you spitting up bile and acid between sobs in the woods the morning after. You remember the way he and Johnny had shouted and hissed at one another on the third day, right before Johnny was to leave for the MacTavish estate again- he had to go play the part, sowing more seeds of doubt amongst your own people. Had to solidify his own alibi-

But that didn’t stop him from nearly trading blows with Simon. Didn’t stop him from telling Simon how you never should have been in that room, that you never should have been forced to see what you saw.

Only when you stepped between them once again, placing a palm over their chests as if you might actually have a chance at forcing them to do anything- did they finally concede, for your sake, of course.

Johnny had pulled you to the side after that, closer to the cliffs, your voices drowned out by the violent waves below you and the howling winds above, his lips so close to your ear that the heat of his breath sent chills down your spine,

“I’ll find you in the foothills in two weeks- all right?”

You both fell into your partly made up dialect as he held you close, his hands wrapped over your biceps and yours on his forearms- you could still feel the way his scruff tickled your skin, and how his nose dipped down to nuzzle into your neck as he spoke,

“Be careful, Grianach..

It had made your fingers dig into his flesh, and your eyes sting with tears as you leaned into him, pressing your cheek against his, “You be careful, Johnny.. please.”

And it felt so wrong to watch him ride away without even a glance back, because things had never felt more tenuous- you were caught in this odd limbo of overwhelming freedom and the suffocating fear of the unknown..

But, you couldn’t dwell on it, not when you had to focus on moving. You weren’t out of danger yet, the farther away you can get from the castle, the blood, the soot, and the ash- the better.

+++

“Your Grace-”, you’re intercepted by General Leon on your way to yet another meeting, and while it isn’t necessarily out of the ordinary, especially when the King is away, it does set you on edge, “I received a raven today.”

It’s not too difficult to keep your expression impassive, you’ve perfected it over the years after all , but your stomach sours at his pleased smile, “And what news did it bring, General?”

You glance around the long, light-filled hall, take in the grand tapestries hanging against the wall, the warm sunlight pouring in- Simon’s presence just hardly out of sight. And you know he’s scanning the surroundings as well, not to take in the view or look at the pretty sights, just alert, always alert.

Though, by the smallest shift in his weight, you think he’s picked up on your anxieties- waiting for the older Knight to speak again.

“His Grace is returning sooner than expected. Seems his tour of the front lines was cut short after an incident.”

Like a dutiful wife, you let your features morph into shock, playing into the actual horror you felt at the idea of the King being back any sooner than planned- he was still supposed to be out for another two months at the least, and now..

“What has happened?” You ask quickly, taking your lady-in-waiting’s hand in yours, needing something to anchor yourself to- you had to be a concerned wife, can’t let them know you wish he had just died out there- “Is the King all right?”

The General pats your shoulder, obviously uncomfortable with the way you seem to be teetering on the brink of tears, your breathing a bit labored. You were panicking, but not for the reason he thinks,

“He’s fine, Your Grace. Alive and unharmed- they didn’t even get close. Though the Kingsguard did suffer a casualty, they served him well.” He says, his tone almost jovial, so proud of his men and his monstrous King, “And may the gods bless the rest of his journey home.”

“Gods bless.” You give the traditional affirmation at the same time as your lady, Simon’s much deeper rasp lingering in the background.

“Well, a wonderful turn of events.. Truly wonderful. When should we expect his arrival, then? A feast is in order.” You say after a moment, clasping your hands together in order to hide the way they tremble.

“Two days time, my Queen.”

This time you can’t stop your eyes from darting up to meet Simon’s- but where you expect to see some sort of unease or worry in them, you only find the same unwavering gaze. Because to him, this news is nothing to worry about. No, not for the Ghost. His plans had already been in motion, since the night he pulled you from the balcony's edge, he saw it so clearly. Simon knew exactly what needed to be done.

Sure, this is an unexpected obstacle, but in the grand scheme of things, it’s better this way. The sooner he could kill the King, the sooner you would be safe, the sooner he could get you away from all this.

The sooner you would be all his.

———

The night of the feast was upon you faster than you ever could’ve thought possible. The King would be arriving any moment, the festivities already booming with life in the Great Hall.

But here you are, pacing a path into the stone floor. Worrying at your cuticles so that you don’t tangle your fingers in your perfectly set hair- half of the long waves pulled back into an intricate braided pattern, with jewels and emerald ribbon woven throughout. But every step feels too heavy, too cumbersome, your gown creating friction behind you, and your chest tight from the pull of the corset.

“Sunny..” Johnny calls to you from his place by the window- when he found out the King would be returning so soon, and Simon’s plan of what would be happening next, he had stayed at your side. Hidden in your chambers or the tunnels while you were away-

“What if it goes wrong? What if you both get caught, what if he’s able to call out-”

In long, easy strides, he’s right there- pulling your hand away into his own to stop your self-destructive cycle with a disapproving tut, “Grianach- stop, stop. Look at me, aye?”

You do stop, but only because his hold is ironclad, and his eyes are as piercing as ever as they demand your attention, “I know you trust us..”, you nod, “We’ve both done this before- and crown, or no crown, it makes no difference to a sword. You only need to worry about bein’ in that tunnel as soon as y’ get the signal..”

He makes it sound so simple, just another day- just another thing to cross off the list. But.. you know he’s right, you know he’s done it before, too many times to keep count. Your sweet Johnny was an accomplished and revered leader on the battlefield, and your own personal guard, while his past is still shrouded in mystery even to you, has obviously led a long and successful career doing the same.

And of course, you don’t fault them for being exactly what was asked of them, thinking back to Johnny’s words, they were the ones who had been fighting your wars, right? So, disposing of one man.. Well, that should be almost too easy for them-

“But-”

Johnny cups your face again, that newly founded tension flickering to life as he looks down at you, the darkness in his gaze turning into something more familiar as he cracks a lopsided grin, “Always such a worrywart.”

He cranes his neck, lowering his head so that he could be eye to eye, “Ye don’t have to worry about me- we’re not kids anymore..”

Two curt knocks tear you away from each other, looking over to see Simon taking up nearly the entire entryway, gilded eyes lazily moving between you and the man at your side,

“My Queen..”, he cocks his head subtly, “It’s time.”

There’s something in the moment that seems to fortify you- the roiling in your gut calms, and the unrelenting thoughts go quiet as you give a single nod. If they can be so unfazed by this, so confident and immovable, then so could you. You would walk out of this room as the most powerful woman in the kingdom, and you would play your part to change your future.

For the first time in your life, you’ve been granted the opportunity to decide your fate. And who would you be to give up such a blessing?

So with one final, deep breath, you move towards the door- stopping at Simon’s side only long enough to spare a fleeting glance back, seeing Johnny’s eyes steady on you, full of determination.

But when you’re well enough out of the room, out of earshot, Johnny darkly calls to the Knight,

“Queen’s Guard-“, he barks, glaring as the hulking man halts, turning only enough to meet the Lord’s eye, “Don’t let her out of your sight. Not for a second.”

And Simon has to admit he’s impressed with the brazen man, the lengths he’s gone to, and how much farther he’s ready to go, is admirable, if not more than a little grating on his nerves. And don’t think that he hasn’t seen, hasn’t felt, the dynamic shift between you.. knowing that Johnny had been spending his nights in your rooms has thoroughly irked Simon to no end.

But, that’s a problem for another time- right now, they just needed to trust each other; nothing more, nothing less. So, that’s why instead of grunting out some crass comment like he so badly wants to do, Simon gives a singular, purposeful nod before striding out of the room and slamming the door shut behind him.

The rattling sound causes you to turn, meeting Simon’s eye and seeing them a shade darker than you’re used to- the mottled amber all but glowing behind the helm, his hand clenching into a fist and his cloak billowing and swaying with every even step forward. You can’t pause for long though, forced to quickly resume your pace as he falls in just to your right, three steps behind, as always.

Keeping your eyes forward, you sweep through the castle halls, your shoulders straight and your head held high- you would meet the King as not the broken, weary woman he left behind, but as the Queen he never deserved in the first place.

The Queen that has always been strong enough to carry the kingdom all this time, that has done just that, even when it felt as though your bones might snap under the weight of it all- it had always been you. You just lost sight of that strength, lost sight of the power you truly hold, in your kindness and patience, just as much as in your discipline and judgment.

“The King has arrived!” General Leon’s brassy voice booms and echoes off the stone, followed by the faint shuffling of cloth and leather, steel and chainmail straining as those around you take a knee, “All hail the King.”

The doors swing open ceremoniously, even if it is just you and the highest ranking members of court there, your husband had always demanded an abundance of fanfare-

He waltzes in with a bored smirk, looking down his nose at even those who aid him until he sees you, and you know you’ll remember the way his eyes widen as he takes you in for the rest of your life. You revel in it, commit it to memory for the precious few moments he looks back at you with something akin to shock-

Sure, you still accented yourself in his house color, you could not be so bold as to forgo it completely- you didn’t want to draw too much attention, but a statement needed to be made and judging his expression, you had succeeded.

Because instead of his traditional deep green covering you from head to toe, you wore a dazzling gown made of the deepest ebony silk the modistes could find, the only hints of emerald and gold on you being the rings on your fingers and the gemstones and satins in your hair,

“Welcome home, my King.” You bow your head graciously as the others rise to their feet once more.

He steps right up to you, and you resist the overwhelming urge to flinch, to put distance between you and him, to slap his hand away as he traces a finger down along your sleeve, “Bold choice, wife..”, he says before grabbing your hand, lifting the soft skin to his lips, “I like it.”

You hide your sneer with a saccharine smile, acting as though his touch doesn’t make you physically ill, “I look forward to hearing about your time on the front, Your Grace.”

Again, the King kisses your hand, a predatory gleam darkening his eyes- one you only get a glimpse of before he’s turning you around, his arm held out so that he may escort you toward the Great Hall. And it’s then you see Simon’s gleaming eyes as well, stoney and burning with a lethal rage,

“Ah, Ser Simon Riley.. You’re still here.” The King drawls without even a look in the guard’s direction, the taller man falling in on your flank as accustomed before answering,

“Always, Your Grace.”

—---

The feast seems to drag on almost out of spite, you swear. The King had been determined to parade you around, his snide, passively belittling comments only adding to your disdain, your wish to be done with this- yet, it is that same thought that causes your heart to race the longer the night goes on, an hour closer, a minute, a second. You felt like you might be torn apart by your own anticipation, your fear of what’s to come-

Tap, tap … tap, tap, tap

You hear the comforting taps more than you have in a long while, and there’s even a moment when the King has stopped in the crowd, his feet growing more unsteady underneath him that you feel Simon’s hand reach out to preemptively pull you away from the stumbling man; his touch lingering just a breath longer than they should,

“Husband?”, you giggle, forcing a bit of drunken giddiness into your actions and voice, “Maybe we should head to bed, you’ve had such a long journey-”

His wine-laden breath assaults your senses, his lips grazing over your jaw, “That excited to get me in bed, wife?”, you roll your eyes, placing two hands on his chest in an attempt to keep him from falling into you, “Missed my cock, hm? Filthy fucking whore-”

There’s a deep growl behind you, one you’ve grown quite fond of, though it’s never sounded so animalistic, deep and menacing- and you can practically feel how his self control strains, tested to its limit as Simon is forced to listen and watch. But, you’re doing so well, taking every vile thing the King says, every horrifically inappropriate grope and touch, in stride; your grace and virtue never waning.

“Well, c’mon then-”, your husband rasps in your ear before turning towards the group around you, “If you’ll pardon us, m’ladies and lords, I have been away for quite some time.”

You grimace at the way he jerks you into his side, his hand wandering over your hip to rest on the swell of your ass- the wolfy grin on his face conveying all the lewd and lascivious context they might need to know exactly what their sovereign is alluding to. It makes the churning in your stomach return with force, and your blood run hot with anger-

Though you feel the moment it turns frigid, no more than ice cutting through your veins. It’s when he escorts out of the hall, forcefully dismissing your ladies and his own guard, turning on Simon last,

“Well, go on, you’re not needed for this, I’m afraid.” He says, waving his hand at your Knight like one might a stray dog, “Unless you like to watch.”

The empty hall reverberates with his laugh, his grip on your tightening painfully- fingers digging into your side so hard you’re sure to have bruises by morning, “My King-”, you try to soothe him, but it dawns on you now, and Simon, too, that the plan was slowly unraveling.

“No, that’s fine! What a good dog you have, wife. Tell him he can watch, if he so wishes-”

You look back to where Simon is still following, his hand wrapped around the hilt of his dagger, “No, of course not.”, you give a quick nod, hoping you can send the message clearly enough that you were about to upend everything, “My rooms are closer, shall we go there?”

And the moment you speak the words, he understands what you were doing- this wouldn’t be happening in the King’s chambers, but yours. He needs to get Johnny, and get to the tunnels,

“You are relieved, Ser Simon. I bid you a good night..”

Simon hesitates for the first time in his life, looking at you and seeing the resolve in your gaze, the overwhelming faith you have in him. You look at him in a way he’s never seen, not with fear or trepidation like he’s so used to, like he’s always preferred, but with such trust and reverie that he fears he could never live up to the grand idea you seem to have of him.

“Good night, My Queen.”

—--

By the time you’re at your door, the King is openly groping you- his hands rough and needy as he pulls at your corset ties, grunting as he nips and bites at your flesh,

“Black, hm? Making your own choices, that it?”

Very suddenly, he heaves you up, his mouth still on you, happily leaving a trail of angry little marks as he carries you across the space and throws you on the bed- you say his name, the hints of desperation and panic spurring him on as he climbs over top of you,

“You think just because you get to pretend to be King while I’m away, that you’re anything more than a warm hole? Nothin’ but a pretty little cocksleeve-”

You’re crushed under his weight, the sensations all too much, and all in the worst of ways, “Enough-”

You push against him, try to bring your knees up, to wiggle away, but in a flash your wrists are in his grasp and forced uncomfortably over your head, “Tsk, tsk, tsk- none of that now, you just be a good whore and take what I give you.”

“Get. Off.” With how hard you’re clenching your teeth, the words come out as a hiss, your eyes searching for anything, mind racing with how you can get out of this as the room fills with his laugh.

“Or what?”

Faster than you can blink, the weight is lifted off you in a single go- the King’s surprised yelp resounding in your ears and hands pulling you off the bed. Johnny’s hands, gently tugging you to your feet and pushing you back towards the tunnel- “I’ve got you, I got you-”, he says it over and over, a small tinge of fear and loathing in his own voice.

Those same hands deftly skim over you, tilting your head from one side to the other, as he tries to rearrange your bodice- which had been pulled apart and stretched to have your breasts almost completely exposed,

“Oh, Sunny..”

Your face burns with so many emotions- unbridled fear and anger, and now shame and embarrassment, his gentle voice trying to coax you, to reassure you, but it seems to just make it so much worse. You want to shove him away, you want to scream and claw at your skin; you think you want to cry, but there are no tears, you simply don’t have it in you to feel sorry anymore. For yourself, for what’s happened before this night, what’s going to happen-

“I fucking knew it.” The King chuckles from his knees, sword at his throat, “The wretched Scottish whor--”

The insult turns into a garbled choking sound when Simon’s hand wraps around his throat, effectively depriving him of oxygen and blood as he lifts him up until his toes are just barely grazing against the floor,

“What a king you are..”, Simon croons, his head cocking to the side- and the way he looks up at him reminds you of the mean old barn cat from your childhood, the one that would toy with his food, playing with it until he grew bored, “Tell me, Your Grace, are you enjoyin’ this?”

Johnny tries to turn you away, to urge back to the tapestry, to where you should be- where you would be safe, but you just can’t go. That awful, angry part of you wants to see the King suffer, wants to see him hurt just like he had hurt you.

“Grianach, please go. You go exactly where we told you to go-“

A thick gasping and sputtering echoes around you then, both of you turning to see Simon throw the grown man to the ground like it’s nothing. Stepping over his body, he finally looks up, pupil blown eyes boring into your own- like he’s searching, seeking, for an answer, for something. He holds it long enough to see your nod, long enough to gain your approval before he picks up his sword,

“You had everything.”, he says, looking down at the King, “And yet-“

Johnny’s hand clamps over your mouth as you watch the blade come down in one swift motion- sinking into the yielding flesh and muscle of your husband’s chest, crimson oozing around the dark steel, staining the hideous, priceless rug beneath him,

“..you took it all for granted.”

You know you hear Simon’s voice, hear the familiar gravel deepen- but, at the same time, it is entirely unrecognizable in your ears. He sounds so cold, so calculated in every syllable that drips from his tongue.

And the most errant thought crosses your mind, that maybe this is the past he so adamantly avoids with you, with anyone for that matter. Maybe it’s this other version of him, a version that is devoid of humanity, callous and brutal-

“You took her for granted.”

There’s only the briefest reflective glint of his blade as a warning- but this time, Johnny forces you to look away, framing your face in his hands so that he’s the only things you can see. His palms covering your ears help to muffle the disgusting squelch of sinew and tendons being severed, the awful sound of vertebrae forcefully separating.

It all sounds so loud until there’s just.. Nothing. No one speaks, you can hardly even hear your own shallows breaths,

“M’eudail, look at me- please, look at me.”

You do look up, but you just can’t seem to focus, your mind too hazed to see his features clearly,

“He- he’s gone.” You mumble, your tongue too thick in your mouth, and your voice quivering,

“It’s done.”

tag list: @spxctorsslxt @ssc7514

[kiegotakami]

does anyone remember… when I’d talk about that guy that I worked with… literal years ago but… well he moved away a while ago but today my manager mentioned that he might move back 🙁

[bongwater-supreme]

So the Ghosts Christmas special kinda sucked… oh well there’s other episodes

[milflewis]

going to go lie in some grass and scream into the dirt or smth and see if things are a little better after that

[fingertipsmp3]

So basically I’ve had one of those mornings that makes you want to scream into a pillow. And this afternoon I have a meeting lol

[gentlesounds]

.

[livvyofthelake]

oh also while i’m talking about once upon a time tee i have to warn you if you didn’t know that eventually near the end of season one you will get jumpscared by seb*stian st*n and it’s a slay episode but i also hate him so much and the fact that he’s in like five episodes of my little show makes me mad just to think about but i must admit he did kind of slay but remember that i despise him and hope he dies for real not as a joke. anyway carry on <3

[soaheadofthecurve]

lol

[buck-yyyy]

everything is wrong so fucking wrong wrong wrong wrong wrong

edit: i hit tag limit. warning for an insane vent about maybe-abuse i guess though i doubt many people will read it

[concoulor]

still upset about my friend breaking up with me & that happened almost 2 years ago now

[thewordsayer]

I was talking to a friend about religion and I think I must have messed it up in her eyes because she felt the need to clarify how complicated the topic was, especially for her. I suppose I made it sound like I wasn’t taking it seriously? Or my answer to “what would you consider God to be” was too simple?

We’re both queer, and for her coming to terms with her identity drove her away from a religion that hated her. But for me, having been raised atheist, it made me consider what it might mean to have a soul? That I could feel I was who I was inherently. But I didn’t mention any of that, we just talked about God, which is kind of the least important part of my beliefs. But I’m left feeling like I insulted her struggles with religion by having a simplistic view of it.

[entitled-fangirl]

I love hearing about your day.

Felix Catton x reader

SMUT

Summary: Felix and the reader enjoy some time together in the bath as she tells him about her day. Or... tries to.

Words: 1,064

Warnings: Smut, fingering, teasing, overstimulating, cursing

Masterlist

18+ PLEASE

.........................................................................

Felix lay in the bath, his body entirely relaxed. His head laid back, resting on the rim of the tub. It had been a long day.

His girlfriend opened the door with a loud creak. She rested against the doorframe, simply watching him with an admiral look in her eye. How could she not? Felix was beautiful. His body, his eyes, his soul- all the definition of beautiful.

His head turned to look at her, a smirk pulling at his lips lazily. “Care to join me, angel?”

It was her turn to smile now. What a ridiculous question. He could ask anything of her and without question she’d do it. 

She took small steps towards the tub, kneeling in front of it. “D’You think it’s big enough for both of us?”

He moved his head back against the tub, looking at the ceiling. “One way to find out.”

She let out a small laugh before she stood, slowly stripping herself of her clothes. He turned his head, watching with a soft gaze. How he adored her, too.

He held out a hand, which she graciously took, helping her into the bath. He maneuvered her body to where her back rested against his strong chest.

A deep sigh escaped her lips at the feeling of the warm water and his warm embrace.

He smiled, moving his head down to kiss her shoulder gently. His lips trailed up her neck. Her whole body shuddered as he placed a kiss behind her ear.

She felt his smile against her neck as he began to speak, “Tell me about your day, angel.”

She shifted. “Well, you were there for most of it.”

He kissed her shoulder again, his left hand moving to hold the side of her thigh. “Don’t care. I wanna know.”

She nods, focusing on her words, “I, I uh… woke up with you. Breakfast. Then I went back to our room to change. Terribly hard to pick which bikini to wear…”

He hums softly against her neck to show he’s listening. His right hand trailing down from her bicep to her hip.

She took this as a cue to keep going, “I picked the red one. It’s my favorite. I like the way the bottoms fit. And then met back with you at the pond, of course…”

His hand continued trailing down to her upper thigh, her breathing starting to quicken on instinct.

“…I worried so much about what I was to wear and I didn’t even swim. But I still think I-,” her voice trailed off in a quick breath in as Felix’s hand now rested over her core.

His lips neared her ear in a whisper, “Keep going.”

She took a deep breath, her jaw clenched. “After that, I spend my time in the library reading…”

He kissed her ear, his middle finger gently touching her slit. “What did you read? Tell me.”

“I was… I was reading.. I read…” her train of thought was gone.

He continued to tease her. “What, angel? Something wrong? I just want to hear about your day.”

She mouth closed as she let out a hum. “I was reading ’Pride and Prejudice.’”

He took that as an answer. “Never read it. Tell me.”

She knew he didn’t care about the plot. He just wanted to see her fall apart. But she didn’t care either. Anything to get him to touch her. “It’s, uh, a love story…”

“Mm-hmm. And?” His middle finger moved up and down at a constant pace, waiting for the moment to strike.

God, he was insufferable with his teasing. “The woman is poor and the man is… rich, but he has a temper about… about him… he’s… quite…quite brooding…”

He lets a soft breath out. “And they fall in love?”

Her right hand gently grips his wrist as he continues to toy with her. “Yes, they-, “ her words gone as a moan left her mouth, his finger now inside her. 

He chuckles softly at her reaction, “Don’t stop, angel. I want to hear what happens.”

His finger starts to pump in and out of her as her grip on his wrist becomes iron. Her other hand reaches up to grip the side of the bathtub.

“There’s a… a ball they attend.. and…and… God, Felix…,” she whines, her head falling back to rest on his shoulder.

“Fuck, angel,” he teased, “You don’t even know what it’s about?”

“I do. I do. I just…” 

“Just what?”

“I can’t… I can’t breath when.. when I’m around you…”

His movements stop. The only sound heard in the bathroom is her soft pants as she tries to catch her breath again. “Fuck, Felix,” she pants under her breath. She can practically feel the smile he has on his face. 

“I love hearing about your day.”

And he pushes in two fingers.

She falls apart, a whine coming from her throat at the feeling. Her body rests against his chest for support. They both know she wouldn’t be able to support herself even if she tried at this point.

He continues it for her, his voice in her ear, as he moves his fingers back and forth into her. “They go to a ball. They dance together. She realizes he’s not a bad guy, and he realizes there’s nothing wrong with her. Does that sound right, angel?”

She can’t speak. Her whines and moans are all he gets from her as his digits move at a constant speed. He chuckles, “Need me to stop, love?”

Her grip tightens on his wrist. “Please… Please, Felix.. don’t… ung… don’t stop…,” she moans, her voice echoing off the bathroom walls. 

“Alright. Anything for you.” His thumb reaches up to rub small circles on her clit.

She can’t handle it anymore. Tears spring to her eyes, her grip on him turning her knuckles white. Her back arches. “I can’t…” 

She’s overstimulated, and Felix grins at it. He places kisses on her neck and shoulders again gently, “Let go then, angel. I’ve got you. Just let go.”

Her orgasm comes with a small cry from her, his thumb continues to move on her clit to prolong the feeling. She pants hard, her chest expanding with every breath. After a few moments, her body falls limp against his again, exhausted. 

He chuckles, kissing the top of her head, “I love hearing about your day.”

[iholdwhatican]

reunions

pairing: art donaldson x reader x patrick zweig

length: 3.8k

tags: y/n is art donaldson's wife ; birthday party ; surprise visit from patrick ; art is down bad ; patrick wants y/n ; possessive!art ; the boys are fighting ; no use of y/n ; pining ; sexual tension

summary: you want to make your husband's birthday special, so you invite his attractive, charming, estranged childhood best friend in the hopes that they'll make amends. surely nothing will go wrong, right?

author's note: i can't stop thinking about them i am so ill. this is the first of presumably many challengers works. and yes i did make a new blog just for this, don't judge me. this is a drabble that was stuck in my head but I do have more for it should it be wanted! preferably something that leaves you sandwiched in between them :3

originally posted by iholdwhatican

You told yourself this whole thing happened out of the goodness of your heart. You’d just wanted to be a good wife and make your husband’s birthday the best it could possibly be. Because Art Donaldson was the most amazing person you’d ever known, and he loved you, and he deserved the world. There was nothing off limits when it came to him, no line you wouldn’t cross. 

You knew how much Patrick had meant to him, how much he missed his best friend. Your cheeks hurt from how wide the stories made you smile, how happy he sounded when he recounted the things he’d gotten into with the eccentric tennis player. And you knew how sad Art was that they didn’t talk anymore. 

So what better time to remedy that than for his birthday? That was a wonderful surprise, right? Right?

Upon meeting Patrick Zweig, your first thought was how the hell this man got along so well with your Art. Not to say he was a bad person, but he was just so… much. He was cocky, indomitable, the kind of person that knew what he wanted and what he was worth and wouldn’t settle for anything less. He was a force not to be reckoned with, no matter what. He was also unbelievably charming (and not bad on the eyes, which you would never admit), and you hated the way his sweet-talking got under your skin. 

He asked you how Art was. You told him he was fine. Retired, now. Making the most of a quiet life. You’d just celebrated 3 years of married life. He asked to see wedding photos and you didn’t miss the sadness in his eyes at missing the event. You happily obliged. It was the most romantic day of your life, after all. 

And you couldn’t help but internally pat yourself on the back. Patrick missed him too. You could mend the broken bridge between them, and your husband would be thrilled. He’d reward you for your good work. 

You asked Patrick to come to Art’s party. To make contact again. To come back into his world. He only hesitated for a moment, asked if Art knew and was okay with it. 

The lie slipped off your tongue easily. Of course, he’s wanted this for a long time. It’s a surprise, but a most welcome one. You didn’t have details on what happened between them- only knew of a falling out while Art was in college- but it couldn’t be that bad. Anything could be overcome, right? 

Patrick accepted and you hoped the lump in your throat was from excitement and not dread. You thanked him for meeting you, told him you’d forward him the details, and went back to your husband. 

The day of the party came, and you were so nervous you could hardly take it. You’d spent the last couple of days working yourself into a frenzy, convinced that this reunion was a terrible idea and your husband would hate you. You had no right to bring an estranged friend back into his life, on his birthday no less. And without saying a word to him. 

God, what the hell was wrong with you? 

You gripped the edge of the kitchen counter and downed your third glass of water. It did nothing to soothe the dryness in your throat. Or the pounding of your heart. You wondered how fucked you’d be at the party if you took a Xanax right now. Or five. 

Just then, Art peeked his head into the kitchen, donning a sweet smile when he spotted you. He looked as handsome as ever, sporting a well-fitting polo shirt and khakis. His hair was growing out again, starting to show those boyish curls you’d fallen in love with all those years ago. He made his way over to you, wedding band sparkling on his finger, and your heart melted. 

You loved him so much. Had you ruined his birthday with your stupid meddling? Maybe even ruined your marriage? 

“Hey, beautiful.” He greeted, sliding a hand around your waist and kissing your head. It was a familiar gesture, a normal one. He loved touching you, keeping you close. You loved it just as much, “The cake was just delivered. You went way overboard, as usual.” 

You pretended you weren’t overcome with dread and cupped his cheek, “Shut up. There’s no such thing as overboard. You deserve this, okay? You deserve to be celebrated.” 

Please, please don’t be mad at me for inviting him. For bringing him into our world. Please still love me. I did it for you. I’d do anything for you.

His eyes crinkled as he smiled- in that perfect way you adored so much. He leaned down to kiss you again, this time on your lips. It was gentle and caring and everything you were to each other. It made you want to cry. Art was everything. All you wanted was to give him the same. 

The doorbell rang, breaking you two out of the moment, and your husband pulled away. He tucked a strand of hair behind your ear. 

“Well,” He spoke, looking at you like there was nothing else in the world, “That must be our first guest.” 

You hummed happily, “Guess it’s time to celebrate you, Birthday Boy. Shall we?” 

“We shall.” He teased, doing a mock bow as he offered you his hand. You took it, laughing, and the two of you made your way to the front door. 

You took a deep breath and tried not to focus on the unhappy way your stomach was churning. 

The first hour of the party went by with a pleasant lack of reunions-turned-altercations. Patrick had yet to show his face, and you wondered if he might not come at all. Part of you was relieved at the idea, while the other couldn’t help but be frustrated. 

He said he would come. What if the surprise didn’t end up being a bad thing? How would you know if he never showed? 

God, you needed a cigarette. 

You’d spent the entirety of the party so far glued to Art’s side, being his doting wife as you made conversation with everyone. Your eyes continued to stray to the door, looking for a certain dark-haired man. Every single time, you were disappointed. Disappointed, yes, but not surprised. From what you’d heard, Patrick wasn’t really someone who could be counted on a lot. 

Maybe this whole thing was just a big mistake. And maybe the part of you that truly felt let down at not getting to see him again was something you should never, never look into. 

You patted Art’s chest and stood on your tiptoes to whisper in his ear, “I’m gonna check on the food. I’ll be back.” 

He nodded, smiled, and pressed a kiss to your temple. His arm released its grip on you and he continued his conversation with an old Stanford buddy without missing a beat. He was fucking incredible. At everything. You were crazy about him. 

The food didn’t actually need to be checked on. The caterer was high-quality, and they knew better than to fuck up one of your events for your husband. You had full trust in them- you honestly just needed a breather. This whole night had felt like a cold fist clenched around your heart. 

Instead, you grabbed yourself a large glass of wine and made your way to the patio to enjoy some cool night air. 

The area was blessedly empty, allowing you to slip out of the hostess facade. You were more than happy to do it, especially when celebrating Art, but the circumstances tonight were making it much harder than usual. Which was, of course, entirely your own fault. Way to go, you! Knocked it out of the park tonight, didn’t you? 

You sighed, leaned against the railing, and took a long gulp of your drink. The weather was slightly chilly, and it felt amazing against your heated skin. Already, you were finding it easier to breathe. And think, for that matter. 

“Shouldn’t you be at the party, Mrs. Donaldson?” A familiar, spine-tingling voice spoke, breaking you out of your peaceful moment. 

You whirled around, eyes landing on Patrick fucking Zweig leaning against the wall of your house. A lit cigarette hung from his lips, his hands nonchalantly tucked into the pockets of his dark jeans. They went well with the button-up shirt he wore, a stark contrast from the shorts and hoodie he’d had on when you first met. He looked good- really good. Enough to make a pit grow in your stomach. 

“I thought you weren’t coming.” You blurted out, thankful that the darkness was shrouding your red face. His face was just barely illuminated by the orange glow of the cigarette, and you watched as he looked you up and down, “Also, how’d you get back here? I didn’t see you walk into the house.” 

Patrick kicked off the wall and walked over to you, pulling the cigarette out of his mouth. His curls fell over his forehead, and you found yourself fighting the urge to brush them out of the way- the same way you always did to Art. You swallowed deeply. What the hell was wrong with you? 

“I told you I’d come, didn’t I?” He responded matter-of-factly, blowing a puff of smoke into the air. The smell made you nostalgic. You and Art had made a pact years ago to quit together, but God did you miss it sometimes. You licked your lips and tried (and failed) not to stare, “I snuck in through the back. Thought it’d be less messy that way.” 

You had no idea how he’d been able to get back here, but you decided you weren’t gonna ask. It didn’t matter in the long run, anyway. Besides, he was probably right. You had no idea how Art was gonna react, and it was smart to have it happen in an isolated area. 

“Probably smart.” You muttered, taking another swig of the wine. The feeling of his eyes stayed on you, burning into your skin, but you didn’t meet his gaze. You didn’t want to think too hard on why. 

“He doesn’t know you reached out to me.” It wasn’t a question, but you responded to Patrick’s words regardless. He’d find out eventually. 

“No.” The admittance came out with a heavy breath, like you were releasing the weight that had been on you all night. In a way, you were. You ran a hand over your forehead, “I don’t know what happened between you two, he doesn’t talk about it. But I just- I’m terrified he’ll hate me for bringing you.” 

Why the hell were you pouring your heart out to this stranger? What was it about him that drew you in so much and made you want to bring down your walls? How was this charming man already under your skin from one damn meeting? And how the fuck were you supposed to explain any of this to your husband, his estranged best friend? 

You needed another drink. Or ten. 

“You really love him.” Again, not a question. But you answered. You had to. 

“More than anything else in this world.” 

Patrick offered you his half-smoked cigarette and you took it without thinking. The sting of the smoke in your lungs was like coming home. It was so good it almost made you cry. But lots of things made you want to cry right now. You could taste mint on the cigarette, like he’d been chewing gum before lighting up. The same kind Art always chewed. 

It made something flip in your stomach. 

“Well, from what I can tell, you’re pretty great. Super caring, based on how far you went in an attempt to make him happy. Shit, you tracked me down, which is a feat in itself. And you’re gorgeous, obviously. I’m surmising that you’re basically the whole package.” He spoke calmly, as if every one of those words didn’t make your heart jump into your throat. You chugged your drink to use it as an excuse for your rosy cheeks, “So I don’t think there’s any way he could hate you. Even for inviting me here.” 

You were speechless for five long seconds as he took the cigarette back and inhaled. Then you finally got your brain to stop lagging, “You don’t even know me.” 

“I know enough.” He countered, continuing the pass back and forth of the cigarette, “And I know Art. He wouldn’t marry someone beneath him. The fucker somehow always gets the ones way out of his league.” 

You didn’t comment, but you knew what Patrick was referring to. Tashi Duncan. The now pro-tennis player that he’d had a thing with back in the day. You didn’t know the details, but you knew she was a point of contention between the two men. 

Honestly, you tried not to think about Tashi. She was gorgeous, super talented, and an overall seemingly great person. Art had passed up on that for you, and it got to your head a lot. You wondered if he regretted it. Or at least wondered what his life could’ve been like. 

You didn’t think you were out of his league. In fact, you thought the opposite. Not that you needed to tell Patrick that. Your insecurity and jealousy issues could stay yours alone. 

“Well, I don’t know about that.” You murmured.

The cigarette began to dim as you took the last drag, flicking it off the balcony and down into the grass below. With both the alcohol and nicotine gone, you started to think you probably needed to get back to the party. Your husband would be looking for you, and you didn’t want to keep him waiting. You just had to figure out how Patrick would fit into the equation. 

“If you weren’t taken, I’d be trying to charm the fuck out of you right now.” 

The statement caught you completely off guard. You looked over at him, eyes wide, and tried to keep your cool at the sexy smirk on his face. God, he was so fucking attractive. 

You blinked once, twice, a third time, “What?” 

His smile grew at your flustered state, “I have great taste in women, and I’d flirt with you if I could. So I’m saying you’re definitely a catch. And totally out of Art’s league.” 

You licked your lips. Subconsciously, “I’m pretty sure that was flirting.” 

“Was it?” He didn’t even have the decency to look ashamed, “Oops.” 

You ran your finger over the rim of your wine glass, trying to think of something to say. You came up empty. You were married- to this man’s childhood best friend. To the love of your life. He shouldn’t be flirting with you. And you definitely shouldn’t be enjoying it. 

“There you are! I was starting to worry.” Art’s voice broke the tense silence, and you turned around to watch him making his way to you with a smile. Then he spotted Patrick and his smile dropped as his face filled with recognition, “You- what the hell are you doing here?” 

You opened your mouth to speak, to explain and mediate the situation, but the dark-haired man beat you to it. 

“Your pretty little wife invited me.” He said, which was probably the worst thing he probably could’ve chosen. You internally buried your face in your hands. 

Art’s jaw clenched and his eyes lit up. It took you a moment to realize that the expression was anger. Honestly, it took you by surprise. It was extremely rare to see him angry, and never was it directed at you. And though he was looking at Patrick, you were terrified that in this instance it was. 

“Let me explain.” You immediately choked out, clutching your empty wine glass like a lifeline, “I really just thought that-” 

“She thought you missed me and wanted us to reconnect. As a birthday surprise. Isn’t that sweet?” Patrick butted in, throwing an arm over your shoulders. Art looked ready to murder someone (probably the tennis player holding you), “I doubt it was easy contacting me, but she managed. All for you.” 

You laughed nervously, ducking your head, “Well, that’s not-” 

“Let go of her.” Art demanded. His voice was cold and dangerous. Possessive. It made something twitch in your core. Oh, you liked that. 

The brunette didn’t hesitate to do as he was told, holding his hands up in surrender, “My bad, man. I just feel like we’re already such close friends from hanging out together. Don’t you think so?” 

The last part was directed at you, and Patrick nudged you. You gave him an incredulous look. 

The charming, sweet man you’d just been talking to was gone. He was replaced by a cocky, near-disrespectful antagonist who was trying to egg your husband into some kind of altercation. And he was using you as the bait. 

You couldn’t lie that you were frustrated, but it did feel a bit nice to be in an almost tug-of-war between the two men. You liked being an object of affection or desire. 

“You should head inside, baby.” Art spoke to you, though his furious gaze never left Patrick, “Our guests will wonder where the hosts went. I’m gonna talk to Patrick for a minute.” 

You’d be damned if you told him no. Even though this situation felt like a mess that was definitely all your fault. Damn you for inviting Patrick. Damn him for being so captivating. And damn Art for loving you so much that the sight of another man touching you made him see red. This entire thing was like a whirlwind. 

“Okay…” You whispered, moving towards your husband and the house. You gave Patrick a small smile, hoping to convey your thoughts to him. Please don’t hurt him- he’s my world. Then you stopped at Art’s side and placed a hand on his bicep, “I’m sorry if this was a bad idea. I just wanted to make your birthday special, is all. I didn’t mean to fuck it up.” 

He finally looked at you, just long enough to give you a loving smile and a shake of his head, “You didn’t ruin anything. I’m so proud of you for doing all this for me. Don’t worry.” 

Then he kissed you, only to stop and pull away, “Is that- were you smoking with Patrick?” 

You sucked on your teeth and nodded, “Yes, a little. I’m sorry. I just-” 

But then he was kissing you again, hard and needy. Like he wanted to fuck you right then and there. Your face burned bright red, and you could feel Patrick’s eyes on the two of you. Art had never acted like this in all the time you knew him. But right now, within thirty seconds of being around his old friend, he was putting on a show to prove that you were his. 

You belonged to him. And he wanted Patrick to know it. 

You really, really fucking liked this. 

When he pulled away, you felt dizzy. From both the kiss and the wine you’d downed. You barely had time to take a breath before he was lightly patting your cheek and sending you inside. You managed to take a look at the two men before rejoining the party. They just stared at each other, like they were in a standoff. 

It was unbelievably hot. 

As you went back to your guests, lips still tingling, only one thought was coming to you. 

You wondered how long you could keep Patrick around, just to see what it would do to your precious husband. 

[am-i-the-asshole-official]

( 🟦 🎞️ 🟦 )

AITA for telling my coworker that he’s stupid for liking an objectively TERRIBLE film?

I (27M) and my coworker (25M) usually have “movie nights” on our days off. We find time to sit down and watch a movie together. He’s usually agreeable on what movie I want to watch, but sometimes I do let him choose the movie, as long as I don’t find it too unbearable. (His taste in cinema is below average.)

Earlier today, he reminded me that neither of us were scheduled on Friday or Saturday, and he asked me if I wanted to do a movie night. I agreed, and asked him if he wanted to watch anything in particular. (This is more of a pleasantry. He usually never suggests anything specific when I ask this.)

Surprisingly, he said that he did have a movie in mind! Unfortunately, the movie he had in mind was the 2009 movie, Avatar. The one with the blue people.

After he said this to me, I laughed at him, because no one actually LIKES that movie. The best anyone can say is that it’s visually appealing! The plot is drawn out, bland, and not worth nearly three hours of my time. I asked him if he was serious about wanting to watch it, because I never took him for the type to enjoy something so dull.

He frowned at me and said that he'd watched it a few times with his ex-girlfriend when they were still dating, and that he’d really liked it… and not just for the visual aspect? He said that he wanted to watch it with me too. He continued to justify it by bringing up the fact that I like other sci-fi movies and shows, and that he didn’t see how this was any different from those.

I told him that it was different because there was no reason for a movie to go for so LONG and to give so LITTLE, and he started whining about the first Lord of the Rings movie (which we’d watched a few months ago) and how it was longer than Avatar.

I told him that there was a HUGE difference: LotR is actually good! This only seemed to upset him more. He scoffed at me, saying that I couldn’t see a good movie if it was right in front of me. He said this jokingly, but I could tell he was upset. I glared at him, but didn’t say anything.

After a few seconds of tense silence, he asked AGAIN if we could watch it on Friday, because I’m the one who always picks the movies, and that it was unfair that he never got to pick any. I told him no, because Avatar is an awful film, and that he was really stupid for liking it.

I don’t think I’m wrong for telling him that Avatar sucks, considering it’s common knowledge, but calling him stupid might’ve crossed the line for him. I’m pretty sure that this comment is what made him mad, because it sparked a bigger argument, which eventually led to him sleeping on the couch for the night. I’ve called him stupid in other situations before, so I’m not sure why he’s making such a big deal about it now.

I don’t think I’m the asshole… If I am, I’m definitely justified. The only reason I’m asking is because a close friend of mine (28X) said that I was too harsh about it, so now I'm second-guessing myself. AITA for telling my coworker that he’s stupid for liking an objectively TERRIBLE film?