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rinasunny · 20 days ago

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R-18 Alphabet - Red Eye (Jackson/Lisa) Edition

Anything and everything to know about our favorite non-horror movie non-couple.

Rating: E / X / 18+

Warnings: Dub-con elements, unhealthy relationships, black comedy, lighthearted treatment of dark subjects, misogyny & more (standard JxL affairs)*

Reader discretion advised.

First fic on this blog and it's this! I also finished writing on the 4th, so it can also serve as a 20th anniversary piece :D Written in collaboration with @rinasunny , her contributions are labeled along with entries we both wrote.

*Please message me if you think I should add additional warnings. Thank you!

A - Aftercare

Really depends on how much they beat each other up in the process, and who was the bigger subject of said bruising. For example, if poor Leesers gets the brunt of it, love bites scattered over her neck and chest, handprints on her thighs and rump, god forbid maybe a nasty little bruise on her forehead–Jackson will have enough of a heart to bring her some ointment and a tylenol. Plus a baby wipe to soothe her reddened and rawed nethers.

If it's Jackson who ends up suffering the most, Lisa will (understandably) have limited pity for him, to his relative indifference. She'll rub over the scratches on his back and arms (also face, sometimes) she leaves when her nails get too long, but that's usually as far as the soothing gestures go. She will, however, bring him cough syrup or water if she ever accidentally chokes him, or otherwise agitates the closed-off hole in his neck.

Otherwise, if they're both equally worse for wear they'll usually just sleep/walk it off and continue on with their day(s). They're a couple of real tough cookies.

B - Body Part

Jackson's got a few options. The first one he ever noticed: her cheeks–the ones on her face, to be clear. They were so round and pink when she flashed that delightfully artificial customer service smile, so pale and sunken when she made her insomniac eggs, he thought they resembled a white peach at various stages of ripeness, and he fantasized what it'd be like to take a bite out of them. Fucking weirdo.

Her nipples are a similar shade of peachy-pink before his abuse, her ass takes it on after. Even her vulva was like that, the inner lips a deep rose, outer lips pale with that dusting of blush that both made him salivate and parched his throat. The first time he called her pussy cute, he was met with a heel to the face that nearly dislocated his jaw and split his lip. Didn’t deter him whatsoever.

There was another part of her that occupied his mind, one he had a complicated relationship with–her scar, the catalyst that led to his failure of biblical proportions. He envied the assaulter for touching her and etching his filthy self into both her body and psyche, and at the same time resented him for doing it through pain and violation–while Jackson would've gone the way of pleasure and passion, if given the chance. He wanted nothing more than to overwrite the mark, so that when she looked at it in the mirror she'd think of him instead. He could jot down his signature like her body was a contract, keep it constantly covered with bite and kiss marks, and in the blackest pit of his mind he thought of even using his own knife to make some adjustments, but eventually he realized none of that was necessary. He had technically succeeded, as Lisa began to see it as not just a reminder of her pain, but as a symbol of her victory over him, and her refusal to ever fully give in to him and his madness. Soon enough, he made his own peace with it.

Lisa despises how cartoonishly pretty he is. What a waste, for that face to belong to someone so heinous. It's too cliche, devilish beauty is a tired trope within literature and fiction, but alas–this was her real life, this was where she was now. In a whirlwind (hurricane-esque) romance (bloodthirsty war) with a sexy terrorist and his long eyelashes, plump lips and unnaturally blue eyes. God help us all.

But besides his face, she thinks his best feature is his size–general size, to be clear. The fact that he doesn't tower over her and can't crush her with his weight makes the playing field feel more even, and she'd be lying if she said the way he could slink around like a snake wasn't a little bit exciting. She really likes his waist: thin enough to wrap her legs around and strong enough that she can squeeze as hard as she wants.

C - Cum

Jackson is the type of guy (with Lisa, at least) to not use any protection, nor even attempt to play the pullout game. When Lisa rightfully expresses concern at this, he'll simply blame her for being “too tight,” say it's “not his problem,” or just smile like the smug cretin he is.

It's all-internal with Jacky-boy, all the time, no matter the location. If he's going in, it's gonna stay in, till he's all out. No exceptions.

So for Lisa her choices are to defend herself by getting on the pill or any of the shiny new contraception options introduced in the ought's, or just sit there and accept the consequences of their batshit insane relationship.

If (when) she gets knocked up, Jackson, the absolute PoS, sees it as a triumph, a significant victory that was still but a footnote in the grand scheme of his “revenge.” And to the continued bewilderment of her friends and family, Lisa won't do much about it– citing her refusal to “be his victim.” Whatever that means.

In accordance with a universal fact of life– that crazy people always breed like rabbits–these two are inevitably gonna end up with quite the big family. Those poor kids will have quite the interesting home life, but they'll at least have the most glorious cheekbones in the game. That has to count for something, right?

D - Dirty Secret

Lisa, on her pride as a girlboss, will never, ever admit that his obsession with her had at some point gained a sort of sick, twisted appeal. Since the red-eye flight she no longer lived in fear of the entire male gender but that didn't mean her romantic life had been brought back from the dead. She continued to find difficulty sniffing out men's intentions (Flight 1019's shenanigans had in fact not helped with this) but that rang true for a potential suitor's willingness to commit to a relationship as much as it did a heinous crime. As a typical working woman in her late twenties looking for serious inquiries only, she could at least acknowledge his “unwavering” nature as…a pro, in some cases. She also discovered, as a champion of the day-to-day, men of a similar rank tended to be…dull, albeit safe, when compared to an international terrorist-for-hire. With him around, she can at least say she's never bored.

Typically, Jackson will describe most of the demented, perverse ideas and scenarios that pop into his head right to her face (after the incident, he lost his job and with it most of his inhibition), she'll react accordingly, something will or won't come of it, rinse and repeat. However, there's one desire he feels hesitant to express, thanks to his toxic male pride and the simple improbability of her actually going along with it.

Sometimes, just a little bit, he wants to be praised. Sometimes he wishes Lisa would look and smile at him the way she did when they first met, when they bonded over soggy chips and cheap vodka. Sometimes, after spending his day racking his brain for intricate schemes and filing through all the different ways to kill a human, he'd like to have someone acknowledge his hard work and then allow his mind to drift away from all of it. Transcend from his reality to the world of the common. He dreams of the day when Lisa would smile when he entered the room, squeeze his shoulders, ask him about his day, call him a stud–he wonders if it’s even a possibility. Maybe one day his dreams will come true–probably only after realizing he's the reason they can't, but until then it’ll remain a tall order.

He can put up a front of arrogance and egoism all he wants, doesn't change the fact that, deep down, he wants to be appreciated by the only person who means anything to him anymore.

E - Experience

There were four men Lisa had ever been in coitus with. Her college boyfriend, her post-college boyfriend, the third, and a terrorist. The first two left her with generally pleasant memories, of youthful connections with good, if unserious men. The third dyed all those memories gray, if not bleached them from her mind, rendered them innate and left a bleak shadow over her life.

By the time the fourth came around, sex felt as foreign to her as an extinct Gaelic language, the idea of being desired and enjoying it far from her mind. Despite that, the first time she did it with him, it was totally different. The back-and-forth of it all, matching his intensity–it came second nature to her, like she was waiting her entire life for something, someone like this. Maybe he just swept her up in his rhythm, maybe it was what somebody on the internet 20 years from now would call a “trauma bond”, who knows. All she knew was that it made her feel like someone, and not something.

Being an objectively attractive international man of mystery, especially one as “occupied” with his own masculinity as our Mr. Rippner, yes, he had a previous tendency to get around. That's not to say he was a manwhore about it, but whether the amount of meaningful sex he had indulged in outweighed the non was a bit of a toss-up. He had been in committed relationships before, as did Lisa, but they certainly didn't end quite as mundanely as hers did. After that, for most of his mid-to-late twenties, he decided to play the game as a filthy casual of sorts.

So yes, he was no stranger to sex, even sex on the rougher side. But when he had his Leese, under him, on top of him, in his arms–things felt different. Whether it was all the accumulated history and emotions between them, or some stupid new age hippie bullshit like them being fated-soulmate-star-partners or whatever, he had a suspicion it wouldn't have mattered if he was the saddest, most pathetic virgin this side of the Mississippi river; they'd still be this heartless and passionate. So hateful and yet so loving.

F - Favorite Position

When sex and violence become this conflated, it becomes all about the conquest, the struggle, the total and utter destruction of your opponent and their honor as a fighter. Kinda.

A major factor is restraint–rendering one helpless to the pleasure hell. Their favorite–Jackson's favorite, is prone bone. Ironing little Leese down flat with his weight, with his core strength, and his arms, forcing her hands down– face in her hair, or her shoulder, breathing her in, watching her– between her legs, his knees spreading them, spreading them far– he's inside her, deep, pushing up her viscera, battering her womb, her entrance spread wide by his cock, helpless little clit exposed, red and swollen from getting pummeled by his scrotum– her face buried in the pillowcase, soaked by her tears, snot, juices, she's crying for him, begging, unable to do anything but lie there and take him and cum—yeah, life doesn't get much better than that.

But Diabolical Terrorist Backshots (sorry) aside, the same idea remains: he likes her on her back too, as long as her legs are on his shoulders or otherwise rendered useless. Picking her up is a power trip, sometimes it's on a wall, but he prefers having her back to his chest, his arms under her knees, sitting down or standing up (yes, he's 5”9, but he's in shape, and she's like 5”4, 2000's skinny—it's not that hard. I think) forcing her to either hold onto him for dear life or risk taking a little tumble. Sometimes he ties her up with the red scarves he took a liking to wearing after the incident—she looks good in red, so that's always fun. He's really not a picky man, as long as she's helpless and at the mercy of him and his dick, he can have a good time.

As one may be able to infer, Lisa unfortunately doesn't get many chances to be in control—when it comes to brute strength, he's got and will probably always have the upper hand. But she's got willpower, and every time, without fail, she fights back, relentlessly, and hard. That's what makes them equals, and that balance is what makes it fun. He wins when she gives up for that round, but when she kicks and screams to the very end, beats his ego into the earth, that's when she's the victor, and that's all worth it.

She does get on top sometimes, though it's never as empowering as she imagines. It typically consists of her desperately struggling to bounce herself, her hands pushing at his abdomen, forced to stare into his stupid eyes while calling him every pejorative name she can think of under her breath. Meanwhile he's got the smarmiest look on, resting his hands on her waist, a not-so-subtle warning that if she wastes his saintlike patience he won't hesitate to finish the job himself. So generally she tries her luck with the bottom position.

Her preference is any setup that forces him to be somewhat “romantic.” Those haunting eyes gazing down at her don't seem as scary when their fingers are interlocked in a lover's clutch. Something about him changes, or maybe it's just her, but he ceases to be a megalomaniacal devil and instead becomes like any other hardworking young man trying to please the woman he loves.

G - Goofy

Surprise surprise, Mr. Jackson “Thanks for the quickie” Rippner is an arrogant, quippy asshole in all facets of his being, even when in the midst of torturing making love to his most despised beloved mark/hostage/captive/archnemesis/woman/lover/wife/whatever-the-fuck-they're-calling-it-at-that-current-moment-in-time, and Lisa can't say she's too big a fan of his comedic stylings.

Without fail he will take any chance he gets to try and verbally torment poor Leesers in the way only a Craven villain can, and by god does she sometimes long to once again just impale his squawk-box with an even remotely sharp object; perhaps this time stick it just a little bit deeper, so she'd never have to put up with his incessant yapping ever again.

There are exceptions, however, such as whenever he suffers a blow to his fragile male ego. He insists he's working on it, but she remains as skilled as ever when it comes to finding out what button to push to put him on mute. The small victory she earns when she sees his smile drop and heavy-lidded eyes fill up with malice is well worth the trade-off of having him go into scary-murder-man mode for the rest of the night.

H - Hair

No matter how much time passes, how far it falls out of style, Jackson remains loyal to his (as my friend most eloquently dubbed it) fuckass haircut. Sometimes he grows it out longer, sometimes he gets it cut shorter, but the middle part/bangs combo remains his go-to, for whatever goddamn reason. He continues to keep himself clean-shaven, never quite recognizing his own face whenever it goes beyond stubble.

And as for the “front lawn,” well, let's just say the HOA won't be knocking at his door anytime soon. All-around expected of a clean, put-together man like him. His personal grooming habits are really the least of Lisa's concerns surrounding him, so she can't exactly say she has a preference. Though she's not exactly a fan of having rugburn between her legs all the goddamn time, so there's that.

For her, well, from what I know of 2000's beauty standards any American woman that dared to have a single strand of hair on her underarms or legs was to be burnt at the stake, so I assume poor Lisa would live in accordance.

And as for her intimate care, after the two years she spent as a nonsexual being, it really wasn't something on the forefront of her mind. To his credit, Jackson really isn't one to care either. Leese is Leese. That being said, if she were to ever switch things up, perhaps go full Hollywood (is that really what they call it? Gross), he wouldn't be complaining. In fact, he'd waste no time making some snide teasing comment about it upon discovery, snatching up the chance to embarrass her in the heat of the moment as he loves to always do. What a fucking dick.

I - Intimate

Can you really get more intimate than two people wearing each other down to the bone? Almost all they do is bathe one another in blood, sweat, tears and spit (figuratively speaking, for the most part) in a mating ritual so brutal, even a female praying mantis or male bean weevil would go “holy shit, chill the fuck out!”

But things don’t always have to be so vicious between them. While there was a clear-cut heroine and villain that day, it didn't change the fact that it left them both with trauma that took on different shapes but of the same intensity.

During momentary flashes of time when Jackson can reclaim his soul from the devil, he's able to recognize just how much he's affected this poor woman, how much of a ruthless monster he is to her. He then feels a warm glow in his black heart, and the excruciating love, twisted infatuation for her and her spirit spreads deeper into his bones like the most potent of rot.

Likewise, sometimes Lisa will be forced to meet him where he's at, and in that moment she can realize who she is to him and what she symbolized: something the man on the plane could never have, no matter what he did, or how hard he tried.

In times like these, they reach a sense of clarity, and that mutual sympathy allows them to spend the night together as a normal couple. As normal as they can be, at least.

J - Jack(son) Off

Thank you thank you, I'll be here all week.

On the subject of weeks, during the eight ones he spent watching her he experienced exciting and euphoric highs, and at the same time some of the lowest moments of his entire life. Case in point, every time he fucked his right hand, more frequently than a repressed 18-year-old, much less a man pushing 30. It wasn't all that lonely, though, sometimes he fucked his left hand too.

The first time was around the tail end of the first week, in a shitty motel shower, at that. He tried to convince himself it wasn't happening, that he was a professional logic-based machine, that sentimentalities of both the mental and physical breed had no place in his work. He blamed it on stress, if she wasn't part of such a high-profile operation he wouldn't have gotten so riled up by such a mousy pushover of a woman, who, with every choice and waking moment, seemed so fucking boring.

But she wasn't, though. As the days went on, he got hooked on the plot, every miniscule little quirk of hers fascinated him and the more he found out the more he craved. She was unaware of how everything she did became erotic to him, not even just the obvious stuff like when she would drop her master key and bend down in those tight skirts that clung to her cute round butt, or when she sucked on a paleta all sweaty after a nice jog in the park, but the lame shit, too.

The way her mouth moved when she spoke, her hands fiddling while she tried to appeal to some asshole guest, the way she looked in the mirror and groaned in exasperation after waking up in the middle of the night, the flexing of her pretty neck as she doused herself with cocktails; it all made his teeth grind in sheer sexual frustration. What a whore. If it was up to him, he'd lock her away so she couldn't flaunt herself like that.

K - Kink (Housewife)

A lot of Jackson's initial obsession towards Lisa was spurred on by a deep yearning for that traditional, all-American ideal family life he had felt since he was a boy, a boy who kept getting told he would only amount to evil. Then there was the subsequent frustration that blossomed from this, at her unattainability, and the realization that a happy picket-fence lifestyle was incompatible with the path he was already too far down. It seemed to kick his desire for that whitebread domesticity to a higher, almost primal degree.

All this to say, despite Lisa being the epitome of a working woman, he's still dead-set on living out the housewife fantasy as often as he can. He tries to take every chance he gets to force her away from her job and thinks up schemes to keep her home: keeping her up all night, pulling a few strings at the hotel itself, calling in sick for her, or, in the most drastic case, setting her up to go on maternity leave.

On those days she's all cooped up in her house, he'll follow her around radiating that scumfuck aura as she just tries to live her life, indulging his dream as he imagines coming home after a long day of terrorizing to that worried pout or bitchy little frown, god forbid a smile, even.

Despite the fact that she's not a good cook like he is, he still gets giddy seeing her in the kitchen, hovering over the stove. He'll come up behind her and ensnare her in his arms, holding her down as she jumps in surprise. While relentlessly groping every vital point he can get his hands on, he presses her hips onto the counter and shoves his boner betwixt her legs to show her just how turned on he gets while she's doing even the simplest of tasks, that his violent “love” is utterly inescapable.

But more often than the reverse, it’s Lisa coming home to him in her kitchen, preparing dinner for two, asking her about her day with a quaint expression on his face. He doesn't seem to realize the irony of it all, and Lisa thinks it's pretty funny.

L - Location

At first she detested the way he broke into her house willy-nilly whenever he decided to see her, but as it became more frequent, their disturbed affair began to breach containment. At this point she wishes it was confined to her home, even if she had to spend every waking moment there with him.

Alas, now she lives in eternal alarum, waiting for the next time he pops out of whatever secluded room she happens to pass and steal her away--he's done it a few times out on the town, stuffing her into changing rooms and such, but it's at her place of work where he gets really wiley.

He truly is the worst, not even letting her slave away at her job in peace. Vacant rooms, broom closets, bathrooms–he's a big fan of bathrooms–they've gotten around all over the place. She wonders why none of her coworkers have seemed to notice her frequent absences of varying durations, and if he has anything to do with it. Considering that he did drag her into the security room one day, he probably did. And honestly, she'd rather keep it that way.

M - Motivation

While most of Jackson's new philosophies and revelations came to him in the semi-comatose state recovering from the gunshot wounds, that moment Joe's bullet hit his chest and his head made contact with the floor, was when he realized he didn't truly want to kill her. Not anytime soon, at least. The malice disappeared then and left him hollow, but it bubbled back up again afterwards, when he decided he'd rather torture and ruin her life as opposed to cutting it short.

After he returned to full stability, all extra holes in his body sealed off, he had another epiphany that quelled his flame of rage. He came to terms with the fact he really did have an obsession with her, an abnormal, deep, crippling need and hunger for her and everything she represented, and that it hadn't changed. Then when he was free from the hospital and all other blockades, the loop continued, and he decided the next step of his life.

He would invade her, completely. If he could just slither back into her life, sink his teeth in and let his venom flow through every facet; if he made her obsessed with him, dependent on him, crave him, love him; if she became his eternal one-and-only, his wife, the mother of his children, forever, till murder-suicide death do they part–then, she may indeed feel a fraction of the anguish his infatuation had caused him. And that would be his revenge.

It's revenge. And every waking moment he spends with her, each move he makes, every spark of pain and pleasure he gives her, he works towards it. Claws his way closer. He won't stop at nothing, no matter what he has to do, or how many times he has to rip out his heart and bleed for her.

Revenge. At least that's what he tells himself.

N - NO

The Ripp-Reis game is one of little regulation, due to, well, everything, but there are some rules in place. Most of them go unspoken, mutually recognized from the start, though some are established after whatever such issue makes itself apparent.

For one, despite everything, it’s never completely non-consensual. The fact that she fights back at all is enough to tell him she's playing his game; if she didn't fight him, stayed limp, dead from the start, he'd know not to go any further. Of course he's grown to love her tough, driven side but he also still craves to see her pliant, begrudging submission; it's just that now his ego demands he earn it first.

He has no issue with brandishing a blade to cut her clothes or give her a thrill, but once he’s inside her the knife is always put away. And he never, ever brings it towards her neck, or too close to her face, or her bare chest. Jackson has a deep, visceral repugnance to ever being level with her assaulter, or any other male figure in her life, at that. He has to be separate, high up and away from all of them.

Jackson has his own limits. There’s a glaring, obvious weak point on his neck, a trophy for Lisa to look at, not touch. The skin there is thin and haphazardly healed, easily irritated by the slightest bit of pressure. When his throat is constricted it drags him back to the post-flight days, his absolute rock bottom, desperately trying to avoid persecution by the law and execution from the other side. All with a metal stent in his windpipe and a rattling little inhaler in his pocket to fend off infection, like a weak sickly child. If Lisa were to strangle him, either by accident or retaliation, he’d practically shut down. He’d shove her off of him with an inappropriate amount of force, like he was fighting someone twice his size, grab his clothes (scarf first) and leave–the room, her house, the city–only coming back after the night passes.

The same thing happens when he feels emasculated–actually emasculated, not teased, not bested, but genuinely hurt. One night Lisa had gotten a good opening and landed a direct hit to his genitals, and she took the chance to push him to the ground and straddle him, a bit drunk on power and looking to give him a small taste of his own medicine. Then she saw his face.

It wasn’t fear she saw, and it wasn’t the disgust or anger that disturbed her. The surprised hurt she saw in his eyes wasn’t an amusing sign of a bruised ego, but a look of betrayal, almost. He looked pathetic, and not in the hot, desperate way.

It wasn’t desperation, it was reluctance. Yes he was an awful man, yes he deserved to get knocked down a peg, but in that moment she felt more corrupted than she had ever been, and it was horrible. She was supposed to be the good guy, better than him–this wasn’t just her stooping down to his level, it was potentially lower.

And she froze, before carefully moving off of him. He left the house without saying a word. Lisa waited in her bed, expecting him to come back with a vengeance, maybe even snuff her out for good. Instead he entered her room, and stood still, silent. She came to him that night, slid his jacket off and laid an apologetic kiss on his shoulder.

O - Oral

Many women find receiving cunnilingus deeply empowering, but Lisa begs to differ. There are few things more humiliating to her than having a man face-to-face with the most intimate part of her body, slithering his tongue in every nook and cranny, tasting her plasmatic essences–it's disgusting.

It's also terrifying, the idea of a man having direct access to her nervous system. Part of the reason it scared her so much was that she knew how good it felt, she could just tell. But anything that could override her brain, either with pleasure or pain or whatever, she tries to avoid.

That's why she refused every offer her previous partners made to her, but her current (and unfortunately, probably her last) is nothing if not persistent. When Jackson found out about her aversion to receiving oral sex, it was over. He already enjoyed doing it, but the fact that it basically let him speedrun her humiliation ritual? Now every time he goes down south he practically achieves nirvana. If she took the chance to put a bullet in his brain while he was busy or god forbid suffocate him with her legs, he wouldn't even be that mad.

He’s an absolute fiend. A demon that wants nothing more than to suck between her legs like a parasite. Whenever they’re alone together, there's a small chance he'll just decide to suddenly drop everything and start prying her legs apart; on his knees holding her waist in a vice grip, pushing her down onto the nearest elevated surface, or sometimes even just tackling her to the floor.

When he looks up and catches her greed-glazed green-eyed glower, it sends a chill right up to his chest, and when she averts her gaze a split-second after it travels all the way back down to his dick. And he knows it's probably some kind of placebo effect, but he swears she tastes like peaches when she cums, coating his lips and filling his mouth with sweet sticky syrup. He can't tell what he likes more, her taste, or the faces and noises she makes while he describes it to her, right in her ear.

Like any sane, rational, well-adjusted man, Jackson of course enjoys the occasional fellatio. But it’s usually at the back of his mind these days, at least until little Lisa started trying to “retaliate.” One day, while he was going about the usual ritual, she started pawing at him, trying to grab his dick to return the favor in some weak, pathetic attempt to get back at him–it pissed him off so much he just decided to fuck her face. It should’ve made him feel better, but when he got a glimpse at the proud look in her eye, he knew it was a round lost. So, in a sense, they both see receiving as a sign of defeat.

While her shyness is quite unshakable, he knows how to play the game. One day, when she came home from a beleaguering day of work to the equally beleaguering sight of him on her couch, he made her an offer her tired brain can’t refuse: she gets to sit on his face for as long as she wants, and in exchange he gets to stay another night without worrying about possibly being impaled through the ear with a BiC Cristal Original.

Not a single pen was touched the following day.

P - Pace (Lemony+Rina)

They're both lithe people, and can get quite impatient, so sometimes things do go by fast.

Their first time however, despite some intense “foreplay” wasn’t exactly feverish from the start. He wanted to savor the first moments of them becoming one, he was still and held “impatient” Lisa by her hips for some time.

“You’re mine,” he declared right into her ear just so she wouldn’t miss among her own rather loud gasps. When that was clear he started moving. He pushed hard and sharp but the pace wasn’t fierce…yet. He wanted to get his revenge for her misbehaviour before they both lost their minds. For her lies, for her betrayal, for all the holes she made in his body.

Little by little he increased the tempo based on her “feedback”. If she moaned to his rhythm he went faster, if she threw insults the pushes got rougher.

Eventually they lost themselves to the euphoria of the process until they ran out of energy to continue. The next day it seemed like every muscle below his neck hurt when it got stretched, but mentally and emotionally it was worth it.

Except for the fact that Lisa decided to slap him hard, adding one more hurting muscle to his unenviable state. Not that her muscles weren't “hungover” from the previous night, just to a lesser extent.

In general the pace is dependent on their mood and the amount of workload and stress they had during their shifts. Lisa appreciates his willingness to be slow and gentle at times, she even overcame her pride and stubbornness to express that. She could initiate the act herself if she was in the mood, but who could say for sure if Jackson wouldn’t decide to get faster in the process.

Q - Quickie

It’s either extremely fast or long and drawn-out, no in-betweens for these two. And because of Jackson's emerging fetish for pouncing on her amidst her usual day-to-day routine, as ironic as it is, short trysts have become more and more common.

The bad news is that, probably due to sheer willpower on both their parts, neither of them are usually quick to finish. The good news is that the more abrupt or inappropriate the timing/setting is, the more the thrill speeds things up.

Anger seems to increase sensitivity for both of them, but especially Jackson. Often he'll find himself in moments of self-reflection, ruminating on how much he hates her, how she ruined his life, how hard she makes him, how much he loves her, and eventually he'll have no choice but to get up and seek out his Leese so she can take responsibility for riling him up: by letting him choke her out and pump a load in her, no matter what she's doing.

Once he caught her in the bathroom in the middle of a meeting of hers, and afterwards as she was heading to the door on shaky legs, pulling down the hem of her pencil skirt, she grumbled just under her breath–”well, thanks for the quickie…”

He unfortunately did hear that blatant plagiarization of his finest work, and the next day the front desk received quite a few complaints about the first floor family restroom being mysteriously locked for an hour during the previous afternoon.

R - Risk

See L.

It's not that Jackass Ripper doesn't believe in risk, he definitely does, but once he's found a way to control it it doesn't mean a thing to him.

He prides himself on being able to whip situations into submission and make everything go his way, it's what he's known for. So he's very aware of the possibilities: they could be seen, she could get fired, something could break–but he has ways of avoiding/getting out of all of them, it's fine.

But Lisa doesn't know that, or she at least forgets it in the heat of the moment, and that's kind of the point. Psychological torture was a foundational aspect of their sex lives, after all. In fact, his excessive need to humiliate her keeps clashing with his extreme possessiveness and causing him mental turmoil. Lisa should be ashamed! Manipulating his emotions like that. That girl really needs to learn her lesson.

S - Stamina

Let’s see what we can determine from the canon.

One of them: Got drunk, knocked unconscious, choke-slammed against a wall, shoved a pen hard enough to break through cartilage, wormed her way through a crowded plane to then sprint through an entire airport, stole a car, got beat up some more and thrown down a flight of stairs, and still had enough cognitive function to shoot a gun and not miss.

The other: Received an impromptu tracheotomy, also made his way through a plane and airport with the resulting hole in his neck, probably ALSO stole a car, got kicked, stabbed with a shoe, tanked multiple hits from heavy objects, SHOT–and still kept going.

It’s safe to say these two can go through a lot.

T - Toy

Let's say Jackson helps blow up the house of some politician in Malaysia and proceeds to spend his paycheck perusing the finest wares of Spencer's Gifts–or better yet, pride of Miami Beach, the “Naughty Rooster” (yes that is a real place, yes I did look it up)

He then gives his beloved Leese a visit, and pitches his idea, to paraphrase: “put this thing inside of you, and try to go to work while I follow you and watch from a distance.”

She calls him a pathetic disgusting perverted excuse for a man.

He comments on how unfortunate it would be if the establishment from which he procured these fine goods mysteriously exploded one day.

She agrees to the idea. Not that she actually thinks he'd try something like that (“When did I ever say I would do such a thing? What kind of man do you think I am, Leese?”) but she just knows that it'd weigh on her conscience if she refused. Plus he'd just come up with something worse later on.

The game doesn't last very long. She drove to work that day, took one step outside her car, then drove right back home with the intention of calling in about a “family emergency” once she got this thing out of her.

She made the call about sixteen hours later.

U - Unfair (Rina+Lemony)

“Why are you always the one on top? It’s not fair!” “Because I’m the more driven and assertive one.”

He says it the way you’d explain character traits to an elementary schooler.

“Let me guess, it’s also ‘cause you’re the male.” “That too. It’s only natural, Leese. Basic biology.”

There’s that face again, the one he always has on when he’s trying to provoke her. She really should be above this by now.

“Yeah, I guess you’re right. You are stronger, smarter, rational…” “Go on.”

Her hand crawls up his bare torso, his eyes shut peacefully, hers locked on target.

“So of course you’re in charge…this just goes to show, I don’t know what I’m doing at all. You're just such an wonderful man…” Click.

Just when her hand reaches the left summit of his chest, it’s shackled by a ring of pure American steel.

“You know, you really need to start taking some acting classes.” “Oh, dammit. Where were you even hiding the cuffs?! Take them off!”

“A magician never reveals his tricks. And why would I set you free, were you not just about to try and gouge my eyes out?” “What?! No…”

She deflates, fingers curling into a fist. He firmly tugs the handcuffs with his right while stroking her hair with his left.

“Then what was your little plan this time?” “I was just gonna give you a…”

She tucks her face in his shoulder.

“...purple nurple…” Silence. “...excuse me?”

His appalled expression, red cheeks, and vanished egoism sent her into a fit of giggles so intense that she didn’t even care when he cuffed her to the bedpost and stormed out of the room.

V - Volume (Lemony+Rina)

They're both quiet people: one by nature, one by trade. Therefore, another aspect of their eternal sexual pissing contest tug-of-war, is trying to get the other to make noise (when their dignities/careers/lives aren’t at stake, that is.)

In private things can most certainly devolve into a cacophony of hisses and snarls and yowling that could rival even the rowdiest of stray cat brawls.

Lisa is very much flattered by his baritone groans, especially if she can sense his exhaustion. But try to make her admit that, you’ll get slapped hard at best. Jackson loves breaking her tough tsundere-esque exterior. And since he can’t make her admit her affection for him verbally (unless it’s a Freudian slip) he gets the most out of non-verbal indicators, one example is when her moans get pitched higher. During these moments her mental state is the most vulnerable (and honest) aside from dreaming.

Sometimes when they are in Lisa’s condo they cover their loudness with Hi-Fi, they don’t always agree on the music though. Lisa leans towards trip hop (Massive Attack) and new wave Depeche Mode. Jackson being quite the traveler he is, introduced her to 90’s Nick Cave. She enjoys some songs of his, but considers turning on “Loverman” to be in extremely bad taste. But what can we say, her blue-eyed freak can’t help but find the song so relatable.

W - Wild Card (Saliva) (Rina)

Early on in their relationship, when consent was often more questionable than not, Lisa fought hard: against both her temptation and his assertiveness. Once for a millisecond she thought spitting onto his face would be a good offense, if not distraction. Much to her shock it was neither. Sure, he was sort of distracted, but it didn’t help her to escape in the slightest. He wiped the saliva off his face and between his lips right before her eyes just to enjoy both the taste of it and her dumbfounded reaction. Fortunately for him, she stood still. “My turn.” He had said, pushing her head back to open her jaws so he could return the favor.

Now that they're on “proper” terms she prefers sucking his finger, and she starts to understand why cats find it so relaxing and satisfying. Jackson usually lets her do it to lubricate his fingers, he can get impatient when it’s just for the hell of it. If that is the case, she might bite his fingers if she doesn’t feel like being interrupted.

Jackson, on his part, loves to capture the moments of her nipples hardening, her reaction to the tip of his tongue on either of them. It seems to be the thing she’s the least embarrassed by, despite the occasional painful nip. The best proof of that is the head massage she always gives him during the act, as opposed to her usual yanking and pushing.

X - X-Ray

For him? It is what it is. About what you expect from looking at him. Not too much, definitely not too little. Pretty, like his face.

The important thing is he seems to fit all too perfectly inside her, like a key in a padlock. Just the right length to kiss her cervix under normal circumstances, and shove it up when he's as deep as can go.

Both of them have had their assets go through the wringer since their sex drives mutually increased, but poor Lisa has practically gone through a metamorphosis. It's gotten puffier, redder, and a lot wetter, at more often inconvenient times. It's not her fault his ruthlessness has conditioned her body to prepare at just the mere thought of him, it really isn't!

She realized just how thoroughly fucked she was (and had been) when she and Cynthia happened to be changing together one day. Poor girl mistook the countless love bites, light bruises, welts, tooth marks, handprints for an allergic reaction, and suggested her clothes had caused her to break out into hives. Lisa agreed and never wore those pants around her ever again.

Y - Yearn

One would think the usual aggressor has the more rampant lust, and you’d be right for the most part. But the longer into their affair, the more that Mr. Rippner’s insatiability had rubbed off on poor Ms. Reisert.

Once he was “employed” again, just as she suspected, he would vanish for varying periods of time. She had predicted, hoped, that during these hiatuses things would return to the way they were before he slithered his way into her life, and in most ways they did, just as she wished for–and the monkey’s paw curled.

It was normal, predictable, she could go to work without seeing him in every shadow.

It was dull, scary, any random man could make advances on her without being torn apart by Miami's greasiest gangsters the following day.

It was dreary, repetitive, she felt more aware of her own mortality when she didn't have an obsessive terrorist humping her leg, watching her every move.

She hated it, hated that she wanted him, that he was right about her previous life, that he made himself right.

But really, what could she do at this point?

What she wanted to do was beat him to a bloody pulp the second he showed his face again, before he reflected all that ferocity back onto her, and dragged her down to hell with him.

God forbid a woman have her own wants in life.

Z - Zzz (Rina)

Lisa is a workaholic, thus she isn't someone who has the healthiest work-life balance, let alone a decent sleep schedule. At one point Jackson considered it relatable, admirable even. She dedicated herself to her job; a true professional, just like himself. But at the same time he found himself getting peeved at this common trait of theirs. Society loves hard-working people for obvious reasons, but workaholics don't really end up happy. Because of his field, he no longer had a place he could call home. She had, but barely used it for anything other than shower, sleep and 3 a.m. scrambled eggs. He entertained the idea that her just living in the hotel full-time would be more practical than bothering to go home. But that would mean she's gone completely insane.

After they became an item this trait of hers annoyed him even more. Was she trying to avoid him? Did she prioritize her job over him? Jackson doesn't deny that he's one jealous and possessive fucker, but he never would've expected a goddamn hotel to be his love rival.

Thus when her shift ends he snatches her away to his place. No objections (are taken into consideration). And sometimes she barely has any energy to fight him off, to an extent she might fall half asleep in the car. He loves watching her sleep. He loves feeling her steady breathing on his skin. He loves hearing the faintest moans from her lips. So tranquil, so vulnerable, so honest, so lovely.

Lisa sometimes gets the lucky opportunity to witness him asleep. She wonders what it is he dreams about, to which he never gives a clear answer when asked directly, the damn teaser. She also challenges herself to try and escape the bed or even the whole bedroom without waking him up, to various degrees of success. But hey, she's improving, much to Jackson's dismay. And when she doesn’t, she instead reminisces about their initial meeting at the airport, and indulges a ‘what could’ve been’ fantasy: imagines how things would be if he hadn’t been a chauvinistic terrorist asshole, then shuts it off when she feels a salty drop crawling down her face. She'll either turn away so she doesn't get ridiculed for her “fEmaLE EmOtioN bAseD dILLLema,” or simply run into the shower without putting in any effort to be sneaky about it. His reaction to her sneaky tears can vary. Sometimes he'll lie in the bed for a few extra minutes, wondering what she is crying about; the other strategy is to invade the bathroom (when she forgets to lock it); or he might just not let her out of the bed (so their bickering distracts her from the sadness).

#jackson x lisa #r18 #red eye 2005 #jackson rippner #lisa reisert #headcanons #collab #red eye fanfiction

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