#and he just did that bc that's how he was behaving casually

[falsenote]

in the context of other poliziotteschi flicks thinking back on la polizia ringrazia just makes my head spin like there you have the "good" policeman realizes the system is corrupt archetype and all the other routine components to it but this movie just takes that and gives depth to them and makes every character's motivations very ambigous and layered. it really feels like reading an essay, you have to really pay attention to understand what is being said which is something i used to not like that much but i've been enjoying lately so it was a hit for me like so much that i was very taken aback by all this. it's just hysterical to me that this very genre movie could have this complexity like pack it up francesco rosi.......

[icallhimjoey]

Almost, Always

♥ ♥          Joseph Quinn x Fem!Reader 

Summary: Happy endings aren't for everyone, so it seems, but that doesn't mean that you can't stop trying for one. Question is, are you actually star-crossed lovers that can figure something out, or just absolutely blind to reality and really fucking stupid?

CW / disclaimer: rpf, fem!reader, language, adult themes, smut, cheating

Author’s note: part four! are we learning from our previous mistakes? TAKE A WILD GUESS! after this, have one more chapter to go, and i know ive been consistently posting every week, but im afraid that the last part is going to take me a whole extra week to finish (bc ill be out of the country for a sec) so, my apologies! but i hope this long chapter makes up for the extra wait! <3

Wordcount: 6.5K

part one - part two - part three - part four - part five

“I didn’t say he doesn’t… I just said, he has never actually said it.”

Emily’s jaw dropped, and you immediately regretted saying what you just said.

“No, stop. He has said it. Forget I said anything. It’s fine.”

You knew exactly what she was going to say.

She’d alluded to it from the start. Rolled her eyes at him. Made faces of outrageous confusion that told you, how can someone behave like that, without having to say the words aloud. Without making you hear them.

“I’m just saying…” Emily started, and showed you a facial expression that made you feel stupid for even bringing it up.

“It’d be better for you to leave him.”

You laughed, like she made a joke, yet so aware that she absolutely wasn’t.

But listen, if you didn’t laugh, you’d cry, because you knew, you knew somewhere in the back of your mind that it probably was better for you to leave him.

Not a truth you wanted to face though.

There were still too many easy excuses for you to make.

So... you made them.

But Emily’s face remained quite serious.

“Emily. You don’t mean that.” You said on the back-end of a giggle.

“Are you joking? My God, it’d be so much better if you left him. Better for you, better for, well, me. Can’t even tell you he loves you? What is he on?!”

You shushed her, and looked over your shoulder in the general direction of your bathroom and listened for a few seconds. The shower was still going. He couldn’t have heard her.

Good.

Not that Emily’s general opinion was a huge secret. But still. It was nice if the peace could be kept for the night.

“He does tell me that.” you argued, much softer. “Just...”

“Just does it when he’s about to hang up the phone? Just a quick, casual, love ya, when he’s saying goodbye?”

“Well, he–”

“Or does he only say it when he’s about to come?”

“Emily.”

“Oh, God. You’re so beyond help, I don’t even know what to tell you anymore.”

For a moment, you avoided eye-contact. Pressed your lips together and looked around the room whilst your friend tried her best to get it into your head that Joe really just wasn’t it.

“You know you’re in second place.” Emily said, suddenly much more earnestly. “You don’t deserve to be in second place.”

Which was a nice sentiment. A thing a best friend was meant to tell you. A bit like a parent calling their baby a genius because they accidentally made a bit of babbling sound like a real string of words.

“Well,” you said, taking a deep breath in and giving Emily your best smile. “So is he, so I guess we’re even.”

He wasn’t.

These were two different leagues.

But suggesting that Emily was in first place with you was the quickest way to make her feel appreciated even though her advice went untaken.

It always did.

Emily was a good friend and always gave excellent advice. And you were a good friend because you always listened to what she had to say. Or, you thought you did. Would tell yourself you did.

But then you simply wouldn’t follow any of it.

You hadn’t taken her advice when she’d told you to stop fucking around in a fourteen month situationship.

“I like how this just… works, don’t you?” Joe had said one evening when you were wrapped up on his sofa together. You’d made a comment that someone had flirted with you and had asked if you were single. You hadn’t known what to tell them.

Joe had just shrugged then.

“Let’s not push for something if it doesn’t need it. Something not broken doesn’t need a fix, does it?”

And you’d disagreed then. Had hoped that he’d grow a little protective and would’ve gone, um what do you mean of course you’re not single. For a while you also hadn’t wanted to define anything, because fuck commitment, right? But it had been over a year and Emily said that you should ask him to just fucking label it already.

You hadn’t.

You also hadn’t taken Emily’s advice when she’d told you that she thought this guy wasn’t going to make you happy.

Hadn’t taken Emily’s advice when she’d told you that she thought this guy was ultimately just there for a bit of fun, but not really much else.

Hadn’t taken Emily’s advice when she’d told you to just leave him already when you told her he had never sincerely told you that he loves you.

“I know you’re smart enough to know that it’s absolutely wild that he’s not said–”  

“It’s because you just hear all the bad things, I’m sorry. I should also tell you about the good shit.”

“Oh, yea? Like what?” Emily challenged, and in the silence that followed, you heard the shower turn off.

“Like... look! Look what he got me!” you said, picking up a bag from a dining table chair.

Your friend looked at it for a moment, blank faced, and then narrowed her eyes in suspicion.

“Got you? Like, he went out and bought that for you? Or, was that sent to him by the brand, and he just passed it on?”

You looked at the bag you were still holding, then gave a small shrug. “I don’t know. He still gave it to me.”

It was a nice bag.

“Not exactly the same is it.”

No, it wasn’t. But... you know. You could pretend it was.

“Still counts.”

“Okay. If you think so.”

You didn’t think so, not after what Emily had just said, but you were willing to accept it for the nice gesture, and that was all you cared about. Or, what you told yourself was all you cared about.

“I think so.” You definitively told Emily, breaking into a smile to really sell it.

Just when she was about to roll her eyes at you and maybe try her hand at talking a little more sense into you, Joe called you from the bathroom.

You left Emily on her own for about a minute before joining her again.

“Okay. Let’s go. He’s not coming.” You grabbed your coat and found your bag. The one Joe had given to you, but hadn’t spent a penny on.

“He’s– what?”

“He thought of something that still needs doing. He’s not coming.”

Emily stared at you from where she was sat, watching you hurriedly wrestle your arms into the sleeves of your coat as she slowly caught up to speed.

“So, I’m sorry, but have we just waited for him for ages for fucking nothing then?”

You ignored her tone, finding your phone, your keys, and then Emily’s coat as well.

“Let’s go. If we hurry, we might beat the rain.”

You chucked Emily her coat, and she almost didn’t move her arms in time to catch it. With the front door already open, you gestured for Emily to make her way through, calling, “Bye! We’re off!” into the flat.

Emily, under her breath, very mockingly sing-songed, “Love you!” in that same tone as she walked past you, making her point once more.

You didn’t repeat her, but instead rolled your eyes at what you decided was a joke, and then loudly said, “Don’t wait up!”

You didn’t wait for Joe to answer before you slammed the door shut.

It’s been weeks.

Months, technically, although it doesn’t feel it.

“Please be home, please be home, please be home,” you mutter to yourself as you rush your way down his street. “Please be in the fucking country, for just this fucking once…”

You’d texted and had gotten no coloured ticks from him. So then you’d called, but it just rang for ages before you were eventually sent to voicemail, and that’s something you don’t do. Especially not now. Not about this. Hell would have to freeze over before you’d leave a voicemail message. You could delete a text thread, or a voice note. But, a voicemail? Once a voicemail sends out, there is no undoing that.

Maybe you’re crazy, but what you’re doing now feels safer.

It’s after midnight, dark, the streets wet from earlier rainfall, but you feel wide awake. You’ve got Emily’s words ringing in your ears still, and you’ve not been able to shake them yet.

Her advice.

Or, well, it was more just her opinion. She had expertly dressed it up as a fact, though, which is probably why that one sentence still held you in a vice grip.  

Telling her about how you’d had a few… moments, with Joe, since you’d broken up with him, turns out, was the wrong thing to do.

You just really wanted to tell her about the wine.

The expensive bottle you’d satisfyingly dunked into his kitchen sink.

It’s been weeks by now, but you still think about that all the time. And every time that you do, you feel pure glee spark inside of you.

You thought she’d be the same.

You thought she’d absolutely love it.

But then, after you had told her all about that night, she’d just looked at you with so much disdain and disappointment, it startled you into rambling excuses, none of which sounded true to your own ears, let alone hers. She then had shook her head, and sort of muttered something to herself that you asked her to repeat.

It’s those words that haven’t left the forefront of your mind since.

You didn’t ask Emily to clarify herself. You hadn’t gotten into an argument, either. You had just… moved onto a different topic. A lighter, easier to digest thing to talk about.

It left those words to rein freely, left those words at liberty to inflate themselves until they were all you could think about, and the feeling had clawed at your chest for the rest of the day. The rest of the night.

You hadn’t been able to answer the question, what’s wrong, that you were repeatedly asked until it made you upset.

“Nothing’s wrong! Stop asking me what’s wrong! God! You asking me what’s wrong a million times a minute is what’s wrong!”

Something is wrong though.

Obviously.

You just left someone in your bed for this.

Ringing Joe’s doorbell is a quick action, fingers pressing that familiar button before you can have any doubt of what you’re doing. It takes longer than a few seconds before you hear a small beep.

“Joe? I texted you, can you reply to my text?”

A silence follows, and for a moment you think maybe the intercom doesn’t work properly, or maybe he just hadn’t heard you.

“I– I sent you a message, check your phone–”

A loud click of the door unlocking and a loud shrill buzzing sound interrupts you.

“No you don’t have to– just text me back, will you?”

No answer follows, but the loud buzzing persists. After a few more seconds of it, you know Joe’s just holding down the button until you go inside.

That wasn’t the plan. 

With a frustrated grumbling sigh, swearing under your breath, you push yourself into Joe’s building and make your way to his front door.

In the lift you decide you won’t let the doors close properly when they’ll open on Joe’s floor. You’ll tell him from half inside the lift that he just needs to check his phone.

You just want an answer.

But then the lift doors open and one foot steps out as you lean into the hallway, expecting to see Joe waiting by his front door, yet he isn’t.

You make an angry face, nose pulling up and showing your clenched teeth with a frown. You’re in a building where people are asleep so you can’t make any noise, but you absolutely would have otherwise. Joe leaves you no other choice but to get out of the lift, and begrudgingly, you make your way over to his doormat.

When you get closer, you can see how the door’s been left open.

“Hey,” you whisper-yell into the flat, “Joe?”

You get no answer, and take a few careful steps inside to find him standing in his kitchen in a T-shirt and a pair of boxer-briefs. He’s got his back turned to you, and is seemingly busy cleaning up mess he’s left out from dinner.

It’s the fucking middle of the night.

It’s dark in Joe’s flat, the only light in the room coming from his under cabinet LEDs, and it’s weirdly warm for the time of night, you think.

“Hey, I–” you start, voice low because it’s late, but you quickly get cut off by Joe.

“Did you close the door?”

You blink a few times and watch Joe very carefully load some things into his dishwasher, making little to no noise at all. No plates softly clashing, no rattling cutlery.

“What? No. I–”

“Will you close the door, please?” Joe asks, but it sounds like a demand. Sort of cold, a little detached.

“All I’m here to say,” you try again. “Is that I want you to check your phone...”

Joe stands up straight and finally looks at you. Whilst maintaining eye-contact he slowly closes the dishwasher until it latches, machine clicking shut, and when he then just... keeps staring at you, you throw your head back like an annoyed teenager, and reluctantly do as you’re told.

You go to close his front door.

In the kitchen you hear the tap go, and when you join Joe there again, you can see how he’s filling up a glass with water.

Joe is about to take a sip when he suddenly decides against it and lowers the glass.

“Water?” he then asks, and holds it out to you with a stretched arm.

You’re slightly confused, but you take it, and then watch Joe reach for another glass from a cabinet and fill that one for himself.

“Thanks, but…” you place the glass on his counter and hold two hands up to Joe. “I’m just here because I need an answer to a text.”

Joe, with his mouth in his own glass, sort of looks at you a moment as he gulps water down.

He looks tired.

Which, yea, that checks out.

You fucking woke him up, didn’t you?

There’s so many reasons to declare yourself clinically insane right now, but you’re holding onto the notion that this is actually all totally normal with all of your might. If you pretend to believe it, you might just be able to trick Joe into it as well.

But Joe just looks at you like he’s waiting for you to give the real reason of why you’re there.

“So, if you could just, check that. Answer it. That’d be great.” You force a polite smile and step back. “That’ll be all.” And you turn to leave again.

“You’ve been crying.” Joe stops you in your tracks.

You turn back to him.

“No. Well, yea I was, but that’s not– I’m fine, that was about something else, not this. You don’t have to– stop, I’m going to go, please... respond to my message. I’ll read it when I get in, and that’ll be that.”

“Wait.”

Joe picks up the glass of water you’ve just put down and gives it back to you. When it’s in your hands, he even gives it a little push upward to ensure that you have a sip.

“I’ll go get my phone.”

And he’s so calm and agreeable that it feels rude to do anything else but take a sip and wait for him. You watch Joe walk out of the room to go get his phone, and it’s a lot of opening and closing doors, everything done as quietly as humanly possible. Then, you suddenly notice how hot you feel in your coat. It’s really fucking warm in here.

That’s new.

That’s... weird.

When Joe comes back, he closes the door behind him again and looks at his phone as he unlocks it.

“Why did you call me?”

“Just–”

“I’ll read the text.”

In silence, you stand and watch Joe open his texts and read your message. Messages. There’s several. Then, he starts typing back, and, this is what you came here for, but now that you’re standing in Joe’s kitchen in the middle of the night, having pulled him out of bed for this, you almost want to tell him he’s being an idiot. He can just as easily answer your question in person.

His message sends, and your phone buzzes in your pocket.

Joe places his down and gives you a tired stare.

“Yea, okay. Th-thanks.”

“Read it.”

It startles you.

“No, that’s…” You’re so stupid. “I’m sorry. I’ll leave. I shouldn’t have come.”

“Read your message.”

You feel like a fucking child that’s being scolded by a parent.

Guilt.

Regret.

Self-inflicted, which makes all of it so much worse.

Every feeling sits dark and sticky and bitterly uncomfortable in your gut, clinging to all the edges, stretching longer until the shadows overtake all of the previous excuses you had for being here.

You shouldn’t have come.

You shouldn’t have gone to wake up Joe over something so insignificant and, well, dumb. It’s embarrassing, and you want to leave.

“You’re here now. I’m up. Read your message.”

You inhale deeply. Hold it there for a moment.

He’s right.

The damage has been done.

You’ve dipped a toe into this strange pond, and now you might as well canon ball yourself right into this uncomfortable mess, no matter how cold the water might be.

The only way out seems through.

You pull your phone from your pocket with a clammy hand, and fucking damn it, you’re sweating underneath all of your layers.

“I didn’t mean to… I shouldn’t have woken you up.”

Joe just lets his eyes drop to your phone before he looks right at you again, his very stance issuing the orders.

Read the fucking text.

You see the notification and open your phone with face ID. Your own messages to Joe catch your attention first, before you see his reply.

“Were we as good as we’re going to get?”

“What we were together”

“Was that really as good as it can get?”

“Ever?”

You didn’t have to send the same question in various different ways, but that’s what had happened.

Emily’s reaction to the stand alone get-togethers you’d participated in with Joe hadn’t been what you’d expected. You’d hoped for a level of girl power encouragement. For a loud get it girl, or a, yea babe get what you want.

Instead, you’d gotten a sigh and shake of her head, followed by a soberly mumbled, “You really do deserve each other…” that you’d asked her to repeat.

Before she’d always said that Joe didn’t deserve you. That was always the point she tried to get across. The idea she tried to sear into your brain. Joe was beneath you, and you were far above. Always.

And then suddenly, now you are no longer too good for him?

Suddenly you’re on equal footing, and you deserve each other.

What the fuck.

You look at your own messages and realise in that very second that you have no idea what kind of answer you are after from Joe. This isn’t a coin toss situation where you know what side you want that coin to land on the moment it get’s thrown into the air. Fear strikes you lightning fast. No matter what Joe is going to tell you, it’s going to be wrong.

What the fuck are you doing at Joe’s flat?

And why is it so fucking hot in here?

The only way out is through.

You read Joe’s text.

“Darling it’s late, let’s not do this over text”

A non-answer.

You look up at Joe, who is now leaning against his kitchen counter, legs crossed at the ankles, arms crossed over his chest. His head tilts to the side a little and neither of you speak.

It’s oddly unexpected that the guy in his underwear exudes more confidence than the girl bundled up in heavy layers of clothing.

You frown and read the message again.

For a second you debate what to do next. What to say. If this is going to be the end of this interaction, or if it’s going to be just the beginning.

It’s late, though.

You inhale deeply. Slowly.

Then, resign.

“Okay.”

Because honestly, what were you really even expecting from him?

Your soft little defeated okay isn’t what Joe expected though, you can see it in the minor change on his face. The eyebrows that quirk up slightly, his jaw that loosens, the eyes that round out...

“I’ll um...” you say softly, letting your phone sink back into a pocket before pulling at your sleeves to let them cover both hands.

Joe steps forward and bends to look at the clock on the oven behind him before he says, “Well. Since you’re here. Might as well.”

He gestures an arm at his dining table. At one of his chairs. It’s hard, but you do your best to ignore the memories of the last time you were there, sat in one of these chairs. Well, technically, you hadn’t sat in one of the chairs... Joe had sat on one of the chairs and you–

“Am I going to get an explanation of what’s going on?” Joe asks as he pulls out a chair for you.

Finally, you remove your coat.

“It’s a long story.” You say, then think for a moment and add, “No it’s not, actually. Emily said–”

“Ah. Emily.” Joe sits down in a chair opposite. “How is Emily doing?”

“Shut up. She’s fine.” You exclaim, voice a little raised in defense, and you’re immediately shushed by Joe. He holds up a hand as he perks up, and you get the message, lowering your tone as you add, “This isn’t about her.”

“It’s not?”

“No. She just said something. I…” you trail off for a second.

Your head’s a scrambled mess of doubt and insecurities and it doesn’t help that all you’ve done in the past few hours is overthink every single thought that’s popped into your brain. It’s a bit of a journey to retrace your steps and go back to the start of all of this.

“We were talking, and suddenly she... she said something and I’m just… I wanted to know if you think that… if you think what I texted you is true.”

“You just… wanted to know… if I think…” Joe narrows his eyes up at the ceiling as he thinks, slowly repeating your words.

It’s condescending.

Patronising.

Joe’s making fun of you.

“All right, be fucking honest or–”

“No, no. I’m sorry. Sorry. It’s nearly two in the fucking morning,” two already big eyes comically enlargen, but don’t make you laugh. Wrong audience. “But, yea, you’re right. Honest. I’ll be honest.”

You take a deep breath in preparation of what he’s about to say.

Were we as good as we’re going to get?

“Imposing question, though.”

Yea, you’re aware. It’s why you hadn’t been able to sleep and had eventually decided to just get up and out of bed, leave the boy you had in there on his own, and make your way over to Joe’s.

“I don’t know.”

Wild how you feel about five inches tall whilst simultaneously feeling like you’re taking up too much space in the room.

“You don’t know.”

Typical.

“Well. No, I… was it as good, wait, what was it?” Joe looks past you and sees that he’s left his phone on the counter. “Was it as good as it could be?”

You exhale through flared nostrils, frustration forcing your eyes shut for a moment.

“Were we as good as it’s ever going to get for us?”

“Were we as good as it’s ever going to get... I mean, I think so? I– But–... you tell me. Were we?”

And Joe’s right. It is late. You have spent hours thinking that question over, and you couldn’t answer it when you weren’t as tired as you are now, so it’s useless to even try at this hour.

You shrug, and for a moment, it’s quiet. You don’t know how to go about leaving now. You came here for something you aren’t going to get and so, fucking now what?

“Why um... why have you been crying?”

“Oh, I...” your fingers find your sleeve to rub. “I was asked why I couldn’t sleep, and I... well, I couldn’t really explain, so...”

Joe frowns in confusion, not understanding.

“I don’t know, you try listening to someone say shit like, if you don’t tell me what’s wrong I can’t help you, fifty times in a row, and try not to fucking snap.”

They’d been tears of angry frustration, mostly with yourself, and they’d actually surprised you. You hadn’t expected to cry, but, you felt hurt by words your best friend said to you, so you guess that does add up, actually.

Something slowly dawns on Joe before he then leans back in his chair and nods, scrunching his nose, and he whispers, “Jasper.”

“Jasper.” you confirm, and it makes you chuckle a little before a yawn breaks it up.

Joe watches you. Lets his eyes take you in. It’s the middle of the night and you’re very clearly going through something, but he hasn’t got the answers to the questions you’re asking him, and he hates it.

Wishes he could help.

Wishes the questions you wanted answers to weren’t so impossible.

Joe watches you yawn. Watches your eyes blink slowly as you stare into space for a moment. It’s so quiet, he can hear his clock tick on the other side of the room. Then suddenly, you smile.

“I told Emily about the wine... about how I was a complete bitch and poured that bottle right down your drain.”

And Joe can’t help but feel more amused at your smile than feel annoyed about his expensive wine being wasted. He won’t let his face show it though.

“Bet she enjoyed that.”

“Yea I thought she would, but... she just... she said that we deserve each other. Whatever that means.”

Joe watches your fingers rub along your sleeves. Knows what that means.

“That’s not true.” he suddenly says, voice low and sincere.

“Oh, right,” you huff a laugh and half-heartedly joke, “I don’t deserve you, of course.”

Joe doesn’t laugh.

“No, I mean... well, yes. Technically.” Before he continues, Joe shakes his head in an attempt get his thoughts in order. It’s late. “But not in the way you just said it. In that... you probably deserve better.”

“Probably?”

“Yea. And so do I. Probably.”

Hmm.

You silently mill that over for a second. Aren’t sure what to make of it. If there’s even anything to agree or disagree with there.

“But, who’s to say. All we know is that we weren’t the best before.”

Joe stresses that last word and then lets the words float in the air for you to draw your own conclusions from. It’s certainly true that you weren’t the best together - hence the break up that eventually happened. But Joe’s expertly sharing the blame, which is not a fun truth to face.

The before saves it, a little.

The before makes it sounds like Joe’s talking about two people who no longer exist. Like, those people are gone. That door is closed. And look at you now. You’re a whole new set of two different people. It’s a different world, and you’ve changed. Grown. Learnt.

Who knows what you’d be like now.

Joe can’t predict the future.

And neither can you.

“Hmm.” you hum, eyes trained on the surface of the table, body flushed with conflicting feelings you don’t know how to put into words. Instead of stumbling through words until you find ones that make sense, you remain silent and pull at your sleeves so there’s more fabric for your fingers to run across.

“Hey,” Joe leans forward a little and catches your attention. “Are you okay? Do I need to be worried about you?”

You smile and let it take over your whole face as you shake your head no before you bring your hand up to cover another yawn.

“No. But I should go. This was never meant to be– she just… I don’t know, Emily got into my head and I didn’t know how to get her out.”

Joe contemplates in silence. Wonders if he’s okay with the idea of you walking out and going home right now, in this state. It’s almost three o’clock.

“I don’t make the best decisions after midnight. Sorry.”

You push your chair back and get up on your feet, the plan being to give Joe a quick polite hug goodbye before you make your way back to his front door.

You’re tired, but you know the second you step outside into the cold air that will make your lungs feel sore, you’ll wake up enough to make your way home without any problems.

But then Joe decides you can’t just go.

You can’t just leave.

He’s stuck.

You’re stuck.

You’re stuck in it, together, in this muddy sludge of whatever the two of you have become now. One of you is going to have to step out of their shoes and escape, and Joe thinks it should be you, because you’ve escaped this quicksand of a relationship before. You know how to get out.

It’s weird that you willingly came back.

Keep coming back.

And it’s awful that Joe just keeps inviting you in. Welcomes you with open arms every single time.

But he wants you to stay. It doesn’t have to be like before. Things can be different. Better.

He decides he’s not just going to let you leave, so when he stands up and you go in for a hug, he takes hold of you by your upper arms and starts moving you towards his sofa.

Says, “Come sit for a second.”

And no resistance comes from you. Joe thinks it must be because you’re tired. You’ve cried and you’ve worried and you’ve let all of it eat away at you until you decided to reach out to him, and now, he wants you to stay. He’s not a fan of how, from a certain angle, it looks like he’s taking advantage of the situation, but... you’re both adults.

He’s not doing anything illegal.

Well.

There’s a girl in his bed.

It’s why the flat is warm and why all the doors are closed. Joe shouldn’t have let you inside. Shouldn’t have made you come in and shouldn’t have made you close the door behind you. Shouldn’t have given you a glass of water and shouldn’t have sat you down.

He doesn’t want you to leave now.

There’s a girl in his bed.

And you’ve got a Jasper in yours.

Joe’s closeness to you will come at a price, he’s aware. But it’s one he’s willing to pay. One he’s got the cash for, no problem. Name the sum and he’ll double it.

He’s got you by the arms and is walking you over to his sofa. You are stopped just before you’re about to step onto the area rug.

“Shoes off,” he says, like he gives a shit. You know he doesn’t, but listen to him anyway, and know that taking your shoes off means you’re not going anywhere. At least not for a while.

You get turned around and get sat down, and immediately, you feel far too comfortable. The seat’s too soft. The cushion’s too fluffy. Memories of the hours spent snuggled up on this sofa shoot into the forefront of your mind and you want to warn Joe that it’s not going to take much for you to fall asleep.

But before you can, he pulls a throw blanket from the other side and hands it to you, and you realise that getting comfy and cosy is actually the goal here.

There’s a guy in your bed, who you’ve just… left. Didn’t tell him anything. Just got out, got dressed and left.

You take the blanket from Joe.

It’s probably a good idea to at least let him know something. Send him a text. Let him know you’re okay. But that little voice of reason in your head gets drowned out when Joe sits down next to you and helps sort out the blanket so it covers you both.

“Sit for a second?” you ask through a soft half-suppressed laugh as Joe settles in beside you, your thighs touch underneath the throw. “Am I staying the night?”

“I don’t know, I don’t control what you do. I just want to sit for a second.”

Joe stretches an arm behind you that you think he’s going to rest on top of the sofa, but it moves your head forward a little as it grabs hold of your bicep to pull you in a bit more.

“Joe...” you warn, but it sounds lighthearted and sleepy.

“What?” Joe acts all innocent, but you can hear his amusement when he adds, “Just for a second.”

Joe is still shuffling in his spot, using his other hand to sort the cushion behind him, then pulling the blanket and tucking it under his leg, followed by him using his chin to fix the bit of flipped cotton of his T-shirt sleeve – it’s a lot of faffing for someone who wants to sit for just a second.

He’s nearly done, a centering sigh half way out of him when, suddenly, you feel how he pipes up a little and see how he looks across the room. His phone’s still on the counter, and for a second, Joe debates getting up to go and get it.

You determine on his behalf that he doesn’t need his phone by draping your arm across his stomach and snuggling up.

It’s warm in Joe’s flat.

And this little nest is perfect.

“Fine.” you mutter softly. “Jus’ for a second.”

Joe pauses for a moment as he looks down at how you let your nose brush his arm, your eyes already closed, and he grins as he sinks back down into his sofa.

You don’t make the best decisions after midnight.

Neither does Joe.

Maybe you do deserve each other. Maybe you don’t.

But you deserve this, you think. And you mean that in the best way possible. You deserve to be comfortable, and cosy, and toasty warm in a dimly lit room with a man who smells really nice.

You deserve to cuddle up next to someone who truly values your presence and genuinely just wants you to be there with them for a little while.

You deserve the soft tickling fingertips that delicately dance across your hairline, lingering there for far longer than ‘just a second’.

You deserve the barely whispered, super soft “Love you.” spoken so tenderly and punctuated with a gentle kiss pressed to the top of your head, it makes you tighten your arms around him.

You fall asleep in the soft glow of the under cabinet LEDs with the knowledge that the next morning is bound to be awkward. But this is still infinitely nicer than trying to fall asleep with Emily’s words on your mind. It’s difficult to think about impossible-to-answer questions when you’re wrapped up in strong warm arms that want you there, so you allow yourself to sink and to drift until dreams fully take you.  

A loud bang of a door slamming shut wakes the both of you with a violent jolt.

Two pairs of tired bleary eyes look around the room, and there’s a fleeting moment of confusion. Your mind scrambles to piece together where you are and what just happened, but all your mind can focus on is how dry and heavy your eyes feel as you blink to adjust to your surroundings.

“Oh, fuck,” Joe croaks, groaning as he goes to sit up. He looks over his shoulder, then rubs a heavy hand across his face before he goes, “Yea…”

You feel disoriented and frazzled, and move to sit up just enough to look over the back of the sofa with squinty eyes to see what Joe is even looking at.

All you see is an open door to the hallway that leads to his bedroom.

“What was that?” you ask, thinking maybe something dropped or knocked over somehow. When Joe gets up and walks over to his bedroom to check, you think that’s it. Something fell because gravity finally got a hold of whatever Joe had been precariously balancing on a bookshelf.

But then you hear Joe audibly sigh and dejectedly go, “Yea, she won’t be coming back.”

That takes minute to land.

It’s too early for your brain to comprehend what just happened, but slowly, puzzle pieces click together.

Oh.

Oh, that’s fucking detestable, isn’t it?

When Joe walks back out, he’s wearing joggers and is holding a ball of socks, and you hope there’s a different explanation than the correct one you just concocted. He looks at you for a moment, and you can tell by the look on his face that he feels awful.

Right.

Emily can fuck off.

You don’t deserve each other.

You deserve better than this.

Okay, so, yea, admittedly, you aren’t really one to talk, seeing the personal choices you have made over the past eight hours. But the choices Joe has made in that same span of time are just as bad, if not worse.

You decide to give into the feeling of wanting to lay back down rather than to face whatever this morning has on offer for you. You disappear from Joe’s sight, and cover all of your face with your hands that press and pull at your skin.

This is such a mess.

“Emily can fuck off.” You mutter into your own palms, hoping Joe can translate that and connect the dots of your disdain for him in this very moment.

You should leave.

Should check your phone for any messages or missed calls, and you should leave.

Never come back.

Learn your fucking lesson already and never set foot into this flat ever again.

But then Joe leans over the back of the sofa, and with knitted eyebrows that show off every single line on his forehead, he softly asks, “Do you want a coffee?”

You drop your hands.

Look up at him. The kind face. His short hair sleep messy. Jaw line. His mouth.

You should leave.

“Um…”

Oh... oh no.

“Yea…”

Fuck.

So close.

“Yea?”

You almost had it.

“Yea. I could use a coffee.”

Almost.

---

The Taglisted

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@emotionaldreamer, @everythinghasafacee, @ferfan14, @figmentofquinn, @ghost-proofbaby

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@tlclick73, @werepartnersnow, @witchwolflea, @xxladymjxx, @yunirgo

add yourself

[withahappyrefrain]

Summary: After teasing and disobeying Bob, you get your well deserved punishment.

Warning: Choking (yes this is the bicep choking fic), dash of size kink, lots of sex, oral (both receiving), language, mean dom Bob bc I'm a whore

"Darlin'. Behave." His voice is low, gravely in your ear. His fingers gently squeeze the flesh on your hip. To others, it looks nothing out of the ordinary. Just Bob, whispering sweet nothings to his partner.

If only they knew.

You let out a confused hum, tilting your head up to face his. The smile on your face is innocent, unassuming. The same smile that Jake swears was the key to him figuring out that you were married to Bob, stating that y'all looked like 'you just stepped out of a movie musical from the fifties'.

You didn't wear long dresses and skirts because you felt a kinship to a particular decade.

Rather, the extra fabric made it easier to cover yourself while Bob fucked you in his truck. 

Which is exactly what you wanted to be doing right now instead of watching Jake and Bradley argue over a round of pool.

Usually wrapping his arms around your waist and pressing your back into his chest did the trick. Apparently watching two grown men argue was too distracting.

So you began to move your hips, subtly grinding your ass against his crotch. Bob simply squeezed the flesh of your hips, sending a subtle reminder back.

That just wouldn't do.

God, you had been aching for him all day. And yes, it was a bit greedy to still want him after he gave up arriving on time tonight in order to eat you out. Truly, you had hoped the act would be enough until you two returned home. 

But he just looked so good in his white T Shirt. Bob was always handsome, but you loved it when he dressed casually. The soft fabric of his shirt hugged his muscles that he didn't show very often. It seemed that people often forget that Bob had to stay physically fit for his job, that he also had to do two hundred push ups.

You never forgot.

"Just a little bit longer, then we'll go home. Kay?" Bob whispered before pressing a soft kiss to your cheek.

You nodded your head, despite being unsatisfied with his response. Stilling your body, it appeared that you understood his request.

Bob slung an arm around your shoulder, his hand near your breasts, but just out of reach. Your thighs clenched at the sight of his fingers, thinking about how earlier he had used them to make you come so hard your legs shook.

So your hips began their ministrations again. To onlookers, it looked as though you were simply swaying to the music playing from the old jukebox.

Bob knew the truth.

The grip he had on your hip tightened, his lips trailing from your forehead to your ear, "What did I just say?"

"I like this song," you stated, shrugging your shoulders. It was fun, seeing how far you could push him. Bob was pretty good at keeping up the facade, as if his cock wasn't growing erect underneath his jeans.

If things were up to you, his cock would be growing inside you while your back was pressed into the mattress.

Instead, you were still at the Hard Deck, Bob seemingly determined not to break.

"Y'know I'm gonna fuck you when we get home, right?" He whispered, pulling you closer to him, hoping the promise would be enough to satiate you. 

"I know," you said with a sweet smile. No one thought anything odd of your exchange because it looked like a normal conversation you and Bob were having. 

If only they knew. 

Your hand trailed up from his thigh to the back of his neck. His hair was soft, curling thanks to the hat he had on. That old trucker hat that he always wore when he wasn't in uniform. 

Bob let out a strangled grunt upon feeling you tug his hair. The sensation only lasted for a few seconds, your hand moving quickly back to his thigh. 

He was stunned, or so he appeared. 

His arm swiftly moved up your chest. Your eyes bulged upon feeling his bicep against your neck, restricting your airway. 

The action was brief, his bicep gone before anyone could see anything. But the sensation, how easy it was for him to choke you, how he didn't have to move his arm that much because the muscle was so big, remained in your brain, replaying over and over again, your thighs clenching. 

"That made you wet, didn't it?' He asked, chuckling. As if he just witnessed something amusing, rather than choking you in public. 

"Why don't you go check?" 

His stare burned into the back of your head. You didn't need to look, you knew his icy blue eyes were narrower, his nostrils flaring as he thought about what you just implied. 

"You heard me," you whispered, words smug. 

Bob's hand moved quickly. It wasn't a hard slap, but it made your eyes widened. Within seconds after slapping your face, that same hand was now gripping your chin, tilting it upwards so he could press a kiss to your lips. 

No one noticed. 

He had been so fast, that it looked like he was simply cupping your chin to kiss you. 

How sweet. 

No one noticed how his hand was trailing up your thighs, slipping under your skirt, moving towards the space in between your thighs. 

No one noticed how his eyes widened when his hand felt your soaked folds rather than cotton. 

“This whole night?” Bob asked. 

"Wanted to be ready for ya," was the only explanation you gave him. 

It was all you needed. 

Bob didn't let you get that far into the house. As soon as you reached the living room, your knees were on the carpet. The soft material brushed against your face as your legs were pried apart. 

"Ya think you're so big for that fucking stunt, don't you?" His hands were rough, grabbing your hips, pushing them towards his. 

A desperate moan fell from your lips upon feeling his clothed erection against your bare ass. 

"Should have fucked you right then and there. But you'd like that, wouldn't you?" You couldn't help but let out a needy whine upon hearing the sound of him unzipping his jeans.

"But you'd like that too much, wouldn’t ya?" His voice was sinful, low and gruff as he repeated himself, indicating he wanted a response. 

It took some time for Bob to be this comfortable around you. He didn't want to overstep any boundaries, and quite frankly, part of him was worried you wouldn't be into it. 

He was so wrong. 

For as much as you liked being in charge, there were times where you didn't want to make decisions, to think through every action. You wanted to be daring, to be reckless. 

Most of all, you wanted someone to reign you in, to call the shots. 

It worked out well, for Bob only had so much control in his daily life. He didn't call the shots, that was ultimately up to his pilot. He couldn't control what others did up in the air. 

But in this moment, he could control you. Could mold you to how he saw fit. He could make you cum over and over until your legs shook or edge you till tears ran down your face. 

He had options, choices. Something he reminded himself as he felt your bare cunt grinded itself against his denim covered crotch. 

His large hand found your ass, roughly grabbing your soft flesh, practically marveling at your curves. 

“Only want you Robby. Only you,” You pleaded, your voice music to Bob’s ears. 

“God, you’re so soft,” He murmured into your ear, his fingers finding their way to your soaked folds, “Want all of ya.”

You moaned as his fingers thrusted into you, finding that special spot with a precision and quickness that only Bob possessed. 

The sound of his name said in broken moans filled the air, mixing with the lewd sounds of your wetness as his fingers continued his ministrations, his thumb finding your clit. 

With anyone else, you’d be embarrassed by how desperate and loud you were. But god, his fingers were so thick and made you feel so fucking good. Bob knew your body like the back of his hand, every curve, every spot that drove you closer to the edge. 

And you’re so close, you need just a few more thrusts, a few more rough circles drawn on your clit and you would be seeing stars when you closed your eyes. 

But you didn’t deserve that. Not after what you just pulled. 

Which is why Bob responds to your tears and pleads when he pulls out with a harsh slap against your cunt. Pleasure laced pain courses through your body, your own fingers gripping the rug for purchase. 

“Don’t you dare. Turn around and show me how bad you want to come and maybe then I’ll think about it,” Bob ordered. His words caused your walls to clench around nothing. 

You maneuvered your body so that you were now looking up at him. His erection was straining against his clothes, his cock impossible to ignore. 

Quickly, your fingers found the buttons of his jeans, undoing them enough so you could easily pull down both his pants and boxers to his knees. 

Your mouth all but salivated at the sight of his cock, now resting against his abdomen. 

Bob had the prettiest cock you had ever seen. It was perfect, not too thick, curved ever so slightly, which allowed him to hit that spot with every thrust. 

You moaned as your lips touched the plush tip, tongue lapping up the precum that had formed. The vibrations sent shivers down Bob's spine, a deep grunt falling from his lips, his hands gripping your shoulders. 

He used his hands to gently guide your mouth further down his cock. Your cheeks hollowed out, trying to take in as much of him as you could. 

"Just like that sweetheart, f-fuck." Bob could maintain his composure thousands of feet up in the air, but as soon as your pretty mouth was wrapped around his cock, all bets were off. Your mouth was heaven and he loved how eager you were to show him you were able to take so much of him now. 

Drool began seeping down your chin as your head bobbed up and down, taking in as much as you comfortably could. 

His call sign never stood for baby on board. 

"Ya want me to come in your mouth? Or that pretty little pussy of yours?" His words made you want to rub your thighs together, an urge you were desperately fighting, not wanting to risk any more punishments. 

You looked up at Bob and he wished he could take a picture. Wide eyes and your mouth wrapped around his cock. You were beautiful and all his.

And boy, did Bob Floyd fucking love it. 

His fingers gripped your chin, guiding your head away from his cock, "I asked you a question darlin. You gonna give me an answer or do I need to teach you some manners again?" 

"I want you to come in my pussy. Please." 

Bob chuckled, "So polite for a dirty little girl. Turn around." 

And that was your punishment. He'll fuck you, he'll let you come, but you couldn't see him unless he let you. You couldn't kiss Bob unless he wanted to. 

He entered you swiftly, eliciting a near scream from you. 

"Robby!" 

No one had ever made you feel so good, so full before. Bob wasted no time, knowing you were prepared thanks to this afternoon. 

"Fuck, taking my cock s-so good, angel," his voice was shaky, his breath hot on your ear. Even if you were in trouble, he couldn't help but praise you. 

You tilted your head up, hoping he would act on pure instincts and kiss you. 

His lips ghosted over your face, cerulean eyes nearly all but closed as he reveled in the feeling of your warm cunt clenching around his cock. 

"S'big Robby, I-" 

"Shhh," he pressed his lips to your forehead, "You don't have to think. Just let me use that pretty little pussy of yours." 

He snaked an arm around your neck, tightening his grip so his bicep pressed against your throat. Now you had no choice but to look up at him. 

Broken, choked gasps filled your living room, swirling with the sounds of Bob's hips meeting yours. All you could do was take it, his cock repeatedly brushing against the spot that made your toes curl and your back arch in pleasure. 

Before you met Bob, you didn't think that spot even existed. 

"You gonna make a mess all over my cock? C'mon baby, you can do it," Bob flexed his bicep, further restricting your airflow. 

That one movement broke the dam. Your legs shook as white hot pleasure ran through your body. Bob, ever the doting husband, was quick to wrap an arm around your waist, holding you up while your orgasm took over your body. 

"Please don't stop," you're begging and you don't care. Every thrust prolongs your pleasure. All you can focus on, all you care about is your husband and how his cock is sending you to a pleasurable bliss. 

"S'pretty, want another one," Bob's chest was pressed against your back, his hand snaking to just above where you two connected. 

His fingers, calloused from years of work, felt heavenly on your clit. 

The pleasure was now rolling through you in waves. Each thrust, each swipe of your clit sent you reeling. If it weren't for the arm Bob and around your neck and collarbone, you weren't sure you'd be able to hold yourself up. 

"C'mon baby, so fucking pretty. Know you got another one in ya. Fuck, you feel so good. C-can't believe I get ya all to myself, love you s'much," his words were beginning to slur, as if he was drunk off of you. 

It was one of your favorite parts about having sex with Bob. When his words began to slur, when the only things he could intelligibly say were praises for you, the only thing he could focus on was you. 

Between Bob's praises and the circles his thumb was drawing on your clit, your eyes closed as pleasure took over your body again. You were screaming something, could feel your throat strain as you spoke. But what exactly it was, you couldn’t say. 

A large hand cradled the back of your head, the other maneuvering your legs so they were wrapped around a lithe waist.

When you opened your eyes, you found yourself lying on your bed, a pair of blue eyes staring back at you. 

"Hey darlin," Bob's voice was soft as his nose glided over your cheek, "Wanna keep going?" 

You weakly nodded, your hands reaching up to his hair. 

"Use your words darlin," Bob reminded, fucking his head down to press gentle kisses and nips across your neck. 

"Want," you whined, causing Bob to sink his teeth into your collarbone, "Want you to come inside me Robby! Please!" 

A low, guttural groan came from your husband, "Fuck, how did I get so lucky?" 

His mouth trailed down your body, leaving kisses all over. Your fingers flew to his shoulders when you felt his nose brush against your clit. 

"Robby, you said-" 

"I know," his breath was hot on your most intimate part, "But I just gotta taste ya first, okay?" 

Bob couldn't help it and you knew it too. Yes, he got to taste you earlier. He knew it was bad to be greedy, but your cunt was an exception. 

So he didn't feel bad when his tongue found your soaked folds, lapping up your arousal. It drove Bob wild, getting to taste you. He had to fight the urge to grind his hips against the comforter, wanting to come inside you. 

Your fingers were threading themselves in his sun kissed hair, needing something to hold onto as he groaned against your cunt. 

"S'good," Bob moaned, sending vibrations all along your body. Wanting to keep you ready for him, he thrusted a finger inside you. 

"Robby!" 

Bob simply smirked, knowing your walls could feel the cool, smooth metal of his wedding band. He continues making languid thrusts against that spongy spot, the one that he knows drives you wild, makes your legs shake. 

Besides, you were still being punished. You wanted to come so badly tonight, so Bob was going to make you come.

Over and over again. 

Your back arched as his tongue continued to lap at your clit, sensitivity surging through you. 

While your release came in a smaller wave this round, it was still intense. Your fingers gripped the soft strands of Bob's hair, hips jerking upwards in a shameless attempt to get more of Bob's mouth. 

"What's wrong? Thought ya wanted my cock darlin," Bob smirked when he pulled away. 

It was impressive how after five years he could still take you by surprise. You open your eyes, his words making you want to sit up. 

Instead, your husband's lips crashed onto yours, his large hands pushing you back down to the mattress. 

"Asked ya a question darlin. Gonna give me an answer?" 

Two could play the game. 

Your fingers gripped his hair, nails brushing against his scalp as you tugged on the locks, pulling his head back. 

"You gonna fuck me?" 

You could only place a few love bites on his neck before you were back on your knees, face against the pillow. 

"When did you get so bold?" The rural drawl laced his deep voice, his breath hot on your neck. 

"Since you stopped fucking me." That was the final straw. Bob quickly lined his cock to your entrance and thrusted in without a warning, sending you practically reeling. 

"Fuck Bob!" 

"That's what I'm trying t'do," he snarled, his hips quickly meeting yours. 

Any smartass comment died in your throat when Bob's bicep pressed against your neck. God, it was easy to forget how big and strong he was. He tried to hide it, tried to make himself small, make himself blend in by hunching over, by not taking up as much space. 

Which was why you loved it when he displayed his strength. He didn't have to flex much, if at all, to have the muscle against your throat, restricting your airway. 

"Can tell how much ya love that from the way you're clenching me so tight." 

You could only let out a strangled hum of agreement, too busy focused on how fucking full you felt every time he bottomed out. 

Bob knew you were getting close. He could tell by the way your breath quickened, your walls clenching around his cock, not wanting it to leave. 

Bob was also very close. Had been for quite a while. But he was raised to be a gentleman and you deserved to come several times before he did. 

His free hand trailed down to where you two connected. Just a little more attention to your clit and Bob would have you right where he desperately needed you. 

All you could do was take his cock, take in the scent of eucalyptus that surrounded him, mixed with the sweat that came from his hard work. 

"M'so close," you weakly groaned, fingers finding purchase in your comforter. 

"I know, just a little more. You can wait for me, I know ya can. Fuck I'm so lucky, married to ya. Ya gonna take it all too, aren't ya? Fuck, I love ya so fucking much." 

He released the grip he had on your throat, turning your head so he could capture your lips once more. 

That was what sent you reeling. That's what made you see galaxies when you closed your eyes. The only thing you could focus on was how good he felt, fucking you, coming inside of you, filling you up with everything he had. 

For what seemed like ages, you two were frozen in place, trying to catch your breath. 

"Darlin, I'm gonna pull out now, 'kay?" Bob finally said, gently pressing a handkerchief to where you two were connected. 

"Can we shower after this?" You mumbled. 

Bob pressed a kiss to your shoulder, "Course we can." 

"With the shower steamer?" 

Bob chuckled, "The rosemary one, right?" 

"Love ya Robby." 

"I love you too darlin'."

-------------------------------------------------------------

@lewmagoo @ohtobeleah @sometimesanalice @cumholland @chxosunbound @callsignspark @dissonannce @yanna-banana @lovinglyeternal @cherrycola27 @lostinthefandoms11 @rhettabbotts @sebsxphia @hangmanapologist @ryebecca @bobfloydsbabe @laracrofted @mothdruid @delopsia

[princessbrunette]

i was playing with my rabbit last night & thinking about how rafe & JJ would act around their girlfriend’s pet rabbit😭😭 like i feel like JJ would be the one to be kinda scared of it ngl…

soooo cute !!!

ᙏ̤̫

rafe would be like, you know how when families get a new pet and the dad is always the most reluctant like “whatever, im not looking after it though” and then they end up being the one to love the pet the most ?? that’s rafe all over. when he comes to your house for the first time and you happily skip over to the hutch to let your bunny roam around for a little while he kinda doesn’t care at all. animals were never something he had too much interest in, especially something as weak as a bunny.

but it’s apart of you, and you love that bunny so much so by extension he must care about it too. he won’t show it, you won’t often catch him scratching behind its ears or speaking to it (unless you’ve put him on hutch duty and then he’s quietly talking to it like “c’mere you little shit.”) — but he’ll get this slow and loving smile on his face whenever you ramble on about something funny your bunny did, or when he’s watching you play with it. he thinks you’re adorable, and a pet like a bunny just makes sense for someone like you — feminine and fragile, in need of protecting from foxes and big bad wolves (ironically, like himself)

you invite him round, and he pulls up in his car, casually and oh so nonchalantly pulling bags of hay and rabbit food from his boot. the expensive kind of course.

“yeah so apparently you’re not buyin’ the good shit, so i stopped by n’picked this up. you know you can ask me… to buy you this kinda thing right? im good for it. plus that cheap shit you’re buying is toxic, okay? only took a little bit of research, sweetheart.” he’s somehow lecturing you whilst being super sweet and you’re just ??!!!!

he also texts you randomly out of the blue like ‘It’s fox season on this side of the island. Don’t let rabbit out on the lawn for a while’ which is so cute bc rafe is so busy n important and yet he still finds time to think about ur bunny :(( n he knows if god forbid anything happens to that album it’ll be his job to pick up the pieces and he’d rather avoid all that .

jj on the other hand definitely thinks it’s cute, but he’s more enamoured by the way you behave with your bunny than the bunny itself. he definitely is down to play with it though, letting it thump at him and kick him and hop all over his lap :(

“climbin’ all over me n’still acting like a brat. yep, you definitely belong to my girlfriend. can see where you get it from…” pretending to talk to the bunny all quietly like he doesn’t want you to hear !! he’s just so cute ♡

ᙏ̤̫

[visceravalentines]

What did you do for Easter, Meg? Oh you know, colored eggs and wrote sacrilegious porn, hbu? Couldn't stop thinking about the comments on this post so surprise whores here you go

Worship

Dilf!Bo Sinclair x AFAB!Reader

Bo has a few sins to confess and in the process he commits a whole bunch of new ones.

2.5k words. Smut. Super blasphemy, like so bad, and lots of religious ideas and phrasing. Oral (fem!receiving) and PnV sex in a semi-public extremely inappropriate place w/ creampie at the end bc that's what we deserve. Soft Bo, almost sub Bo if you squint. Reader wears a dress & heels and uses she/her pronouns. Extensive liberties taken with confessional booth architecture and suit pants physics.

A note: this can be read as a non-chronological part of my ongoing dilf Bo series or as a standalone.

You haven't been in this church since you were a teenager. Your eyes wander up and over the stained glass, the soaring rafters. It's a beautiful building, stately, tranquil.

"Got somethin' I need to confess," Bo whispers with his lips against your ear. Goosebumps roll down your skin.

You shoot a sidelong glance down the pew at your parents, less than two feet away. They're holiday Catholics and the sermon has them rapt, like tourists watching a wild animal from the safety of their vehicle.

You incline your head subtly in Bo's direction and hold your breath so you don't miss his next words.

"I can't get you outta my head."

You exhale slowly and shift on the bench, careful not to set the ancient wood creaking. When you sneak a look at him, he's the picture of innocence, taking in the gospel like a man who doesn't need it. You clasp your hands on your lap.

Casually, like he's commenting on the father's delivery, Bo leans in again and murmurs, "Bet you'd let me touch you here, huh? Get my hands under that little skirt...."

You shiver and shift. The bench tattles on you and your mother sends a reprimand your way with her eyes. You tug the hem of your skirt towards your knees and try to channel a modicum of the faux virtue sitting to your left.

He quiets down and behaves himself for just long enough that the flame flickering in your center dies down to an almost-appropriate level, but the heat of his leg against your bare thigh keeps you from turning all your thoughts to God. The weight of his hand on the small of your back as he guides you out of the pew for Communion is a stitch past purity. The look he manages to slip you as the father places the wafer in his open mouth makes you feel like you need to get back in line for a second pass at contrition, and maybe this time you'll mean it.

His hand brushes across your ass as you scoot back into the pew and you think about obedience, how you hate to be told what to do but you'd drop to your knees for him right now, right here, if he'd promise to quell the simmer he's started between your legs.

The father is thanking those who helped prepare the picnic on the lawn outside and Bo props his arm on the back of the bench, leans close and lets his lips graze your skin, and whispers, "Meet me up there once everybody's outside." He gestures with a nod.

You look at him with wide eyes. "The confessional?" you hiss.

He winks at you.

You follow your parents out onto the green, but Bo doesn't follow you. In fact you lose him immediately in the crowd, can't help but search for him among the abundance of pastel dresses and khaki suits. You agree vapidly with everything your mother says about the mass, nod politely at all your dad's closest acquaintances.

You excuse yourself at the second or third possible opportunity, afraid of running into the father if you sneak back too soon. Your footsteps are deafening in the now silent sanctuary, your eager uncertainty echoing back at you like an accusation.

Bo is nowhere to be seen, but neither is the clergy, so you step lightly across the stone floor and approach the confessional booth. The penitent's bench is hardly private, hung with a red curtain that only conceals from the waist up. You duck instead into the priest's chamber and inch the door closed behind you, letting out a breath you didn't know you were holding once you're safely out of sight.

The small space is dimly lit by a single bulb recessed in the ceiling and the fractured light coming in through the screen on the one side. There's a bench built into the back wall and furnished with a velvet cushion. You sit, adjusting your skirt, and think about guilt.

Abruptly the door flies open and Bo slips inside, closing it all the way behind him. He's appropriately debonair in a blue suit, white shirt, no tie. For a moment, he looks a touch harried, glancing over his shoulder to be sure the door is closed. But then he looks down at you, meets your gaze, and flashes you a grin.

"Well what do we have here?"

You move to stand and he shakes his head, fighting to shrug off his suit coat in the confined space. "Don't get up, darlin', you're perfect right there. Betcha this is the first time anyone with tits has sat in that seat."

You giggle, a touch nervous. He reaches his hand out for yours and brings your knuckles to his lips. His mustache prickles your skin.

"You enjoy the mass?"

You're not sure if he's serious. "...parts of it, yeah."

He smiles. "Which parts?"

You open your mouth for a sharp reply but your gaze is hung up on his lips and when he shifts his weight you become unbearably aware of how close his bulge is to your face.

Bo laughs low and squeezes your hand. "I myself had a hard time focusin' on the good word. Had my mind on...other things." He eyes you with something like mischief. "I was hopin' maybe you could help me...unburden myself."

The smell of him is slowly permeating the tiny space, overwriting the stuffy scent of incense and oiled wood with tobacco and aftershave. He barely fits, too tall, shoulders too broad. He could swallow you whole and you wish he would.

"Anything you want," you say softly.

Bracing himself against the walls, he sinks to his knees in front of you. The pattern of the screen is emblazoned on his face in light. The wood pops and creaks. You remember to breathe.

"I'm a sinner, darlin'." He gazes up at you through those lashes, smiling sheepishly, big hands curving around your calves. "Done too much wrong to confess. Can't even remember it all."

You touch his cheek, brush your thumb over the crow's feet at the corner of his eye. "Start small."

His hands slide down to your ankles and he works at the strap of your heels with ungainly fingers. "I been tellin' lies, baby." He slips off one shoe and starts on the other. "Your mama asked me if I've been seein' anyone and I said no." His thumb runs along the arch of your foot. "Your daddy asked me if I knew where you was the other night and I told him I didn't have a clue."

He wraps his fingers around your ankles and squeezes gently, and then pulls your legs open. You stifle a gasp, try to press your thighs together to maintain a smidgen of modesty.

Bo kisses your knees. His hands creep up the outside of your legs. "Been gamblin'. Riskin' my reputation, my livelihood."

"Why would you do that?" you whisper.

He grins against your skin. His fingers are sneaking beneath your skirt. "Well y'see, there's this girl...."

You bite your lip as he curls one finger around the waistband of your panties on either side and tugs them down your thighs.

"She ain't for me...but she's all I want. And that's another thing." He tucks your panties in his pocket and you pretend you don't notice. "I been plagued by lustful thoughts. Day and night I'm thinkin' about this girl, thinkin' about the sounds she makes...picturin' her underneath me...." He guides your knees apart, drags his mouth over your skin, lighting you up from the outside in. His shoulders are solid under your hands, a foundation to cling to.

"See, I know it's wrong, but whenever she's around me I just...forget myself. Start wonderin' what she's got on under her clothes, what I gotta do to get 'em off of her...." He nips at your flesh, one, two, three up your thigh, and you gasp each time. "Keeps me up at night wishin' she was in my bed." He pauses, looks at you with cocked eyebrows. "I think about her damn near every time I defile myself, which is...often."

You exhale slowly, release the death grip you have on his shirt and run your fingers through his hair. "Sounds like you've got a lot of penance to do."

Bo lets out a helpless chuckle. "I know it, baby. I'm desperate." He blinks up at you, looking earnest. "I'm hopin' you got some salvation to offer me."

"I might." You tug your skirt up, baring yourself to him, and he groans, fingers digging into your flesh. "But you've got to earn it."

He inches forward and pins your legs open on either side of his shoulders. "Never been much of a god-fearin' man," he says, "but I know how to worship." He bows his head and you close your eyes when you feel his breath on your skin. "What d'you know about devotion, angel?"

"Nothing," you say, breathless. "Teach me."

The first pass of his tongue is feather-light and devastating and you sigh as that flickering flame roils brightly back to life. He teases the edge of your entrance, warming you up with the heat of his attention. You make a small sound and he responds with a slow, insistent lick up the length of your slit that makes you whine and clutch at his hair.

He cradles your clit in the cup of his lips and venerates you with his tongue in lazy spirals, up and over, and your blood throbs in the same rhythm. He sucks gently, and then harder, and you moan in the bliss of transubstantiation as his mouth makes the mundane into the divine.

With a growl in the back of his throat he hoists your legs onto his shoulders and penetrates you with his tongue, lapping at your pussy in search of absolution. Your eyes bounce around the blank ceiling of the booth as your hips buck mindlessly against his chin. His mustache tickles your lips, beard coarse against your inner thighs.

"Bo," you gasp as he sucks hard at your clit, "oh, god."

"I'm a bad person, baby," he mumbles. "Promise."

"No." You try and fail to stifle a cry, back arching, toes curled. "You're so good...you're so good."

Between your gasps you hear the sound of footsteps on the stone. Your steady-building climax skids to a halt and you stare wide-eyed at the confessional door.

Bo doesn't stop. In fact, he redoubles his efforts.

You clamp your hand over your mouth, trying desperately to keep still even as your body flexes and writhes against your will. You can hear two voices--you recognize one as the father but the other could be anybody, some stranger, some sinner seeking Easter confession.

Bo seals his mouth over your cunt and grinds his tongue against your clit again and again, gripping your ass, holding you to him as you squirm and seek purchase on the featureless walls.

The voices are getting closer and against all odds, so is your release. You're past the point of redemption, couldn't stave it off if you wanted to.

"Bo," you squeak under your breath, clawing at the back of his neck, grasping the edge of the seat, "please--"

He grunts softly. He's devouring you, hellbent on a miracle, bound and determined to introduce you to God. And seconds later, when your cup runneth over and your spine arches against the velvet and you have to sink your teeth into the meat of your palm to keep from howling his name, you see starbursts of pastel pink and sky blue behind your eyes and figure this is probably the closest you'll get to the pearly gates.

Your breath is hitching in your chest and you feel him slip out of your hands and you whimper, floating back into your body, unsteady as you try to sit up straight on the bench. The voices and footsteps are fading and you breathe a sigh of relief and release.

His hands are on your arms and he's coaxing you to your feet, supporting your weight on behalf of your shaking legs, turning you around in the tight space and murmuring in your ear.

"Need you, baby, right now, c'mere. Need to be inside you. Let me--"

He takes your place on the bench. He's undone his belt, freed his cock from his pants, and you clamber eagerly into his lap and let him guide you down onto him. Your head lolls back as he pushes into you, fills your empty space. The image of him looking desperately up at you is burned into the back of your eyelids.

"Angel," he breathes as he takes your face in his hands and brings your mouth to his. His kisses are hot with lust, with greed, with envy of everyone who's ever touched your lips before him. You can smell yourself in his beard, sweet and heady like original sin.

You move, rocking back and forth on his cock, and he moves you, hands on your hips, your skirt in disarray, his shirt falling open as you wrestle with the buttons. He pulls you closer, pulls himself deeper, and you can feel his heart pounding when you brace yourself on his chest.

"Ain't gonna last long," he pants. "So fuckin' tight, baby, so perfect...."

"That's okay, that's okay," you say, stumbling over your words. The frame of the booth is groaning in legitimate complaint, the entire structure trembling slightly, and you're going to get caught, surely you are, and you'll be cast out together beyond the reach of forgiveness but that might be alright as long as you've got him with you.

You press yourself against him, as close as you can get and not close enough. He cums with his face buried in your chest and your name in his mouth like a prayer. The kick of his cock inside you grants you another little climax, a little death, little moans jarred from your lips with each waning thrust of his hips.

"Kiss me," you whisper, and he obeys, his eyes glazed, his gaze soft and adoring. His needy grip on your waist melts into caresses and you finger the buttons of his shirt like rosary beads. One is missing; you're both hopelessly disheveled, undeniably sin-touched. You push his hair off his forehead and back into place. "Did this help?"

He shakes his head and laughs quietly. "No."

"Made it worse."

"Yeah."

"Sorry."

"'S okay." He kisses you again. "You're forgiven."

[cosmiccowboystuddies]

the sunshine court notes

first things first riko needed to be brutally beaten to death, a shot was too quick

renee talked like a fortune cookie and it was pissing me off

i wish we got more of Wymack and Jean, it was very nice of him to get on the plane with Jean

jean immediately getting annoyed with basic life is really funny

jean is also really sassy and hilarious

also something weird happened in jeremeys house

my personally theory is that he had a sibling who died and his family thinks its his fault

like maybe an accident or maybe the sibling overheard something that they weren't supposed to and his sibling had to die as a result

whatever happened the butler knows about it and is trying to protect him

and whatever happened had to be bad because the act of dying his hair had his family ban him from the dinner table

neil believing his relationship with andrew as a strength his really good for his character, considering his mom was so keen on him not forming any connections

the fact that jean actually considered reaching out to his sister, only for him to learn that she was dead breaks me every time

and neil using her to force him into a belief that he doesn't deserve to belong to anyone but himself was a necessary cruelty.

i also like that Jeremey was the one who telling him about Rikos death was good

jean has no agency in the entire 1st act of the book, he is taken from the nest and basically held captive, then he is forced to go to the sunshine court, which he doesn't like but has to

the foxes all hide info from jean for his own good

and jeremey being the one to tell him is nice because jeremey is his first taste of freedom

jean talking about his abuse in such a casual manner is horrifying bc he thinks its so normal and its horrifying

" i didn't ask" broke me in so many ways because Jean doesn't particularly trust jeremey at the time, nor did it slip out while he was angry, he just said it so casually like it was normal

At first i felt bad for Lucas, but not so much anymore.

he was a sympathetic character who was trying to straddle a thin line of having faith in his captain and who he belives is a violent stranger and his brother who is not the same boy he know

but bringing Greyson to jean was soo fucking stupid it pisses me off

and the fact that jean wasn't even really fighting back, just trying to protect himself is upsetting

also the imagery of him punching the keypad over and over again just trying to get out is gutting

jean isn't a dog who bites, he's a dog who puts his foot to the fire because he believes that he is supposed to do

the water scene was sad as well because he was trying so hard to behave but physically could not

also Jeremey and really most people on the team meet his violence with unflinching kindness is really sweet

i also appreciate how jeremey doesn't force jean to talk about his trauma or even takes the notes from him, jean has had little to no control in his life since he was 15 and forcing him to talk about it when he wasn't ready would have made it worse

and jean asking jeremey to pretend was sweet and what was even sweeter when he did

jean learning to cook is nice as well because he needs life skills

theory for book 2: jeremey buys jean his freedom and jean becomes an exy coach ( more of a pipe dream i guess)

i also think Greyson will kill lucas

jeremeys saving grace being the thought of his sister deserving better is horrifying

i wish we got more of his relationship with Zane

neil is a real one because Jean compared Greyson to drake once, and Neil took care of it for him

jean being afraid of sleeping alone is so sad because he's basically been trained to sleep next to someone

and the fact that he has nighmares, but they are hardly mentioned, and jeremey is the one to bring it up is so sad

also kevin should have tried harder to reach out to jean

jean pushed away the foxes because he knew they would eventually leave him too

jean being steadfast in the idea that if he plays a good game he will have momentary peace is heartbreaking

jean holding onto his talent despite people thinking he slept his way to the top is also upsetting

i hope we get a zane and jean reunion bc i think they truly cared for each other

maybe kevin sends jean a postcard and a magnet and they can reconnect

also him realizing his very limited possesions have been destroyed made me almost cry

and the magnet scene with jeremey is very sad, but him realizing the magnets are broken make him realize that he is

kevin and jean still both being afraid of riko is telling bc riko is dead

let me know what yall thought... always willing to talk about all for the game.

[mixelation]

brainworms of the day: reborn au con shenanigans

i posted before about tori and kakashi going to a ninja fiction con like a tired older sibling taking his kid sister to a con. and i like the idea of them repeating this, because like. kakashi isn't super into interacting with fandom but he likes merch and he gets a kick out of seeing cosplays, and tori likes company and kakashi is pretty cill when he's not actively being a troll. so cons are like Their Thing and kushina gets very mushy over the idea of them bonding so obviously minato always gives them the time off

anyway i had some thoughts for shenanigans

thought one: minato canonically really likes icha icha and i think he deserves to have some fun. at first i was like "i don't think the hokage gets many vacation days, and surely if he DID take a vacation he'd spend it with his family?" but then i remembered he can teleport. minato takes days off all the time with the idea his assistant will just summon him back if there's a problem. he shows up unannounced in a pair of sunglasses

minato: i'm incognito :)

random passerby: the fourth hokage and hatake kakashi group cosplay? this place gets less and less original every year

kakashi and tori are unsure of this addition to their group because this is Their Thing. kakashi gets over it pretty quick because he does like getting casual time to hang out with minato, actually, but tori is annoyed because first of all. how is she supposed to behave normally* if her boss is here. secondly now everyone keeps asking her why SHE'S not in matching cosplay.

minato: do you want my cloak? lotta people in cloaks

tori: NO I DON'T, ACTUALLY

*everyone who knows tori would like to point out that the only change in her behavior is a 15% reduction in swearing.

anyway i am getting a kick out of imagining actual hokage and infamous ninja namikaze minato waiting in the same-day registration line. squatting in a two hour line to get into one of the big panels. taking photos with other minato cosplayers. holding back tears because there's a fourteen year old kakashi cosplayer with a sERVICE DOG ALSO IN COSTUME!!!!!!!!

thought two: sasori crashes a con because he wants to pass on intel about orochimaru or soemthing

tori: oh my god WHY are you HERE

sasori: because you're closer than deidara >:(

tori: no i mean, in public? in the crowded dealER'S ROOM?

sasori: who's going to notice?

(a group of sasoris in ugly wigs pass by)

anyway the true shenanigan-y part of this is that initially kakashi thinks a weird 25 year old man is chatting tori up. which like. yes? technically true? but kakashi thinks this is just tori falling for the wiles of a hot cosplayer and that he needs to intervene immediately because she's FIFTEEN, you PERVERT--

kakashi: hi :) who's this :)

tori, feeling her spirit leave her body: he likes my sasori fic

sasori:

sasori, in pain: yup. i. do. that's what this is.

kakashi: oh :) how nice :) then i'm sure you won't mind me standing here while you chat :) sharpening my kunai which are totally just props :)

thought three: i think in her later teens/early twenties, tori starts falling back on I HAVE A BOYFRIEND really frequently to get out of conversations. like in theory the card is for "a guy is hitting on me" but she'll also play it for "someone is talking to me and i don't want them to be."

in konoha this strategy works because even if you were just telling her the cafe is closing in five minutes, "but i'm waiting for my boyfriend, uchiha itachi :(" is enough to give this random poor employee pause. these words have meaning in konoha. however i think there's some Shenanigans to be had for her doing this without thinking about it at a con where context is very different.

man she's trapped with bc they're in line and he won't stop trying to get her to give him her room number: boyfriend? prove it.

tori, exasperated: (pulls out a photo she keeps on her)

man:

man: that's uchiha itachi

tori: exactly

man: .....you honestly expect me to believe that? you clearly just have that on you because you're a fan

tori: .....fuck

for bonus shenanigans repeat a similar exchange but it's at a kitty girl stabby ninja con so itachi is there and immediately wonders up afterwards with like. cat ears on.

man: (eyes darting back and forth between the photo and itachi himself, terrified)

itachi: the food options weren't great but i brought you some bread. did the line move?

man: (now looking around to see if anyone ELSE has noticed this)

tori, very blatantly taking his hand: no they just made us rearrange to stop blocking the hallway

itachi: i see

man: (FLEES THE LINE)

thought four: something cute

i don't want tori to be as well known as deidara/itachi in civilian circles, mostly because it'd be funny. but also i don't think she's as flashy as them and a lot of the stuff she does relies on her not being recognizable. and i like the humor of interacting with itachi/deidara stans and cosplayer who just don't recognize her. so there isn't much in the way of tori cosplay/fic/etc even when she's older and has her own Reputation among actual ninja. but okay. imagine. at the ONE con tori can't make there's a lone tori cosplayer. she's sort of haunting the place-- obviously socially awkward and shy. kakashi loses his mind. he summons minato. minato brings kushina. they bother this girl for like hours and low-key make her day even though it's also kind of scary?

kushina has to physically hold tori back from stalking her after she sees the photos. SHE'S JUST GOING TO BREAK INTO HER HOME AND SEE WHAT FANFICTION SHE'S READING NOTHING VIOLENT OR SCARY--

[shigarakisslutbag]

Thought that has plagued my mind (that I haven't actually brought up n rp) but imagine y/n finding out Tomura isn't his real name and after going through that mental whiplash, just genuinely asking him what he <I>wants</I> to be called.

Kinda just imagining the faces he'd make because it's not something someone would normally ask him? And him trying to figure out y ud care about something like that? Then realizing he's never thought about it either, he just did what AFO told him to and didn't consider it outside of necessity/ if it was something he actually wanted to do or not

(casual angst is underrated)

TW: angst, mentions of the bitch that is AFO, mentions and themes of lack of body autonomy

I've been meaning to get to this sooner but the last two weeks I've been pretty much unconscious bc of my new meds 😭 (legit slept 12 HOURS the other night).

Sorry for all the typos, if any, I'm on mobile lol.

Tomura would probably disregard reader for a bit. Not in a rude way, but he'd likely just shrug and give no real answer, because he has no idea how to. The thought would stick with him for a while, though.

When you're a kid, you don't really question things, because your brain isn't fully developed enough (obviously), so as kids we accept almost everything adults tell us as fact. It's actually a common tactic used by some parents to get them to behave or teach certain lessons. For example: if a parent wants the child to stop misbehaving, they use Santa or "call" Santa on their phone as a way to keep the child from doing things they aren't supposed to.

This isn't to say tomura was "lied" to necessarily, but he didn't have the maturity level to be able to make decisions like that for himself, and understand he had a choice, so when afo gave him his new name, he didn't have any objections because... why would he? He grew up with the idea that his life and body- even his name, were not his. Of course he's not going to give his real name any thought because it wasn't really on the table. Up until this point, probably hadn't even thought of his real name at all.

Now, to circle back to the original question, how would tomura react beyond this? I would say after contemplating that option, he'd also wonder why reader would care enough to ask. Why do you care about what he wants? He can't really wrap his head around it, but now that the question has been asked, and now that he knows he has the option, he'd unsurprisingly choose his real name.

I think one of the biggest reasons he'd rather use his real name, is because he doesn't want to use a name given to him by someone who tried to control him. Tomura is not really the type to like being told what to do lol. I mean he is the leader after all. You'd be the first he allow to use his real name. Eventually the other members too, but you were the first who cared enough to ask, so naturally you're the first who he'll tell what he wants to be called. It won't seem like it in his facial expressions, but hes grateful you put that thought into his mind. He won't forget that.

A/N: I love casual angst that doesn't make me wanna throw myself into incoming traffic. Am I gonna read a fic about cheating tomura or cheating reader? Absolutely tf not. Will I read or write a fic that makes me wanna cry myself to sleep bc I can't comfort said fictional character? Absolutely.

[wheresmymilliondollarman]

WAIT THAT ANON WAS ONTO SOMETHING. I NEED MORE BRAT TAMER AARON 😩😩😩. Also your work is gold. finding you after sm time scouring for warner fics felt like i won the lotto. love you!!

-🪷 (i’ll use this as my anon emoji)

HI ANON! omg my first anon emoji LOVE IT !!! and always makes me so happy when someone says they love my blog TYSM!!! happy to provide more brat tamer aaron so here are some quick & brief hcs that are canon bc in my aaron warner universe while i finish pt 3 of the other piece :D (very short so won't label it as a full hc thing)

aaron warner is naturally a brat tamer, it is basically in his genes. he was raised by a supreme commander, how could he not ?

big part of his casual dominance thing.

helping you dress, even choosing your outfits most days, if you’re wearing a dress he’ll make sure it’s not too short, helping tie shoes & strap on heels, making sure you wear a coat if its cold, holding your hand on walks, stopping you when he feels you’d had enough drinks at parties, etc.

you’re normally not bratty, aaron dotes on you so much, it’s hard to want to push his buttons. –but there’s always a time where your brattiness makes a show, intentional or not.

brat tamer aaron is pretty patient, not too strict if you act out a little. it takes quite a bit for him to get fed up with the way your acting.

gives him a little sass? he’ll just smile or even give a quip back. if you complain about something, he’ll accommodate to satisfy you. rolling your eyes would get you a stern look, but he wouldn’t verbally call you out on it.

you get major princess treatment so aaron can easily let a little of your brattiness slide.

he finds it entertaining when you try and rile him up, on the contrary it’s very annoying to you and more you act bolder in your brattiness.

what really makes aaron go full brat tamer mode on you is when you deliberately disobey him.

you ignore the dress he laid out for you and change into one that definitely will have your ass showing if you bend over too much? you’ll get at max five steps into the room before aaron lifts and carries you on his shoulder out back to his room. (he’ll you his coat over you to ensure you dont flash anyone on the way out).

or when you’re really upset at him for an issue he caused, you’ll ignore him. if you see him coming your way - you’ll walk the opposite, you act deaf anytime he calls your names, and show him no form of attention.

this will definitely bother aaron the most, especially since he’s the clingy type. he’s devises a sneak attack plan, and catches you off guard when you’re alone. before you can even digest the situation — he has you against the wall.

he'll apologize for whatever he did, beg for forgiveness, then scold you for ignoring him. you'll get away with little punishment if you end your behavior there, but if you're bent on pretending he doesn't exist - aaron is going to fuck the silence of you. and to be the extra person he is, he's going to handcuff you two together for a day, so you're essentially forced to be with him. leash kid type treatment.

there's even times when you're not even trying to act bratty, and you accidentally set him off.

one particular day you were just looking extra pretty, according to aaron. you were talking to your friends and just doing what you usually did. however, aaron saw it acting out behavior and you obviously were trying to get his attention. he actually just wanted a reason to call you a brat and punish you.

aaron’s punishments vary. he always starts with a warning for you to starts behaving good again. usually it’s enough for you to act like a good girl again. if it exceeds that, then get ready to be dragged back to his room, somewhere private if you’re not close to it. then, you start getting a realization of what you just did.

if it was a rather simple punishment like giving him attitude the entirety of the day, you’ll get bent over his lap and spanked, aaron will keep making you apologize for acting like a brat the entire time.

if it’s something like the dress stunt; you’re going to get ailed on the nearest surface available. you’ll be in teary-eyed and empty-headed by the time he’s done with you.

either way, you won’t be able to sit properly the next day. or even rest of the week.

[gojoest]

ok i am finally home and it’s STORYTIME WITH THE WAITER !! *rubs hands together* long post btw my thoughts are very hectic i am sleep deprived and hungover so excuse me t-t

so last night we went to this place with 2 of my coworkers (that are also close friends of mine) — it’s a club restaurant actually, the music is chill and not so loud until about 10-10:30pm so you can eat and chat with friends and then after that it’s showtime (hot men put on a show, they dance and strip, the latter is not that hardcore btw). turns out they organize different shows every night so it’s not always that. ANYWAY, we had a waitress assigned to our table but the place was so full and she was busy running around catering to everyone so instead of waiting i asked the waiter in question for the menu :3 so he brought us 3 and was like “sorry my coworker is very busy, if she can’t handle all her tables i will gladly take care of you tonight”. guys he is super cute i tell you, he’s got that big smile on his face all the time and a super positive energy flowing from him + he jokes around with ease and just seems to be so easygoing and friendly and i find that so attractive NOT TO MENTION he is very handsome and has a beard!!!!!!!!!!!!!!! sadly though he didn’t end up taking our table bc the waitress made it work somehow, she was super lovely btw <3 he was constantly passing by our table though and we both shamelessly stared at each other every time lmao

anyway as the night went on and we downed 4 bottles of wine and started dancing my mischievous coworkers invited him to our table for a bit and he did not decline even though he was working, he just casually sat down with us and behaved like we’ve always known each other ajksdskas. so we poured him a glass of wine, said cheers and then danced a bit AND THEN t-t my coworker took an empty water bottle and spun it on the floor (do you see where i am going) and it ended up pointing towards me and the waiter t-t and that same coworker was like “you have to kiss her now, these are the rules” and i was like :0 just standing there like :0 what :0 what :0 he then came to me and looked me in the eyes and put his hands on my cheeks but didn’t kiss me immediately, i think he was waiting for my reaction like i’m going give you 3 secs to push me away if you don’t want to but ofc I DID WANT TO KISS HIM so we in fact kissed.

after we were done kissing my coworker literally placed the bottle between us again, didn’t spin it this time just put it there between us like ok round 2 now, keep going KSJHDKSJSAA and he looked at me and was like “how about you kiss me this time” with a smug smile. part of me wanted to slap him but a bigger part of me wanted to keep kissing him so that’s that sigh we kissed again. HE IS SUCH A GOOD KISSER it’s not my fault :/

later we had some time to chat and exchange numbers etc.. and im glad we did bc i wanted to apologize to him for what my friends pulled with that orchestrated spin the bottle. and he was like “i am very content things turned out that way actually and i hope you don’t mind it either, and also — i hope you are single too” <- he looked so cute saying this that i ended up kissing him again help. then we talked some more and kissed some more. around 3:30am we had to leave bc we had work in like a few hours so i called a taxi and he waited with me outside even though he was still at work (i hope he did not get in trouble for that + spending a lot of time with us t-t) and then opened the car door for me and told me to text him when i get home t-t but i forgot bc i was a bit drunk and all i wanted to do was sleep right away so i just passed out. BUT HE CALLED ME and was like you home safe? and i was like yep yepp !! then i saw that he texted me a few times to check on me and maybe got worried that i did not reply so he called t-t

today he kept texting me all day casually updating me on how his day is going + asking questions about my day and etc. he sent me a selfie in the morning and was like “ok since you’re not drunk anymore can you please look at me and confirm that you still like me” LMAO he is so !! doki doki !! makes me laugh a lot but also i want to punch him sometimes bc he’s so smug but then again i can’t bc he’s also very cute and pretty t-t anyway i shall keep you updated on mr waiter v_v WAIT actually he’s also an engineer but works as a waiter too + he’s a foreigner but has been living here for a long time, knows the language fluently and has the cutest tiny accent when saying certain words IT’S SO CUTE anyway i need to take a shower now i am so tired t-t

[mzannthropy]

I could not care less about the drunkard from your loser district, why don't you fix that blunder of yours from the original trilogy and write a happy ending for Finnick and Annie, Suzanne? The books are narrated by Katniss, just say she was hallucinating when she said Finnick died, that he never joined her wild goose chase of a mission or that he made it out of that dungeon or whatever the place was, how hard is it really. (In fact I think Annie's conduct is favourable to this theory, this is someone who was already struggling with being mentally stable, and losing the love of her life should have sent her over the edge, but she behaves so calmly and casually, which makes me think he did survive, he might have just sent her in his place to the meeting bc he didn't want to deal with it, and the photo Katniss mentions at the end means nothing, it's Finnick himself that could have taken it.) You could show what trauma does to someone's perception.

How about Johanna, she never got any ending, how about Cressida, how about Effie? She could be an interesting character to explore. Like seriously, I think even writing about any of the Careers would be 1000x more interesting than going back to the same district and same overrated characters. Christ, this fucking series never fails to rile me up.

[devotionsforconfession]

Always shook to my core that Dr Soong DISASSEMBLED LORE bc he was behaving strangely.

Like. That's his dad. And!!! He's an android, he's programed like that!! He's an android with emotions and irrational responses - he's as close to human as he could get at that time.

Like imagine being Lore - as people our flaws and foibles are still are own, yknow? Like we can be mean and cruel and petty and selfish, and Lore does too, but unlike a human, the standards set for Lore mean that when he fails to be ontologically perfect, his dad DECIDES TO SWITCH HIM OFF, TAKE HIM TO BITS AND LOBOTOMISE HIM!!

Baffling, honestly.

Like of course he's pissed of course he hatesloveshates Data, of course he goes on an anti human murder spree.

To Lore, his odd behaviours and less than pleasant manner are probably just as much him as everything else. It's giving stepfird wives honestly.

And I know he was like a murderer or whatever but I do feel like if you're going to take the step of Creating New Life as a God Frankenstein Gepetto hybrid, you should have to come to terms with the idea that your creation might not be perfect.

(I mean none of the three I just mentioned did except for God maybe if you cherry pick)

You can Create New Sentient Life or you can fuck about w AI turning it on and off at your leisure, but doing both makes you a bit evil honestly. You might have to reckon with the fact that your creature may be less than perfect, may be distasteful, unpleasant to be around, might even be evil. Like all parents. You don't get to switch your kid off bc you made them wrong this time. You have to reckon with their failures yourself.

Imagine if your parent decided to do open brain surgery on you bc he didn't like how you turned out AND YOURE AN ADULT AND NOTHING CAN STOP HIM.

Like. If you're a murderer or whatever, the punishment is not forcible lobotomy. It's so creepy the way androids are like... casually dehumanised (for want of a better word) in the show.

I don't think I'm phrasing this as well a I'd like but I just wanted to get it out of my system lol. Maybe this is covered in the show or the movies and I've memory holed it bc it's been a while since I've watched them but like... jfc.

[bookofmirth]

*HOFAS spoilers* so I read Randall and Ember bonus chapter and I have thoughts hehe

What I notice from that whole scene is that Nesta doesn't know Rhys at all. And doesn't even try.

HOFAS chapter 9:

“And Rhysand is … your king?”Nesta snorted. “He’d like to be. But no. He’s the High Lord of the Night Court.”

In the BC:

"I don't answer to my sister or to you," Nesta retorted. "I am not your subject to punish as you please."

"You have jeopardized this entire world,” Rhysand shouted. "You might not answer directly to me, but you will answer to every being here for what you did."

"You might not answer directly to me" this just shows how Rhys never saw her as his subject but she definitely does for some reasons. He also said in acosf that he doesn't want to be a high king whatsoever but she said confidently that he wouldn't mind! It's almost like she doesn't want to know anything about him and change her mindset about him at all! At least this is what I'm getting from her. Bc she also was hellbent to badmouth him in the beginning of the book as well that also both Cassian and Az told her she doesn't know anything about him.

All the while when Rhys was nothing but respectful toward her since he met her. He gave her a position in his court even tho she didn't have any experience for it. But he started to change attitude after acofas bc also Nesta became harsher to Feyre & Cassian AND Elain so he also treated her the way she treated others bc he doesn't care how she behave toward him but he cares about others. (I feel like I have to say it this is my opinion so I might be wrong)

So I find it strange on how she tried to amend thing with others but she's not trying with Rhys. And she also knows how it might take long for them to forgive her (the end of the BC and not just for what she did but for other things she has done in the past)

It almost feels like both Nesta and Rhysand are avoiding each other to get to know the other one. This is the vibe I'm getting. They both don't want to acknowledge each other and in this case the other one's trauma!

I understand both characters (might be surprising but I love both of so fkn much haha) and I understand why both did what they did (even if I think Rhys was unnecessarily harsh the next morning and I think it's bc it's Nesta...) but honestly Rhys is rattled by meeting two outsiders one Bryce and one Aelin and he don't even know what Aelin is so he's super anxious about what will happen and I reckon he also saw everything that happened with Bryce in the Prison from Azriel so imagine his fear that Bryce woke an Asteri that intend to destroy her world and she so casual woke one in his world as well so yeah I get it.

And I get Nesta as well but it was a risk that she chose to take and it was Reckless but I understand nonetheless.

So yeah I wonder why these two are avoiding each other so hard lol

ps: English isn't my first language so forgive me for any mistakes

I wonder if Nesta and Rhys are just too similar to one another, in a way that means they will never truly get along!

Because if you think about it, they are both viciously protective of the people they care about, and will do things to protect them even without asking if that's wanted. Neither of them told Feyre about the pregnancy, remember. Rhys wanted to fix it before it became a problem, and Nesta didn't see a problem with that rationale. Nesta also prevents Elain from trying to help the IC, and Rhys had that bubble around Feyre all of acosf. Rhys will NOT stop being mad at Nesta on Feyre's behalf, and Nesta will NOT entertain the idea of Elain doing anything that might put her in harm's way.

They come across to me as two leaders who are unwilling to be told what to do unless they respect the person doing the telling, and they don't respect one another.

I wouldn't agree that Rhys has been respectful to Nesta. He was always wary, and I think that he did try a bit, like you mentioned with giving her a title. But that title felt like a pretty hollow gesture because it never went anywhere, and now they both acknowledge that she's not his subject which makes her being part of the IC fall flat. I don't entirely blame him for being wary of her, and her of him. He only knows what Feyre told him about their upbringing, and Nesta only knows that he's this pretty guy who thinks he's the most powerful ever and his shit doesn't stink. Their relationship really took a dive in acofas and... I don't blame either of them for it, because Nesta was in pain and not handling it well, and Rhys was trying to heal at the same time. There's no specific way that either of them could have acted that would have made them besties. It was going to be rough no matter what.

Rhys and Nesta's relationship is one of the most interesting in the series because neither of them will compromise! So even in situations where their interests are aligned, they're both going to think they know best.

I wouldn't have known English isn't your first language, fwiw!

[pearlescentpearl]

Behind the scenes for reborn! Maedros bulletpoint fic?

This is a rather unspecified question here, not sure what you want to know, so I guess I'll just ramble about some things that didn't make the cut for the fic?

One thing I didn't really get to explore in the bullet point fic is Mísrilya/Maitimo's relationship with objectification.

The thing is, canonically, elves and Ainur alike have strongly developed senses of aesthetic appreciation/attraction. Getting lost in the wilderness bc the view is SO pretty is something they do. Wanting to hang out with certain people bc they are SO pretty is something they do. The denial of beauty is treated like an insult/punishment. A significant part of the reason the Valar invite the elves to Valinor is bc they find them SO beautiful they want to keep them around, and I can't imagine this didn't have an effect on Calaquendi culture.

So there's already this... aesthetic appreciation motivation at the forefront of the Valinorian Ainur's approach to relations with elves. It's not quite objectification. But it's not not objectification either.

And Melkor and the Ainur cleaved to him are not immune to this either! They also love beautiful things! Even if that love is the toxic kind that revels in possession, objectification, and despoiling.

So what does this mean for Mísrilya/Maitimo who is a very pretty elf? A mixed bag, mostly.

People want to be his friend, and have his attention, and linger in his vicinity just to look at him, and these are all socially acceptable things in Quendi culture. He's an idol, but he's not really a person to half the people around him, he's just Very Pretty so people like looking at him. He's half an object, in the way popular celebrities are half object to a good number of their fans. So Mísrilya grows up accustomed to a certain level of casual scrutiny whenever he's in public. He's incredibly conscious of himself, and his self image at all times, but at the same time, his looks are an unfortunately significant cornerstone of things like his ego, his confidence, and his sense of self-worth. People like him so much because he's pretty. What is he worth to people without that?

And that's just when Mísrilya is Some Guy at Cuiviénen. When he gets taken to Utumno the objectification becomes literal. He is now a pretty object for people to look at, and play with. There's no more privacy. There's no more respect for his feelings. He is a bauble on a shelf and he is expected to behave as such even when people are systematically destroying him for their own amusement. He is a barbie doll to them. As you can imagine, this severely damages his sense of self, his sense of self-possession, and his sense of boundaries. Not even his name is safe.

And when he's no longer pretty enough to save his life, he gets tortured to death

Enter; his new life as Maitimo, and the cycle has started all over again with being Excessively Pretty. The same cracks get built into his psyche, except now it's Worse. It's part of his very name. He lives in privileged place predicated on being available for aesthetic appreciation by powerful beings. Plus, he's royalty now so there is never any escape from the scrutiny. But Maitimo does something Mísrilya never did, and that's weaponize his objectification.

And in my head, that's due to all the time Mísrilya has spent in Mandos grappling with the way people treated him for being pretty, both the good and the bad. As Maitimo, he seeks to exert control over it. You see that in how Maitimo takes a lot of modeling jobs for artists and college classes in order to network socially. Maitimo quite literally uses his face to get in doors and influence the right people to move the way he wants. He's in control of his own affect now.

He even, at his most desperate, uses this maneuver on Melkor to keep his attention off other people, even as Melkor reminds him of the trauma objectification has caused him by saying such things along the lines of '[being pretty/looked at is] all you're good for'. By the time Mahtan visits Maitimo in Lórien you see this toxic view has sunk claws in Maitimo when he makes comments about being useless, and needing to be good for something.

So yeah, I didn't really get to explore the objectification aspect of Mísrilya/Maitimo's character in this au to its fullest, but do know it is there from start to finish.

[abidethetempest]

Rise and Fall Ghosts

was inspired by @/shaxxuality to do this ask game for the Ghosts of my OC Fireteam! Spoilers for my fic, rise and fall, will be below (mostly character's names/personalities). Also this got insanely long so rip if youre reading it on mobile.

Haedriks, Fenris's Ghost

legendary shards. What is your Ghost like? What character traits do they have? Haedriks is pragmatic, cynical, and sardonic. They care about Fenris more than anything else in the universe.

glimmer. Is your Ghost a loner or has a friend group? Do they hang out with other Ghosts or Guardians? Haedriks is a loner. They do warm up to the other Ghosts in Fenris's fireteam and are casual friends with Sundance.

ascendant shards. How did the Ghost find your Guardian? How long did it take them? They found Fenris fairly soon after the Collapse, early-mid Dark Age (I hesitate to put a solid date on this bc the Destiny timeline gives me hives). She was found dead outside an Awoken ship; Haedriks doesn't know why she was there and has no interest in finding out.

enhancement core. How does the Ghost behave in combat? Do they help the Guardian in any way? Haedriks is quite cautious during combat and only emerges to heal Fenris if she is dying or unable to continue fighting. They talk to her telepathically a lot, giving updates on where everyone else is or any threats she needs to be aware of.

bright dust. Is your Ghost stylish? Do they like different shells or do they stick to one? Do they have a unique or recognizable feature? Haedriks saw little point in fashion during the Dark Age-- after all, being pretty just draws attention, and attention gets you killed. However, Fenris does recieve a gift in the form of a Ghost shell from a ✨certain someone✨ later on, and Haedriks likes it very much. I haven't quite settled on the design yet but the placeholder in my head rn is the Totem Shell.

silver. Does the Ghost have their own space wherever the Guardian lives? What does it look like? Not really. Haedriks only comes out to sleep and they do that by just snuggling into Fenris's hood.

exotic cipher. How does the Ghost feel about the Crucible and Gambit? Crucible is a good chance to hone your skills against other Guardians in preparation for their inevitable betrayal, nothing more. They don't trust the Drifter enough to like Gambit.

spoils of conquest. What is the Ghost’s attitude towards the Darkness powers? And the Guardian if they are using it? They're more open to them than Fenris is, since they've seen all sorts of atrocities commited by those who weild the Light. Fenris would sooner cut her own arm off than use it, but Haedriks would still support her if she did.

enhancement prism. What was the Ghost’s life before finding their Guardian? Rough. The Dark Age was, well...... dark. It almost broke their spirit, watching other Ghosts die and seeing Lightbearers, the ones supposed to fix this mess, turn into petty tyrants and killers.

upgrade module. What does the Ghost like to do in free time? Do they have hobbies? Haedriks really likes writing poetry. Fenris is the only one who will ever see it, though.

Vesper, Niamh's Ghost

legendary shards. What is your Ghost like? What character traits do they have? The ideal Ghost for a Warlock, quite inquistive and nerdy. Has a lot of Opinions (tm) about academic subjects and is not afraid to voice them.

glimmer. Is your Ghost a loner or has a friend group? Do they hang out with other Ghosts or Guardians? Associates with a lot of other Warlocks' Ghosts bc I headcanon that there are Ghost book clubs and academic conferences.

ascendant shards. How did the Ghost find your Guardian? How long did it take them? Vesper found Niamh on the moon after the City had been founded. He wanted to wait until he knew things would be safe for his Guardian.

enhancement core. How does the Ghost behave in combat? Do they help the Guardian in any way? He hates seeing/feeling Niamh hurt and will insist upon healing her as much as possible.

bright dust. Is your Ghost stylish? Do they like different shells or do they stick to one? Do they have a unique or recognizable feature? He likes to coordinate with Niamh, which usually means wearing lots of orange and red. She buys him lots of shaders.

silver. Does the Ghost have their own space wherever the Guardian lives? What does it look like? A corner of Niamh's desk is reserved for him. He has a lil cushion to rest on and a stand to hold books open while he reads.

exotic cipher. How does the Ghost feel about the Crucible and Gambit? Both are fun! Vesper is a very competitive lil guy and loves to win.

spoils of conquest. What is the Ghost’s attitude towards the Darkness powers? And the Guardian if they are using it? It's a new frontier of knowledge, so Vesper has an interested academically... but he's worried about the effect it could have on Niamh. There's a line between curiosity and recklessness (not that either of them are good at knowing where it is).

enhancement prism. What was the Ghost’s life before finding their Guardian? Pretty okay, all things considered! He spent time with other Ghosts, helping out with research or learning about whatever interested him. It was a little lonely until he found Niamh, tho.

upgrade module. What does the Ghost like to do in free time? Do they have hobbies? He loves reading, both nonfiction and fiction. He also collects pretty rocks!

Sweetpea, Sigil-3's Ghost

legendary shards. What is your Ghost like? What character traits do they have? As the name implies, an absolute sweetheart. She's very shy and quiet, but had a secret protective streak when it comes to Sigil. She just wants everyone to get along and be okay.

glimmer. Is your Ghost a loner or has a friend group? Do they hang out with other Ghosts or Guardians? She's well-liked by pretty much everyone she meets, but Sweetpea is too introverted to spend a lot of time with others before she gets overwhelmed. She does like to hang out with Haedriks, who tends to be blunt enough to say what Sweetpea is also thinking 90% of the time.

ascendant shards. How did the Ghost find your Guardian? How long did it take them? She set out to find Sigil right away, worried that he would be lonely or sad waiting too long for her. She found him in the very late Dark Age and they immediately went to the fledgling Last City to help protect it.

enhancement core. How does the Ghost behave in combat? Do they help the Guardian in any way? Sweetpea is the Ghost with the best hacking skills on the team and so is deployed to open doors or such things most.

bright dust. Is your Ghost stylish? Do they like different shells or do they stick to one? Do they have a unique or recognizable feature? Sweetpea loves feeling nice or pretty, and Sigil often buys her new shells whenever he has the funds. Some of her favorites are the Star Map shell, the Adonis shell, and the Dreamer shell. Her most recognizable feature is her that her eye color is pink.

silver. Does the Ghost have their own space wherever the Guardian lives? What does it look like? Sweetpea likes being close to Sigil, so she usually just hangs out on his shoulder no matter where they are. He did insist on giving her the space by one of his windows to grow her flowers.

exotic cipher. How does the Ghost feel about the Crucible and Gambit? Crucible is okay, she doesn't like Sigil playing because watching Guardians fight brings back bad memories of the Dark Age but she tolerates it. Drifter gives both of them weird vibes, so they're in agreement on not playing Gambit.

spoils of conquest. What is the Ghost’s attitude towards the Darkness powers? And the Guardian if they are using it? Big old nope. It makes Sweetpea feel physically ill just thinking of it. Probably the only thing she could ever blow up at Sigil about would be him using the Darkness.

enhancement prism. What was the Ghost’s life before finding their Guardian? Scary but not without good moments. Sweetpea traveled with other Ghosts the whole way since it was safer, and she still knows those Ghosts well. They kept each other safe, and more importantly, they made sure nobody lost hope.

upgrade module. What does the Ghost like to do in free time? Do they have hobbies? Sweetpea likes to grow plants and learn about different kinds of flowers. Her favorite, of course, is the sweet pea plant.

[zazikels]

finished the game loved most of it but i have a small rant (donut read unless you did the part of wyll's quest that involves searching for something underground esp bc there will be spoilers about the emperor)

highkey insane and kind of brainless to me that the emperor will straight up betray you and fuck off to join the netherbrain of all things like a moron if you don't want to condemn an entire race of people to being a lich's pawns forever.

Yes I am trying to have my fucking cake and eat it too but fucking come on, this is the type of thing that should've been set up and determined by how you treated him throughout the game and there should've been a persuasion check to convince him to stay. It's insane bc there are serious pieces of lore about him that you can completely miss out on and that is fucking insane given what a main character he is lol, esp when some of these things I think could've been worked into some kind of relationship system or dialogue that would've served as persuasion checks to not make him just casually flip and do the thing he's just been avoiding for no fucking reason especially when you find out WHO HE ACTUALLY IS.

Wyll hints at the "change" in duke Stelmane and if you're mean to emperor squiddie when he wants to fuck he reveals the truth to you: that he was dementedly puppeteering his precious duke the whole time and they never had any kind of friendship or relationship. (This is also just what's in the descent into avernus blurb on Stelmane. A mindflayer induced a seizure in her and she's been waging a silent battle against the thing and can't break free or cry for help). (and his whole demeanour changes after he reveals this to you and he becomes a villain: YOU ARE MY PUPPET AND YOU WILL DO AS I SAY).

Oh and of course, if you do Wyll's quest and are sent to find Ansur you learn the truth, tentacle man is not just any old adventurer HE'S FUCKING BALDURAN. Does this make any impact on any of the final decisions or become relevant literally outside of that. NOOOPE. He murdered his best friend dragon who rescued him from the elder brain to begin with the first time and we can basically never talk about it again lol.

Like this one is especially egregious because it's not the outcome of you calling him a freak or anything, this is literally just the truth and his fucking origin story. You can't do at least one persuasion check on DUDE THIS YOUR FUCKING CITY. THAT YOU FOUNDED. WHAT THE FUCK.

Anyway I just feel like there are these big pieces of lore that should've informed how the emperor behaves and whether or not he betrays you. Why can't you say "remember Ansur?" or something idk. Like it takes all of two seconds for Orpheus to not turn on you, so he behaves exactly as Voss said he would. Throw in a difficult persuasion check for him too!! IDK!! I think it would've been better if they at least let you free him and THEN forced the ultimatum on you bc it would make the emperor look less like he's throwing a fucking temper tantrum and doing the one thing he absolutely never wanted to do because you absolutely have to trust him but heaven forbid you want a chance on something lol. At least it would make sense if he chose to act out of self preservation when the threat was direct instead of being like 'no he hates you pc, you're ugly to him, listen to meeee'