#mojave film

[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. 

Thank you for reading!

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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.

[clemdango04]

Jack from Mojave be like

[rosechata]

valley of fire

[zachbradleyphotography]

From time to time

Arizona, California, Nevada

[my-secret-shame]

[mostly-mojave]

Joshua Tree National Park, California

[filmap]

The Mummy Karl Freund. 1932

Excavation Site Red Rock Canyon, 37749 Abbott Dr, Cantil, CA 93519, USA See in map

See in imdb

Bonus: also in this location

[photos-of-everyday-life]

Stakes.

Mojave, 2019.

[tomwindeknecht]

This motel is for the birds 🐦🐦

I've driven by this sign a few times now and it has always caught my eye. It's one of the tallest signs in the area with one simple word "MOTEL". The bold, all-caps white letters on the solid red background make a simple phrase, but it stands out. So, I decided to pull over and capture it.

I think I am going to make this available as a print. What do you think?

Oh, and by the way, Happy St. Patrick's Day! ☘️

[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

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

[ct-multifandom]

I don’t usually make posts like this, but I’ve been seeing a lot of anti-intellectual junk lately, and I really think we need to put the word “pretentious” up on a shelf until people learn what it actually means.

It doesn’t describe someone who likes artsy-fartsy deep meaning media. People who are pretentious are fake. They’re posers trying to be sophisticated and unique, not like other girls. They pretend to only like stuff they think will make them sound cool when they talk about it. They want to act like they know something you don’t, and they want attention for it.

By definition, if you genuinely enjoy something, you can’t be pretentious. If it resonates with you, and you analyze it, and you don’t care what people think, that’s the polar opposite, actually. If you love obscure experimental prog music, if you watch underground high concept indie films through English teacher eyes, if you spend hours in a modern art museum reading each piece as a vessel for storytelling, if your backpack’s full of poetry books that inspire you, if you play underrated games that were someone’s passion project, if you have an interest in studying the classics or the masters, you are not pretentious.

Of course, some people just don’t like some stuff, and that’s fine, but that’s not what this is about. Don’t let anti-intellectuals shame you for enjoying things just because your interests are inaccessible to them, because they refuse to be brave and put effort into critical thinking. You’re not stuck up for refusing to overlook the craft of artists.

[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.

[rosechata]

light in the distance

[zachbradleyphotography]

I will change back to myself

Nevada

[my-secret-shame]