#jack mojave x fem!reader

[my-secret-shame-but-fanfiction]

Known For Little Pranks

Jack (Mojave) x F!Reader • Rating: 18+ pals Masterlist• ao3• want to be tagged? | request info • Kinktober 2024 Masterlist • Day 2: Edgeplay

Summary: You'd thought the trailer was abandoned, that was your first mistake.

A/N: @thexsanctuaryx is the real hero here for saving me from an absolute mess of words and nonsense and bad description <3

Warnings: Jack is a warning, oral (both f and m receiving), knife play, p in v sex, kinda looks like it's gonna be a dangerous situation at first, but it's all consensual, knife to the throat, please let me know if I have missed a warning!

Word Count: 3655

The knife to your throat is a surprise.

You’d thought this beaten up trailer dumped in the middle of the fucking desert was fair game. Abandoned surely. 

Apparently fucking not. 

You know you should have been more careful. 

“Well, well, well what do we have here?” The gruff voice has a smile to it. An unsettling spark of recognition dripped down your spine. 

“Jack?” Your voice comes out more timid than you intend, almost shy. 

He cackles, pressing the knife closer to your neck - causing you to step back a fraction. Your back collides with his chest and his free hand comes around to hold your waist. 

He breathes your name in your ear, his breath hot against your skin. “What a surprise little sister… certainly didn’t expect to see you here.”

You swallow, “this trailer yours?”

”It most certainly is.” 

“I didn’t… I thought it was abandoned.”

He chuckles at that. “Did ya, little sister? I’m sure you did. Sure you weren’t just doing your usual thievin’.”

“I’m not-” 

He presses the knife firmer and you shut your mouth. 

“You always were sneaking around, far too suspicious for your own good. Got others fooled though, that’s for sure. Couldn’t fool me though, couldn’t fool old Jack.”

You swallow nervously, the blade bobbing with the movement. “I haven’t seen you around for a while.”

“I haven’t been in town for a while.” He says gruffly, your effort to change the conversation direction obviously being an incorrect one. 

“What’s one mistake between old friends?” You say hopefully. 

He laughs again. The sound is anything but humorous. “Old friends? Is that the card you’re really gonna try and play here little sister? You know as well as anyone that the last thing we would be considered is friends.”

The knife starts to cut into your skin, the sting of it razor sharp. 

“I wouldn’t say that.” You try to control your breathing, hide your utter fear. 

“Oh really? Consider me a friend do you?” 

You nod as much as you can without losing blood. 

There’s a pause, and you can almost hear Jack’s thoughts tick, tick, ticking over as he assesses your answer. 

He turns his head to the side, pressing his nose to your jaw and inhaling. “How much of a friend do you consider me?”

”W-what?” The stammer makes you inwardly groan.

He chuckles, “How much of a friend do you consider me?” He repeats, slower, taking his time to pronounce. Every. Single. Word. “Because friends don’t steal from friends, little sister, they don’t do that at all.”

“I told you,” you breathe in deeply, trying to keep your voice even and calm, “I didn’t know this place was yours.”

“Bullshit.”

“It’s the truth, I swear, why would I…”

“Finish the sentence sister.” He growls. 

You bite back a flare of panic, “Why would I come here if I knew this place was yours…”

You feel him grin against your neck. “Oh, that’s it isn’t it sister, surely if we’re such good friends you’d come here to visit me wouldn’t you? Come and see your old pal Jack?”

You stay quiet, the beating of your heart so loud it makes you light headed. 

“Say,” he moves his free arm up, pressing you closer to his body, “maybe we can work something out little sister, what do you say?”

“Like… what?” You speak softly, not wanting to provoke him any more than you already had. Your mouth is dry, your voice coming out in a croak. 

“Well, first, let’s have a look in your pocket, hmm? See what you’ve tried to take from old Jack already?” 

You nod stiffly and slowly move your hand, making a show of holding it open and putting it into your pocket and then the other. 

You’d only taken a few trinkets so far, nothing of much use while you assessed the place. A lighter, a silver coin with a language on it you didn’t recognise, and what you thought was probably a piece of clear quartz. You’d picked them up for no other reason than they’d caught your eye. 

“Interesting choice doll, interesting choice for sure… didn’t take you as a lover of shiny things.” He muses, “secret magpie maybe?”

You stay still and quiet. 

“Now, now, don’t clam up on me sweetheart, we’re just having a nice pleasant conversation here. Me and you, just a chat between good friends.”

You shiver. 

“Now, I’m gonna say that if I hadn’t caught you when I did, there would be a hell of a lot more in those pockets, wouldn’t there? I bet there’d be more in your car too and a fuck lot less in here. Robbing good old Jack out of house and home, that’s for sure.” He tuts. 

And you stiffen. 

“You know what little sister? I’m feeling generous, as we go way back. I’ll take this as you were borrowing not thievin’. You were gonna bring them back, weren’t you?” He pinches your jaw with his free hand and makes you nod, moving the knife slightly as he does so he doesn’t accidentally cut into your skin. 

He chuckles, dark and menacing, “Yeah, I knew that was what’s up… just borrowin’... but, of course, borrowin’ isn’t just for nothing. Not in this desert. It’s tit for tat, isn’t that right girlie?”

He nods your head again.

“So you must have been thinking of leaving something for me, tradin’ something for using my stuff for a while?”

You shiver, nausea burning in your throat. 

“Here’s what I’m thinking girlie, what would a little sweet thing like you be leavin’ for me?”

He waits. Stays silent for an endless amount of time. His heartbeat echoes through his chest into your back, it’s slow, even, confident. So different from the way your heart smashes against your ribcage in an attempt to escape. 

“I…” You finally whisper.

“I’ll help you out, shall I doll? I’m just so giving. Old Jack’ll help you out. You got options here girlie, count your blessings that’s for sure. Options. I’m guessing you could have left me a pint of blood.” He taps the knife against your neck and you take in a sharp gulp of air. “Any liquid is always worth its weight in this desert… Or you could have left me a pound of flesh,” he squeezes your wrist, his callous fingers rubbing against your skin. “Though, I feel like it's more of a punishment for thieves… and wouldn’t be a payment between friends.” The way he says that word sends a lead weight of sickness to your stomach. 

“Oh, no, no, no.” He grins again, pressing his lips against your neck. “I think you’ve left good old Jack something else entirely. Something much more sweet.”

Heat pools in your belly.

He moves slightly, stepping a little closer, pressing his chest to your back a little firmer and in the process his arm loosens ever so slightly. And that’s all the chance you needed.

You twist, turn, blocking his forearm with your own and spin around, using his surprise to your advantage and adding to your momentum. You free yourself from his grasp, bend his wrist holding the knife and press him back up into the wall. 

His shelves shake a little with the impact, the breath knocked from his lungs. He grunts, the large hunter's knife still in his hand, but now at his throat with your own fingers curled around it. 

Jack grins. “Took you long enough girlie.” 

“You cut your hair,” you raise your eyebrow at him. It suits oddly, that close shaven stubble. 

“Like it?” He presses his neck closer to the knife to move his head, showing off every angle. 

“I liked your old style.” 

He pouts a little, mischief shining through. “Liked it long?” 

“Before that… when you used to have your curls.” 

His lips twitch, the smile becoming a fraction softer for a second. “Didn’t realise you’d been paying so much attention to me doll.” 

“Then you haven’t been very perceptive, have you?” You tease. 

He swallows, his lips slightly parted. “Why?” His voice is lower now, confident but with a hint of trepidation underneath, “You been making eyes at me all this time?” 

You let his words hang in the air for a moment. Let him simmer in his thoughts. 

When you finally speak, it’s blunt. “You didn’t notice?” 

“Maybe old Jack isn’t as smart as he thought he was.” He smiles, his eyes lidded. “You gonna cut my throat?” 

“That would be a waste of a pretty throat.” 

He chuckles, the laugh lines around his eyes crinkling, “Don’t think anyone’s ever called me pretty before, girlie.” 

“That seems like a waste too.” You lean a little closer, your voice a whisper. 

He swallows, licks his lips. “Have I got to slice some skin,” he juts his neck up a little, “to get a kiss? Or do I got to try my luck and hope for the best?” 

“You could try asking nicely.”

“May I have a kiss?” He grins cheekily, “Pretty please?” 

You lean forward, pressing the blade a little firmer against him just because you can, and lightly touch your lips to his. It’s the faintest of caresses, a hair's breadth of contact. 

Jack groans low in his throat, slumping a little more against the door weakly. He darts out his tongue to flick the tip against your bottom lip. His eyes close and he hums happily. “You do taste sweet.” 

You inch closer, kissing him fully this time. Slow and soft and sweet like those daydream first kisses in teenage romance films. He moans happily into your mouth, slowly inching up his free hand to cup your face. He touches you lightly, reverently, a mixture of respect and also not wanting to surprise you into accidentally nicking his artery. 

“Do I get to make you come, girlie?” He mutters when you break the kiss. 

“You can try.”

He chuckles again, stroking your cheek softly. “Oh, Jack does love a challenge.” He captures your lips with his own, licking into your mouth and groaning as you respond and press your body closer. 

He gently urges you back towards his bed, kissing you senseless and easing the knife from your grasp. He stabs it into his wooden bedside table, the sound makes you jump.

“Don’t worry girlie, you can cut me up with it later if you want.” 

You snort. “If I want?”

“When you want.” He beams. 

“I’m beginning to think you like the idea of me having a knife to your throat.” 

“Oh girlie,” he takes hold of your hand and presses it against his crotch. His cock is hard and hot, practically throbbing with his heartbeat. “You have no idea.” 

He starts to work his nimble fingers on the button of your jeans, unzipping them and slipping his hands under your top before you even realise. 

He kisses your neck, searching for the spot that makes you shiver as you hang onto his shoulders for support. 

You grind your hips against him, pulling at his beaten up jacket so desperate to finally get your hands on his skin.

“Let old Jack take these off?” He mumbles against your neck as he loops his thumbs into the waistband of your jeans. 

You nod, too caught up in the feel of his lips on you to do much more.

He chuckles and kneels as he pulls them down a little roughly and then holds out his hand to help you step out of them. You giggle as they get a little caught on your shoes and you have to kick them off before you can free yourself completely.

Jack hums as he nuzzles into your thigh, pressing featherlight kisses to your skin as he drags his lips higher until he reaches your hip joint. He licks slowly, tracing along the outside line of your underwear as he presses two fingers against your clothed centre.

You gasp, jumping a little at the sudden but welcome touch. 

“Ugh, girlie,” he groans, breathing in and nipping at your skin. “Fuck me, you’re dripping. Fucking soaking here.” He strokes the tips of his fingers back and forth lightly along the damp patch. 

You huff a little in embarrassment, feeling slightly self conscious until he looks up at you and meets your gaze. His eyes are dark, lust filled and desperate. His throat bobs as he swallows and presses the heel of his free hand against his dick to just take the edge off.

He presses a little firmer as his attention goes back to your core, humming in approval as your breathing hitches. Slowly he inches out his tongue, pressing the tip of the wetness on your panties. 

He groans at the taste, his eyes rolling back as he licks a large flat stripe and then hastily pulls your underwear to the side. 

“Gotta taste the source, fuck, even sweeter.” He laps at your clit, moaning approvingly as you grab hold of the back of his head. He places his warm left hand on your ass, kneading your flesh and forcing you closer to his eager mouth. 

He mutters and swears as he swallows and licks, sinking his tongue into you again and again before he drags it up and swirls around your clit, driving you wild. 

“Jack, shit,” Okay, you weren’t expecting this. 

He growls, eating you out like a man starved before he pulls back, your slick covering the bottom half of his face. Impatiently he pulls your underwear off completely before he climbs onto the bed, laying his head halfway down the mattress before looking at you expectantly. 

“Get on, girlie.” He wiggles his eyebrows and gestures up with his chin. 

You nod, your legs weak. You barely have one leg on the mattress before Jack’s manhandling you into the position he wants: your knees either side of his head spread wide.

He forces you down onto his eager mouth with his hands on your hips, rocking you back and forth and burying his tongue into your aching heat. 

You whine, gasp, arching your back and grabbing hold of the wall to keep yourself upright as pleasure blooms from your core. 

The noises he’s making are obscene, slurping and groaning like this is the first liquid he’s had in days. His hips buck and cant upward with every pull and press he urges you to make, chasing an imaginary friction. 

Your muscles tighten, thighs shake as he laps, licks further inside, and curls his tongue so expertly. 

“Jack, I’m, I think,” you moan loudly, trying to warn him, but he just holds you tighter, doesn’t let you squirm away from the onslaught of pleasure.

You come hard, your nerves tensing and paralysing you for one long moment as you dissolve into bliss. 

He loosens his grip as you slump and relax, a lopsided smile, and your release, plastered to his face. 

“Look so pretty when you come girlie,” he leans over, wiping his mouth and chin on his shirt before he kisses your cheek. “Sound so good too.” 

You sigh, shaking a little from the after tremors and close your eyes for just a second. But snap them back open when you feel the bed dip as he stands, you reach out for him and he chuckles kindly. 

“Don’t worry, Jack isn’t going anywhere.” He pulls off his clothes, watching you with a smile that widens when he sees you looking. “Like what you see, girlie?” 

You nod as you stare at his chest and lick your lips eagerly as he unzips his trousers. 

“You wanna keep playin’? Or you wanna break?” 

You lift your head up slightly, touched that he would ask. “Want you to fuck me.”

“As the lady wants.” He pretends to tip an imaginary cap and steps forward, about to open his bedside table drawer. But you sit up quickly into a kneeling position, pulling his hips towards you and run your hand over his thick cock. 

“Mmm, girlie.” He groans as you stroke him with one hand and run your thumb along his head. You press lightly, smearing his precum over his sensitive skin and rubbing lightly at his slit. He lets out a breathy whimper and your pride swells as you feel more precum leaking out against your fingers. 

You look up at him as you lean forward, tongue out. Just in case this isn’t what he wants. 

He watches you eagerly, his breathing shallow as you flick the tip against his head, the taste of his salty precum spreading across your tastebuds. 

You groan as he gasps, his face contorted in pleasure as you trace your tongue down and then lap at his balls before dragging a long, flat lick back up to the head. 

“That’s it girlie, that’s it.” He mutters. His cock twitches in your hand, his thighs shaking as you suck his head past your lips and bob down as deeply as you can. 

“Ohh fucccck.” He grabs hold of the edge of the headboard, fighting the urge to buck up into the sweet relief of your mouth. “That’s good darlin’, so good for me.” 

He can’t help himself and presses forward as you swallow around him, easing further into the heat. 

You moan, bobbing your head torturously slow, trying to relax your jaw and take him deeper but he stops you with a hand on your cheek. 

“Hold on girlie, hold on,” he says gruffly, trying to contain himself. “Wanna make you come once more before I do.” He gives you a cheeky wink before he opens the top drawer of his bedside table and fishes out a condom. 

You raise an eyebrow as he opens the wrapper with his teeth and rolls it onto his thick length. 

“Didn’t take you as the condom kind.” You tease. 

“You want me to go bareback?” He chuckles as he kneels on the bed next to you, “I’ll have you know, little girlie, that this is ribbed for your pleasure.” 

You giggle as he pulls a purposefully smarmy face and he grins. 

“So,” he lightly touches your lips, “how do you want it?” 

“How do you?” 

“Oh, dealer's choice, hmm?” His smile widens. “Alright,” he places his hand on your hip, rubbing soft circles onto your skin, the heat of his fingers almost burning. He presses you down gently on the mattress, positioning you so that you’re laying on your side.

“Hmm, that’s good,” he presses your legs together, bending your knees and urging them up and close to your chest. “Can see your pretty face and pretty cunt all at the same time.” He mutters, almost speaking to himself as he drags the head of his cock through your slick folds, groaning lowly as he finally feels your heat against his length. 

“Gonna go nice and hard darlin’, yeah?” 

You barely get your mouth open before he’s already pushing his side, breaching your entrance with his fat tip. You gasp in surprise, his name a whimper on your lips as he keeps sinking in. 

Your pussy clenches, flutters at the sudden intrusion and your hips instinctively try to move away. But he holds your thigh firmly, pulling you tighter against him as he fills you up with one solid thrust. 

“Oh fuck.” He groans, “Nice and tight aren’t you girlie?” 

You squirm, the stretch is intense, burning along your muscles in the most delicious way that has you panting. “Oh god.” 

“Mmm, feels good?” 

You nod rapidly, clutching hold of the pillow as he pulls out and rams back in setting a brutal and frantic pace that has you screaming.

He groans, changing the angle with every thrust until your cries change in pitch and you're practically clawing at the headboard. 

“Oh, is that the spot girlie?” He taunts, his words strained from the rapid thrusts of his hips, “That the spot that’s so fucking good?” 

You can’t answer him, your mind mush as he keeps ramming into you. 

“When’s the last time you got fucked like this, hmm? Who’s the last guy that got you cock dumb and screaming on their dick like a whore?” 

You whine, your back arching as he keeps hitting the same sweet spot now he’s found it, determined to reduce you to a complete mess underneath him. 

“Oh, no one?” He laughs, “No one’s ever fucked you this good, huh? Crying shame, girlie, crying shame.” 

He grabs hold of the headboard with his right hand while he snakes his left around to rub at your clit, rough circles that hit in time with the manic buck of his hips.

“Jack, Jack,” you can’t stop yourself, his name rolling off your lips, the only thing on your mind as your body begins to overflow with the sweetest pleasure. 

You flutter, tensing around him. 

“Oh, gonna come for me, pretty? Gonna cream all over my cock?” 

You scream as he whispers filth into your ear, shaking. 

“Can’t wait to fuck you in every position, can’t wait to get you coming all over me again and again and again until mine’s the only cock that’ll do.” 

Pleasure hits you from nowhere, sinking its fangs into your skin as you come and pulse. Your cry leaves you silently as you ride the wave, unable to do anything but let it carry you away. 

Jack groans as your walls squeeze him, as you fall apart under him. 

“Oh, fuck, darlin’,” he cries out, his hips bucking frantically for the last few seconds until he comes with a strangled sigh. 

He presses kisses to your sweaty temple, slumping against you slightly, but using his arm to keep his full weight off you as you relax and come back to yourself.

“Fucking perfect,” he kisses your lips, easing his tongue softly into your mouth when you allow him. 

You wrap your arm around his neck, holding him close. 

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[onevolon]

smile for the camera

Jack Mojave X F!reader

note: you take a picture you shouldn't have.

word count: 731

warnings: dark. angst. it's not in a desert but a forest. honestly idk what this is supposed to be lol

you can also read it on ao3.

masterlist

This was a journey from the start. Sure, it wasn’t the first time she witnessed someone being left at the altar. Crazier things happened at the weddings. It makes her wonder what made them finally snap and run away every time. Especially these two looked so in lovey-dovey. But now the groom is nowhere to be seen. Weird.

One thing that is more annoying than a bride bawling her eyes out though, when the wedding is canceled, nobody cares about what will happen to the employees or what they should do. Everybody is own their own.  

And that’s why now she is middle of the nowhere in a fucking forest with all of my camera equipment trying to find her way to her car. Environmentalist piece of shits forced everybody to park miles away from the wedding location to not disturb the ecosystem more than necessary blah blah…

If she wasn’t so fucking lost, she might have appreciated the sounds of the birds chirping, the smell of the pine tree and the wind on her hair. But right now, it was extremely irritating to say the least. The smell made her stomach turn after the food she inhaled before they can take it. The wind was making her shiver to her very bones and… Maybe she should distract herself by looking at the photos.

She starts to scroll through the photos. Look all those happy faces… Now it’s all for nothing.

Okay this doesn’t really work.

She could try and take a couple of photos of the damn birds for her portfolio.

Carefully walking around the bushes, she tries to allocate the said animals. It is soothing to hear this rhythmic sound of these creatures and…

Something else was there…

Someone was…

…Someone digging something?

Yeah, there was a figure to her left with a shovel. What in the hell…

Stupidly, she gets closer while continuously pushing the button on her camera.

A man with a long coat… in a cowboy hat. Long hair… Dirty skin. You didn’t recognize him from the wedding. Who the hell-

“Well, hello there.”

She freezes.

“Wanted to see something cool, sister?” he says innocently.

She can’t move a muscle. Not even talk.

“Not a talker, huh. You would get along with him, then.” He says and point to the ground.

She instinctively follows his gesture.

There is a man.

On the ground.

Not moving.

Is he-

“Wanna join him, doll-face?”

You can’t look away. Not only because you’re both in danger but… he looks… familiar.

“I bet he would like that, now wouldn’t you, perv?” he nudges the man’s head with his boots and the man’s face turns towards her.

Oh, he looks blue.

He’s for sure-

The groom.

He is the groom.

“Was having quite the fun with that little bridesmaid. I was jealous not gonna lie. Wanted to have a good old adventure to myself.”

He killed the groom.

“And now we all are here.” He looked to her, self-satisfied.

Her heart was about to burst.

“Lost, aren’t you?”

“I-“

“Who are you?”

She doesn’t answer.

He casually drops the shovel and pushes the groom to the hole in the ground.

“The great questions, sister, the essentials… Where are you from? Where you going?”

She again doesn’t answer, too occupied to discreetly try and find something to use it as a weapon.

He starts to throw the pile of dirt on top of the man.

“To be or not to be?”

“Huh?” she says, distracted by the sudden topic change.

“Another great question. To be or not to be? It always comes down to that, isn’t it?”

She doesn’t know what to say.

“You choose to be, sister. To be here.”

She shakes her head.

“Oh, yes, yes you did. “ He smirks.

She begins to tremble slightly.

“No? Why don’t you run then? You can run.”

“I can’t move.” She says stupidly.

“Sure you can. In fact, when I count to three, you will flee like you’ve never done before.” He says while patting now closed grave with the shovel, putting some leaves on top of it to cover.

She starts to tear up.

“One…”

A tear drops to her face.

“Two…”

She takes a step back.

“Two and a half…”

Hurriedly puts down her camera and other stuff down.

“Three!”

She sprints.

“Game on, sister! GAME. ON.”

He goes after her.

[foxilayde]

The Stranger Part 2/2 Jack from Mojave x Fem!Reader

Word Count: 4k

Warnings: 18+ ONLY. DEAD DOVE DO NOT EAT. Dark themes, DARK. CHASING, NONCON SMUT

Summary: 100 second head start in a game of chase. Is it enough time to get away? Probably not.

A/N: I hope this is what you nasty bitches wanted lmao enjoy I love you guys.

How many seconds do you have left? 70? 60? Who is to say he’s even honoring that time frame, he’s probably already kicking dust behind you and the only reason you can’t hear him is because of the blood pumping in your ears and your wild breathing. This is what it’s like to be a jackrabbit, bounding in the bush from the snapping teeth of a coyote. Luckily the moon is bright enough that your footfalls avoid large things like the prickly brush and snake holes. 

Fuck, you should have known better, should have known that everything comes alive at night in the desert with all its nocturnal-eyed creatures, the prowlers and the dwellers. Big fucking mistake going out here alone, the biggest of your life, and the last one you’ll ever get to make. Well that and the mistake you make when your heel lands on a piece of pointed quartz or granite and at the last second you swallow your scream and attempt to run though it, to push past the searing pain in your heel and the twist in your ankle. Fuuuuuck. You have your boots in your arms but when (if ever) is a good time to put them on? When exactly will you have sufficient space between you and Jack when you can feel free to take a moment to lace up? Not now. Definitely not now.

You think it’s a trick of the moonlight when you see the cave in the split of the hill. The hill looks familiar, but so does everything. That’s the thing about the raw desert of the Mojave. It all looks the same. No landmarks to go by, just moderate hill after moderate hill of even sparsity and plant species. You weren’t quick enough to clock the position of the moon or the stars when you took off running. You went forward, but forward can turn to the side and the side can turn into a full circle and a full circle can turn into a spiral, especially if you have a tendency to keep veering right at every tumbleweed. 

You head for the cave anyway because at the very least, it’s shade when the sun rises, it’s a place to put your boots on, maybe to check if you have a compass on you so you can start plotting a real way out of here instead of running with your eyes on the sides of your head right into the path of a semi. 

The cave is deep enough and tall enough that you stand up fully the whole way into the dark recess of it. It’s not the sort of prey stronghold that would suit any creature of the Mojave so there isn’t any fear of running into anything when you turn at the end and slouch down. You should have pulled out your flashlight from your pack while you were still in the moonlight. It’s going to be much harder to find it like this in the solid black of the back of the cave but you don’t care. You need to rest, you need a gulp of water, and you need to put your shoes on. All of which you manage to do relatively well, and in your hiking boots you feel much calmer already, with your ankles secure and the warm compression of your socks. 

You pull from your half filled canteen, spilling some water down your chin and you wonder when your next drink of water will be. Where it will come from. This bottle isn’t enough to last you more than one or two days in the Mojave before you start to get sick with heat. You’re more careful with your next sips. 

You dig around your backpack to feel for either your flashlight or for your compass, the latter of which you finally get and shove into the pocket of your sweats. You hear a little rustling deeper in the cave and the thought suddenly sickens you that Jack has been sitting in the cave with you the whole time, in the absolute darkness, listening to you gulp water and wrap your ankle, your cursing and breathing, rustling around to find your things… just waiting in the dark. For what? For you to find your flashlight and turn it on his face? Just to scare you? You don’t know him well but he does seem to be one for theatrics. 

Your heart speeds up and your stomach drops, your imagination is picturing him right next to you in the blackness, the hairs in your ear prickle with trying to pick up any hint of his breathing nearby, and your mind tricks itself into thinking that he is there. You don’t know if you should leave, or wait it, out or find your flashlight and shine it into the darkness to know for sure. One thing is for sure, is that if he IS in this cave with you, he’s not going to let you leave, so you have to be smart about your exit. You can’t let him know you’re onto him, that you’re going to jump out of here quick as lightning. So you make a big show about sighing and fake leaning back against the wall of the cave, you pretend to stretch when you’re really getting into position to bolt out. Fuck, how exactly are you going to do this, really do this, really outrun the coyote himself, in the dark, especially with your fucking ankle?

You’re stalling and if he has any good predatory senses, which you know he does, he’s onto the plan and each second you waste debating and faking getting comfortable in the cave. He can probably hear the way your heart thuds like jackrabbits legs. With his glittering nocturnal eyes, can he see the way your eyes dilate and fail to focus on anything for lack of light and reference? Is it real or is your mind playing tricks with you in the dark? 

You swear you feel the heat of his breath on your neck when you finally push off the cave floor and make your hasty exit out, your clumsy feet slipping on the loose rock of the mouth of the cave, you brace yourself surprisingly well on your hands and run on all fours for several beats before righting yourself and taking satisfying shoed-footfalls down the ravine. You’re hardly ‘running’ at all, the gravity of the downslope doing all the distance-making for you. You aren’t careful the way you would be on a hike like this; taking it heel-toe-heel toe. No you’re side sliding at this point. Paces between yourself and the cave being the prime directive and in your haste the side of your boot catches only dust on your compromised ankle, sending you rolling down the dusty surface. Your eyes are full of dirt, your hair snags painfully on a brush and you’re blindly reaching and scrambling for something to cling to on your decent, fingers digging into tumbling thin gravel when the sliding mercifully stops. 

You wipe your tear tracked eyes on your sleeves and hoist yourself up on all battered fours, spitting out grains of sand. You think you smell water, hear the rushing of water. But it could very well be the smell of blood in your mouth and the rushing of it in your ears. The mind plays tricks on you at night. An oasis would be too much to hope for. 

You rise to your feet and brush the dirt from your sleeping clothes, sighing and groaning heavily you sit back on your heels. There is water, the rushing water of a small Oasis but you can hardly appreciate the glittering blackness of it when a long knife makes contact with your gritty, sweaty neck.

It makes your blood run cold despite the dark resinous heat of the night and Jack’s arm comes to wrap around your chest, pinning your arms (not that you’d struggle to move anyway with the promise of the blade at the pulsing life of you). 

“That was quite a show, sister, quite a fucking show.” You’re wrapped within the wings of his coat, nowhere to run. Even if you were to escape it’s only up up up in all directions here at the bottom of everything, where the water rushes, where you’ll never be found. Your lip quivers and and you tremble in his grasp.

“Gotta hand it to ya sister, lasted a lot longer than I thought you would.” He pushes you down then, your face to the side in the dirt, a knee on on each of your hamstrings, hands pinned behind your back. 

“What I don’t understand though, and maybe you can help me out with this, is why…” he uses his knife to cut a line up the back of your long sleeve shirt, exposing your bare back to the moonlight. “Why you took off out of that hidey-hole like a bat outta hell, hmmm?” He grabs your hair to pull your neck up, sliding his nose on the side of your cheek. “Something spook you in there?”

You choke on a sob when he kisses your cheek, “what was it, little sister. Answer me.”

“You.”

“Me? I was watchin the mouth of the cave from the ridge. Couldn’t’ve been me what spooked ya … oh wait… we’re you thinkin’ about ol’ Jack in that cave, sister? Wanting me in there all nice n’ cosy with you?”

If he is telling the truth, which you have no reason to believe he’s not, then it was all imagined, it was all in your fickle mind, seeing images in the absolute darkness, phantom breaths and threats. 

“Welp little sister. As fun as this chase has been, and believe me, it has been quite the diversion, I believe its come to judgement day, wouldn’t ya say?” 

Judgement day. Fucking death. All of that all of that scraping and clawing, running and hiding, only to be back at square one. You might as well be back at your campsite, shorn sleeping bag at your legs, forfeiting the hundred second challenge and letting him slit your neck like he’s done to your bag, to your shirt. What’s the difference if your blood spills here or there? Besides a more concise murder investigation.  

His knees continue to press into the backs of your thighs and he drags the cool metal of his blade up and down your exposed spine. 

“You don’t have to kill me.” You offer weakly.

“What was that, bright angel? Didn’t catch that.”

“You… you don’t have to kill me. Don’t you wan’t to keep playing?’

“Playing, you say? We did play. You lost. You don’t want to be a sore loser now, do you little sister?”

“What about a best two out of three?”

You aren’t thinking clearly, everything coming out of your mouth is an instinctual bargain to keep yourself alive for a precious few more moments, seeking this predator’s motivation. He said he liked the diversion, didn’t he? He must be bored out here in the desert by himself. If only you could prove yourself useful to him, to his entertainment. 

“Two outta three, huh?” This knife leaves your back and you can hear the way he scratches the stubble of his sharp jaw behind you. “I’m listening.”

“You don’t want to kill me.”

“Bold assumption, girlie, bold. Lets not forget who holds all the cards here. Bargaining 101? You’re gonna have to give me something I don’t got.”

Is this what he’s been angling for this whole time then? Has he been waiting to offer your flesh up to the buzzard on a silver platter. You hope that’s the case because that is a hand you posess, you can play that. But you’ll have to play it well. 

“A-are those the Deep Creek hot springs over there?” 

Jack growls a laugh, “Sharp eye, little sister. So you did get your little hands on a topographical before settin’ sail. That they are, that they are.” 

The little river flows only a few meters away and you start to form your plan. You lick the dirt and sweat from your lips and lower your voice as seductively as you can. “Let me wash off in that hot spring and i’ll… I’ll let you fuck me.”

Jack barks a laugh that brays to the moon. “Let me? You’ll let me? What hospitality, little sister.”

“Please, Jack.” You whisper into the dirt. He pauses a few more moments, dragging the blade up and down your spine again in a cold steel power move. “You wanna chase me? Into the springs? I can put up a fight if you want…” 

The offer hangs between you in a tempting shroud, you don’t know what’s going through his mind when he shifts his knees off of your legs and pulls the sweats and panties down from your ass and down to your knees, he glides the flat end of his blade lightly over the folds of your exposed pussy, bringing the blade up to his tongue to lick the frightened slick off the metal. 

“Mmmm, take your boots off. Go on, now. Get up, take those boots off, sister. I’m inclined to indulge in your little request.” 

You get to a seated position as quickly as you can, unlacing your hastily-tied boots and shoving them off along with your sweats and panties. Your shorn sleep shirt falls easily from your arms and you tentatively rise to stand, wobbling a bit on your twisted ankle, using his shoulder to right yourself.

“Providing you don’t try any funny business, you hear?”

You gulp and nod, hiding your chest instinctively behind shivering arms. 

He rises and licks his lips, scanning you up and down, tilting his hat up in a not so southern gentlemanly fashion.

“You want a head start, sister? ‘Fore I catch you?” His knife is dangling limply in his hand, he drops it in the dirt but holds his stare on you as he unlaces his boots, kicking them off along with his pants, duster and hat. In no time he’s down to nothing but a pair of black boxer briefs and the bandana. He shifts his arms back in a swimmer’s stretch and cracks his neck side to side.

“Maybe just… just ten seconds head start?”

“Smart girl. Nowhere to run, nowhere to hide. Everything the moonlight touches is mine. Includin’ that pretty rump of yours.”

You’re under no supposition that you’ll be able to fight this man off and as he counts “One, two, better skiddle de do darlin’, three—“  You rush into the cold water, sloshing and making your way to the natural heated stone pools just a few strokes away. The oasis is teeming with life and you feel the little fish graze your legs as you splash and hoist yourself into the hot spring bath. Moments later you hear Jack splash and swim with tenacity, and soon, much too soon, he grabs your ankle. You squeal and kick his chest, which only makes him grab harder, using your leg as leverage to climb into the hot pool with you. 

The warm volcanic water feels like heaven on your muscles and you sigh into the natural stone bench of the pool. It feels very much like a man-made hot tub and Jack splashes in. He ducks his head under water and wipes the water from his face when he emerges. A distinct and instinctual part of you scans him, appreciating his fine muscular form. If he wasn’t such a blood thirsty desert dweller, he’d do well enough on his own to ensnare women with more reputable means. But he isn’t, so he ducks his face halway under water and grabs your leg again, wrapping it around his thick waist. Your breath speeds up a tick. 

“Fair and square, babydoll, fair and square two outta three.” He picks up your other leg and wraps it around his waist. “You gonna give me a congratulatory kiss? Or you gonna make me take that from you too?” He presses his bandana-clad forehead to yours.

Your shaking hand comes up to grip him gently behind his neck and draw his face close to yours, the moment your lips meet he’s licking into your mouth deeply, as if to drink the precious water from your lips. The water sloshes gently around the both of you and his hands come to grab your naked hips. It’s… not so bad, it’s nice even, with the warm water… he’s a good kisser for a bloodthirsty fuck, and he draws your hips closer, your pussy meeting his hard cock through the boxer briefs. 

Both of his hands travel up your waist in tandem, over your ribcage, hot palms resting on the sides of your tits, he thumbs your nipples causing you to draw his mouth even closer to yours, licking into the smoky hotness of his mouth. He flicks your nipples with his thumbs and grinds deeply into the open and needy center of you. The spring bubbles with tiny streams of heat around you and you use your feet to push down his boxer briefs, releasing his predatory heat from the confines of the fabric. He groans loudly into your mouth, forcing you you suck up the hot dirty expletives into your own. His pushing hips notch his hardness at the core of you and he presses in with tight interference. His cock pushes through your tense fear, fucking you more and more open with every thrust of his hips until he is fully seated in you, until his snapping pelvis makes solid fucking contact with the junction of you, and you cry into his mouth from the stretch of him.

“Ah! Mother always taught me not to play with my food, but in this case, I’ll have to make an exception.”

His arms snake around your waist and using the leverage of the spa floor he fucks up into your needy cunt, rubbing hot and hard at the apex of your pleasure. The water sloshes around you and you can taste the faint sulfuric presence between your lips when you continue to lick into his mouth, using both hands now on his cheeks to keep him there, rubbing his tongue with your own. 

Fuck, he’s so big everywhere, inside of you, around you, his figure blocks out the moon and you screw your eyes shut anyway.

You can’t be bothered to care how technically wrong it is to give and receive pleasure from this man who wanted to kill you, who his now licking into your whining mouth and fucking into your wet hole. He rubs so well against your cunt that you’re almost sorry to admit he’s going to make you cum, and soon. 

You break the kiss with a moan and bite your bottom lip when you convulse on his bare cock, fuck knows where it’s been, fuck cares. Your body achieves an equilibrium with the warmth of the springs when you cum, perfectly matching the heat of your skin. Your fingernails dig into his back and his thrusts speed up.

“Gonna fill you up sister.” He pants and smirks just out of reach of your lips.

“No, please.” No, he can’t. You’re not on anything, you can’t let him— you break his sloppy kiss and use your hands to push his hips away to no avail, you squirm your hips, but he’s got you painfully pressed against the natural stone and he laughs with a coldness unbefitting the hot spring and the hot air.

“Wasn’t up for debate, princess.” He licks the side of your face before burying his nose in the crook of your neck. “Fuck, oh fuck, here it comes, take it all, ohhh yesss. Yess, sister thats right.” Jack shivers, throws his head back and pumps hot into your tightly pressed body as you continue to shove his thighs with your feet to no avail. 

He goes slack and your final kick to his thigh sends him stumbling back. For a heart stoping moment you think he’ll retaliate but he just ducks under the water once again, emerging to wipe his face and throw back his hair. He puffs out his chest and howls to the moon then, a sound that chills your overheated bones. 

“Mighty fine chase, little sister. Best I’ve had in a long time.” He goes to tuck a wet lock behind your ear and you flinch from the contact. “Gettin’ shy on me now? Gettin shy on ol’ Jacky when you got my seed in your little belly? Nuh uh, none o’ that.” 

You drop your shoulders in defeat and close your eyes as a tear trickles down your cheek. 

“What are you going to do with me?” Your voice cracks feebly, realizing he’s had his fun and has no need for you now. There’s so many places to hide your body and you’re so far from your site it’s unlikely any recognizable part of you will ever be found. 

Jack climbs out of the pool and wrings out his sopping boxer briefs on the stony dirt patch on the side of the spring, stepping back into the soaking fabric, tucking his limp cock into the them with a groan.

“Well, I did have my heart set on slitting that pretty little neck of yours, full transparency sister, full transparency.”

You choke on a sob.

“But.” Your heart lifts. “Circumstances change, don’t they? Yessir. God help me, you look so pretty all fucked out and full of me, don’t you?” He bites his bottom lip and grabs your upper arm to hoist you out of the spring. The water sluices down your naked body and the rivuleting water glimmers in the moonlight. You stumble on your twisted ankle, using his bare shoulders to steady you.

“Choice is yours, little sister. I can cut your pretty neck right here, leave a feast for the buzzards… I can let you stumble back to your empty campsite all on your lonesome, or you can come home with me, choice is yours.”

Before you can think or answer he grips your chin between his palm. “Now, full transparency, like I said, I wouldn’t recommend option two, on account of I will be taking your clothes.” He gestures to the bank where your clothes lay. “Those are mine now; you’ll have no water, no way to find your way back. You’ll be dead by noon, garun fucking tee. Shit, if you pick option two I’d probably do you a mercy and just slit your fucking throat regardless.”

He’s right. There’s no way you’d survive without him, not that he’d leave you any loophole of staying at the spring to circumnavigate his stipulation; that you make your way back to your campsite. There’s only one option. 

“I’ll… go home with you?”

“Smart girl.”

“I don’t have a choice, do I?”

“Like I said. Smart. Girl.” His teeth glint in the moonlight and he pats your cheek condescendingly before gesturing to your ankle with a nod of his head. “Can you walk on that thing or is ol’ Jacky going to have to assist?”

You hold your chin up high despite your nakedness and your vulnerable state. “I can walk.”

His only reply is a grin before he turns around, back to the direction of your scattered clothes. He pats his naked thigh and whistles at you like a dog to follow. Which you do. 

END

tagging if you interacted with pt.1

@andromeda-dear @muunliight @lovely-cryptid @ophelialoveshandsomemen @bear-na-leabharlainne @theoddballinyourcloset @sharin4readers @h0unds-of-h3ll

[scorsesedepalmafan]

Alfred Molina characters I write for

I wanted to make a list of Alfred Molina characters I write for (for the moment) since I didn’t really do one and there was some previous confusion.

I’m currently looking for more requests since I’m running out.

MALE/GENDER NEUTRAL/TRANS/ENBY/FEMDOM/butch!FEM readers (SFW & NSFW - no multi-chapter fics)

In chronological order , *for gn and male reader/trans male reader only ** for male reader/trans male reader only.

(sorry for how long this is lol, just want to be clear I’ll write for all of these)

Link back to my masterlist x  , rules here x

(1981 - Raiders of the Lost Ark) - Satipo

(1985 - Letter to Brezhnev) - Sergei

(1985 - Ladyhawke) - Cezar

(1987 - Prick Up Your Ears) - Kenneth Halliwell** (yes, but please read borlpcd )

(1991 - Screen One: Hancock) - Tony Hancock

(1991 - American Friends) - Oliver Syme

(1993 - When Pigs Fly) - Marty

(1995 - Species) - Dr. Stephen Arden

(1995 - The Steal) - Cliff

(1995 - Hideaway) - Dr. Jonas Nyebern

(1995 - Nervous Energy) - Ira Moss**

(1996 - Mojave Moon) - Sal

(1997 - Anna Karenina) - Konstantin Dmitrievich Levin

(1997 - Boogie Nights) - Rahad Jackson*

(1997 - A Further Gesture) - Tulio* (desperately want to write for him but I haven’t found the movie anywhere :( )

(1997 - The Man Who Knew Too Little) - Boris “The Butcher” Blavasky*

(1998 - The Impostors) - Sir Jeremy Burtom*

(1999 - Dudley Do-Right) - Snidely K. 'Whip' Whiplash

(2000 - Chocolat) - Comte De Reynaud

(2001 - Texas Rangers) - John King Fisher*

(2002 - Frida) - Diego Rivera (AU) will post about this tomorrow*

(2002 - Undertaking Betty/Plots with a View) - Boris Plots

(2004 - Spider-Man 2) - Dr. Otto Octavius/Doctor Octopus

(2006 - Orchids) - Cliff

(2007 - The Moon and the Stars) - Davide Rieti**

(2007 - The Little Traitor) - Sergeant Stephen Dunlop*

(2008 - Nothing Like The Holidays) - Edy Rodriguez

(2009 - An Education) - Jack Mellor

(2009 - The Pink Panther 2) - Randall Pepperidge**

(2010 - Prince of Persia: Sands of Time) - Sheik Amar

(2010 - The Sorcerer’s Apprentice) - Maxim Horvath

(2011 - Abduction) - Frank Burton

(2012 - The Forger) - Everly Campbell**

(2012 - Loving Miss Hatto) - Barrie/William Barrington-Coupe

(2014 - Love is Strange) - George Garea**

(2014 - Swelter) - Doc**

(2020 - Promising Young Woman) - Jordan Green*

(2020 - The Water Man) - Jim Bussey*

(2021 - Spiderman: No Way Home) - goes without saying

I haven’t seen the new Cowboy show but I’ll do him too pretty sure (poor choice of words)

[my-secret-shame-but-fanfiction]

would sell all of my belongings for a fic on making jack fuck that knife handle,, and maybe fucking him with some other,, weapons things if you ever have the time and inspo!! love me a subby gross murder man<3

JIojgsiodjgopasid this has been cooking in my brain for such a long time and haunting me, thank you! <3

Scratch An Itch

Jack Jackson x F!Reader • Rating: PG pals •Masterlist• ao3• want to be tagged? | requestinfo• ko-fi •

Summary: Jack fucks a knife handle.

Warnings: He... fucks a knife handle (safely!), lube, gendered terms (ma'am/ mistress), talk of anal fingering, established relationship, dom/sub dynamics, over use of italics, typos, not beta read, railroad sentences, please let me know if I've missed a warning!

Word Count: 1212

Jack bites his lip between his teeth, so close to making it bleed as he kneels on the floor, his hands in his lap. His chin is raised however, his eyes watching you move and walk around the room. 

It would be lowered if that was what you wanted; if that’s what you asked of him. But you like when he watches, when he stares with unrestrained need despite having to sit so still. 

It’s electrifying.

His cock throbs as you move around, pretending to be preoccupied and not watching him like a hawk. He’s painfully hard, his tip pressing against his bare stomach and smearing precum over his skin and happy trail. But he’s glad he’s naked, the cool air soothes his feverish skin. 

Finally, after what feels like an age, you sit down in front of him on the wooden chair you had placed directly in front of him. But too far away for him to touch you in his current position.

You look at your nails, release a bored sigh from your lungs and Jack is surprised that he doesn’t pass out from the amount of blood that rushes downwards.

You glance at him from under your eyelashes and he barely suppresses a moan. For a long moment you appraise him, his muscles tense and shake ever so slightly with anticipation. 

You cross your legs, shift in your seat and lean back and then, at last, address him. 

“So,” your voice is like a dose of morphine, makes him lightheaded and float all at once. You gesture to him vaguely with an air of indifference that has him gulping. “You want to come?” 

He nearly does, right then and there. 

But he manages to get a hold of himself at the last second, and nods, breathless. “Yes, please.” 

You shrug, once again looking at your nails. “I’m not going to touch you.”

He moans then, trying to swallow the sound and failing. You glance up at him and he squirms at the look on your face. 

“I’m sorry,” he whispers. 

You stay quiet for a long moment before pointing towards the side. 

He looks and gulps, the sound echoing around the quiet room. 

“That’s the only way you’re gonna get off.” You say detachedly. 

He nods. 

“So use it.” 

He gets up slowly, watching you intently in case his movements are not what you want. But he picks up his speed a little when you do not correct or chastise him. 

On the side is one of his knives, the blade is around a hands length with a wide metal guard. The handle is thick, heavy. Polished and sealed wood inlaid with bone. Next to the knife is a bottle of lube. 

Jack touches the knife lightly. 

“Stabbing it into the wall is probably better than the floor.” Your voice still has that cool indifference, but your eyes betray the fire that burns below the surface. 

He nods slowly, taking the heavy knife in his hand and getting back down onto his knees by the spot on the wall you’d marked earlier. (You’d cut the hole that afternoon, added metal buffers around the edge of the slit and a clasp like fastening that clipped to the hand guard so that the knife wouldn’t move.) 

He slides it into place, clipping it securely and checking the lack of movement before he pours lube liberally onto the handle. 

“You don’t need to prep yourself, I know you can take it all like that.” 

He groans, screwing up his eyes as his arousal burns. Even though it’s all part of the scene, and it wasn’t even ten minutes ago that your fingers were inside him, screeching him open while you whispered sweet filth into his ear, it still makes him shiver. 

“That’s not an answer.” You say sternly. 

“I’m sorry,” he looks up at you, “I can take it, little mistress.”

You nod. “Then stop wasting time and do it.” 

He bites his lip as he gets into position on all fours, pressing his tight entrance against the handle and slowly pushing back. A low moan escapes his lips and he pauses, panting. The end is wide and blunt, the sensation unusual as it stretches him relentlessly, but delicious none the same. 

“Colour baby?” You ask sweetly, your voice quiet and grounding. 

“Green, green, oh so green.” He groans, his stomach muscles flexing as he pushes himself further back until the handle is completely inside and he gasps. 

“Tell me how it feels.” 

“So fucking good. Strange, stretched, little flower, stretched and wide in the strangest way.”

There’s a hint of a smile in your voice as you speak again, the smallest tease. “Think you can take it?”

He nods. 

“Think you can come?” 

“Oh lord, yes.” 

You grin. “Then do it.”

“Yes, Ma’am.” 

He sets a rapid pace, thrusting back and forth experimentally, working out the best angles and position. He quickly finds that arching his back and short, shallow thrusts are best, makes the angular tip of the handle brush against that special spot inside in a way that robs him of breath and makes his thighs shake. 

He groans, whining and sobbing as he keeps moving, keeps pushing and pulling. The squelch of the lube echoes, making his balls tighten. Pleasure twists and coils, spiking at the base of his spine as his cock impossibly hardens. 

He sobs, moving from his hands and knees to laying his arms flat on the floor, clawing on the wood grain as he slams back and forth, face down, ass up. 

“Fuck, fuck, fuck, fuck!” His thighs burn, his abdominal muscles ache, his knees crying out under the strain, but it feels so good, like liquid gold rolling out. He can’t stop, physically can’t. The pleasure building and building as humiliation scrapes deliciously along his skin like a sweetener. 

His balls smack against the handguard, he’s moving so fast the motion is almost painful. The tension adding another layer of sensation, heightening the others to dizzying highs. 

“Please,” he whines, his voice horse from his cries, “can I come? I need to come!” His voice is wrecked, broken and weak and it’s like music to your ears, a symphony to his own.

You pause, smiling before you nod once, “You can come.” 

He screams his throat raw, sobbing out thank yous as he practically reaches his peak on your command, spurting all over the floor in thick hot waves that just keep coming and coming and coming. It splashes up against his thighs and stomach, rubs into his skin where he keeps moving and rocking, seeking out every last drop of pleasure. 

It’s your hands on his face and hips that make him stop, your sweet kisses to his cheeks and you wipe away the tears that he didn’t realise were on his skin. 

“Shhh, it’s okay.” You kiss his temple, helping him to ease the knife out of himself and gathering him up in your arms on the floor. 

“Thank you, thank you, thank you,” he hiccups, not realising he’s still speaking. 

“Shhh,” you kiss his nose, cradling him and stroking his lips. “You did so good, so good. My special boy.” 

He leans into your touch, finally relaxing into your embrace. 

Thank you for reading!

@pleasurebuttonwrites @raven-rk @campingwiththecharmings @alexxavicry @whatthefishh

@romanarose @strangerhands @saturn-rings-writes @lonelyisamyw-0love @queerponcho

@steven-grants-world  @eyelessfaces @angel-of-the-moons @minigirl87 @lunar-ghoulie

@silvernight-m @autismsupermusicalassassin @apesarecuul @reallyrallyauthor @basicalyrandom

@alwaysmicado @mangoslushcrush @marc-spectorr @soft-girl-musings  @spxctorsslxt

@novarosewood

If you'd like to be taken off the tag list please let me know here

[my-secret-shame-but-fanfiction]

Just A Scratch

Jack Mojave X F!Reader • Rating: 18+ pals Masterlist• ao3• want to be tagged? | request info • Kinktober 2023 Masterlist • Day 2: Knife Play

Summary: Turns out being tied to a chair with his own knife at his throat is exactly where Jack wants to be.

A/N: I have not proof read this properly, I know I haven't.

Warnings: Is Jack a warning all on his own?, knife play, blood (not too much), cum eating, a little degradation, hand job, tied up, typos, please let me know if I’ve missed a warning!

Word Count: 1796

You press the sharp edge of the blade against Jack’s neck, trailing it along the edge of his jugular vein. His heartbeat jumps under the touch. But he stays still as you glide the point of the knife over his Adam’s apple.

He swallows, his throat bobbing with an audible click. You coast the tip down lower until you reach his suprasternal notch between his collar bones and press firmly.

His breathing hitches as he hisses, moving back as much as the wooden chair he’s tied to will allow as the blade starts to bite into his skin. 

You tut a little disapprovingly at him and his dark eyes snap back to yours.

“I thought you liked knives, Jack?” You say in a quiet sing-song voice. 

The corner of his lip twitches up briefly, but he says nothing. 

You can tell from how his arm muscles are tensing that he’s trying to undo the tight ropes that bind his wrist and forearms to the chair behind his back. Not that he’s succeeding. And even if he did, it would be impossible for him to reach the ropes around his biceps that pulled his back flush to the seat. If he tried the rope around his neck would tighten and he’d choke himself out long before he got anywhere. It would be fun to watch though. 

He’d probably get up tipping the chair over and cracking his head open on your titled floor, his legs in the air still bound to the chair. 

You press the tip of the knife firmer, just starting to cut his skin. “Or are you just pissed off I’m making you bleed with your own blade?” A ruby red drop of blood beads before running down and disappearing underneath his shirt. 

“Having fun are we, girlie?” 

You grin and slide the knife down, scratching an inch-long red line down his skin. It only takes a split second before blood begins to well. 

Jack clenches his jaw, breathing sharply through his nose. “Fucking bitch.” He mutters, hardly more than a whispered grunt and certainly not intended for your ears. 

You hear it anyway. 

Slowly you let out a small chuckle and ease the blade off his skin. “Wanna repeat that, Jacky boy?” 

He glares at you for a second before you smack him hard across the cheek with the back of your hand. 

His head snaps to the side, his jaw hanging open with the force of your hit. You don’t give him a second to recover before you're pressing the tip of the knife under his chin and tilting him back up to look at you. 

“Wanna repeat that, Jacky boy?” 

He bites his lip and groans, his eyes dark and clouded over with lust. He squirms in the seat, trying to rub his thighs together but he’s spread too wide. His cock straining against his trousers painfully. “Fuck, baby, please,” he moans and shifts and your expression softens instantly. “I’m sorry old Jack has to break the scene, but...” He stares up at you desperately, his chest heaving. 

You smile and lean down to kiss the red handprint you left on his cheek before pressing your lips to his. “It’s okay baby,” you soothe, lightly pressing the flat of the blade against his heavy cock. 

It jumps under your attention and he gasps against you. 

“You okay?” You ask sweetly. 

He nods rapidly. “I’m just; I don’t think I can take it. Gonna cum in my pants.”

“Yeah?” You whisper, keeping your lips hovering just over his but moving back every time he tries to needily kiss you. 

He nods, swallowing again. 

You tap his erection with the dull side of the blade, smacking it a little harder than most would appreciate.

Jack groans low in his throat, his eyes rolling back. You give him a second to compose himself and trail the knife along his jean’s stitching. 

“Maybe I want you to cum in your pants... maybe I’ll just leave you here, tied up. All wet and uncomfortable until you’re begging for me to come back and start the whole thing up again?” 

He whimpers, pressing his forehead into your chest and you let him. “Whatever you want baby, what,” he swallows heavily, his voice thick with his arousal. “Whatever you want to do with me.” 

You smile and kiss the top of his forehead before softly tilting his head back up to you again by his chin with the tip of your finger this time. 

“Whatever I want.” You echo and kiss him roughly, sliding your tongue into his mouth. 

Jack moans loudly into you, straining against the ropes to press against you harder, urging your tongue deeper. You indulge him for a moment, keeping his chin pinched between your fingers as you pillage his mouth and claim him as yours. 

You break the kiss suddenly, shoving him away and pushing his chin back and up with the heel of your hand so that his neck is taut and exposed. 

“Fuck, baby, yes.” He groans, gasping as you suck and bite at the spot below his ear. 

With enough pressure to just slice into his skin, but no deeper than a paper cut, you run the blade’s edge down his neck, along his chest and to the fourth button on his shirt. The first one that is closed. 

Slowly, but firmly, you slip the knife further down cutting the buttons free and open his shirt with every inch. 

He gasps as you let the cool metal just kiss under his navel and trace his happy trail. Jack licks his lips, breathing heavily, eyes glued to your actions. 

You hook your forefinger under the waistband of his jeans and boxers, giving you just enough room to slip the blade underneath. There is a satisfying shredding sound as the denim and cotton give way under the knife’s edge, slicing cleanly in two as you apply a minimal pressure. 

Jack hisses, biting his bottom lip between his teeth to stop himself from moaning out loud as you expose part of his inner thigh and lower abdomen to the cool air. 

You chuckle softly and slap the exposed skin with the flat edge of the knife, he jumps and whimpers so sweetly, before you dip the very tip under the remaining material and push it aside carefully. 

It hardly takes any movement until his cock is free, jumping out and to attention like a well-behaved dog. 

Leisurely you run the flat edge along his hard length, the touch light and fleeting. 

Jack gasps, breathing hard, his chest heaving as he fights every urge to stay still. His dick twitches as you near the tip, precum building and smearing along the head. 

Softly you run the blunt side of the metal along his slit. The coolness of it makes him shiver and moan, his eyes close and balls tighten as the heady sensation builds in his belly. 

You tap the flat edge against his chin as you take his jaw in hand. “Here.” 

He opens his eyes quickly and looks down to see his precum against the blade. 

“Clean it.” 

Without question he opens his mouth, his tongue darting out to the flat part of the metal to lick it clean, moaning wantonly at the taste and swallowing. 

Swiftly you press the sharp edge to his neck and hold up your left hand. “Spit.” 

He pauses for one second and you frown.

“I’m not wasting my spit on you.”

He groans again and quickly spits into your palm, the disdain in your tone making him grow impossibly harder. 

You take him in your hand roughly as you press the knife more firmly into his neck. 

Jack moans loudly, no longer trying to fight it, his eyes glazed over and desperate as he tries to trust up into your hand. You pump him harshly, pulling on his velvety skin and squeezing in a way that would have most shying away from your touch. Jack hopelessly tries to get closer. Little grunts and whimpered, ‘ah, ah, ah’s escaping his mouth with every breath. 

“Gonna cum like a fucking whore?” You ask, purposefully injecting a bored tone into your words. 

Jack sobs. “Yes, yes, ah! Feels so good, please, please!”

The chair starts scooting under his frantic attempts to fuck your hand, pleasure burning out every other thought in his head. 

You pick up your pace, delighting in how wrecked he looks, how his sliced up clothing sticks to his skin with sweat. “Next time,” you keep that bored tone to your voice. “ I should just stab the knife into the floor and make you fuck yourself open with the handle, shouldn’t I?” 

Jack moans so loudly, crying out and screwing up his eyes at the thought. 

“Bet you’d cum after one thrust wouldn’t you?” 

“I would!” He snivels. The chair legs smack, smack, smack against the floor. “I would cum so hard,” he presses his neck closer to the knife, purposefully cutting his out skin. “I would cum so much, please- oh fuck!”

He cums violently, shooting hot thick ropes all over his stomach and ruined clothes, coating your fingers with sticky white. 

You quickly move the knife away from his neck, putting it on the side before kissing his lips softly as his breathing calms. 

Jack nuzzles into your gentle touch, tears in his eyelashes. 

“You okay baby?” You sooth, running your right, clean, hand over his face and shoulders. 

He nods, gesturing to your left. “Let Jack clean that up for you.” His voice is soft and small, almost timid as he pokes his tongue out.  

“Uh uh uh,” you kiss his cheek and grab a towel on the side to wipe your hand before you start to undo the ropes and rub his skin, massaging the tired muscle. “You’ve done enough, you need to rest now sweet thing.” 

His face crumples as he presses his forehead into your neck, trying to hide from your praise and breathing hard. You know how much he tries to reject your kind words, even though they are exactly what he needs right now. 

“Hey,” you tilt his chin up, your hands soft and gentle. 

He blinks heavily as he looks at you, his eyes glassy. 

“You wanna make me happy right?” 

He nods quickly, the idea of disappointing you cutting into his heart like a vice. 

“Then tell me you’re my lovely, sweet boy.” You stroke his cheeks with your thumbs. “Who I love very much.”

He swallows, biting his lip and nods. “I’m you’re lovely, sweet boy.” He says earnestly, his voice barely above a whisper. “Who loves you very much too.” 

You smile and kiss him gently, savouring his little whimpers into your mouth. 

____________________________________

Thank you for reading! (Using a different tag list for kinktober so I don't overwhelm anyone.)

@flightlessangelwings @steven-grants-world @lonelyisamyw-0love @eyelessfaces @angel-of-the-moons

If you'd like to be taken off the tag list please let me know here

[foxilayde]

Would you ever write something for jack from mojave 🥺👉❤👈 he's my guilty pleasure...

If you have time, would you share any nsfw thoughts to leave us with?

The Stranger [Jack from Mojave x Fem!Reader]

Word Count: 1.3K

Warnings: Uhhhh.... I mean it's Jack from Mojave, so... dark themes. Knife threats.

A/N: Jack ain’t a guilty pleasure brother, he’s simply a pleasure.

There’s a hand around your ankle and it tugs you just hard enough to shake you from your slumber. You usually sleep so well camped out in the desert under the stars, never waking till morning usually. So it shocks you to see the dark blanket of night when you open your eyes. The fire you built earlier that evening is nothing but glowing coals now and the man crouched at the foot of your sleeping bag looks like a phantom in the red pulsing light. He’s got a long, thick knife in one dirty paw propped on his knee, the other grips your ankle and he’s grinning at you with a graveyard smile. 

Your scream catches in your throat and your bowels twist and sink when you realize that even if you were to scream, there’s no one around for at least four miles to hear your cries, and any sound you might make would be brushed off as a coyote or the like. There’s no one to save you. It’s just you and the stranger.

He’s dressed like a desert dweller. Long protective layers and calf-high lace-up boots tied halfway up his shins. He tilts his hat to you with his knife-hand and then removes it completely. His hair is long and matted like a wolf, tied round with a sweat-stained bandana. He tosses the leather hat over to where your backpack is, next to your small cooler and you eye your backpack with alertness. Your adrenaline has spiked and you know you have to make it to your sack and get your hatchet or blade or spray or anything if you have a chance of making it through the night. 

The stranger squeezes your ankle once more, to get your attention.

“Don’t go gettin’ any ideas, girlie.” He licks his bottom lip, revealing more of his ragged mouth. “Hold still now. Wanna show you somethin’.” 

Your eyes widen in panic as he lets go of your ankle and reaches into his large coat pocket to pull out your spray and knife. 

“This ain’t ol Jacky’s first rodeo, sister.” 

You gulp and scan your sparse campground for the hatchet and just as you do, he stows your defenses back in his coat and holds a finger up.

“Oh, almost forgot”. He reaches behind him, to the back of his belt, under the large overcoat and produces…. The fucking hatchet. 

He twirls the hatchet in his hand and points it at your nose, far too close, and you whimper. 

“What’s a pretty little thing like you doing in a big bad desert like this, huh? Doin’ some soul searching are we? Did you just get your heart broke and now you’re eat, prary, lovin’ it out in the fucking Mojave?” 

You can’t find words, you’ve forgotten how to speak it seems, but The Stranger, or “Jacky” by his own naming, doesn’t seem to mind that you haven’t uttered a word. 

“Well, sister, I hate to break it to you, but there ain’t much to eat out here… sides the rare cacti and whatever the buzzards haven’t picked clean.” He chuckles and tucks the hatchet back into his belt loop and rises, he makes his way over to the fire, crouching to add a log from the pile, the flames lick up the dry wood quickly and the yellow glow makes his black eyes glitter and his skin look sickly. 

“And praying?” His mirthless laugh is trilling and smokey. “Ohhh, girlie, if you weren’t praying before? You should be now. Although, you know what they said about the son of God when he went out to the desert: daddy made him wander for forty days without a fucking how’s-it-going-pal.” 

Jack tosses on a second log and then makes his way back to his position at the foot of your sleeping bag once more. The sides of his coat fan out like buzzard’s wings in swift descent.

 “And then, at the end of that perilous walkabout, it wasn’t God that appeared to Jeshua, no ma’am. It was the devil.” 

Jack, it seems, cant help his grin. You are reminded of the pair of leering vultures from Snow White, and it’s obvious what character he’s cast himself as in this scenario. 

“As for the ‘love’ part of the journey, well. That remains to be seen, doesn’t it? Love can take all forms. For Jeshua it was charity… and for ol’ Jacky? It’s something more akin to ‘obligation’”.

Jack pulls your sleeping bag taut and you clutch the lip of it while he uses his knife to cut a seam up the middle, exposing your socked feet and sweat pants. He grabs the toe of one of your socks and pulls it off your foot oh so slowly. Once it’s off, he drops it to the dirt and snatches your heel in his rough palm. 

“No kicking, girlie. Or I’ll chop off these little piggies… one, by, one.” He pulls and wiggles each toe individually with every word. You try your best to hold still, brain and heart a flutter and a panic. “And trust me, you’re going to need these little piggies where you’re going, sister.” 

That’s a good sign, if he’s telling the truth. If you need your toes where you’re going, he can’t have plans to kill you just yet, right?

“Where… where am I going?” You croak out.

“She speaks! Oh, speak again bright angel!” 

Jack rubs your instep with his thumb and there’s nothing sweet about it, the caress, the Shakespeare, it’s all taunting and goading. The way a bull is riled up before a rodeo. 

“What are you going to do to me?” Your voice is soft and meek in a way that your biology must be dictating, knowing it’s the last line of defense against attack. Supplication. Meekness. An appeal to the monster’s better angels. If he possesses them. 

“Well, sister. That’s entirely up to two things.” His hand slides up under the ruched elastic of your sweatpants and he drags his filthy fingers up and down your quaking calf. “How smart you are, and how quick you can run.” 

“How quick I can run?”

“That’s what I said, mynah birdie.” He squeezes your calf and bends over you, scooting his knees to cage your fragile legs. Your bones are hollow and your mouth is as dry as your surroundings. 

“Ol' Jacky doesn’t make a habit out of making wagers or killing pretty women. But I figure, in this case, two wrongs can make a right.” 

He scoots back and raises himself up from his haunches, pointing his knife down at you. 

“What’s going to happen is, I’m going to shut my ojos and count to a hundred. You understand?”

You nod. He bends over you and drags his cool blade, flat-side against your cheek. 

“It’s like hide and go seek. Sister hides. Brother seeks.” His breath is hot and musky, you’re tilting your head back as far back as you can from his shining blade and sharp smile. You nod. A hundred second head start is better than the position you’re in now, burrito-d up in a half shorn sleeping bag with him above you. 

“One, two, three, you better get to steppin’, four—“

Oh fuck, oh fuck, he’s already started. You twist over into a crawl, kicking the shredded bag off your legs, you get a face full of dirt before you’re able to stand and waste ten more precious seconds grabbing your water, pack, and boots. No time to put them on, not here. You sprint as fast as you can through the prickling terrain, over the crest of a sparsely shrubbed hill. Your eyes are on the ground, careful not to fell your feet on anything that might slow you down and his howl at your back in the night is like a coyote gaining speed, “see you real soon, sister!” 

[autismsupermusicalassassin]

holy sh*t ! Pt.2 plz

smile for the camera

Jack Mojave X F!reader

note: you take a picture you shouldn't have.

word count: 731

warnings: dark. angst. it's not in a desert but a forest. honestly idk what this is supposed to be lol

you can also read it on ao3.

masterlist

This was a journey from the start. Sure, it wasn’t the first time she witnessed someone being left at the altar. Crazier things happened at the weddings. It makes her wonder what made them finally snap and run away every time. Especially these two looked so in lovey-dovey. But now the groom is nowhere to be seen. Weird.

One thing that is more annoying than a bride bawling her eyes out though, when the wedding is canceled, nobody cares about what will happen to the employees or what they should do. Everybody is own their own.  

And that’s why now she is middle of the nowhere in a fucking forest with all of my camera equipment trying to find her way to her car. Environmentalist piece of shits forced everybody to park miles away from the wedding location to not disturb the ecosystem more than necessary blah blah…

If she wasn’t so fucking lost, she might have appreciated the sounds of the birds chirping, the smell of the pine tree and the wind on her hair. But right now, it was extremely irritating to say the least. The smell made her stomach turn after the food she inhaled before they can take it. The wind was making her shiver to her very bones and… Maybe she should distract herself by looking at the photos.

She starts to scroll through the photos. Look all those happy faces… Now it’s all for nothing.

Okay this doesn’t really work.

She could try and take a couple of photos of the damn birds for her portfolio.

Carefully walking around the bushes, she tries to allocate the said animals. It is soothing to hear this rhythmic sound of these creatures and…

Something else was there…

Someone was…

…Someone digging something?

Yeah, there was a figure to her left with a shovel. What in the hell…

Stupidly, she gets closer while continuously pushing the button on her camera.

A man with a long coat… in a cowboy hat. Long hair… Dirty skin. You didn’t recognize him from the wedding. Who the hell-

“Well, hello there.”

She freezes.

“Wanted to see something cool, sister?” he says innocently.

She can’t move a muscle. Not even talk.

“Not a talker, huh. You would get along with him, then.” He says and point to the ground.

She instinctively follows his gesture.

There is a man.

On the ground.

Not moving.

Is he-

“Wanna join him, doll-face?”

You can’t look away. Not only because you’re both in danger but… he looks… familiar.

“I bet he would like that, now wouldn’t you, perv?” he nudges the man’s head with his boots and the man’s face turns towards her.

Oh, he looks blue.

He’s for sure-

The groom.

He is the groom.

“Was having quite the fun with that little bridesmaid. I was jealous not gonna lie. Wanted to have a good old adventure to myself.”

He killed the groom.

“And now we all are here.” He looked to her, self-satisfied.

Her heart was about to burst.

“Lost, aren’t you?”

“I-“

“Who are you?”

She doesn’t answer.

He casually drops the shovel and pushes the groom to the hole in the ground.

“The great questions, sister, the essentials… Where are you from? Where you going?”

She again doesn’t answer, too occupied to discreetly try and find something to use it as a weapon.

He starts to throw the pile of dirt on top of the man.

“To be or not to be?”

“Huh?” she says, distracted by the sudden topic change.

“Another great question. To be or not to be? It always comes down to that, isn’t it?”

She doesn’t know what to say.

“You choose to be, sister. To be here.”

She shakes her head.

“Oh, yes, yes you did. “ He smirks.

She begins to tremble slightly.

“No? Why don’t you run then? You can run.”

“I can’t move.” She says stupidly.

“Sure you can. In fact, when I count to three, you will flee like you’ve never done before.” He says while patting now closed grave with the shovel, putting some leaves on top of it to cover.

She starts to tear up.

“One…”

A tear drops to her face.

“Two…”

She takes a step back.

“Two and a half…”

Hurriedly puts down her camera and other stuff down.

“Three!”

She sprints.

“Game on, sister! GAME. ON.”

He goes after her.