#hell on earth or whatever. were cool. its cool.

[trainingdummyrabbit]

gonna start talking completely contextlessly abt nothing ok? ok. yay <33

[codenamexy]

[sketch of OP watching Strange World (2022). 1. someone in the film says “Let grandpa teach you about romance, kid” and OP heckles, “grandpa is divorced!” 2. captioned, “1 hour later”, OP sits with their hands steepled, musing “Grandpa has a threesome...” Their friend says “We misjudged him....”]

I saw Strange World

[strang3lov3]

Bedridden

If you had cough syrup, you’d use that to put his ass to sleep. But you don’t, so you decide to utilize a different technique, one that always successfully incapacitates a man. 🍆💦❤️‍🔥

Joel is sick and refuses to rest, so you knock him out the best way you know how. (5.4k)

Tags - smut, lotsa sexual tension, blow jobs, pussy pronouns, teasing, fingering, unprotected piv, riding the sick old man’s cock, creampie, non-graphic descriptions of being sick. JOEL DOES THE DAD SNEEZE. coughing, fevers. That’s all. Joel is stubborn and grumpy while you take care of his old as fuck ass. Arguing with the old man, forcing the old man to bathe, forcing the old man to eat and drink, forcing a thermometer in the old man’s mouth. Joel bitching you out the whole time. Joel is kind of exactly like Dennis in IASIP when the gang gets quarantined. Fic Help - My usuals! @beefrobeefcal, your unhinged comments on the doc were the best part. and @endlessthxxghts thank you for your help <3 A/N - Heyyyyyyy. I promised this fic yesterday and then didn’t deliver. Sorry. It just needed to marinate in the doc a little longer or something. It’s been a bullshit ass few days and I’m,,,,handling it. Anyway, I’ve been sick as balls so that’s how this fic came about. Everybody wash your hands 🧼

There’s a fine point late in the year, right after summer turns to fall. You can fall asleep with the window over your bed cracked open just an inch to let the crisp, cool air blow over your face as you cocoon yourself in blankets. In the mornings you wake to that same breeze and the birds chirping, though less and less as they fly south for the upcoming winter. 

Not this morning, though. This morning, you’re awoken by a chesty, hacking cough coming from outside your window. You sigh as you get out of bed and push the curtains away from the window to get a better look at what the hell is going on out there. 

And it’s just your neighbor, Joel. You should have guessed it’d be him, you heard his earth shattering, deafening sneeze the other day when you waved to him as you walked by his house. Joel waved back at you with the same hand he sneezed into. Ew. 

Everyone’s getting sick lately, it goes around quickly in Jackson. Always does - it starts with the kids and works its way through the community, and a good four to six weeks are filled with endless sneezing and coughing and mucus.

Joel’s coughing up his lungs as he rakes up the leaves in your yard, a job he’s seemingly assigned himself, because you sure as shit didn’t ask him to do this. He has a habit of taking on your chores and home maintenance out of his own frustration. 

You pull a robe over your pajamas and slide on a pair of slippers, then leave out of the front door to greet Joel. “Good morning, Joel.” 

Joel clears his throat. “S’actually noon, lazy ass. ‘Bout time ya woke up.”

“Wanna tell me what you’re doing?”

“Exactly what it looks like.” He sniffles and wipes his nose on his sleeve. Gross. “M’workin’.” 

“Yeah, I see that. But you sound sick.” 

Joel ignores the accusation, “Your yard looks like shit, by the way,” he says. “Wouldn’t kill ya to rake once in a while. ‘Stead of makin’ me do it.” 

“You choose to do this. I don’t make you do anything,” you argue, rolling your eyes. It’s funny, though. Joel’s turning into the caricature of the old man angrily shaking his fist at kids playing on his lawn. All crotchety and pissed off about nothing. You step closer to him and wrap your hand around the handle of the rake, pulling it towards yourself. “Besides, Mother Nature put those leaves there for a reason,” you add. 

“Sure, smartass. For you to ignore and for me to clean up. Now, give it,” Joel tugs the rake back. Whatever. You let him. Joel rakes more of your leaves into the pile he’s created, then doubles over in another coughing fit. You rub your palm on his back, patting him gently. He’s sweating through his flannel. “Oh, Christ. Fuck me.” 

“Joel, you look awful.”

You help him stand up, “You’re a terrible flirt, darlin’,” Joel replies dryly. But he knows you’re not wrong. He saw in the mirror how pale he looked this morning, the dark circles around his eyes. 

“Oh, shut up.” You press the back of your hand against Joel’s forehead, all sweaty and warm. “You’re burning up, Joel. You’re sick.” 

“I am not sick,” Joel protests through another cough. “I’m fine. How ‘bout you worry ‘bout yourself ‘stead of fussin’ over me.”

“You’re hacking up a lung in my yard. I’ll worry about you all I want, thank you.”

In response, Joel grumbles something you can’t quite make out. You roll your eyes and take the rake from him, dropping it on the grass. “My rake,” Joel murmurs, annoyed and defeated. With your work clearly cut out for you, you take his hand and lead him into your house. “Aw, hell. What’re you doin’ to me.” 

“Taking care of you,” you reply.

“Didn’t sign up for this bullshit,” Joel complains. “I don’t need takin’ care of.”

Oh, he’s a peach. Most men, when sick, are total babies - pathetically crying about their headaches and stomachaches to women who deal with the same symptoms on a monthly basis. It’s charming, truly. But not Joel, though. In his stubbornness, Joel refuses to ever admit when he’s sick, like he’s got something to prove. Can never let himself be taken care of, because that’s his job - to take care of others. Always has been. 

Once inside, you have Joel take off his boots, then usher him to the bathroom with a hand on his back, his flannel damp with sweat. “Sit.” You reach for Joel’s shoulders and push him down, forcing him onto the lidded toilet. You crouch down at the bathtub and plug the drain with the stopper, then turn the water on - not too hot, not too cold. “Yeah, this is good. This’ll make you feel so much better.” 

“Oh, c’mon. Turn off the damn water. I’m not takin’ a bath.” 

“You are, too.” 

“Am not.” 

“Joel,” you bite. Joel parrots your name back in the same threatening tone.

“We’re breaking that fever one way or another, Joel. So you bathe yourself, or I’ll do it.” 

Joel cocks an eyebrow. “Oh, will ya, now?”

You go quiet, no retort to his comment. Heat rises to your cheeks and you focus on the bathtub filling with water to avoid Joel’s taunting gaze. After a long enough silence passes, Joel changes the subject. “I don’t have any clean clothes, y’know.” 

“Then I’ll grab you some from your house,” you mumble.

“Mm,” Joel grunts. “Got an answer for everything, don’tcha?”

You glare. Joel glares too. You fold your arms across your chest and raise your eyebrows at him. You are not losing this battle. 

Joel sighs in defeat. “Alright, go on an’ get, then. I’ll take the fuckin’ bath if it’ll get me fifteen minutes away from you obsessin’ over me. There. Happy?” 

“Happy.”

You leave Joel in the bathroom to bathe himself, closing the door behind you. Still wearing nothing but pajamas and a robe, you change quickly into a hoodie and jeans, then leave through your front door for the second time.

Joel’s house is right next to yours, so it’s not a long walk. Mentally, you’re kicking yourself for your stupid threat to bathe Joel. The way he responded to it, ‘Oh, will ya?’ and how bashful that made you, the embarrassment written all over your face in big, black, permanent marker. Your crush on the older man is obvious, and Joel, never the gentleman, will jump at any opportunity to make you squirm. Like when he catches your eyes lingering on him for a little too long, he’ll tease you for it. “S’rude to stare, y’know,” he’ll taunt, always with that stupid fucking grin on his face. Smile lines framing his cheeks, crows feet handsomely peeking at the corners of his eyes. You really need to stop setting yourself up for these things. 

Once in Joel’s house, you head upstairs for his bedroom and rifle through his dresser drawers for some comfy clothes. You pick out a pair of plaid boxers, some gray sweatpants, and a navy waffle-knit henley. You bunch up his clothes and inhale, Joel’s natural smell still lingering in the clothes, even washed. 

In his kitchen, you notice some vegetables sitting out on his countertops. Carrots, potatoes, onions. You grab those too, then check the fridge for leftover chicken or turkey or something. He usually has some, and usually brings it to you after he’s had his fill. “This is for you, trouble. Cause y’don’t eat enough,” he’ll gruff. “Would you like me to heat it up for ya?” And whether you say yes or no, he always does. It seems to make him happy or fulfill him somehow, so you let him take care of you like that. If only he’d let you return the favor.

Bingo. There’s chicken in old Tupperware right on the top shelf, and yesterday’s date written in Joel’s terrible handwriting from an old, dried up Sharpie. You take that too, then go back home. 

You leave Joel’s food you stole on the kitchen table and stop at your linen closet for a fresh towel. You knock on the bathroom door, “Joel?”

“Yeah, darlin’.”

“I have your clothes. And a towel.”

“Good. I need those,” Joel says. “C’mon in, then.” 

You open the door, averting your eyes from Joel’s naked body in the bathtub. “Relax. M’not gonna let you see somethin’ you ain’t ‘sposed to.” He’s got his hands covering his manhood, the rest of himself on display - toned biceps, veined forearms. His belly is pillowy and hairy and his legs look so long, all bare like this. His toes peeking out of the soapy bathwater. You set the towel and his clothes down on the toilet, stealing an even longer look at him when you think he doesn’t notice. “I see ya snoopin’, trouble. Wanna take a picture?”

You roll your eyes and ignore the offer, turning your attention to Joel but keeping your eyes focused on his face. His hair is slicked back, and his grays pop out against the rest of his dark hair, little ringlet curls at his neck. The asshole is criminally handsome. 

“Are you feeling better?”

“I feel fine. Like I’ve felt all day,” Joel lies. His body betrays him instantly when another cough wracks through him. 

“Right. Well, you smell better, at least.” 

Joel rolls his eyes, “Nice one, sweetheart. Thanks. Now scram, so I can get dressed.” 

You leave the bathroom, shutting the door behind yourself again. You can hear the sound of the bathtub draining and Joel getting out of the tub as you stop at the linen closet again, this time grabbing some queen sized sheets and pillowcases. 

In your living room, you pull some cushions off of your sofa and pull out the built-in bed, then dress it with the sheets and an old floral quilt. You cover your own pillows in the pillowcases, then fluff them nicely and set them up for Joel, who’s leaving the bathroom now, combing his hair back.

“Stole your comb,” he says, tossing it for you to catch. He stops in the living room and looks at the pull-out bed that you made up, the corners of the sheets tucked in and everything. “The hell’s all this?”

“Exactly what it looks like,” You mock his words from earlier. “Your bed.”

“You’re bein’ ridiculous. I ain’t even sick.”

You ignore Joel and point to the bed. “Get in.”

Joel rolls his eyes but gets in the bed anyway, springs squeaking under his weight. “M’not gettin’ in this bed ‘cause I’m sick or ‘cause you’re makin’ me. Just feel like sittin’.” 

“Sure, Joel,” you sigh. “How much water have you had today?”

“Plenty.”

“How much is plenty?”

“It’s enough,” he snaps impatiently. You leave him just for a second to fill a glass with some water, then bring it to him. Joel pushes the glass away, “I said I’ve had enough.” 

“I’ll decide what’s enough, now here–” you put the glass into his hand, “Drink.” 

Joel drinks the entirety of the glass, glaring at you the entire time. Good god, if looks could fucking kill. The cool water soothes his scratchy, sore throat, but Joel won’t tell you that. “You’re a tyrant, sweetheart,” he tells you, voice raspy and low. What he doesn’t tell you, however, is that if the shoe were on the other foot and you were the sick one right now, he'd be just as overbearing over your health. Probably worse. 

You pout mockingly at Joel as you take his glass. “Stay here. Don’t get up.” 

You get up from the bed to go into the kitchen and begin preparing a soup for Joel to soothe his aching throat. You start by dicing onions, then chopping some carrots. You toss them in a large pot with some butter, letting the vegetables soften. You’ve even got some leftover bread you made yesterday, so you turn on your oven to heat it up. You can hear Joel getting restless, tossing and turning in the less than comfortable bed. Probably should have turned on a movie for him, left him a book or something to occupy his restless mind. “You okay?”

“M’fine. Mind your business.” 

You open Joel’s Tupperware and chop up his chicken into little bits. When you look up, Joel’s out of bed. You scoff. He’s forcing open your window, grunting as it squeaks. “Joel, what did I tell you? Get your ass back in that bed.”

“Relax, would ya? M’tryin’ to get some air in here.” Joel successfully forces the window open, and cool air blows into your tediously warmed home. “House is a fuckin’ oven.”

“Yeah, well, that’s probably your fever talking, dumbass. Put my window down.” 

“I really outta fix this window for ya. Ain’t good to leave it like this. I’ll get my tools an’ I–”

You march across the kitchen and into the living room, knife in hand and using it to point to the bed. “Joel.”

“You scare me,” Joel mumbles, raising his arms in surrender. He closes the sticky window for you, then you march him back to the pullout. Before Joel lays down, he glances in the kitchen at what you’ve been cooking. He heard the sounds of you chopping, but with his nose all congested he can’t smell enough to hazard a guess as to what you’ve been making. Joel narrows his eyes at the stolen Tupperware on your table, the carrots and onion peels to the side, and recognizes it all as his. “Is that my…?” 

“Just lay down, Joel.” 

“Did you take that from my fridge?” 

“I did.”

You’re completely shameless about this, there’s not even a half-assed attempt at lying your way out, and Joel’s beside himself. “You stole from me, you little–” You urge Joel into bed, fluffing the pillows behind him as you ignore his tantrum. “You are unbelievable. I could throttle you, you know that?”

“Go ahead, Joel,” you challenge. A slight breeze could knock this sick old man down to his knees. You tuck Joel into the sheets, then adjust the quilt over him again. And this time before leaving him, you grab an old book of word searches in a basket under an end table. “Here.” You toss it to him along with a dull pencil. That should keep him busy.

Back in the kitchen, you’re still working on Joel’s soup. It’s bubbling away on the stove, and you’ve just finished making egg noodles to make the dish a little heartier. Something to stick to his ribs. It hits you then, that you don’t hear sniffling or coughing. Joel’s gone quiet, suspiciously so. 

And lo and be-fucking-hold, Joel’s up again. This time, with tools. Tools that you don’t have, tools that he must have snuck out and grabbed from his home at some point. “Joel!” 

“There,” Joel says, moving your window up and down seamlessly. “Window’s fixed.” 

“How many times do I have to say it?” 

“How about you try a ‘thank you’, huh?” Joel shoots back.

You shoo him back to bed. You slice a bit of warm bread, then ladle some soup into a bowl and bring it to him with a spoon. “Eat,” you tell him. 

Joel eats a spoonful, and it’s written all over his face how much he enjoys it, the warm broth relieving his sore throat. “So what’d you poison it with, huh?”

“Oh, you’re such a dick.” 

Joel smiles, only teasing. “M’sorry. S’just that you shouldn’t be doin’ all this for me, s’all.” Joel squeezes your knee comfortingly. “Thank you. I mean it, darlin’.” He’ll let you feed him, but no more than that. You’re too sweet for your own good. “S’good soup.”

“I’m glad you like it, you asshole.” You smile too, and push some of Joel’s hair out of his face. He finishes his bowl of soup, even has a second one. You take his bowl away and wash it at the sink.

“Should let me do that,” Joel says, following you into the kitchen. “Ain’t that how it works? One cooks, the other cleans.” Joel bumps you to the side and takes the soapy dish from your hands.

“Maybe another time,” you offer, attempting to take back the bowl. “Don’t want your germs on my dinnerware.” But Joel holds on tight, so you let him wash the dish. Since he wants to die on this hill. So you dry your hands, then feel his forehead once again. You frown, displeased that the bath didn’t work at curbing his fever at all. He’s still burning up. “I’ll be right back.” 

You go to your bathroom and open the cabinet vanity, where you have an old Walgreens thermometer, the paint all smudged off. You wash it with soap and water in the sink, then return to Joel. Amazingly, you find him in the bed doing his word search puzzle, and you didn’t even have to tell him to go lay down this time. 

The bed creaks under you as you sit down next to him. You put his book down, “Open,” you tell him, thermometer in hand.

“Oh, c’mon now,” Joel complains. “Get that thermometer outta my face.”  

You shake your head no, and tug on Joel's chin so that he opens his mouth. You place the thermometer under his tongue and he closes his lips around it, staring daggers at you the entire time thermometer reads his temperature. 

He’s so handsome. Big, sparkling brown eyes underneath brows knit together in irritation. Pouting lips. Age looks good on him, perfectly both softens and enhances his rougher edges.

The thermometer beeps. You read the temperature, 102.3°F. Why Joel’s even upright with a fever like this is a mystery, but that’s men for you. Fucking idiots. “That’s a hell of a fever you’re running, Joel.”

“You’re full’a shit. Gimme that.” Joel sniffles and snatches the thermometer from you to read the number for himself. He shrugs. “S’old. Probably faulty. Can’t trust it.” Joel covers his mouth with his elbow and coughs loudly. 

“You’re old and faulty too, Joel. Look at you.” You offer him a handkerchief to wipe his nose. “You’re falling apart.” 

Joel scowls at you before blowing his nose. You leave him once more, this time to bring him a cool, damp rag. You press it against his forehead, and Joel closes his eyes. “Does that feel nice?”

“No. Quit that.” 

But Joel’s body betrays him. He’s sighing in relief, and his tensed muscles loosen. His breathing, while still shallow, has slowed as much as it can, soft belly rising and falling with steady breaths.

“Are you falling asleep?” 

“No, I’m not. M’not tired,” Joel argues. He tries adjusting the now lukewarm rag, warmed by his body heat.

“You should sleep.”

“Nah.”

 You take the damp rag off of Joel’s forehead and flip it so that the cooler side soothes his hot, feverish skin. “You know, Joel, I think this is why god made women. To take care of stupid, sick men like you.”

“Hm. Could be so. But I think he sent you to me as a punishment of sorts.” 

“Is that so? A punishment?”

“S’right. An’ some day, you’ll fool some poor man into marryin’ you and he’ll have to put up with this same shit the rest of his life. I don’t envy that sorry bastard one bit.” 

“Oh, I know,” you coo, wiping away a droplet of water that rolls down his temple. “You tell me all about it, Joel. Tell me how terrible it is.”

“Oh, I intend to.” Joel continues his tirade, bitching and moaning about how you're doing too much, that none of this is necessary. ‘Quit fussin’ over me’ and so on.

You know that after this, Joel will try to leave you, go home and fiddle with things in his home that aren’t broken - or worse yet, he’ll tinker with the things in yours that he deems in need of fixing. Squeaky door, creaky floor panels. You listen to his slight wheezing, his sniffling, his voice all raspy and broken. He really does need to rest, the poor man. 

If you had cough syrup, you’d use that to put his ass to sleep. But you don’t, so you decide to utilize a different technique, one that always successfully incapacitates a man. 

You remove the damp rag from Joel’s head and set it on the coffee table behind you. Joel’s eyes are shut as he takes shallow breaths, and you trace lazy patterns on his stomach, inching your way down, down, until you’re rubbing his warm bulge, feeling him stiffen beneath your touch. “Goddamnit, what the hell are you doin’ t’me, now?” Joel groans. He takes your wrist and squeezes it gently in his grip.

“Nothing, Joel,” you answer innocently.

 “Bullshit, it’s - you’re - oh, fuck.” Joel bucks into your palm. You slide your hand beneath his sweatpants to touch his bare cock, amused at how Joel decided against wearing boxers today. “You’re killin’ me, sweetheart. You gotta, you can’t–”

“Shhh,” you hush him. You drag your nails through his patch of coarse hair, playing with those long and wiry hairs. You palm his cock again, half hard and growing harder by the second. Before this goes further, you tug his sweatpants down his thighs. “Lift up for me, Joel.”

Joel lifts his hips and you tug his sweats down the rest of the way, then continue touching him. You spit into your hand and pump him from top to bottom, taking special care to gently massage his balls when you reach the base of his cock. “Ohh, darlin’. Oh lord.” 

Joel’s stiffened to full length now. You kiss the tip of his cock, all the way down his shaft before licking your way back up, one long, fat stripe. You swirl your tongue around the head and dip your head, teasing him with it as you bob your head up and down, taking more and more of him down your throat with each pass.

Joel moans, his sick voice breaking a little. He keeps a heavy hand on your bobbing hand and wonders what the hell he did to deserve this from you. He should have stopped fighting his sickness long ago if this is what was in the cards for him. 

Realization dawns on Joel. It all makes sense, why you’re sucking him off at this particular moment. You’re trying to put him to bed, you goddamn deviant. “You’re trouble,” he accuses. “I know exactly what you’re doin’.” 

“Hmm?” You turn your head to Joel, his cock still in your mouth. You bounce it against your inner cheek, and Joel groans at the lewd image of his cockhead bulging in your mouth.

“Yeah,” Joel says. “And let me - oh, fuck-” You drop your head low, taking all of him into your mouth. So deep that your nose is buried in his pubic hair. “Let me tell ya, darlin’, what you’re doin - it ain’t gonna work on me.”

You pull off of his cock with a pop. “It won’t?”

Joel shakes his head. “Mm-mm. You’re wastin’ your time.” 

“Oh. Well, I should stop, then.” 

You begin to pull off of his cock, but Joel forces you back down. “Nah, you don’t have t - you gotta give it your best shot, right?”

You smile with Joel’s cock in your mouth. What a fucking guy. You pull off of him only momentarily, garnering a protesting groan spilling from his lips. You take off your shirt and unbutton your pants. “Lemme help you with that, c’mere, darlin’,” Joel says, pulling your pants and panties down your legs. He unclasps your bra next, then sheds his own clothing. 

You take him right back into your mouth, hollowing your cheeks as you suck his length. This time, though, you play with your pussy. As you move up and down Joel’s shaft, you slip through your folds, dipping down to your wet hole to gather your arousal on your fingertips. You circle your clit a couple of times, then push your fingers in and out of your pussy. 

“You fuckin’ yourself on your fingers, sweetheart?”

“Mm-hm,” you hum, mouth stuffed full of Joel’s cock.

Joel pulls your hand away and replaces your fingers with his own, much thicker and longer ones. “Let me,” he says. “S’my job. Shouldn’t have t’do that to yourself, ‘less you wanna. Or if I say so.” 

Joel spreads your thighs wider. He moves his pointer and middle fingers up and down, exploring your slick, velvety pussy. He sucks those two fingers and then his thumb and rubs tight circles around the sensitive nub, all swollen and wet with your arousal. You moan at the action, the vibration of your voice traveling right down his shaft and to his balls. He bucks himself into your mouth.

Joel inserts his middle and ring fingers into your pussy, pumping in and out slowly before curling them upward, stroking right where you need him to. “Got a nice fuckin’ pussy,” he purrs with his hoarse, gravelly voice. You pulse around his fingers, and Joel admires the way your tight hole hugs him as he moves in and out of you. “She’s makin’ such a mess, drippin’ all over me.” 

You twist your fist up and down Joel’s shaft as you suck him, working him closer and closer to the edge. Joel’s content with this, the prospect of coming down your throat and fucking you with his fingers. But you have a different idea, and when his balls are tightening and his shaft is twitching, his breathing quickening, you pull off of him. 

Joel groans in frustration, but his anger is quickly eased when you straddle his hips. You reach between your legs for his cock and stroke it, dragging the tip through your folds, up and down, up and down, dipping it in and out of yourself to tease him. “You’re fightin’ dirty.” 

 Joel’s exercised enough self control today and doesn’t let you tease him for long. He puts both of his large, weathered, and masculine hands on your waist and pulls you right down on his cock, the initial penetration causing a stretch so intense you see stars for a second. “Oh god, Joel,” you moan, clutching his shoulders. 

“I know, I know,” Joel whispers, rubbing your back. “You good, sweetheart? You need a minute?”

 “Just - just a second.”

 “Take your time. Know it’s a lot, you’ll get used to it.” 

Joel gives you a second, then inches you up and down on his cock to get you adjusted to the sensation of being so full of him. Soon enough, the ache dissipates and is replaced with pleasure, nothing but pure pleasure. You rest against his hot body, rocking your hips to grind against his pubic bone. 

You know that by the way he bucked his hips into your mouth, how he pulled you down on his cock, how even now he moves you, that he’ll tire himself out. Your plan was simply to make him come to knock him out, but this - this works too. Exhaust his body, get yourself off in the process. Killing two birds with one stone. 

Joel fucks you harder now, hands on your ass to move you up and down on his cock. He bends his legs at the knee for more leverage, bouncing you on his lap. “That’s it, sweetheart,” he grunts. He moves you so that your chest is right above his face, and one at a time, sucks your nipples into his mouth, teeth lightly grazing them. 

You hold onto Joel’s broad shoulders to steady yourself, looking down at him as he fucks himself into you. He’s so handsome, cheeks and chest all flushed red, a sheen of sweat glittering at his hairline, his graying curls damp. Joel’s eyebrows are knit together as he fucks you, tracing your curves with his gaze. He pulls you against his chest as he ruts against you, his scruff scratching your skin so deliciously. “Takin’ me so good. Look so pretty on my cock like this.” 

You move at his will. Joel’s underneath you, rocking himself  in and out of your dripping, tight pussy. His thrusts are getting sloppy, hips stuttering in a non-rhythm as he pushes himself inside you over and over. He must be getting close now. 

“Up, sweetheart. Lean back f’me.” 

You peel yourself off of Joel’s middle, all slick with his sweat. Joel spits into his hand and presses the calloused pads of his fingertips against your clit. You roll your hips against him, savoring that much-needed friction against your clit.

“Like that, darlin’. Jus’ like that. Fuck yourself on my cock,” Joel says, rubbing your sensitive bud with tight circles. “Gonna watch you come all over me.” 

“Yeah,” you moan, “Wanna come for you.” 

Joel loves you like this. Your face contorted in pleasure, mouth agape, body quivering and twitching on top of him. He steadily massages your wet, swollen clit and wears a crooked smile when he feels your cunt start to pulse around him. And you think you’re pulling one over on him, but look at you, all fucked out and delirious. You’ll probably crash after this, and Joel will go right back to fixing up your house. There’s a door hinge that’s been squeaking…

“Oh my - Joel, I’m - I’m gonna -” 

“Know you are, sweetheart. Let me have it,” he groans, voice all broken and hoarse. “Come all over my cock, darlin’. Let go f’me.” 

That hot, sticky pleasure in your gut begins to intensify rapidly. You go quiet just before it happens, then let out a long, whimpering moan when your orgasm takes over your body. You shudder and jerk as Joel fucks you through your release, and once you’ve ridden it out, Joel pulls you tight against his chest. 

While you come down from your high, Joel frantically fucks you, slamming his hips against yours as he chases his own climax, balls tightening and his belly filling with warmth. “Oh, goddamn. Fuck, fuck, fuck,” Joel pants as he comes, painting your insides with his hot seed, the warmth of his release and the pulsing of his cock so satisfying. 

Coming down from his orgasm, a wave of exhaustion hits Joel. He finds himself unable to move, unable to open his heavy eyelids. He might’ve been wrong, because napping away the rest of the afternoon doesn’t sound quite so bad, now.

You pull your body off of Joel’s and he lets out a sighing grunt when his softening cock slides out of your body, the mess he created with you spilling all over his lap. You grab that washrag you held against his forehead and clean him up and then yourself, then get up to dispose of it. 

Joel grabs you by the arm, his grip weak. “Don’t you go anywhere, trouble,” he grumbles. 

“But I’ve gotta take care of this, Joel,” you protest. 

“Deal with it later. Just -” Joel yawns and pulls you down and holds you tight against his chest, as tight as he can, anyway. “Jus’ stay with me a minute.” 

Joel’s eyes are still shut, and his breathing becomes slow and rhythmic. It’s laughable how quickly sleep is taking over his sick, exhausted body, having used what little life he had in himself to fuck you stupid. Like that last burst of energy from a dying star. “I thought you weren’t tired,” you tease.

Joel sniffles. “M’not.” 

“Mhm. Sure.” 

“Just checkin’ my eyelids for holes.”

You push some curls out of Joel’s face and hold your palm against his cheek, still hot with his fever. He’s so peaceful looking like this, plump lips pouting as he breathes through his mouth. You bring your face close to his and close the gap by pressing a little kiss against his lips. 

“What’re you kissin’ me for, hm?” 

“I want to,” you reply, kissing him again.

“Gonna get yourself sick,” Joel murmurs groggily, eyes still closed. “Which means in a couple days, I get to do all this right back to you. S'payback, darlin’.”

You chuckle. And in just a few short seconds, Joel’s snoring lightly, dead to the world.

If you enjoyed, please please please reblog with thoughts or comment or hop in my inbox! Your kind words go farther than you know in keeping me motivated to write 💕

[littlemoonglow]

Warning: Long post?

—

Jason did not expect his ghost form to feel…like this.

(Oh, dealing with his body randomly phasing through the ground and smacking his face onto hard concrete was not fun, but Jason dealt with that just like with every other hurdle in his life. By being more stubborn than the problem itself.)

It felt like something… settled into place. That was the best way he could describe it.

He felt as if spite and anger were finally not the only things keeping him awake and running. 

He felt calm, almost. Stable, at least. Whatever pent up energy that was stuck in his chest cavity now flowed freely throughout his body, redistributed, instinctually easier to manage.

It's almost like he could breathe a little bit easier.

(After much… ranting that Jason decided to ignore for his own sanity, Danny said that his case ectoplasmic corruption was probably due to the fact that Death, as a concept, doesn’t let go of things easily, time shenanigans notwithstanding.)

(Becoming a half-ghost was seemingly the only working compromise.)

—

Danny once told him that broad strokes of a ghost’s personality could be guessed by looking at their physical appearance. 

Despite the cool powers, this was a slight downside. Jason dealing with the filth of the Earth meant that being to hide his emotions and who he is was kind of important. Life saving, even.

He realized later on that his ghost form was way too easy to read.

—

He looked at his arms covered in bandages, and got reminded of the amount of times he had to patch himself up in the last month.

His jacket was ripped in place he knew that would have been sewn together when he was a living breathing human (well, as much as he could be).

He always looked slightly on fire?

(Danny told him it's probably related to his... core?)

(He know he died in an explosion but really?)

And then, there was his… veil? Shroud? Cloak?

It looked really nice.

But on the other hand…

It drooped when he felt under the weather. It flicked and thrashed around when he’s either irritated or barely holding back his urge to headshot someone.

And—

(No Danny, my cloak was not fucking wagging when you brought me fresh ectoplasm last week, you’ll have to get your goddamn eyes checked—)

He'll deny it until the day he dies (a second time).

And then his cloak could sometimes just…grow bigger. He figured that it acted as an extension of his own body, and had a nice add-on of allowing him to sense things he couldn't see. Hell, he could even make a hand out of it (wacking Danny with it - gently - never gets old). Jason had to also admit it looked cool, with the wispy bits and with one of its sides becoming a bright yellow.

(It reminded him a bit of his time as Robin.)

—

Being a ghost had a lotta perks.

Dealing with targets was so much easier when no one could see you. Inflitration was so much simpler when walls became optional. Cameras will glitch out when he's around, he left no traces visible to the naked eye and, combined with his training, to say that it was useful would be an understatement.

But, sometimes, he feels like he’s changing as well the more he transforms. Not drastically, but enough for him to look back and notice.

He usually was someone who prided on being efficient and straight to the point.

But now he’s starting to… have fun.

He started using his claws whenever he could. Don't het him wrong, he still uses his guns plenty, but there was just something deeply satisfying about vaulting over things, scaling a wall or crawling on the ceiling with bare hands. 

(Punching people is still the most satisfying by far, though.)

That one time hunting down the Joker wannabes was fun too.

(Danny said he’d get along great with Skulker? Did Jason want to find out? No.)

Fading in and out of invisibility, he picked them off one by one, watching as panic and dread slowly but surely creeped up on the remaining ones.

(After all, he has no respect for those trying to emulate the dead clown.)

—

(Yeah, the Joker was dead.)

(Surprisingly, that has not been a good day.)

—

One of the favorite things he liked to do was rooftop parkour. The… bendability of gravity is… fun, not gonna lie.

(Not flying though. Jason is used to having feet in regular contact with solid ground, thank you very much. No offense, Danny.)

But he gets why ghosts love to fly. When he’s jumping from rooftop to rooftop in Gotham in the at night, watching the city light fly by, cloak spread behind him, it’s as if nothing else matters. 

(No Joker, no petty criminals to beat up, no avoiding the Bats so they don’t find out about his existence—)

He can just enjoy, even just for a little bit.

—

(Somehow the Demon Brat and Orphan could sense him. Will keep and eyes on those two, and also the more reasons to avoid them.)

(The real problem was the new Bat in town. Bruce, what the fuck, another one? Again?)

(The yellow one, Signal. No time to check his profile yet, but probably a meta or something.)

(First night out and the guy almost managed to actually fucking see him —looked at him straight in the eyes and all, then did a double take. Jason never phased into the pavement so fast in his entire fucking life.)

(And so far no Bats on his cloak tails yet.)

(He did help the guy incognito, just a couple of times.) 

(And he also did steal his escrima sticks for fun, and once the guy went out looking for them, he’d put them right back where they were.)

(Turns out, he discovered later, that being a little shit runs in the ghost community.)

—

(Sometimes he also wonders what happened to Danny before they met.)

(He wasn't a Gothamite, that was obvious. He doesn’t pry, but it doesn’t take a lot to piece two and two together.)

(He just wonders who he has to kill this time.)

—

(Jason could not believe he forgot and underestimated just how fucking persistent every single one of the Bats could be. Of course it had to run in the family.)

He gazed down, thought the agony, at the gaping wound under his right armpit.

(The Bats have been chasing him relentlessly for a while now. He got more injuries than he can count, especially from Bruce.)

(They know. Oh, they know.)

(It didn’t go well.)

(He knows the others are there surrounding him to prevent him from escaping, he knows that Dick is right behind him, but at the moment he couldn’t care less.)

It has been a long time since the last time he got shot.

(It felt like someone set his right side on fire.) 

What was flowing out in abundance was a neon, toxic green.

(The Pit Waters, ectoplasm, he didn’t even know that he could fucking bleed in ghost form—)

(Danny—)

He looked back up at Batman, holding a (frankly) ugly gun, white casing and highlights in the same shade of toxic green. 

(A gun that Danny warned him about. And everything behind it.)

Jason felt something in him... snap.

(Why did it have to be you, Bruce.) 

His mouth opened—

(waitsincewhenhecoulddothatthroughtthe mask—) 

(Jason could see the billows of neon green smoke—)

(He couldn’t see Bruce’s expression.)

(Every. Single. Goddamn. Time.)

— and wailed.

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

I am genuinely delighted that my last post got that much attention! Thank you so much, to all who liked, rebblogged and commented, it really does mean the most. 💕

This AU may be continued? No guarantees, tho.

For those interested: Part 01

@fandomnerd103 @phoenixdemonqueen @satisfactionbroughtmeback @ascetic-orange @apointlessbox @bathildaburp @fisticuffsatapplebees @aisforanonymity @phandomhyperfixationblog @help-i-need-a-cool-username @hashtagdrivebywrites @did-i-miss-anyone-tagging-is-a-monk's-job-first-time-doing-this-aaaaaaaaaaaaaa

[tgcg]

we do a bit of trolling

CG: OKAY DAVE, I KNOW WE CAME TO A TRUCE ON THE WHOLE FOOD WARS SHTICK, I'M NOT ABOUT TO HURL TWENTY MORE INSULTS AT YOUR EARTH CUISINE, BUT.

CG: BUT WHAT THE FUCK IS THAT.

TG: man

TG: ok look i was kinda preoccupied with the seven minute voice message i left you about the infinite jump glitch in sonic 06 and it turns out i cant measure water and talk at the same time

CG: DON'T SLOSH IT!!! THAT'S DISGUSTING!!! IT LOOKS LIKE BILE!

TG: yeah well its the last pack of mac n sheese and im gonna eat it whatever viscosity it decides to have

TG: i can make this work

TG: is cheese soup a thing

TG: nah theres no way in hell

TG: k so what is your cooking proficiency like what are we dealing with here

CG: OH, I DON'T KNOW. I WOULD SAY I CAN PROBABLY FOLLOW BASIC INSTRUCTIONS, POSSIBLY LIKE THE ONES THAT WERE ON THE BACK OF YOUR SALIVATION-INDUCING SLOPFEST YOU'VE GOT GOING ON HERE.

TG: alright cool i got a pitch

TG: might work might dont

CG: THAT ISN'T SO MUCH INSPIRING CONFIDENCE IN ME AS IT IS TAKING WHAT MORSELS OF FAITH I HAD IN YOU OUT BACK AND THRASHING THEM IN A DARK ALLEYWAY.

TG: alright so im basing my operations on like the core features of water im talking the ten commandments of h2o-logy

TG: as the component responsible for the shlop of my shlock presented before you

TG: it can evaporate right

CG: … YEAH?

TG: ok but cheese doesnt evaporate does it you cant get a cheese mist

CG: OH NO.

TG: cheese doesnt evaporate it just like melts

TG: or dries

TG: so my theory is if i jam this shit in an oven or maybe the microwave

CG: NEITHER OF THOSE WERE IN THE INSTRUCTIONS AND YOU KNOW IT

TG: but the problem is the pasta is already cooked and all up in there so if i microwave it the pastas gonna go soggy and i cant have that

CG: DAVE.

TG: so microwave is out of the picture im assuming oven heat will keep the pasta dry while also evaporatin the water without removing the cheese

TG: that checks out doesnt it

CG: CUT THE BULLSHIT. STOP EMBARRASSING YOURSELF.

CG: YOUR INSISTENCE ON UPSTAGING YOUR OWN STUPIDITY IN FRONT OF ME ISN'T CUTE OR ENDEARING. I KNOW WHAT YOU'RE TRYING TO PULL AND I'M NOT FA--

CG:

CG: WAIT… NO… WOULD-- WOULD THAT…?

TG: real brain wrinkler huh

CG: OH SUCK MY FAT FUCKING SHAME GLOBES

TG: dude you even pointed out the tripwire and you still went ahead and threw yourself over it what kind of troll are you

CG: I DIDN'T FALL FOR SHIT! OBVIOUSLY MY ATTEMPT TO HUMOR YOUR RAPIDLY DETERIORATING SENSE OF "INTELLIGENCE" WENT CLEAN OVER YOUR NUGBONE! YOU'VE PROVEN YOUR POINT, MY FAITH IN YOU IS COMPLETELY MISPLACED.

CG: WOOPS! SILLY ME FOR BELIEVING IN YOU! WHY DO I EVEN BOTHER?

TG: hahahaha oh man

[flufflecat]

The theraprism text reads: "YOU ARE NOW TWENTY ONE GRAMS LIGHTER"

And the fine print is under a readmore because its very long:

"This contract is legal and binding. We reserve the right to use your likeness, face, voice, and small town pluck in whatever nefarious manner is deemed necessary. Sans soul, your soulmate will not recognize you and will walk right past you on a cold autumn day, never making eye contact, not even processing that you have eyes at all. No amount of interacting will move them to a place where they can remember, in feeling, the thousands of lifetimes you have already spent together, each time choosing whatever form would keep you closest like otters holding hands in a tumultuous river. You were birds. You were trees with roots entangled, drinking in the sunlight together. “Wherever we go next, whatever you choose, I will always be right there with you.” Thats done, buddy. Congratulations! You have chosen Bill instead! McDonalds reserves the right to put a giant yellow M on your torso and forehead and send you walking through a crowded times square while you scream “The fries, the fries, they don’t degrade in nature!!! It’s an immortal food!!! They will be in landfills long past our deaths!” Good god, the things I’ve seen. Me, who am I? Oh I’m Bill’s previous lawyer. He put my soul into a quill pen so I can write his legal documents until the sun snuffs out like a candle in this sick universe. I used to be so hot! I was so fine! Now I’m fine print. Speaking of which, Bill reserves the right to put your soul into an inanimate object, a strange creature, a concept, a sentence, a tasteful but rustic mason jar with wildflowers in it. If at any point you wish to have visitation rights with your soul, you will be swiftly denied. Unless you had a cool day planned for the both of you, then Bill might want to come along. By signing this document you forfeit any rights to eating soul food. It will turn to ash in your mouth. A fitting punishment for a fool who squandered the only true gift life owes you. Bill reserves the right to dress your soul however he deems necessary, especially if your soul was a nerd before acquisition. Soulmakeoverrr! Your soul may become fractured and placed into different objects. This has no purpose and will not resurrect you if you die. Signee has forfeited all rights to any afterlife, including but not limited to: Heaven, Hell, Purgatory, Big Corner, Flow State, The Dream House, The Reincarnation Processing Center, Axolotl’s Tank and Consequences Hole. Signee can no longer board the soul train and is advised to discard all bellbottoms. Signee can no longer have a puppy as a best friend. They can sense what is gone. Cats are indifferent. Signee may experience occasional demon possession  from Horculus the Red, Plabos the Merciless, Morbus son of Mortem, Plaga the Oozing and other such common demons roaming Earth searching for weakened, empty vessels. Tips for ripping your soul out at home: watching Youtube commentary channels, attending an extended family event with an open bar, using generative AI and asserting that you are creating, turning a blind eye to human suffering, amassing more wealth than needed, purchasing a blue checkmark"

[i-cant-sing]

I'm not sure what I want to write about but I have this very overwhelmingly strong urge to write about Platonic Yandere Gojo Saturo x teen/adult reader. And not like just light fluff, I'm talking about unhinged yandere Gojo- the one from the latest panels where he was fighting with Sukuna- that Gojo.

Like that Gojo just radiates "buffed up cool dad finally puts his foot down and is now actually low key scary".

Hmm, I mean I could see unhinged Shibuya arc Gojo just going absolutely feral as he drags you away from Toji (your dad) and begins to actively kill him, no matter how much you beg and grovel to spare your father's life. How you can't bare to see your dad taken from you again.

But Gojo? Nah, he doesn't care. He was serious when he took you in (kidnapped u from Naoya/Zenin Clan) and told u that he'll be the father you need.

And he doesn't even have any qualms about knocking you out either, he doesn't need u interfering mid battle and getting injured in the process. He might even hand u over to Yuta and others and cheerfully threaten them to keep you safe while he obliterates Toji, because yes Gojo is 100000% jealous of Toji and you bonding/being closer to each other than u are with Gojo. How fucing dare you??? Does he need to do the speech again?

"Through heavens and earth, I alone am tge honored one" or whatever 🙄🙄🙄

OR OR OR

Listen to me- Romantic yandere UNHINGED Gojo with reader who'd been selected by his clan, trained and raised by them for you to be Gojo's bride. Obviously, growing up Gojo was like "yeahhh, you're not good enough for me" and well treated her like absolute trash (he insulted her) which them lead the clan to be even more harsh on you because why the hell are you still not able to seduce Gojo????? So, basically poor reader is just being absolutely miserable throughout her life until one day the Gojo Clan is finally like "Alright, we gave it our best and Saturo still doesn't like u, so you can work as a maid in our house" and like instantaneously her life turns much better now that she doesn't have the pressure to be the trophy wife/heir producer for Gojo, and reader now can even leave the house to run errands.

But then Gojo notices that there is one less person who was constantly fawning over him, vying for his attention, and he's trying to figure it out who it is when he realises its you! And when he asks his clan about you, they tell him that they demoted u to a servant instead of future Mrs Gojo and Saturo is like "hm. Okay." And it doesn't exactly hit him how much this affected him until he saw you giggling away with some man.

He doesn't react immeadiately, still treating you like you're just nonexistent to him, but deep down, it eats him up the way you were touching that man's arm, the way you looked at him like he hung the stars for you.

Why tf weren't you like this with him?

Whatever. You're just... so beneath him. Why even bother thinking about you?

And then Shibuya arc happens. This man gets trapped in the prison realm and most of his thoughts are occupied by you, and how after be defeats Sukuna and the gang, he's gonna date you and you'll be touching his arm, looking at him with goo goo eyes.

Except when he comes out, for whatever fucking reason, you're fucking clinging onto some guys shoulders, acting like you're a damsel in distress, and if things weren't worse before, they certainly were when you kissed the man in front of him (okay but like u didn't know Gojo was watching u two. Like you were with your man in alley, kissing and hugging each ither lovingly after just barely escaping death from curses and then mf Gojo is just hovering in the sky above you)

Of course, now it's instantaneous death for your man, and then Gojo is just dragging you screaming and crying, and you're like "WHY? WHY ARE YOU DOING THIS TO ME??" And Gojo very cheerfully tells you, as if he still wasn't covered in blood from your man-

"I don't want my wife-to-be cheating on me."

Like whoa! Where tf did that came from???? And you're all like "What are u talking about??? Your clan ended our relationship- if you could even call it that?? Besides, you're the one who always said that we're not compatible because I'm beneath you."

And Gojo doesn't even bat an eye, as he goes "doesn't matter. You were born for me. You were made for me to marry, play with, discard, do as I please. So don't you ever even look at another man again, or I will be the one to rip your eyes out." And you know that he's capable of doing that after u just witnessed the live demonstration of your man being murdered.

Anyways, jealous Gojo, be it romantic or platonic, is dangerous unhinged Gojo.

Look at him, the tiny waist, the Toji Fushiguro fit.

[sillyjpeg]

BILL'S SOUL CONTRACT DECODED.

I was planning on doing this at some point, so here is the entirety of bills soul contract decoded! here is the contract just for reference:

if this flops i WILL cry, i spent 3 hours on this.

but here is the entire decoded version:

YOU ARE NOW TWENTY ONE GRAMS LIGHTER

THIS CONTRACT US LEGAL AND BINDING, WE RESERVE THE RIGHT TO USE YOUR LIKENESS, FACE, VOICE, AND SMALL TOWN PLUCK IN WHATEVER NEFARIOUS MANNER IS DEEMED NECESSARY. SANE SOUL, YOUR SOULMATE WILL NOT RECOGNIZE YOU AND WILL WALK RIGHT PAST YOU ON A COLD AUTUMN DAY, NEVER MAKING EYE CONTACT. NOT EVER PROCESSING THAT YOU HAVE EYES AT ALL. NO AMOUNT OF INTERACTION WILL MOVE THEM TO A PLACE WHERE THEY CAN REMEMBER. IN FEELING, THE THOUSANDS OF LIFETIMES YOU HAVE ALREADY SPENT TOGETHER, EACH TIME CHOOSING WHATEVER FORM WOULD KEEP YOU CLOSEST LIKE OTTERS HOLDING HANDS IN A TUMULTUOUS RIVER. YOU WERE BIRDS, YOU WERE TREES WITH ROOTS ENTANGLED, DRINKING IN THE SUNLIGHT TOGETHER. WHEREVER WE GO NEXT, WHEREVER YOU CHOOSE, I WILL ALWAYS BE RIGHT THERE WITH YOU!!

THATS DONE. BUDDY, CONGRATULATIONS. YOU HAVE CHOSEN BILL INSTEAD. MCDONALDS RESERVES THE RIGHT TO PUT A GIANT YELLOW M ON YOUR TORSO AND FOREHEAD AND SEND YOU WALKING THROUGH A CROWDED TIMES SQUARE WHILE YOU SCREAM “THE FRIES, THE FRIES! THEY DON'T DEGRADE IN NATURE!!! ITS AN IMMORTAL FOOD!!! THAT WILL BE IN THE LANDFILLS LONG PAST OUR DEATHS!” GOOD GOD. THE THINGS I'VE SEEN. ME? WHO AM I? OH IM BILL’S PREVIOUS LAWYER. HE PUT MY SOUL INTO A QUILL PEN SO I CAN WRITE HIS LEGAL DOCUMENTS UNTIL THE SUN SNUFFS OUT LIKE A CANDLE IN THIS SICK UNIVERSE. I USED TO BE SO HOT. I WAS SO FINE. NOW I’M FINE PRINT. BILL RESERVES THE RIGHT TO PUT YOUR SOUL INTO AN INANIMATE OBJECT, A STRANGE CREATURE, A CONCEPT, A SENTENCE, A TASTEFUL BUT RUSTIC MASON JAR WITH WILDFLOWERS IN IT.

IF AT ANY POINT YOU WISH TO HAVE VISITATION RIGHTS WITH YOUR SOUL, YOU WILL BE SWIFTLY DENIED. UNLESS YOU HAD A COOL SAY PLANNED FOR THE BOTH OF YOU. THEN BILL MIGHT WANT TO COME ALONG. BY SIGNING THIS DOCUMENT YOU FORFEIT ANY RIGHTS TO EATING SOUL FOOD. IT WILL TURN TO ASK IN YOUR MOUTH. A FITTING PUNISHMENT FOR A FOOL WHO SQUANDERED THE ONLY TRUE GIFT LIFE OWES YOU. BILL RESERVES THE RIGHT TO DRESS YOUR SOUL HOWEVER HE DEEMS NECESSARY. ESPECIALLY IF YOUR SOUL WAS A NERD BEFORE ACQUISITION. SOULMAKEOVERRR! YOUR SOUL MAY BECOME FRACTURED AND PLACED INTO DIFFERENT OBJECTS. THIS HAS NO PURPOSE AND WILL NOT RESURRECT YOU IF YOU DIE. SIGNEE HAS FORFEITED ALL RIGHTS TO ANY AFTERLIFE. INCLUDING BUT NOT LIMITED TO: HEAVEN, HELL, PURGATORY, BIG CORNER, FLOW STATE, THE DREAM HOUSE, AXOLOTLS TANK AND CONSEQUENCES HOLE.

SIGNEE CAN NO LONGER BOARD ANY SOUL TRAIN AND IS ADVISED TO DISCARD ALL BELLBOTTOMS. SIGNEE CAN NO LONGER HAVE A PUPPY AS A BEST FRIEND, THEY CAN SENSE WHAT IS GONE. CATS ARE INDIFFERENT. SIGNEE MAY EXPERIENCE OCCASIONAL DEMON POSSESSION FROM HORCULUS THE RED, PLABOS THE MERCILESS, MORBUS SON OF MORTEN, PLAGE THE OOAING AND OTHER SUCH COMMON DEMONS ROAMING EARTH SEARCHING FOR  EMPTY VESSELS.

TIPS FOR RIPPING YOUR SOUL OUT AT HOME: WATCHING YOUTUBE COMMENTARY CHANNELS, ATTENDING AN EXTENDED FAMILY EVENT WITH AN OPEN BAR, USING GENERATIVE AI AND ASSERTING THAT YOU ARE CREATIVE, TURNING A BLIND EYE TO HUMAN SUFFERING, AMASSING MORE WEALTH THAN NEEDED, PURCHASING A BLUE CHECKMARK.

i was giggling decoding this, and my hand is now cramping. the punctuation is based on whatever i was feeling and made sense, comment if i translated something wrong.

[genshingorlsrevengeance]

Chiori, Navia, Furina and Bronya with an s/o who wears a full on tuxedo outside regardless of blazing hot weather or frigid cold, when asked the reason they simply reply “I look really cool while doing stuff” in it

(Genshin Impact/H:SR) Chiori, Navia, Furina, Clorinde, and Bronya's S/O always wearing a tuxedo

On some level, Chiori respects that S/O refuses to not be stylish.

But she could see the sweat dripping onto the white part of their tux, disgusting her.

(Chiori) "You realize that you're ruining your tux just by sweating, right?"

(S/O) "Oh come on, it's nothing that a washer can't take care of."

Her eyes shot up and down before her expression repulsed at whatever ran through her mind.

(Chiori) "Ew, no. It's so bad that I can see the shirt changing color. Go and change already."

(S/O) "But you never get out of that dress-"

(Chiori) "Because I can still breathe in it. You on the other hand are roasting alive in that. If you really must wear that thing everywhere, I can tailor it to where you won't be adding to Fontaine's water level."

Fashion was important to Chiori, and so was making sure your clothes weren't soaking wet on a dry day.

Navia absolutely understands S/O's struggle.

Looking fashionable on a hot summer day was hell on earth, the things she had to do to ensure there would be no sweat!

(Navia) "S/O, we need to make you an umbrella that complements your suit!"

(S/O) "You'd do that for me?"

Navia scoffs and smiles, hands going onto her waist.

(Navia) "Of course I would! We gotta make sure your fashion statement goes unimpeded, come on, I know what we're doing today!"

Navia and S/O walk side by side, with umbrellas in hand to protect them from the sun.

Sadly, S/O's doesn't turn into a shotgun, but Navia could have it special ordered for them if they wanted!

Furina never really feels that much of the heat, due to her usually staying indoors all the time.

But that being said, she appreciates that S/O always strived to look as good as her, no matter the weather or situation!

All that being said, she never really saw them wear anything else.

Either they had spares, or...

(Furina) "...S/O, I must ask, when was the last time you washed your suit?"

(S/O) "When was the last time you washed yours?"

Furina actually had an excuse! She could use her Vision to wash it out and let it air dry, then she could use lots of perfume and shower...That was good enough, right?

(Furina) "D-Do not dodge my question by asking me one! Don't tell me you just wear the same thing day in, day out!"

(S/O) "That's not fair, I never see you get out of that suit either!"

The two get into a mini argument about wearing the exact same thing every day, while proceeding to actually not change their outfits at all.

It ends with Furina snapping her fingers and changing into a slightly different variation of her usual, letting her get the upperhand.

Clorinde thinks S/O just looks way more gaudy than they actually are, always wearing a tux.

Granted, they were in Fontaine and gaudiness was what they were essentially known for besides their technology.

But she always felt like it attracted the wrong crowd, but its not like she had much room to talk.

(Clorinde) "...S/O."

(S/O) "Hm? What's up, Clorinde?"

(Clorinde) "I am aware it might be hypocritical to bring this up but...Must you wear that suit to this?"

(S/O) "Come on, Clorinde! It's not like this is any different to what I wear everyday."

(Clorinde) "While that is true, the fact you are in that first thing in the morning is concerning."

They were just brushing their teeth, and Clorinde had not even gotten into uniform yet, simply donning a nightgown with her hair neatly tucked behind her.

Wouldn't the water just get all over the suit anyway?

Bronya appreciated that S/O was always looking presentable, given that she was the Supreme Guardian of Belebog, and her S/O should not be caught lacking in the style department.

However, she swears that S/O has never worn anything else in their life.

Even before the Astral Express crew came along, before they had become a couple, S/O was in that suit.

Even more impressive considering that they were in the Eternal Freeze for their entire lives, but still chose to go out in that.

Seele had tried to drag her and S/O out multiple times to at least get something new to wear, which she admittedly didn't do a good job of wearing either.

But S/O's dedication to their one outfit bordered on psychotic.

(Bronya) "S/O, may I ask you something?"

(S/O) "Sure, what is it?"

(Bronya) "Do you have spares of that suit?"

(S/O) "One for every day of the week."

She just blinked at that revelation and sighed loudly.

(Bronya) "...We should change our wardrobe."

[ohnoitstbskyen]

Do you think Riot will make more seasons of Arcane in different regions post-s2, make more shows with different names that are set in the Arcane universe, or secret third option?

Yes and no.

To start with, yes: Arcane has been by far Riot's most mainstream successful media project ever (even outstripping K/DA), and there is literally no way in hell that the company isn't going to want to keep milking it until it is as dry, stale and withered as the PROJECT skin line.

So I predict that, absolutely, we will see new seasons of shows set in the League of Legends universe, probably animated, and hopefully with some of the extremely good animation partners Riot has managed to cultivate over the years.

The ARCANE branding is incredibly valuable now, and I wouldn't put it past Riot to do something stupid like name a show set in the Freljord ARCANE: True Ice or something unbearably stupid like that, even though the name relates extremely specifically to the setting and story of Piltover/Zaun and the Vi/Powder/Viktor/Jayce character group.

On the other hand, Riot might be the company on earth I trust the absolute least to effectively capitalize on and carry forward a success in creative arts that can't be monetized with skins and event passes.

Riot has an absolutely astounding history of tripping on their dicks when it comes to telling stories about their characters, in no small part due to its leadership quite simply never valuing storytelling as an end in itself. If it doesn't sell cosmetics or drive Engagement™ with the core League of Legends product, good luck getting Riot management to spend a fucking dime to make anything real.

Passionate people inside the company have to go to war, every single time, to make anything good happen. Legends of Bilgewater, the Spirit Blossom visual novel, the Marvel comics collaboration (RIP), Riot Forge, and very much Arcane, were absolute passion projects pushed over the line by people who literally put their jobs (and in many cases their health) on the line to make them happen.

Alex Yee and Christian Linke are old hands at Riot with a lot of clout, a lot of friends at the company, and a lot of goodwill to cash in, and if that hadn't been the case, there is literally no way in hell anything like Arcane ever gets made.

The behind-the-scenes documentary Riot themselves produced obviously goes out of its way to let Riot leadership suck themselves off about how much they contributed and how much they believed in the project, but make no mistake, they would have axed Arcane on the spot if there wasn't creatives fighting pitched battles every other day to keep it alive.

This is true of K/DA as well, by the way, there was a lot of internal resistance at Riot to that project - and to Star Guardians, and to Heartsteel. Anything cool Riot has ever made? Just assume that someone internally was shitting on it in meetings and trying to get it shut down.

Which is why I am intensely worried about Arcane in the long term. Not so much about Season 2, since it is mostly being produced by the same group of people, as far as I know, but that project is also going to be absolutely besieged by C-suite jackoffs trying to worm their names into the credits, making themselves Stakeholders™ and offering Feedback™ and voicing Concerns™, and I don't envy the showrunners the battles they are going to have to fight to keep these vultures away from the product.

But I am fucking worried about whatever Season 3 becomes. I am fucking worried about what happens the moment any of the key creatives behind the first two seasons resign, or get headhunted to new jobs. I am worried what's going to happen when Riot decides that the showrunners are "being difficult" and standing in the way of what leadership wants to do with the now very valuable ARCANE branding, and either corporately mandates them into roles of diminished influence or just outright fucking fires them (it'll be publicized as a mutual decision of course, it'll be publicized as a much celebrated retirement or "it's time to move on to new adventures").

Riot is a company with absolutely infinite capacity to fuck up a perfectly good thing for absolutely no fucking reason except some kombucha-chugging, suit-jacket-over-a-graphic-tee-and-sneakers-wearing, keeps-his-job-despite-multiple-sexual-harassment-allegations-because-he's-bros-with-the-C-suite, motherfucking "I am a player so I know what the players want" platitude-spouting "themes are for book reports"-ass Silicon Valley libertarian piece of shit decided he knows better than the artists whose work are the reason he takes home six figures a year.

[akilahia]

Thinking about IHNMAIMS in pretty much all of its forms.

Specifically Ted and Ellen. Obviously in the Game their relationship is very different from the short story/comic/radio drama, with Ted being in love with Ellen(although it’s evident it’s because she is the only woman left alive). In the game he shows devotion to her, he is willing to push past his usual methods of flirtation and find other ways to get what he needs.

But in the other adaptions his feelings towards Ellen are mixed. I think his unique backstory with being so dependent on women to live a happier and more lavish life style, significantly effect how he views Ellen beyond AM’s tampering

Throughout the short story Ted constantly thinks ill of Ellen. Even though prior to being placed in this hell, she had only had sex twice before. But she is the last woman alive on earth. The video game(while following a different plot line(still one that is extremely tragic and literally made me cry)) expresses that even before Ellen’s assualr she had little to no interest in sex. She would never have had sex with the four men if it weren’t for

1. AM

2. Being the Last women alive

3. AM’s deliberate tampering

In a world where characters like Benny have been so permanently physically marked as a form of torture by AM, something like sex, is not as extreme in comparison(at least from Ted’s perspective). However to be the last woman alive, with minimal interest in sex, to be tampered with in such a way, is such a horrific form of torture.

I’m going to shift a way from this for a second to talk about Ted’s backstory for the video game. I understand that the videogame makes changes in terms of backstory for some of the characters(like Benny), so we can’t claim Ted’s backstory for the game is even remotely close to whatever it might have been for the short story. However, I still think can provide interesting context to his behavior towards Ellen.

Starting off, he really isn’t the cool rich guy that he played himself off to be when life was still normal. He never came from money, he was poor and he was forced to work and couldn’t go to school. However he was good looking which is resulted in older woman being attracted to him. And when he was NINETEEN, one older woman gave him her husband’s money and offered him the chance to travel and live in luxury.

Now this probably isn’t important, or was even taken into consideration by the game makers, but I was curious as to what the possible age gap between this older woman and Ted could be. The were together for 5 years, then she died

She died specifically of an aneurysm, which according to Google typically happens between the ages of 30 to 60. There is all this stuff with the Cold War and ww3 and I was going to try to do all this math with it but it’s too late for that and not relevant to the point I’m trying to make. But I’m just going to do some simple mental math and estimate that it might have been late 60’s or early 70’s when the older woman and Ted first got into a relationship. As I’m assuming everything went to shit in 1995 since that’s when the game came out, and 25 years had passed after he met the woman. Also this makes sense as Ted’s grandfather sold the farm due to the Great Depression, since most people married and had kids young, I’m going to be generous and say grandpa was 30 in 1929, and Ted’s mother or father was 9, then 10-12 years later Ted was born. Then 19 years later it would be about the 60’s or 70’s.

I am going to presume that the older woman had been married to her husband for at least 15 years. So it might have been 50’s at the earliest possibility. And the average age people married at then was when they were in their 20’s. So when she met Ted she was AT THE EARLIEST 35. Making her at least 16 years older than Ted when the first got together. But also worth noting that they do specifically mention older. So if we look on the higher side of the typical ages for aneurisms she could have been 55 when they first met(as the 5 years would pass making her 60) so she could have been 36 years older than him.

This seriously isn’t relevant to the actual point I’m trying to make with Ellen and Ted but I got sucked in. I guess I just wanted to highlight that Ted did not have the power in this relationship, he was young and poor, while she was old and rich, and I can imagine how that kind of relationship would impact him.

The next thing I want to note is the use of the word ‘lover’.

Though it can be used in a strictly romantic non intimate sense, I think it is used in the sexual way here.

Especially with the provided context of two different definitions of the word ‘lover’ both highlighting it’s connotations with sexual relationships

Furthermore, Ted’s relationship with the older woman is essentially just a sugar baby relationship. She is letting him experience things he never could have without her money. She teaches him how to act as a socialite and gets him used to the high life.

In connection to the sexual elements above, there was a video I wanted to link here but I can’t find it anywhere anymore. It was a YouTube video with a bunch of sugar babies discussing their experiences. And one woman confides that you really won’t make much money if you are in a platonic or non intimate romantic relationship with your sugar parent. If you want to make money and live richly, you have to preform sexual favors.

Now it’s hard to say if this was the only relationship with an older woman that Ted had been in. But regardless of whether it was one woman or a billion, using his body in order to get something that he wants has become an important asset to Ted; As seen in the castle with the maid and the witch. His love for Ellen(in the video game) helps him break past this fatal flaw of his, despite AM’s obvious temptations to make him fail.

Even if this stuff was in anyone’s minds when they wrote Ted’s backstory but I think it’s extremely important to note, especially as we return to my main point.

As stated before, Ted views Ellen negatively due to her promiscuity, despite the desire(felt really gross typing this word in this context) being placed in her as a form of torture by AM. She also is a woman, and Ted’s life has been spent around using and being used by women, so definitely lots of conflicting stuff there. Additionally Ted’s experiences with sexual relations are shown to be based in being transactional.

When he agrees with Ellen to go to the caves to get the food, she rewards him by being intimate with him to show her gratitude. Ted sees it as her ‘using him.’ (From the Radio Drama, I was going to post the clip but I could only post one video in a tumblr post apparently)

In the comic, after this encounter he questions her motivations. What she got out of it, once again thinking transactionally. But her response

“Does there have to be a reason”

Really gets to me. Especially after looking at all this intertextual context. Thinking about video game Ted’s backstory with book Ted’s thoughts and behaviors, he is shown to always think there is some kind of catch. No one is doing something without getting something in return, especially if that thing is kindness.

Ted is so intensely paranoid(as seen in all versions). I think by pairing up the backstory for the game with the short story/comic/radio drama it’s evident to see how heavily affected he is by it.

He thinks he has been tormented less by AM, making him paranoid of the others, contributing towards his behavior towards Ellen. Yet despite everything from the past and all of AM’s tampering, he still finds comfort with Ellen. Her unfaltering kindness manages to reach him even when he dismisses it as a farce. She doesn’t hate him or the others for how they’ve treated her, she still wants to help them. He still cares for her and the others. But he is filled with so much fear. He even apologizes to her.

I feel like at that point in the Radio drama marks a shift. Ted has made a realization about AM and it’s a lot for him, but Ellen is there for him. It’s a genuinely sincere act of kindness from her where she doesn’t ask or expect anything in return. They have some kind of connection. Once again blending the different versions, I think that this moment between them comes together in the end when they kill the other victims together. They don’t speak to each other, they just do it quickly and he kills her. And here he doesn’t refer to her by any degrading names. In the comic he holds her. Like how in the radio drama she held him.

Overall I just wanted to point out how well all these versions really mix to provide so much more behind each character. The backstories for the video game allow the reader to understand book Ted’s actions and relationships from a new angle.

The is was super duper major mess of a ramble. It’s now 3 am and I have a migraine, so I’m done for tonight. I might clean this up another time or make another post about Video game Ted with context to his backstory since I didn’t include the events from the video game in here.

Once again these are just my thoughts and beliefs on how I think the video game backstory for Ted provides interesting context for Book Ted. I know that both stories play out differently and both Ted’s act differently so please don’t get angry if you disagree with the message of stuff I said

mini sequel post about video game Ted

[goldenlikedayl1ght]

born to die - m. murdock

a/n: IM NOT DEAD i am very busy with finals but this has been rattling around the old noggin for a while now. i took a lot of inspiration from @ellephlox 's fic strawberry rhubarb which i 100% reccomend bc its better than most fics including this one! hope you enjoy! as always reblogs and comments are always appreciated! <3 warnings: oh boy. torture (cutting, burning) some sexually suggestive talk (nothing happens but it's not consensual) readers dad abused her, nightmares, lots of major character death (but not permeant) ANGST!!! but with a happy ending! kidnapping, medical stuff, cursing, and if i missed anything, let me know! word count: 4.8k summary: as matt murdock's wife, your life is rather full of surprises. getting kidnapped by wilson fisk takes the cake as the worst one. pairing: matt murdock x wife!reader now playing: born to die - lana del rey "choose your last words, this is the last time/'cause you and i, we were born to die"

You would think after patching him up too many times to count, five years without him, and countless sleepless nights worrying if he was alive, you would think you’d be used to Matt Murdock and his world of surprises.

And then you get kidnapped, so maybe you’re not so immune to surprises.

It’s really such a shame too, because you’re storming out of the apartment, too angry to take notice of your surroundings.

Silly, foolish, ditzy you.

Because it isn’t like Matt hasn’t told you time and time again that you need to be careful, especially when you go out alone at night. But he’s so angry that he doesn’t even think about the potential dangers of Hell’s Kitchen at three a.m. when Daredevil has been tucked away for the night and Matt Murdock comes back out to play.

He’s been taking more and more patrols because with Fisk being out of prison he can’t help but be constantly waiting for the other shoe to drop.

How silly he was to think that maybe he could have it all—A successful law firm, good friends and a loving wife.

Silly, foolish, ditzy Matt.

But after a week of nonstop patrols, you’re both fed up and tired, and above all, you’re yearning for each other. Neither of you allow yourselves to be totally happy all the time. It would just make everything too easy.

So, after yelling at each other over, what? Patrols? Cases? Burnt dinners? You’re freezing on the streets, and you get about five blocks before you stop and rub your eyes.

This is dumb, you rationalize. Of course, you’re both stressed out and tired, but you’ve gotten through rougher times before, and you both made an oath. To each other, in front of his God, to love each other no matter what.

You realize you left your wedding ring on the table, the ghost of the metal around your finger haunting you. You were dumb for leaving and Matt was dumb for telling you to go. You’re made for each other.

You turn around to go back to your shared apartment, and then, someone grabs you from behind. Your first instinct is to yell for your husband, but you don’t get the chance to before you’re knocked out, by what you can only guess to be a gun or maybe a large fist.

• • •

You wake up in this dingy room, the lighting not suitable for much of anything except to make you afraid. The set up is almost comical and in a fucked up away, stereotypical for a kidnapping. You’re tied up to a chair, and the lights shine only bright enough so you can see shadows and rats scurrying along.

The air is this weird musk of salt and earth, and you realize you’re near the docks, and that’s about all you know about your current location.

Your head is still pounding from whatever it was you were hit with, but you can see another chair a few feet from you and a wooden table with various weapons laying on it. You don’t feel good about this one. Also on the table is an old school record player. You have no idea what the intention is with it.

You try to keep your cool, knowing that wherever you wander, your husband will not be very far off. That whatever is happening, he will be coming to find you no matter how upset he is for whatever it was you were fighting about earlier.

And then, out of the shadows, there he is. 

But he’s too big to be Matt, and he has a man standing next to him.

Frank, maybe?

And then you realize who this man is.

He’s Wilson Fisk, the kingpin who has done nothing but torture and kill people, shoving it in Matt’s face for years. Matt only met you after Fisk was put back in prison, and you know at some point in the five-year blip without Matt, he had escaped prison.

So, this is the first time you’ve had the pleasure of meeting Mr. Fisk. When he meets your eye, you do nothing but stare.

“Good evening, Mrs. Murdock. It’s a shame we must meet under these circumstances.” He tells you, taking a seat in front of you. His henchman stands behind the chair.

“It’s regretful to say the least.” You tell him, not intending to make any more of an enemy out of him than Matt already has, not right now.

“I wanted to congratulate you on your wedding. I remember my own, it was a rather special day.”

You know that was the day Matt took him down. The night that he, Karen and Foggy took him down.

“I’ve heard stories. It seemed like a lovely day.”

“You’re a much more gracious guest than your counterpart.”

“Well, I’m sure people say similar things about you and yours.”

He seems to consider this for a moment before nodding.

“You’re probably right about that, Mrs. Murdock. I wanted to tell you I’m terribly sorry these are the circumstances in which we are finally introduced. But it seems Mr. Murdock has been interested in finding out more about my endeavors. And you see, we simply cannot have that. I made a promise not to hurt Miss Page or Mr. Nelson but it seems you were not included in that deal.” Of course not, it had been a long time before you showed up. “So, you’re how we’re going to send Mr. Murdock a message.”

Huh.

So, this is how you die.

Well, you might as well go out with a bang.

“You see, Mrs. Murdock, When I was a boy—”

“I’m going to stop you, Mr. Fisk, because your sob story is rather dull. I know who you are. You were beaten by your father, just like I was. The difference is that I don’t use that as an excuse to murder my way to the top of the food chain. And you can torture me, assault me, whatever you feel you need to do. But if you think for a second that I’ll forget who’s coming to stop you, you are sorely mistaken. And if you think he’ll ever stop trying to find me, you do not know my husband very well.”

Fisk stares at you for a while, his gaze hardening into a glare.

“You’re right. You do know who I am. Because we’re rather similar.” He stands up and nods to the man nearby. “If Murdock can hear her far from here, make sure he hears her screaming.”

Then Wilson Fisk walks away, and you are left with the sickening gaze of a man who has no good intentions.

 The man goes to the record player and starts to play a song you recognize quickly as “Fly Me To The Moon” by Frank Sinatra. As he does this, he speaks,

“Hello, Mrs. Murdock. I’m John.” You stay quiet, and he just enjoys the song.

He picks up a knife from the table and goes to you, this grin on his face that makes you sick.

But you remember a trick from not only your childhood, but also from Frank who told you the key to remaining strong under torture—Distraction.

You stare straight ahead, trying not to mind as the man runs the knife over your skin. You think about Matt. You imagine him in his wedding suit, the smile he had on as you approached him down that aisle. You think about when he asked you to marry him, and—

A sharp pain slashes down your arm, cutting open the shirt you’re wearing. You yell in pain, before moving in to try and take deep breaths.

You can do this. Matt will be here soon.

You continue to breathe through the anxiety and the pain, trying not to think too hard about when John hums along to Sinatra’s voice, guiding his knife around your skin. Another cut finds itself on your shoulder.

This goes on for a while, with the classic song looping over and over again. John never seems to tire of it, no matter how badly you will for it to end. As the song ends in one particularly good loop, John hits your face hard, and your nose starts bleeding.

You try to think of Matt’s voice. You don’t listen to John’s torments, knowing it will only egg him on further. You just want him to burn at that point.

By the end of… Countless Frank Sinatra serenades, you have cuts littered around your body, dry blood on your face from your nose and tears running down your face. When he’s eventually done, two men cut you out from the chair and drag you along to a smaller, darker room. You are left in there with a small meal, and you just huddle against a corner, nearest a barred window out of your reach.

And then, you begin to speak for the first time since you saw Fisk.

“Matt,” You whisper, “I’m by the docks.” You tell him, not sure if he can even hear you. “Please, I’m sorry for everything, please just come find me..” You mumble, too tired and aching to try and do more.

• • •

The next day, or what you presume to be the next day since you have no way to tell how much time has passed, you’re woken up by a loud banging on the door of your.. cell..?

The same two men enter and drag you back to the room, where John waits for you.

“How are you feeling today, Mrs. Murdock?” He asks.

You glare.

“Fuck you.”

He laughs and shakes his head.

“What happened to the polite young woman Mr. Fisk and I met yesterday?”

You’re filled with unprecedented anger.

“I said, Fuck you!”

He wastes no time, grabbing a lighter off the table and starting the record player again. Once more, Frank Sinatra’s voice fills the room, and you’re pretty sure once you’re done with John, and then Fisk, you’ll bring Sinatra back from the dead just to kill him again.

You’ve never really been a violent person, but you suspect that it lives in the worst parts of you, just as it did with your own father. You’re much better at keeping it all at bay. Besides, it does you no good to be violent while you have Matt. He’s plenty angry for the both of you.

Oh, Matt..

This is how time passes for you. While John tortures you, burning you or carving into your skin, you think about how great it will be to choke the life out of the singer… And you think about Matt. When you’re in your dark little room, you talk to him. Even if he can’t hear you, you must hope that he’s looking for you.

• • •

Days pass. How long have you been here?

One night, you have the following dream:

It starts out as a memory. A memory of you and Matt. You’re lying in bed with him, and the sunlight is hitting his face just right. You love this memory, it’s one you recall often. He just has this angelic look to him.

Yeah, most people who encounter him, especially at night, meet the devil. But occasionally, you get glimpses of the angel you know he is. He’s sleeping, and you think in this state, he is the most relaxed you’ll ever see him.

Then, before your eyes, the dream shifts and you’re in this black void, on the ground.

Foggy, Karen, Frank, and Matt stand around you. You run to Matt but hit a clear shield keeping him from you. You bang on the glass, well, maybe it’s glass, you don’t know. You try to scream, but your voice never reaches your ears. You begin to look around, looking for a way out.

An eerie version of ‘Fly Me To The Moon’ plays as you glance over to Foggy and watch in horror as his body begins to turn to ash, just like Matt and Karen did when they were blipped. You scream, banging against the shield, but your screams are silent.

You glance back and see the same thing happening to Frank. No, no, no! It was never supposed to happen this way! Frank and Foggy, they lived! They got their time! They don’t die like this!

And then Karen starts too. You start sobbing, not wanting her to go. You had missed her so much, and you only just got her back. But soon enough, she’s gone too, and you’re left in front of your husband.

His hand comes up to rest on the forcefield and he frowns softly.

He says your name gently, and then adds, “You know it couldn’t last forever, right?”

And then just as quickly as before, he is gone again. You remain there in that void, sobbing and screaming though no noise reaches you. This can’t be it! You just got him back, you needed him! You couldn’t take being alone for another five years… Or more…

The dream transforms and you’re in this grand ballroom. People are dancing elegantly and you’re in this.. obnoxious ball gown. But across the room, you can see Matt. He’s dressed in an all-black suit, with a red masquerade mask covering his face. The mask has little red devil horns on it.

Now, the orchestra plays their rendition of Sinatra’s romantic classic. And you step towards Matt, attempting to make your way towards him, only to be met with a masked man, beginning to twirl you around.

You jump from man to man, until eventually, you’re dancing with a man in an all-white suit, a man you quickly recognize as Fisk. No matter how hard you try to escape his grasp, he holds on tighter. The two of you stop dancing now, amid the crowd of moving bodies.

Fisk grabs your chin and tilts it in Matt’s direction, just in time for you to see him bowing to another woman, kissing the back of her hand. Your eyes widen and you think, this can’t be real.

“When I kill you,” Fisk says, “He’ll move on. You’re easily replaceable, Mrs. Murdock.”

And then, in an instant, the woman with Matt pulls out a dagger and plunges it deeply into his abdomen. It’s then that the other dancers, besides you, Fisk, Matt, and this mystery woman, disappear. Matt turns to you and falls to his knees, clutching his stomach.

He tries to crawl to you, blood seeping onto his hands and the beautiful ballroom floor. He yells your name, and the woman stabs him again from behind, and you watch as your husband dies. You hear him screaming, hear him yelling your name. But Wilson Fisk keeps you in place. You can do nothing but watch as Matt Murdock meets his end again, unable to save him. You start to scream, thrashing against Fisk, ready to claw your way to Matt.

You wake up screaming, the nightmare haunting you. A guard bangs on your door, yelling at you to keep it down.

It was just a nightmare, you tell yourself. Maybe Matt heard your screams.

Maybe he’s already dead.

You force yourself not to listen to the voice in your head that says that.

• • •

One day, Fisk visits again, only this time, He’s covered in blood. That damn song is still playing.

You just stare. They have long since stopped tying you up, recognizing that you no longer have the energy to try and fight back.  He has this sick grin on his face.

“Good evening, Mrs. Murdock.” You say nothing. “Have you been enjoying your stay with us?”

You glare.

“I hope Matt kills you when he gets here, because it will be a lot less painful for you if he does it instead of me.”

Mr. Fisk just laughs at this and tosses something at your feet. You get down off the chair to see what it is.

Your face goes pale with realization. You pick it up and slip it on your thumb, with it being too big for your other fingers. Matt’s wedding ring. You know it’s his, it has your name engraved in braille on the inside. How did he get this?

As if reading your mind, Fisk speaks again. “I took it off his body after I killed him.”

Your head shoots up to him. What did he say?

“No.” You deny. “Fuck off, I don’t—I don’t believe you.”

“Your husband is dead, Mrs. Murdock. I killed him with my bare hands because he was stupid enough to come after you. Your friends will mourn you and Matt Murdock for a while, and the city will come to the realization that Daredevil did nothing but harm. I win, Mrs. Murdock.”

You feel tears start to fill your eyes, and you realize, no. He hasn’t won because you’re still alive.

Maybe not for long, but you are.

You gather the rest of your energy and leap up, lunging at the large man covered in the man you love’s blood. And there’s a part of you that gets it. Okay, universe, you win. Most people don’t get a second chance like the two of you did. And now he’s dead, and soon you will be too. You can at least try to kill Fisk.

But you barely get a scratch in, yelling and screaming obscenities at him, as John grabs your arms from behind pulling you away. Fisk laughs and shakes his head again.

“It’s been lovely knowing you, Mrs. Murdock. I’m sorry you’ll have to die, you had so much potential. John, when you’re done doing whatever you’d like to her, kill her.” You hear him say it, but you’re blinded by rage, by grief.

John laughs behind you and forces you back into the chair, tying you back up once more. He looks at you, enraged and grief stricken, and just shakes his head.

“You and I are going to have a lot of fun.”

He leaves for a few minutes, and you realize this is the first time you’ve been left alone in this room. You tug at the knots and realize that while John is a gifted torturer, he’s not much of a knot tier.

So you manage to wiggle out of the rope, approaching the table in front of you. You don’t have much time. Okay, maybe you won’t be able to kill Fisk, but John will do. You take a golf club off the table in front of you and turn to the record player.

You begin to smash the thing in, angrily cursing at it as Frank Sinatra’s voice fades off into nothing. When the song ends, the lights turn off. And then, red flood lights turn on in their place.

A back up generator. Lovely. You think that your smashing of the record player couldn’t possibly make the whole building’s power go off, but you don���t really care at that moment.

You’re tired. You won’t make it far, but you need to try. You grasp the club and open the door, being greeted with a man you don’t recognize. You smack him in the face with the club hard enough for him to fall to the ground.

The red lighting adds an eerie tone to the hallways as you creep around, concussing various henchmen that Fisk has working for him. You don’t mean to kill these ones, only John.

But you’re running out of stamina, peeking around corners. And that’s when you see him. John is just standing there like he knows you’re there.

“Come out to play, Mrs. Murdock?” He calls, approaching the corner where you are waiting on the other side.

You focus on his footsteps, taking a swing around the corner when you know he’s close enough. You hear a sharp crack! As he falls, and you can’t see the blood in this lighting. Good. You begin to hit his head in, sobs mixing with yelling. You hate him. You want him to die before you’re killed.

But you don’t get the pleasure, because a pair of arms are pulling you off him, and you begin yelling.

“No!” You yelp. “No, Fuck you! Let go of me! Stop!” You think it’s another one of his goons, and you just want to be able to finish the job before you die. The figure forces you to drop the club. “Please, stop, don’t hurt me—”

But he’s saying your name and turning you around to see him. You know that voice.

“Sweetheart, hey, it’s just me—” He pants, his hands going to your cheeks. “It’s me, It’s just me. I’ve got you.”

And you can’t believe your eyes.

“Matt..?” You whimper, not able to believe it. “No, you’re dead, this has to be—”

And then, Matt does something he wouldn’t do for anyone who wasn’t his wife. He pulls off his helmet so you can see his face. Oh.

“I’m right here. I’ve got you.” He says softly, his thumb gently rubbing against your skin.

That’s when you start to sob, falling against him, no energy left to carry yourself. His arms wrap around you, and you say it again.

“He told me you were dead..”

“I know.. I’m sorry, I don’t know how he got my ring but we’ve gotta get you out of here.” He tells you.

You’re so tired. You’re slumping against him as you try to walk, the warmth radiating off his body just drawing you to sleep.

The last thing you hear before you fall asleep is Matt’s voice, begging you to stay awake.

• • •

You see flashes. Your parents, your dad. Nightmares of Fisk killing Karen, Foggy, Frank, and worst of all, Matt. You see John’s sickening grin on the body of spiders, and you’re chased by his cruel laughter.

But the dreams are filmier compared to what’s happening around you. You know Claire shows up at some point, and you’re thankful to her. Karen sits next to you sometimes, petting your hair, or sometimes it’s Foggy, talking your ear off.

You have fever dreams of Frank in full military gear, tormenting you.

“Not so tough now, huh, girl?” He teases. “You really thought you’d kill the big bad wolf? Solve all your boyfriend’s problems?”  

You say to him, “Husband, He’s my husband.”

• • •

Even in your dreams, where you were slashed and burned aches, and you long for the pain to end.

You wake up only once throughout these dreams, and it’s when Karen is playing music to try and calm you from your insistent nightmares.

Only one song snaps you out of it, and you hear it clear as day.

‘Fly me to the moon,” Sinatra sings, “Let me play among the stars,’

He only gets through a few more lines before you’re sitting up on the couch, screaming.

“No! Stop, please!” You cry, and in an instant, Matt’s arms are around you. “Matt, please, don’t let him hurt me, please! Please don’t die, don’t let him keep hurting me!” You beg, in a hazed, frenzied state.

“I’ve got you, No one’s going to hurt you..”

Karen turns off the music somewhere deep in the apartment.

“No..” You begin to grow tired in his arms again. “Matty, please.. You can’t die, please..” You whimper out, continuing to mumble out pleads as you fall back into your weird dream state.

• • •

You really wake up two days later. Matt’s hand is clasped over yours, and he’s just.. Sitting on the floor next to the couch, praying into your clasped hands.

Praying for what, you don’t know.

Your body aches. But something in you tells you you’re safe.

“Matt…?” You whisper gently, and his head shoots up.

“Hey..” He says softly, one hand leaving yours, coming up to brush your hair out of your face. “There she is..”

“You’re alive..”

He seems a little concerned you still had some doubts about this.

“I am. Fisk lied to you.. He never even touched me.” You nod.

“Did I kill him? The man you found me..”

“No. He’s just in a coma, I checked. He’ll be brought to justice.”

“I only wanted him dead when I thought you were too..” Because really, you would have nothing if Matt wasn’t there. Nothing to live for. When he was blipped away, you had the hardest time readjusting to life. Now you know if he died again, you’d probably go off the rails.

No love story is saved more than once. You used up all your luck. Now it will be doomed if he’s ever killed again.

“I know.” He said gently.

“How long have I been out? How long was I in there?”

“A week, and then you were out for four days here. They got you good, baby..” He says gently. “I’m sorry I didn’t find you earlier.”

You frown softly.

“You did find me though. That’s all that really matters anymore.” You know you’ll be nursing scars for a long time. Physical or not.

“Still..” He said gently, and he brings your hand up to kiss it gently. “And I’m sorry I told you to leave that night. I was just upset, but this past week and half.. I feel like I’ve been going crazy without you. No matter how mad at you I am, I never want to spend another night without holding you. Knowing that you could have been…” His voice breaks, and he just sighs, taking a moment to lean his head on your hand. “I love you, so much.” He kisses your palm again.

How are you so tired again? All you’ve done is talk to him, but it feels like you just ran a marathon.

“I love you. It’s why I married you. Because you and I, we were always meant to be with each other. No matter what.”

He smiles weakly and reaches over to the coffee table to grab something. He slips it on your finger and for the first time in over a week, your wedding ring is back where it belongs. You see Matt is wearing his. Your Matt. Your husband. The only one you were ever meant to be with.

“Did Claire patch me up? I remember her being here..” He nods softly.

“Yeah, we.. we really owe her one. She was a huge help..”

“Karen and Foggy were here… And Frank?”

“No, no, Frank’s still in Illinois, I think?” You nod softly. “You were mumbling to him, though. I heard you… you were telling him you had a husband.”

You would laugh if it didn’t hurt.

“He called you my boyfriend. I had to correct him.” You grin.

“That’s my girl.” He hums. Matt gently lifts you so you can sit up and drink some water. Then, he climbs onto the couch and brings you close. His arms wrap around your freshly wounded skin and you have a rare moment of gratefulness for his blindness.

You sit in silence for a while.

“Do you want to talk about it?” he asks gently.

You think about it all. The torture, the cuts, burns, the small room. Fisk’s laughter, John’s grin. But something sticks out to you.

“Fisk said I was just like him.”

“What?”

“We.. We grew up similar, Matt, I mean.. What if he’s right? What if the only thing separating him and I is one bad move?”

Your husband frowns and shakes his head.

“Sweetheart, you are the.. the most amazing person I’ve ever met. You’re the complete antithesis of Wilson Fisk. Yeah, you grew up like him, but you’re living proof that you don’t have to go down the path he did just because of his background. You and I both know that there will never be a world where you end up like him. Especially not with me.”

You find comfort with his words. Not only did you make every choice not to be like Fisk, but you must’ve also made all the right decisions if in the end, you ended up with Matt. Oh, it won’t be easy, you know that for sure. You’ll never be able to listen to Frank Sinatra, and your upcoming nights are filled with nightmares and hauntings.

But one day you’ll be okay. One day You’ll be able to sit in the silence without thinking about it. One day you’ll get the image of dead Matt out of your head. You’ve spent many nights wondering about who will go first, you or him.

And then you realize the best-case scenario is that the two of you die at the same time, never living another moment without each other.

How would there ever be a world where you and your husband weren’t with each other, even just for a moment?

[polyo-nym-y]

Delightful Debauchery

[CH.1: When Tainted Souls Meet.]

Human! Alastor x Human! Fem! Reader

[Word Count: 2,844 ]

[Content Warnings: This Ch. is SFW, however, the story will delve into NSFW, So minors are still asked to NOT INTERACT. This story will eventually focus on exploring sex as well as darker themes revolving around Alastor being a serial killer (gore/blood/death). But for this Ch. there isn’t much to warn about!]

Once you allow blood to spill on your hands it’ll become a stain you’ll never wash away. No matter how clean your skin may appear, the etching of your sin will forever follow you. Permeating layers of flesh and seeping into your very soul.

You know you’re damned to an eternity in Hell. It’s something you have come to terms with rather quickly. So, you thought, might as well spend the time you have left on earth however you please. You’ve already sealed your fate, now it’s time to enjoy life amongst the living whilst it lasts.

The sky was clear, allowing the sun to beat down without anything obscuring its rays. Your skin felt sticky as heat weighed heavily in the thick and muggy air. You stood on an unshaded sidewalk, your eyes following the brick and wooden exterior of the building in front of you. A sign outside read in golden lettering ‘Crescent City Radio Station, WWNO 999 on your AM dial!’.

By now you must’ve read that sign a million times, your brain lagging trying to process that you were actually here. The folder you brought with you was being used as a fan, desperately trying to cool yourself off. The mix of the humid heat and anxiety had you teetering on overstimulation.

“C’mon, don’t clam up* now.” You quickened your fanning as the air you created lightly blew your hair back. “You came all this way...”

You continued muttering to yourself as you willed your feet to move from the sidewalk. Taking hesitant steps, you approached the building's front. Your eyes following the ornate etching on the front window. The interior curtains were closed, allowing no sneak peeks inside.

Your gloved fingers twitch over the door handle. After taking one last breath you force your signature smile, a tool you used often. Opening the door, you slowly entered as your eyes swept over the lobby space. The cooler air of the building soothed you as your shoulders relaxed. You stood in the middle of the lobby with curious eyes. Soft music played from a gramophone behind the front desk. The ceiling was high and the space was clean. Arguably, one of the fancier places you’ve seen as of recent.

So enthralled by the interior, you hadn’t noticed the set of eyes burning holes into you as you approached the front desk. As you turned and settled your eyes forward you flinched back as you were met with a cloud of smoke being blown at you. The receptionists' annoyed stare was accompanied by an insincere smile as she ashed her cigarette into the nearby ashtray. “Hm? Oh no I’m still here, love. Mhm, yeah.” She spoke into the phone that was wedged against her ear with her shoulder. “Just a drab dame* waltzed in so it’s nothing important.”

You couldn’t stop your nose from scrunching up as your eyes narrowed down on the seated women. But the receptionist seemed to pay no mind as she belted out a haughty laugh at whatever was said on the other end of the phone. Clearing your throat, you stepped up to the front desk and settled your gloved hands atop the shiny wooden surface. “Excuse me-” you hesitated as the receptionist's sharp glare shot back up to you. “This is actually something important, if you wouldn't mind?” Not like it's your job or anything, you thought to yourself.

You watched as her stare twisted into a sneer directed up to you. “One second, Val.” With a big huff she would drop the phone from her ear and press the mic end against her chest to ‘mute’ it. “Ugh, what do you want? I’m kind of busy here.”

Your gaze remained narrowed but you managed to bring back your smile, albeit tense. “Terribly busy, I can see.”

“Tch. Listen, girlie-“ The phone still in her hand was lifted to point up at you. “Whoever you’re here to see doesn’t have time to talk with fans no matter how important you think it is-“

You interrupted her with a laugh, “Hah! No- I’m not a fan- well, I’m not not a fan-“ you paused trying to stop yourself from tripping over your own words. The rude interaction caught you off guard, with your nerves already being high. “I’m here to discuss the possibility of employment.”

“The station isn’t looking to hire, hun.” The woman stretched her shoulders back with a scoff. “Not to mention all the high pillows* are very busy-“

You glanced past her to the clock on the wall. “Actually, it’s noon.” Your eyes met the womens once more as you softened your expression to match your faux-smile. “I was hoping to speak with Mr. Heartfelt specifically. Based on his broadcasting schedule he should be taking a coffee break right now-“ you saw the concerned and disgusted look on the receptionist's face as she slowly stubbed her cigarette out. “Or so I’ve heard, uhm. Just- Please, at least ask him.”

“Not a fan, huh?” She looked you up and down as she set the phone down on the counter without hanging it up. “If it’s that egg* then I could care less if he's busy or not. So, sure. Especially if it means you'll leave me alone.” She said with a small shrug as she rolled her chair over to an intercom. Bringing the speaker to her ear as she pressed Alastors call button. Waiting only a moment for it to be picked up before she was smirking into the mic, “Mr. Heartfelt~, you have someone here for a meeting with you.”

You bounced nervously on your heels as you tried to listen in on whatever answer she was given. The receptionist's eyes flickered over to you as she held a toothy grin and hummed into the speaker. “Mhmm.” She lifted her free hand up to inspect her nails, idly. “Yeah, no you didn't have this on your calendar, mhm.” You cringed a bit and tried to reach out to her but she just continued speaking into the intercom. “Oh no, she made it very clear she was in fact not a fan.” She gave you a mocking thumbs up.

Your mouth opened in horror as the woman before you barked out a snobby laugh like a small purse dog. Unconsciously, your fingers tensed on the paper folder you were holding. Your head begins to race with anxiety at the fact this wretched woman might have just ruined your first impression.

But you will yourself to take a deep breath as the receptionist hangs the intercom and rolls back to her original spot. Her dark slender fingers picking the phone back up as she waves you off and gestures to the hall at her left. “Fourth door.” Was all she said before turning her attention back to her phone conversation. Despite your annoyance you offered a thank you. To which she groaned in response, “Ugh, dry up*.”

As the receptionist spun in her chair to completely turn her back to you, your smile fell flat. If I do get hired then she’s going to be a problem, you weighed your options as you slowly stepped around the front and down the hall you were directed to.

Anxiety won the battle against annoyance as you felt it's nauseating grip settle back in your chest. You found yourself in front of the fourth door quicker than you would've liked as you nervously inspected it. A beautiful dark wood with a golden plate reading Alastors name. For a moment, as you heard the receptionist bark out another laugh in the lobby, you debated on just leaving. But you thought, what do I have to lose?

Gently knocking your knuckles on the door, you leaned forward to listen for a reply. A muffled ‘Come in.’ was given and you flinched as if you didn’t expect him to answer. Your gloved hands fussed with your clothes and hair. Once you felt somewhat put together you settled your hand on the handle and slowly pushed the door open. Taking a single step over the threshold your eyes glanced across the office that the door opened into. Your smile shining as you began your practiced speech, “I apologize Mr. Heartfelt. I know I’m interrupting your busy schedule- and I must thank you for even giving me a chance to speak with you.” Your words were laced with perfectly crafted faux-confidence. But silence fell between you two as soon as your eyes met Alastors. An ominous chill seemed to fill the already cool office as you felt goosebumps rise on your skin. A feeling consumed both you and Alastor at that very moment, weighing heavy in the air like the humidity outside. But you couldn’t quite put your finger on it- it was an odd queasy feeling that slipped down your throat and settled in your stomach like a hard pill to swallow.

But the instinctual warning you felt in your gut was pushed to the side when you really took in Alastors appearance. Because, by God, everyone knew Alastor for his charming voice and radio persona. But to find out he had the looks to match? Now that had your brain nearly short circuiting. Your eyes ran over him unabashedly. Tan hands, long arms, broad shoulders and a proud chest. Fitted button up beneath a red vest with a perfect black bowtie and rounded glasses that rested atop the bridge of his nose. Though, what really caught your eye was his hair, cut in a style you had never seen before. If you looked closely, between the dark strands you could see the beginning of grays peppering throughout. Really the only physical indication of his age. You had to assume he must be in his forties and yet the man before didn’t look a day over thirty.

Alastor sat behind a large wooden desk with his hands folded together in front of him. His eyes caught yours, forcing your wandering gaze into tense eye contact. Stunned, you watched his eyes crinkle as his neutral smile grew into a grin. The sight of your wide eyes and lightly tinted cheeks was enough to distract him from his own instinctual unease.

You watched as his eyes slowly raked down to your toes before rushing back up. Clearing his throat he pushed his glasses up as he sent a wide smile to you. “Oh, no worries about that, dear. You caught me at a perfect time.” You knew that. “Please, sit.” He gestured a hand to the chair in front of his desk. Keeping his eyes trained on you as you seated yourself. He paid attention to your movements, how you sat and the expression you gave him. “I know Velvette said you were here to inquire about a job? I hope you weren’t misinformed- but we aren’t currently hiring.”

With your ankles crossed you sat with a straight back. Hands fiddling with the edge of the folder as it lay in your lap, your only outward cue of nervousness. “Oh, no, I am aware the radio station wasn’t advertising for workers.” Alastors elbows rested on his desk with clasped hands. His eyes staring into your own with what felt like never-waning intensity. As you swallowed audibly, you swore you saw his smile widen.

“And yet you are still here.” He said amused as his eyes narrowed. He was intrigued and so even though he had no intent on hiring you, he let you continue. “Why is that, Mrs-?”

“Miss.” You corrected before giving your name. “And it’s truly an honor to be meeting you, Mr. Heartfelt-”

He rose a single hand up to stop you, “The pleasure is all mine, dear. But please, Alastor is fine.” He leaned back into his chair as you heard it creak. His eyes darted down to the folder in your hands. “But as you were saying?”

Your eyes shot down to the folder he was staring at. “Oh, yes, well-“ Gently, you slid the folder across the desk towards him. “I’m a writer- researcher- journalist. Whatever you may need I promise I can provide.” As Alastor picked up the folder and opened it you cringed inwardly. Seeing how crinkled it was now from your constant nervous handling of it.

“This is..” His eyes read reports and details about certain events he has already reported on. Scripts for news readings that happened recently, many of which having details he himself hadn’t gotten. But what had his eyes widening was the last bulk of paper all reporting on the string of serial murders that Louisiana has faced within the decade or so.

“It’s my work. As you can see I take my work seriously and I’m able to get details you won’t find anywhere else.”

“How long have you lived here?” There were testimonies from people within the local community, names he recognized. Yet, he didn’t recognize you.

“I arrived here last week.” You lied through your teeth.

His eyes shot up to you as one long finger pointed against your papers. “This was all done within a week?”

“Yes, sir.” You nodded as you began to internally panic. Was the lie too obvious? Usually you're better at this. “For the most part at least. The end which focuses on the Bayou Butcher has been more so a hobby of mine prior to moving here. So some research on that was done previously, I’ll admit.”

You didn’t notice the way his jaw clenched at your words. “Dangerous don’t you think? A sweet belle like you chasing after a killer.”

You laughed, earning a surprised look from Alastor. “I appreciate the concern but I can handle myself.”

His smile grew into a smirk as he stifled a mocking laugh. “I’m sure you can, darling, I’m sure you can...” He sighed deeply as he held the folder up to feign reading it more intently. One hand adjusting his glasses as he hummed. “But against a killer like this? Overestimating in one’s own abilities often leads to an early demise.”

“Underestimating in others will lead to worse.” You replied without skipping a beat.

Quick witted girl, he thought to himself. Such a young thing coming here with such a devastatingly good eye for this. Too bad, too bad.

“Your work is impressive, I’d be a fool to deny that.” He slowly stood from his seat as he slid the closed folder back to you.

You stood up abruptly to match him as you took your folder. “So does that mean-?”

“You’re hired? Heavens no!” He laughed as he rounded the desk and approached you. The height difference between you and him became alarmingly apparent as he stood beside you. Bending at the waist to ghost a hand on the small of your back as he gently ushered your frozen form towards his office door. “I did tell you we aren’t hiring, dear.”

“What- no, wait, Mr. Heartfelt-“ You pushed his hand away from your back and planted your feet. “But you said it was impressive. You read all the details I got- things you never got.”

His lip twitched at the attack to his own work. A bit of malice tainting the sweetness in his tone. “Come back when you have something actually worthwhile, darling. Cause that fancy writing? Ain’t nothin’ special.” For a moment you caught his transatlantic accent drop.

“Worth- WORTHWHILE?! I have connected deaths that the fuzz* haven’t even connected!”

“You’re theorizing. Nothing you have is substantial.”

“What are you expecting?? The killer's identity?” You asked, bewildered by his disregard towards you and your work.

A fire filled those beautiful eyes that looked up at him and he could feel their heat igniting something in him. Lifting one of his hands to rest his fingers over his grinning lips. A poor attempt to hide his amusement. “Yes, actually, that would be something worth my time.”

“Okay, fine.”

“Excuse me?”

“I’ll find the killer's identity. Then you’ll hire me, right?”

He straightened his back, caught off guard. But, who was he to push away a game he was certain he’d win? “Hah! Sure, why not-” He tensed as you yanked your glove off and extended a hand up to him. He raised a brow at it as if he had never seen one before.

“Shake on it. If I come back with honest to God proof of the Butchers identity. You have to hire me.” You narrowed your eyes up to him. “Deal?”

Oh, how fun. His hand took yours, completely enveloping it. “Deal.”

Let the game begin.

And without another word he watched you march out of his office, huffing and puffing. He trailed slowly behind to watch you leave through the front doors. A soft chuckle left him as he leaned against the front desk counter.

When he heard Velvette snicker with him he flinched and snapped his gaze down to her.

“Did you hire the dumb dora*?”

“No-“

“Looks like you wanted to~”

He squinted with a strained smile. “Go home, Velvette. You don’t actually work here.”

1920s Slang Used*

*Clam Up: To become silent suddenly.

*Dame: A woman.

*High Pillow: Person at the top, in charge.

*Egg: A man.

*Dry Up: Shut up, get lost.

*Fuzz: Police.

*Dumb Dora: A foolishly simple or dumb woman.

Credit where credits due!

Art Deco Banners: @/saradika

MDNI Banner: @/cafekitsune

Yellow Star Banner: @/cafekitsune

Tags:

@6esiree

[s0lemnhypn0s]

I translated the jargon at the bottom of bills contract on the thisisnotawebsitedotcom.com.

the top part says

"YOU ARE NOW TWENTY ONE GRAMS LIGHTER"

but the rest of it says:

"THIS CONTRACT IS LEGAL AND BINDING, WE RESERVE THE RIGHT TO USE YOUR LIKENESS, FACE, VOICE, AND SMALL TOWN PLUCK IN WHATEVER NEFARIOUS MANNER IS DEEMED NECCESARY. SANS SOUL, YOUR SOULMATE WILL NOT RECOGNIZE YOU AND WILL WALK RIGHT PAST YOU ON A COLD AUTUMN DAY, NEVER MAKING EYE CONTACT, NOT EVEN PROCESSING THAT YOU HAVE EYES AT ALL, NO AMOUNT OF INTERACTION WILL MOVE THEM TO A PLACE WHERE THEY CAN REMEMBER IN FEELING THE THOUSANDS OF LIFETIMES YOU HAVE ALREADY SPENT TOGETHER, EACH CHOOSING WHATEVER FORM WOULD KEEP YOU CLOSEST LIKE OTTERS HOLDING HANDS IN A TUMULTUOUS RIVER. YOU WERE BIRDS, YOU WERE TREES WITH ROOTS ENTANGLED, DRINKING IN THE SUNLIGHT TOGETHER. WHEREVER WE GO NEXT, WHATEVER YOU CHOOSE, I WILL ALWAYS BE RIGHT THERE WITH YOU. THATS DONE, BUDDY! CONGRATULATIONS, YOU HAVE CHOSEN BILL INSTEAD. MCDONALDS RESERVES THE RIGHT TO PUT A GIANT YELLOW M ON YOUR TORSO AND FOREHEAD AND SEND YOU WALKING THROUGH A CROWDED TIMES SQUARE WHILE YOU SCREAM. THE FRIES, THE FRIES, THEY DONT DEGRADE IN NATURE, ITS AN IMMORTAL FOOD, THEY WILL BE IN THE LAND FILLS LONG PAST OUR DEATHS, GOOD GOD, THE THINGS I'VE SEEN. ME, WHO AM I? OH I'M BILLS PREVIOUS LAWYER, HE PUT MY SOUL INTO A QUILL PEN SO I CAN WRITE HIS LEGAL DOCUMENTS UNTIL THE SUN SNUFFS OUT LIKE A CANDLE IN THIS SICK UNIVERSE. I USED TO BE SO HOT, I WAS SO FINE, NOW I'M FINE PRINT, SPEAKING OF WHICH, BILL RESERVES THE RIGHT TO PUT YOUR SOUL INTO AN INANIMATE OBJECT, A STRANGE CREATURE, A CONCEPT, A SENTENCE, A TASTEFUL BUT RUSTIC MASON JAR WITH WILDFLOWERS IN IT. IF AT ANY POINT YOU WISH TO HAVE VISITATION RIGHTS WITH YOUR SOUL YOU WILL BE SWIFTLY DENIED, UNLESS YOU HAD A COOL DAY PLANNED FOR THE BOTH OF YOU, THEN BILL MIGHT WANT TO COME ALONG. BY SIGNING THIS DOCUMENT YOU FORFEIT ANY RIGHTS TO EATING SOUL FOOD, IT WILL TURN TO ASH BY YOUR MOUTH, A FITTING PUNISHMENT FOR A FOOL WHO SQUANDERED THE ONLY TRUE GIFT LIFE OWES YOU. BILL RESERVES THE RIGHT TO DRESS YOUR SOUL HOWEVER HE DEEMS NECCESARY, ESPECIALLY IF YOUR SOUL WAS A NERD BEFORE ACQUISITION. SOUL MAKEOVERRR. YOUR SOUL MAY BECOME FRACTURED AND PLACED INTO DIFFERENT OBJECTS, THIS HAS NO PURPOSE AND WILL NOT RESURRECT YOU IF YOU DIE. SIGNEE HAS FORFEITED ALL RIGHTS TO ANY AFTERLIFE, INCLUDING BUT NOT LIMITED TO: HEAVEN, HELL, PURGATORY, BIG CORNER, FLOW STATE, THE DREAM HOUSE, THE REINCARNATION PROCESSING CENTER, AXOLOTL'S TANK AND CONSEQUENCES HOLE, SIGNEE CAN NO LONGER BOARD THE SOUL TRAIN AND IS ADVISED TO DISCARD ALL BELLBOTTOMS. SIGNEE CAN NO LONGER HAVE A PUPPY AS A BEST FRIEND, THEY CAN SENSE WHAT IS GONE. CATS ARE INDIFFERENT. SIGNEE MAY EXPERIENCE OCCASIONAL DEMON POSSESSIONS FROM HORCULUS THE RED, PLABOS THE MERCILESS, MORBUS SON OF MORTEM, PLAGA THE OOZING, AND OTHER SUCH COMMON DEMONS ROAMING EARTH SEARCHING FOR WEAKENED EMPTY VESSELS. TIPS FOR RIPPING YOUR SOUL OUT AT HOME: WATCHING YOUTUBE COMMENTARY CHANNELS, ATTENDING AN EXTENDED FAMILY EVENT WITH AN OPEN BAR, USING GENERATIVE AI AND ASSERTING THAT YOU ARE CREATIVE, TURNING A BLIND EYE TO HUMAN SUFFERING, AMASSING MORE WEALTH THAN NEEDED, PURCHASING A BLUE CHECKMARK"

I translated all of this by hand and I got a headache for it you guys better appreciate this and if someone beat me to the finish ill cry

[vivalas-vega]

Flygirl / Jake ‘Hangman’ Seresin x Reader

this idea came to me suddenly and I could not sleep until I wrote it. I really intended for this to be short and sweet but it took on a life of it’s own lol hope you enjoy!

flygirl / jake ‘hangman’ seresin x reader

add yourself to my taglist

word count: 8k

warnings: fluffy jake, swearing, probably a lot of fighter jet/flying inaccuracies, oral (f recieving), unprotected p-in-v (pls be safe)

summary: Whiskey is the Dagger Squad’s favorite bartender, and Hangman’s best friend... when he decides to take her flying long repressed feelings bubble to the surface.

Classic rock filtered through the jukebox nestled away in the corner, mixing harmoniously with the chatter of patrons scattered throughout the Hard Deck, all looking to unwind after a long day on the nearby Naval base. You stood behind the bar, fixing drinks and bobbing your head along to whatever tune was playing, pretending to be riveted by the story the old-timer was telling you. Your eyes skimmed the room, landing on your favorite group of pilots gathered around their usual spot at the pool table and you didn’t even notice the smile that tugged at the corners of your lips. They’d all filtered in a few months ago, having witnessed some old friends reuniting, new friends forming bonds, and a particular pair who seemed to be at odds but you knew better. You saw right through the two of them and knew once the pissing contest had run its course they’d be just as close as the rest of them. 

You were an unofficial member of the Dagger Squad, having been their favorite bartender and earning a call sign of your own based upon your drink of choice, and they were the only group for whom you’d willingly go to your place of work on a night off. Your sights set on the tall blonde, hanging off to the side watching Rooster and Phoenix battle it out, and it wasn’t long before he noticed and was in motion, your senses overwhelmed by that southern drawl and the scent of his cologne. “Just the bartender I was hopin’ to see.” 

“Hangman,” you greeted, trying not to smile as you prepared a gin and tonic for the mousy brunette now ogling the pilot who was only focused on your hands as you quickly mixed the drink. You set it before the girl who slowly went back to her friends, chuckling as she nearly tripped over her own feet in an attempt to keep her eyes on him for as long as possible, “she’s cute, you should go after her.” 

“Who?” He mused, eyes boring into your own as he flashed his famous smirk and you just shook your head, pouring his drink into a tumbler and handing it to him before he even had a chance to order. “Not the whiskey I was hoping for,” he angled, referencing the callsign he’d bestowed upon you.

“You simply couldn’t handle it, Hangman,” you teased, wiping the bar down and raising an eyebrow at him. “You said you wanted to see me?”

“Mmhm, Maverick has granted me a favor,” he stated, watching as you slipped your apron off and tossed it under the bar, pouring your own drink before hopping over and following Hangman to your group of friends.

“And what might that favor be?” You knew better than to fall into any of his traps, but the setup of this one had your curiosity piqued.

“Well, we were all talking and we thought it was a damn shame our newest member has her own callsign, but has never been up in a fighter jet.” Your brows furrowed as you processed the implication of what he’d said, eyes shooting to Phoenix, then Rooster, looking for any hint of him yanking your chain.

“You’ve heard all our stories but have never experienced it, it was actually my idea,” Phoenix supplied and you gave her an exasperated look. Sure, they made what they did sound cool as hell and you loved how passionate they were about their line of work but you preferred your feet firmly planted on the earth below you, not whizzing around the skies.

“And, seeing as I saved Mav and Rooster’s life, I had a favor to cash in. Secured a two-seater and a spot on the runway at nine am tomorrow morning… so maybe make that your only drink tonight.” Hangman eyed the amber liquid in your glass. 

“I’m not getting in a jet with you, Bagman,” you replied simply, earning a snort from Rooster. 

He couldn’t hide his shock, “you don’t want to fly with the best pilot in the Navy?”

“Oh, so Maverick is taking me up? You should really work on your delivery, you had me confused for a moment.” Rooster let out a full laugh now, enjoying as you so easily worked him up.

“No, you’ll be flying with me. I thought you would be excited,” his tone was playful but you sighed as you heard the undertone of hurt. 

“Flying is just not my thing,” you tried to save yourself but the looks of your friends made you realize you weren’t getting out of this. You should have been excited, even touched that they so badly wanted to share this part of their lives with you, to clue you in on the most important thing to them but in reality all you felt was a pit of anxiety. Especially because it was Jake Seresin you’d be flying with. You trusted him implicitly, on the ground, but in the sky? Well, you’d heard the stories of the cocky pilot, keen on taking risks and pulling out dangerous maneuvers even when the situation didn’t necessarily call for it. It was enough to make you shudder from your safe spot behind the bar, and you were perfectly fine with not completely being in the loop whenever they talked about their time in the air. 

“Whiskey, you’re going to love it, I promise.” Phoenix reassured, looping her arm through yours, the other wrapping around your waist. You leaned against her and sighed, mind running with all the what if’s. What if this was the one time there was a malfunction with his engine, what if this was the one time he didn’t stick the landing, what if this was the one time he can’t fly his way out of a bird strike, what if- “I can literally hear the grinding of gears in your brain, Mav wouldn’t have said yes if he knew you wouldn’t be safe.” Phoenix broke you out of your spiral with a new tactic to calm your nerves, placing a kiss to your cheek and going back to her pool game.

“Wait no, come back I think she’s still anxious,” Hangman called after her, having enjoyed the moment of affection between you two but all he got was two middle fingers. You checked the time on your watch, realizing the night was winding down and you glanced at Penny who waved you off, conveying that you were fine to leave for the evening. “Come on, I’ll walk you home.” Hangman said to you softly, encouraging you to finish your drink and before you knew it he was taking your glass to the bar and grabbing your bag from Penny.

“If she comes off that jet with even a hair out of place, Hangman…” You could hear her warn and you couldn’t help but chuckle.

“Don’t worry Pen, you won’t even have the chance to kill me… there’s more than enough people on base that will do it for you.” He wasn’t wrong, you’d become a bit of a fixture to all of the Naval officers in the area, much like Penny had. You were there almost every night, fixing them drinks and offering a listening ear, whether they needed to decompress after a stressful day or boast over a victory and you wouldn’t have changed it for anything. You loved being at the Hard Deck, Penny paid you far more than she should and she encouraged you to follow your passions, indulging any one of your whims with nothing but love and support. 

“You’ll be fine, you know. He cares about you more than anything, he’s not going to be reckless with you.” Rooster all but whispered into your ear as you hugged goodbye and it actually eased some of the tension that had your body rigid. He felt the change and smiled as he pulled away, a little smug to know he was the one that calmed the racing thoughts. “And if you change your mind, I’m sure I could sweet talk Mav into letting me take you.” He joked and you just shook your head with a small laugh, smiling up at Jake as his hand rested on the small of your back.

“So you two can run out of fuel above the Pacific?” He jabbed and you just waved your hand between the two of them.

“Not this argument again,” you sighed as you remembered the first night you’d met them all, and their little stand-off by the pool table. Jake’s hand was feather light on your back as he guided you out of the bar and into the cool night air, sliding his jacket over your shoulders just as he always did.

“You know, we do this every night, you’d think you’d remember a jacket.” 

“Hoes don’t get cold.” You mumbled, wrapping it around your frame and he barked out a laugh. The silence was comfortable as you started the short walk along the beach to your bungalow, an old family home passed down not too far from the bar. You two had been doing this ever since you met, Jake knew you could take care of yourself but that didn’t stop him from wanting to see for himself that you’d made it home safe, and after one night of forgetting to text him once you did he made it his personal mission to be your escort. You’d protested, saying something about being strong and independent, but in reality you loved it. Out here you saw a completely different side of him. He wasn’t Hangman, he was just Jake. 

“Why did you ask Mav if you could take me flying?” You finally asked, breaking the silence. It was so soft he almost didn’t catch it over the sound of the waves lapping against the shore a few yards away.

“Phoenix had a point, you’re a part of the squad and have to listen to all our stories, only seems fair to let you experience it for yourself.” He supplied the same answer from earlier in the night through tight lips and you narrowed your eyes as you looked up at him knowing he wasn’t giving you the full truth. Sure, it was a reason, but it wasn’t the reason.

“Wanna try that again?” You asked, climbing up the stairs of your back porch and settling into the creaky porch swing just as you always did, patting the spot beside you.

He was silent for a moment, swaying the two of you as he sat down, carefully considering his next words but sighing as he knew there wasn’t really anything he could get past you. “I’d honestly been thinking about it before Phoenix brought it up… she just gave me the perfect excuse to finally do something about it. Sometimes I feel like you’re the only person that actually knows me, but you’re missing this huge part and I don’t know… I kind of just wanted to share that with you.” Your breath caught at his vulnerability. You did know him better than anyone, your short walks on the beach that turned into long conversations on that very porch swing into the wee hours of the morning created a bond you didn’t have with any of the other aviators. Somewhere deep down you’d known the two of you were dancing around something  much bigger than friendship but you’d both never admit it to yourselves or anyone else for fear of wrecking what you already had. They’d all been on North Island for much longer than you anticipated, and it seemed it would stay that way for a little while longer, but the thought of them all being whisked away from you, especially him, sent a sharp pang through your heart every time it crossed your mind and you’d never jeopardize your moments on the porch swing for something that may not pan out. 

“You don’t actually have to if you don’t want to… I probably shouldn’t have sprung it on you in front of everyone, I just-” he started, seeing you deep in thought and suddenly getting self conscious, a feeling so foreign to him he couldn’t stand it.

“No, Jake I’m really touched you even want to take me flying… I know how much it means to you. I’m just a little scared, I mean I’ve heard all of your stories, and Rooster’s and Phoenix's and I just don’t understand how you guys do that every day.”

“Darlin’, all that scary stuff  happens on missions. We’re just going on a little joy ride, no enemies lurking around or SAM’s to watch out for. Just you, me and the open sky.” He promised.

“It’s not even that, I…” you trailed off, knowing it was unfair to keep yourself guarded and not share what you were really scared of when he’d been so open with you, but something was stopping you from taking the plunge.

“Tell me,” he encouraged softly, his hand taking up residence on your thigh and rubbing reassuringly. 

“I’m scared that I’m going to understand,” you admitted and he looked at you a little confused but waited for you to gather your thoughts enough to continue. “It really terrifies me, you know? What you all do… you rowdy pilots came into my bar and my life hasn’t been the same since, you guys are my family and I hate knowing that any one of these days you could get called away and never make your way back home to me. I’m scared that once I get up there with you I’m going to understand why you all love it so much and then I’m not even going to be able to be mad at you when something goes wrong.” 

“Oh sweetheart,” he said, tenderly brushing a strand of hair behind your ear. He was sure his heart had broken wide open hearing your confession, hearing that this had been a fear of yours for longer than he knew. “We’re all going to be just fine, I don’t know if you know this or not but… Dagger Squad is pretty badass.” He said with a small smirk, trying to lift the mood.

“Maverick and Rooster almost died.” Your voice was small and he wasn’t sure how to combat this one. You were right, they did almost die and it was your voice that pushed him to fly after them, your voice that overruled every fiber of his being that was trained to take orders, your voice that got him a slap on the wrist for doing just the opposite. Sure, despite his icy exterior he’d grown a soft spot for Rooster, but more than that he just wasn’t sure he could ever look you in the eye again if he had to come home and tell you they hadn’t made it, that he didn’t do anything to help.

“But they didn’t. We’re an official squadron now, and we’re always going to have each other’s backs. No one on this team is dying until we’re all old and gray, and if for whatever reason something does happen, well… maybe then at least you’ll have the comfort of understanding. Understanding why we do it, and why we’re all okay with the risks.” 

You nodded, “I am excited to fly with you, Jake. I kind of just wish you all had chosen different passions,” you said half-heartedly.

“Well sweetheart, then none of us would have ever walked into your bar.” He pulled you into his side, placing a reassuring kiss on your temple and you sat like that for a while, just enjoying the silence and feeling a little better that you’d told him your fears, about the one thing that often kept you up at night. He eventually tugged you up after you let out a loud yawn, pulling out his keys and unlocking your door with the spare you’d given him a while ago… engraved lovingly with ‘Dagger Spare’, a teasing prod to his position within that mission all those months ago. “Let's get you to sleep, you’ve got an exciting day ahead of you.” 

He waited on the edge of your bed while you got ready, his own mind swirling as he reflected on what you’d told him. Sure, he knew you’d probably be disappointed if anything happened to them on a mission but he was hung up on your emphasis on him making his way home to you. Of course he flirted with you relentlessly, how could he not? He had decided a while ago you were the most beautiful woman he’d ever seen, and not just physically, though his mind, and eyes, did wander. You weaseled your way into his heart about a minute after he met you, in awe of how you handled the busiest night in the bar on your own, still finding the time to banter with him and challenge him like you’d known him your whole life. But despite it all, he would never cross that boundary, never intentionally push you too far with his remarks for fear of messing up a friendship with the only person he’d ever fully trusted.

“You can stay, if you want.” You mumbled, emerging from the bathroom in an oversized Navy shirt abandoned long ago by Jake after a group beach day at your house, and your hair tied up in a bun. Truth be told, it was one of his favorite comfy shirts, but he just didn’t have the heart to ask you for it back when you wore it so much better.

“That’s alright, darlin’,” he said, standing and pulling back the covers for you to slip into bed. You smiled softly as you settled in, watching as he propped himself up with a hand on your headboard to look down at you, “have something I need to grab before I blow your mind tomorrow.”

“Is that so?” Sleep was tugging at the corners of your mind and Jake committed the scene before him to memory, you looking up at him through tired eyes, his shirt riding up your exposed thighs. He tugged the blankets over you before the sight pushed him to do something reckless. 

“Mmhm,” he replied nonchalantly before grabbing your phone, setting an alarm and plugging it in for you. “Meet me on base at 8, have some safety stuff to go over with you before I can take you up.” 

You nodded, pulling the blankets under your chin and snuggling further into bed. “Thank you, Jake.”

“What for, sweetheart?” 

“For being you.” Your eyes were closed now and he knew it was only a matter of seconds before you were asleep. He couldn’t help but smile, ducking down to brush your hair out of your face and place a chaste kiss to your forehead.

“Sweet dreams, honey.” 

-----

The morning air sent a chill up your spine as you rolled down your window and passed your ID to the Naval officer at the guardhouse just outside the base, verifying you were in fact given clearance for the day. He waved you through and you felt the nerves begin to settle deep within your stomach as you found an empty parking spot. You stepped out of the car, adjusting your tank top as you looked down and wondered for the tenth time this morning if yoga pants and a thin tank were an appropriate choice for the day's activities. You felt you looked more ready for a run than flying around in a multi-million dollar fighter jet but you just weren’t sure what was appropriate.

You tapped the temporary key card you’d been given at the doors entrance, easily navigating your way through base to the hanger. This wasn’t the first time you’d been here, having been added to several of the pilots' visitors lists at various times to sit in on training per their request, or to watch them teach a new round of Top Gun students a flight maneuver on the radar. Your heart warmed as you remembered just how badly they wanted you to be a part of all of this with them, as much as you could, sharing the pieces they were able to.

“There she is!” Bob said excitedly, making his way to you as you walked out into the open air of the hangar to wrap you in a bear hug.

“Hey Bobby,” you greeted, ruffling his hair and walking with him as he rambled on about how excited he was for you to fly. “Oh wow, whole team is here for this.” You said, approaching the group a little nervously.

“Of course we are, we’ll be watching on the radar the whole time and listening in,” Mav reassured you. Your eyes darted around, looking for your favorite pilot but you didn’t see him anywhere.

“He’s just grabbing something,” Phoenix said, noting your confusion. “Meanwhile, I’ve been tasked with suiting you up.” She tugged you off to the side as everyone else lapsed back into conversation. She grabbed the flight suit that had been draped over a nearby table, watching you slip off your shoes and helping you step into it. 

“Aw, I’m Natasha Trace for the day,” you said as she zipped you in, noticing her name patch and smiling. 

“Actually, no you’re not.” She smirked, ripping the patch off and tucking it into her pocket. Hangman finally made an appearance and as you rejoined the group you noticed he had a helmet tucked under his arm and he invaded your space to smooth a new patch onto the now empty space of velcro on your chest. 

“You made me a name patch?” You asked, fingers ghosting over your name in dark green embroidery, Whiskey just underneath it. You couldn’t help but feel a little emotional that he’d gone through all of this for you, and it turned into a lot emotional when he revealed the helmet, complete with your callsign just like everyone else's. “You did not.” 

“If we’re doing this, we’re doing it right. I meant it, you’re a part of this team.” He smiled down at you, reassuringly squeezing your shoulders. Phoenix snapped a quick photo of you holding up your helmet, saying it was just about the cutest thing she’d ever seen before all of the pilots filtered back inside to watch the radar. He guided you past his own jet, smiling as you looked up at his name in big letters on the side, to the jet he’d be borrowing for the day. “How you feelin’?”

“A little more nervous, feels a lot more real now than it did last night.” You admitted, and he noticed the slight tremble in your hands before taking them in his own.

“It’s going to be just fine, once we get up there you’ll forget why you were even nervous.” He reassured, strapping you into all the necessary gear and securing your parachute pack to your back. He helped you climb up the steps, holding your hand as you stepped into the jet and sat in the backseat. He began pointing out everything in front of you, all the little buttons and where you could see them on the radar, explaining that this was Bob’s domain in the jet. 

“Do I have to do anything?” You asked, feeling overwhelmed taking in everything before you.

He shook his head, “not at all, none of this has anything to do with the actual flying, it’s for weapons control on a mission and making sure we keep in contact with the base.” You nodded, feeling a little relieved you weren’t going to be given any kind of task. “Now, this is the important part, sweetheart, you see these loops right here?” He asked, pointing between your feet, “these are for if we need to punch out.”

“If we need to punch out?” You asked, your eyes widening.

“We won’t need to, but I need you to know where they are. If I tell you to eject, you need to do it the second I tell you to, and you need to pull up on these loops with everything you have, alright?” He asked, eyes looking intensely into yours, looking for confirmation you understood and you nodded. “And this right here,” he gestured to a string attached to something he’d strapped you into earlier, “is connected to your parachute. As soon as you’re clear of the jet pull this and it will deploy and make sure you land safely. You don’t worry about the rest, I’ll take care of it when we’re on the ground.”

“But, all of this is hypothetical right?” You asked, suddenly envisioning having to blast yourself out of the jet and parachute down to safety.

“All hypothetical, darlin’, this is just a fun little ride, but you’ve gotta know the basics.” He reassured, placing a warm hand over your own. 

“Putting a lot of trust in you here, Jake,” you exhaled nervously.

“And I don’t take that lightly.” He squeezed your hand, “I’ll be taking you to the old training area we used for the last mission, minus all of the crazy maneuvers and stress. Just easy flying, and a few little tricks.” You nodded, feeling reassured that you weren’t going very far. He began strapping you in and you grunted as he pulled roughly, making sure everything was tight before tapping the helmet in your lap, signaling you to put it on. “This is your mask,” he said, clipping it into your helmet, “it’s got your mic in it so you and I can communicate when it’s a little loud in here, as well as so all our looky-loos can hear us.” Before you knew it you were ready to go, and Jake was hopping into the front seat, getting himself situated.

“Ready, darlin’?” 

“As I’ll ever be.” You peered around the seat, watching as he pressed various buttons, completely unsure of what he was doing but soon you felt the engine roar to life underneath you and the nervous pit in your stomach Jake had settled just moments ago returned.

“Hangman to range control, takeoff prechecks complete, how do you read?”

“Loud and clear, you are clear to taxi.” Surely enough you began to move, slowly pulling out of the hangar and navigating to the runway.

“You remember what I said, Hangman?” Mav’s voice rang in your ears.

“Couldn’t forget it, sir.” He confirmed and had you not been more nervous you would have questioned it, but all you were focused on was not throwing up. Jake began going back and forth with the tower, confirming all sorts of things that sounded like a foreign language to you, until it didn’t.

“Hangman, you are cleared for take off.” 

“Here we go, sweetheart.” You could hear the smirk in his voice, and you wished more than anything you could actually see him instead of the outline of his shoulders in front of you, seeing his bright green eyes might give you just a shred of comfort. He pressed a few more buttons, and suddenly you were gaining speed down the runway faster than you would have ever anticipated. 

“Holy shit,” you muttered, muscles tensing as you lifted off the ground, soaring into the sky and watching as everything below you grew rather small. You quickly rose in altitude, and you blinked rapidly, internally repeating over and over again that Jake would never put you in danger even though the sheer incline of the jet had you questioning everything.

“How you doing back there?” He asked, as if he could sense your tension.

“Oh you know, totally fine and normal.” You laughed nervously.

“We’ll level out in a second, just gotta reach the hard deck.”

“Not my preferred hard deck…” you muttered and you heard him laugh in front of you. True to his word, the plane leveled out and you relaxed a little, feeling brave enough to look at the world below you. You tilted slightly to the right, turning as you circled around the base and increased speed as you assumed you were now on the designated flight path. 

“We’ll reach the training area in about 5 minutes where the weather is cloudless and warm, in the meantime please keep your tray table locked and upright and enjoy the ride.” Jake joked and it further eased you, the tension leaving your muscles just as quickly as it had settled.

“That actually wasn’t as bad as I thought it would be.” You mused, watching as the ocean slowly faded into the distance and taking in the tan and rocky terrain below. 

“See, told you, sweetheart. Take off and landing is the roughest part and even then it’s not so scary.” It fell silent as you continued to look around you, and even more so than earlier you wished you could see his face, you were almost certain he’d have a look of calm content and you wanted so badly to see that part of him. The part that was at home up here, but you’d decided this was more than enough. “Alright sweetheart, you see that ridge ahead? We’re going up and over, weight of gravity will be going against us a little but nothing too crazy, you’ll just feel a little pressure.”

“Aye aye, Captain.” You teased.

“That’s Lieutenant, Whiskey.” You heard Mav correct in your ears and you laughed, forgetting they could all hear you for a moment. Just as he’d promised, you quickly overtook the ridge and gasped a little as you felt the weight pulling you back in your seat and winding you before you surged forward in your seat.

“You okay?” He asked, and honestly? You were more than okay. You felt a rush of adrenaline as you regained your breath and you couldn’t help but smile as exactly what you feared had happened. You understood. “Whiskey?” He prompted when you were silent.

“Yeah, yeah I’m good, Jake. More than good.” He knew that tone in your voice like the back of his hand and a grin erupted across his features, a giddy feeling rising in his chest knowing you were now enjoying this. 

“And there we have it, she’s officially a flygirl.” You heard Rooster in your ears and you laughed, loving that even though you were flying with Jake, you still had everyone by your side. 

“Take your mask off for a second,” you heard Jake say and you did as you were told, pulling it off and letting it dangle to the side.

“No fair, I wanna hear!” Phoenix said and you giggled, interest piqued at what he didn’t want them to hear.

“You get it now, don’t you?”

“This is fucking incredible, Jake. I’m not even in control and I feel like I can do anything. I get why you love this so much.”

“I wanted you to experience this, but more than that I wanted you to experience this with me. This is everything, sweetheart. Everything I need, and everything I want right here in this plane with me.” He said and your heart skipped a beat at his confession, “I just wanted you to know that, you can put your mask back on.” You did slowly, mind reeling with what he’d told you. Everything he wants?

“Hey, Whiskey?” You heard Bob as he pulled you from your thoughts and your head cocked, affirming with a ‘yeah’ that you’d heard him. “Wanna do something cool?” 

You laughed, “sure, why not?”

“Alright, on your radar, third button from the right will switch you to a terrain map, can you do that?” 

“Are you sure you want me pressing buttons back here, Bob?” You asked hesitantly, but pressed it anyway.

“You can’t hurt anything back there, once you do that do you see the joystick to your left with a red button underneath?”

“Mmhm,” you confirmed, fingers ghosting over the hard plastic.

“That right there is controlling your laser, move that around until you find a target below you, once you have it hit the red button and it’ll lock it in.” You did as you were told, hearing a tone sound in the cabin as you locked onto a tree just ahead. “There you go, you just secured a target for your other teammates to swoop in and hit.” The tone stopped as Jake passed the target and you smiled to yourself.

“Careful Bob, I might just steal your position as Phoenix's backseater.” You joked.

“I’ll start figuring out how to make that happen.” Phoenix teased, and while she was no longer pressing the mic button you were sure Bob was protesting back on base. 

“Alright my little WSO, do you trust me?” Jake asked and any nerves you’d once felt were gone, and just as he promised you weren’t sure why you were nervous in the first place.

“Yes.” You were sure and confident, and Jake’s chest swelled knowing there wasn’t an ounce of dishonesty in your reply. Before you knew it you were on your side, zipping through the air as Jake pulled out all the stops for you, veering from side to side as you couldn’t stop the giggles falling from your lips, and he decided right then and there he would never stop trying to get you to laugh like that. 

He whipped up and over, making you gasp as you clearly saw the ground through the canopy, “Jake, we’re upside down.” You said, an obvious observation and he couldn’t help but laugh.

“Yes, yes we are sweetheart,” he chuckled, flipping you back over and continuing to show you his favorite flying tricks, you laughing like a little kid the whole time. You fully and wholly understood with your whole being why Jake chose this path, why they all did. Zipping through the air and maneuvering in ways that shouldn’t have even been possible flooded your veins with the most euphoric feeling, leaving you dizzy with excitement.

“God, this is amazing. You are amazing, Jake.” You said breathless as he righted the plane after a barrel roll. 

“You think you’ve had enough?” He asked, sidestepping the way you’d breathed out the compliment. 

“Never, but we can head back.” You answered, knowing you couldn’t stay out here forever. He turned the plane, going back the way you’d come over the now familiar terrain, adrenaline still flowing through you leaving a stupid grin on your face. 

“Ah shit, what the fuck birds are those?” You heard Jake ask with a sigh, flicking buttons before you jerked suddenly, “Hangman to control, breaching the hard deck to avoid a bird strike.”

“Confirmed.” Your altitude dropped rapidly, Jake clearly ignoring warning bells that sounded as you dipped lower than you thought you would, him expertly maneuvering the rocky hills not as far below you as they once were. The tension slowly rolled back in, now knowing these were not fun tricks he was pulling out but ones to keep you both safe. He narrowly avoided clipping into the side of a ridge, and you tried to keep your reactions to yourself as he whizzed through the canyon. 

“Get out of the canyon, Hangman.” Rooster sounded in your ears, making your heart rate accelerate knowing that you weren’t the only one concerned.

“Working on it, bird boy.” He shot back, and sure enough you were back above the ridges like nothing had ever happened. “Whiskey, you okay back there?” 

“Mmhm, never better.” You replied a little shakily.

“Congratulations, you just survived your first bird strike.” The flight back to base seemed shorter than it took to get there, and before you knew it you were touching down on the tarmac, engine coming to a low rumble as you taxied back into the hangar. You felt like you were buzzing as the canopy lifted and Jake quickly detached himself of all his gear to be at your side and help you out. “Are the reviews in?” He asked a little hesitantly, knowing you might be shaken after your unexpected trip through the canyon.

“Jake I- I mean, that was…” you trailed off, not having the words to describe what you were feeling, watching as his brow furrowed above you, carefully loosening all of your straps. You didn’t know if it was the adrenaline, or being high above the earth giving you a new perspective but suddenly everything looked different. Felt different. His previous words rattled around your mind and it felt like something had clicked into place. He pulled the helmet off your head, his hand coming to smooth down your hair and he just couldn’t decipher the look on your face, gazing up at him with wild eyes. He gave you a little tug as he undid the last of your safety harness and when he went to pull away you gripped the collar of his flight suit, keeping him right where you wanted him. “Jake…” you trailed off, eyes searching those pools of green you could never get enough of. Your hand moved from his flight suit, fingers grazing along his neck as you settled on his jaw, holding him in your hands and you felt him clench beneath your fingers. He had no idea what you were doing but hell if he was going to do anything to stop you, eyes almost challenging you to make your next move and you pushed yourself forward, lips brushing against his. 

It was all he needed to push you back into your seat, kissing you with the hunger of a man starved. You moaned softly against him as his hand rested at the back of your head, gripping gently at the base and he took the opportunity to deepen the kiss, tongue brushing against yours. Somewhere in the back of your head you heard voices approaching but you didn’t have it in you to care, desperate to taste more of him.

“Hey flygirl, how are you- oh my.” Rooster stopped in his tracks as he saw what was going on just above them and awkwardly cleared his throat as Jake pulled away, lips swollen and a shit-eating grin taking over his features. “I take it you enjoyed yourself.” Your cheeks flushed, taking Jake’s hand as he helped you out of the jet, legs feeling like jelly as you all but stumbled down the steps. 

You cleared your throat, “yes, I very much enjoyed myself.” Looking up at Jake the grin hadn’t worn off and you couldn’t help but laugh, feeling the adrenaline begin to wear off as you adjusted to being back on solid ground.

“Knew you’d love it.” Phoenix said, giving you a not-so-subtle thumbs up. The rest of the group now felt a little uncomfortable, not surprised but also not fully expecting what they’d walked in on and muttered some congratulations on your first flight and mentioning they’d meet you at the bar later before leaving you and Jake alone in the hangar. The tension in the air was palpable and you avoided his eyes, neither of you knowing quite what to say. 

“Sweetheart, no wrong answer here,” he started after a few moments, “was that an ‘I’m hopped up on adrenaline’ kiss or something else?” You pondered your options. You could cop out and say it was the adrenaline, move on and pretend it had never happened, effectively preserving your friendship and ensuring you’d never lose him, or… or you could admit what it was. Admit that you were fooling yourself into thinking you were just friends with Jake Seresin, admit that in the dead of night and the solitude of your bedroom your mind did wander, did wonder what it would be like if you just crossed that boundary and let your feelings for him rush in. 

“It wasn’t the adrenaline.” You finally said, looking up to meet his eyes and you saw the relief roll over him like a wave.

“Thank god.” He pulled you close and kissed you again, leaving you just as dizzy as you’d been thousands of feet in the air. 

“Hey, Jake?” You asked, pulling away with a mischievous glint in your eye.

“Mmhm?”

“Take me home.”

-----

It was a clash of tongues and teeth as you stumbled your way through your house, Jake’s hands rough and exploring as he tried to commit the feeling of you beneath him to memory. Leaving a trail of clothes in your wake, he pushed you backwards into the bed a little harder than he intended and you giggled as your back hit the mattress, his kisses along your jaw much more tender than the previous action. His thigh slotted between yours as he leaned his weight into you, the pressure against your core coaxing a whine from your lips. He removed himself from your jaw, leg pushing up to give you more friction as he looked down at you as if you’d hung all the stars in the sky and the intensity of his gaze had you struggling to regain your breath. 

“So beautiful,” he muttered, mostly to himself as his fingers ghosted along your cheekbone before pressing a delicate kiss to your cheek, then your lips as he continued his worship all the way down your exposed body, gently biting into the flesh and soothing the marks with his tongue as he went. He stopped just between your thighs, carefully kneeling at the edge of the bed and pulling you down to meet his face, taking his time kissing and sucking the soft skin just around where you wanted him the most. You writhed beneath him, desperate for something, anything, as he continued his dizzying assault on your senses. His eyes flicked up to your own, asking silently for permission as his fingers slipped under the lacy band of your underwear and you nodded, suddenly feeling nervous at being so exposed to him, already so desperate before he’d fully touched you. 

The discarded scrap of fabric was tossed somewhere behind him as he hooked his arms around your thighs, holding you in place as his breath fanned over your dripping core causing you to shiver, “so beautiful,” he muttered again, pressing a kiss to your heat before licking a stripe up your folds and focusing his tongue to your clit. You gasped as he licked and swirled the sensitive bud, sucking it into his mouth as became desperate to taste more of you. 

“Jake,” you moaned, the sound sending shocks straight to his cock and he didn’t think his name had ever sounded so good. He pulled away, much to your dismay that was voiced with a whine, before you felt him spit on your core, warm and dripping as he slowly teased your entrance, tongue reconnecting with your clit. He took his time, exploring you and exploring what made the sweetest sounds fall from your lips and your hips bucked as you silently pleaded him to stop teasing you. 

“Don’t worry,  I’ll take care of you.” He made it clear that he had no intention to cease his teasing anytime soon, a single finger shallowly toying with your entrance as you coated him with your slick. You sighed when he fully plunged his finger in, searching for that spot that made obscenities tumble out of your mouth, stretching you as he added another digit, curling them just so. He focused his attention on you, watching as you lost yourself in the pleasure he was giving you, cock straining against his boxers and he quickly rid himself of them with his free hand to lazily stroke his length, desperate for some kind of friction as you made the most beautiful sounds above him. Your legs began to shake around his head as your release quickly began to approach, him abandoning his aching cock in pursuit of pushing them open when you’d tried to clamp them shut.

“Fuck, Jake, I-” you began babbling as your orgasm hit you like a freight train.

“That’s it, baby girl,” he mumbled against you, working you through your orgasm and lapping up everything you had to give him. He gingerly removed his fingers, tongue still working you as you twitched at the overstimulation coming down from your high. He kissed back up your body, settling on top of you and you kissed him desperately, tasting yourself on his lips and moaning as you felt him brush against you. You reached between your bodies, stroking his length as you lined him up to your entrance and despite everything his body was telling him, he paused. “You sure, sweetheart? We can wait.” You smiled up at him, knowing even as you were both lost in the passion of the moment, his top priority would always be making sure you were okay.

“Please,” you begged, “please, Jake.” He slowly began to sink into you, groaning into your ear as he bottomed out, giving you a moment to adjust. You wrapped your legs around him, moaning as the sting of the stretch began to ease only to be replaced with the pure pleasure of feeling full. 

“So fucking tight, sweetheart,” he mumbled against you as he pulled almost fully out before sinking back in, desperate to feel the way you so easily accepted him again. He lifted his head slightly, hips bucking into yours and giving you a tender kiss before he quickened his pace, eyes meeting yours and you nodded at the silent question. His thrusts grew rougher as he threw one of your legs above his shoulder, the deeper angle making you throw your head back with a groan.

“Feel so fucking good,” you managed to get out between thrusts, only spurring him on more as he continued his relentless pace. 

“So beautiful, taking me so well sweetheart,” he grunted, bringing a hand between you to circle your clit. You swore you were seeing stars as the pleasure overwhelmed you, the noises filling your bedroom nothing short of obscene and you began to feel the pressure build within you. You knew your second release was coming on quicker than the last and you intentionally clenched around him, trying to bring him there with you. “Fuck, do that again baby,” he groaned, dropping his head into your neck as you did and your nails scratched into his back, leaving red streaks in their wake. Your walls fluttered around him, body writhing as you came, his name falling from your lips like a prayer as you felt him twitch inside you and fill you with his cum. He placed tender kisses to your neck, working up to your jaw before peppering your face with kisses and coaxing breathless giggles from you as he slowly pulled out of you. He rolled onto his back, pulling you along with him and you settled into his side, head on his chest as you listened to his heartbeat slowly return to normal.

“Would have taken you flying a long time ago if I’d known this would happen,” leave it to Jake to take this opportunity to crack a joke and you just swatted at his chest.

“I guess I’m no better than the girls I tease at the bar… falling into bed with a cocky pilot.” 

“Your cocky pilot.” He pressed a kiss to your forehead and you loved how that sounded.

“I love you,” you weren’t sure why you said it, the weight of the moment simply getting on top of you, but you heard his heart jump beneath you and wondered if maybe you’d spoken too soon.

“I love you too, darlin’.”

-----

Later that evening the Hard Deck roared with life, your friends excitedly buzzing about and rehashing your first flight.

“You handled that bird strike like a champ, I threw up the second I touched down after my first.” Phoenix said proudly, knowing you were more alike than Jake than you may have realized, knowing you would feel just as safe up there as you did right here. 

“Not gonna lie, I did think I was gonna blow when we almost hit the ridge.”

“We didn’t almost hit anything, sweetheart,” Jake said cockily as he pressed a kiss to your temple, his arm wrapped snug around your waist. The group continued to chatter as you sipped your drink, pulling away from the conversation and leaning into the man at your side, humming in content. 

“Hey, Jake?” You asked, looking over your group of friends before lifting your head to meet his eyes.

“Yeah darlin’?”

“This is everything. Everything I need, everything I want.”

[mossdoesartshit]

ITS THE SINNER ADAM BIT. GOD HELP. this will be long fair warning

-----

Adam had woken up to another relatively normal day in hell. Weird as shit birds chirping, screaming, and explosions rattled into his ears as he blinked away sleep. It had been a while now since he'd come to the hotel, and he still didn't quite know how to feel about it, but things felt... safe, for once. Not as safe as back in heaven, mind you, but safe enough he was feeling comfortable. He still had a lot of shit to sort out (most frustratingly, emotions about this entire ordeal), but anything to get back to the comfort of heaven, he mused to himself as he futzed his hair into a good enough shape, and the minimal requirement of clothes on.

He walked down the stairs to the main area of the hotel, trying to remember if he had to hang around the hotel the entire day, or if he could go try and find that milkshake place again-

"YOU. YOU FUCKING KNEW!" Lucifers finger pointed at Adam, snapping any sleep still remaining in his body

"huh???" came out of Adam involuntarily

"YOU KNEW LILITH WAS STILL AROUND, AND DIDN'T TELL US?!" Lucifer continued, Charlie quickly closing the gap between her and her now very angry father "Dad, come on-" "NO." charlie flinched

"HE knew your mother was around somewhere, HE knew of her whereabouts, and DID NOT TELL US. Still the spiteful prick, aren't you Adam!" it came out more an accusation than a question, anger in every possible core within him. Adam brought his hands up defensively as Lucifer continued. "YOU knew and didn't think to tell us? To tell CHARLIE, to tell ME?!" it was true that Adam knew about Lilith, very much unclear as to how Lucifer, charlie, and whoever else of the hotel staff were still around, but... "I thought you guys knew!" Adam tried "BULLSHIT" Lucifer continued even further "I can't even begin to believe you! You waltz in here, pretend all this happy good stuff about how you're TOTALLY getting better, and HERE THE FUCK WE ARE!" The corner of Adam's mouth twitched. As much as he could believe that everyone in the room knew what all he'd known, and as much as he could believe that asking who even told them would be a bad idea, he was getting irritated about the method in which lucifer was bringing this up. He HAD been trying his best and the accusation he wasn't brought further ire to it all

"Hey, dude, chill out a bit-" "CHILL OUT?" ah. "How can you even THINK to say that right now, ARE you even thinking?" well ouch. if it wouldn't've made the situation worse Adam would've been hurt by such a statement, all he really did nowadays WAS to think-

"I SWEAR to.... SOMEONE, SOMETHING, ANYTHING, you probably have been lying this whole time!! About everything!!"

something snapped in Adam.

without much thought, he grabbed a hold of Lucifer tightly and harshly, flaring his wings out as he snarled right into the former angel's face, only slightly registering the sounds of the others in the room either from shock or horror. Lucifer's hat fell, the little snake letting out a small squeak in surprise.

"Listen here, you Mother Fucker. You can call me a helluva lot of things, but fucking Liar. is NOT one of them. You have no idea the shit that happened after Eden, oh boohoo, you fell out of heaven, cool, whatever, do not pretend to know me enough though that id do such a fucking bullshit act as to lie. All my life, through Eden, through Earth, through Heaven, even now, I have been doing nothing but the fucking truth."

Lucifer stared up at Adam, confusion, vague horror, as he stared into Adam's glowing eyes. Not for fear of injury or pain, but... something else. Something that felt familiar. From all the way back in...

Adam shifted his gaze, up from lucifer, up from the floor, to... Charlie. She was clearly nervous, never having had to break up a fight between others. "Hey, Adam, I..." she tried, taking a breath, as she tried a confident smile, her hands trembling and her brows furrowing giving her even more away. "I know that probably hurt, but let's not hurt anyone ok? Take a deep breath, and we can talk this out ok? I-... I needed an activity for today anyway!" she chuckled nervously.

Adam hated this. Fuck's sake, he was just undoing progress. He bit his lip as Lucifer turned to Charlie a little bit, ever the faintest confused

"Whatever" Adam snarled, shoving Lucifer to the side, which Lucifer had not anticipated, and promptly kind of fell on his ass about it. "Do whatever, I need some fucking air"

He shoved his hands into his pockets in frustration, moving to walk away past everyone fast, as Charlie rushed to Lucifer's side nervously. From the corner of his eye, Adam could even spot Vaggie being a little conflicted. Funny, who knows how long ago at this point she'd've looked smug.

"Dad are you ok?" Charlie asked a little hurried, picking up his hat softly, as the little snake curled up. "I'll talk to him, don't worry, I..." she noticed Lucifer wasn't really listening to her, staring after adam, still in his head from earlier. Fuck. Right. Of course that felt familiar from Eden. He was a little shocked it took him so long to remember it. The shade of the tree as he'd stared up at Adam. Fuck. That was going to be a mess to talk about. And he knew, that the two needed to talk. He just hoped Adam knew it too