[caskethrill]

 🐰ྀི ₊˚⊹ ❤︎ NAVIGATION !

aly ! 25. she/her. ˖ ࣪∿ ✿⃬⃝

requests are always open and i love to chat. don’t be shy ! :-)

𐙚 masterlist  guidelines

© caskethrill reposts, translations, or modifications are not permitted.

[caskethrill]

OMG UR BACK AND UR WRITING FOR THE PITT NOW?!?!? WE WON!!!!!

may i request a cowboy next door like fic with Jack for the og’s?❤️

HELLLOOOOO 😁😁😁😁

i’m already on it

[gentle-sadist2]

You know running is useless. You know hiding is useless. You know I’ll find you between the trees, smiling like I already own the ending, tie you down, and use you until your soaking wet pussy betrays every scared little sound you make.

[corruptedbyhim]

Times Up. The room is dim. Expensive furniture reduced to shapes in the darkness. The only sound besides your own breathing is a quiet hum from a digital timer mounted on the opposite wall. Red numerals glow in the gloom: 00:59:57.

Just under one hour.

"You're awake." The voice comes from somewhere near the door. You crane your neck, wrists already testing the leather restraints, and watch him step into the faint light. You don't know his face. But you recognize the way his eyes move over your body. Roaming. An inventory assessment.

He's carrying things. Metal glints.

"The rules are simple," he says, approaching the bed. His footsteps are unhurried. "When the timer hits zero, I undo the restraints. The door opens. You leave." He pauses at the edge of the mattress, looking down at you. "One small addition."

Cold metal touches your nipple. You gasp as he fastens the clamp, the bite sharp and immediate, radiating heat straight down to your core. The second clamp follows. You arch involuntarily, straining against the leather.

He produces a vibrator. Sleek. Expensive looking. You watch him lower it between your legs, watch the silicone part your folds and settle against your clit. He turns it on.

"Every time you cum, an hour gets added to the clock."

You look at the timer. You look at yourself. Spread open, clamped, vibrating.

One hour. You can do one hour. You just have to not cum.

He steps back. Settles into a chair at the side of the bed and watches.

You try to focus on the numbers. Try to think about other things. Work emails. Grocery lists. The pattern of shadows on the ceiling.

But the clamps send sharp little signals with every breath. The vibrator hums against flesh that's growing wetter by the minute. You clench your jaw. Breathe through your nose. Don't cum. Don't cum.

He hasn't moved. He's just watching.

Your hips twitch. You didn't tell them to. The pressure is building low in your belly, a warmth that spreads and tightens simultaneously. You're wet enough now that the vibrator glides, hits new angles.

You bite your lip until you taste blood.

The numbers blur. 00:47:23. You've been holding on for twelve minutes. It feels like hours. Your thighs are trembling. Your breath comes in sharp little gasps you can't control.

He knows. You can see it in his stillness. The way he's leaned forward slightly. Waiting.

"No," you whisper. To yourself. To your body. To the orgasm building like a wave you can't outswim.

It hits you anyway. Your back arches off the bed, a sound tears out of your throat that you don't recognize, and you're cumming so hard your vision goes white at the edges. It rolls through you in pulses, each one a betrayal, each one exquisite.

When you can see again, you look at the clock.

01:46:12

"Impressive effort," he says. He's standing now, holding a remote. "Let's try a different setting."

The vibration changes. Pulsing now. It mimics something. A heartbeat. A thrust. Your overstimulated clit throbs in response, too sensitive, too raw, and somehow already building again.

"No... please.." you gasp out, the words weak.

"Please what?" He moves closer. His fingers trail along your inner thigh, impossibly light. "Please make you cum again?" He dips a finger into the wetness pooling between your legs, holds it up so you can see. "You're dripping. Your body knows what it wants."

You shake your head. But your hips are rocking against the vibrator, tiny movements you can't seem to stop.

This time when you cum, you're crying. Tears streaming down your temples into your hair. The clock resets: 02:38:47.

He fucks you for the first time somewhere around hour four.

Slow, at first. Long strokes that let you feel every inch, that build friction to an unbearable degree while the vibrator keeps humming against your clit. You cum on his cock within minutes. The clock adds another hour. He doesn't stop. Doesn't even pause.

He switches to something harder. Brutal. Each thrust punches the air out of your lungs, drives you up the bed until the restraints catch. You cum again. You can't help it. Your body has stopped consulting you. It just responds. Takes. Shatters.

He introduces other things. Hot wax pooling in the hollow of your throat, dripping down between your breasts. Ice traced along your inner thighs until you're shivering and burning at once. His mouth on your cunt, tongue flicking precisely where the vibrator has made you most sensitive, most ruined.

He talks through it the whole way. That's probably the worst part. "You get wetter when you're scared." "That's three in a row. You're getting efficient." "We have so much time now."

The clock climbs. Six hours. Eight. Twelve. You stop being able to track it. The numbers lose meaning. Everything loses meaning except the next wave, the next peak, the next hour added to your sentence.

Somewhere in the blur, you realize you've stopped wanting it to end.

The thought surfaces between orgasms, when you're floating in that shattered space where language doesn't quite work. You should want to escape. You remember wanting that, vaguely, like a dream you had as a child. But the wanting has curdled into something else.

He slows down. You're not sure when. The frantic edge bleeds away, replaced by something almost gentle. The vibrator stops. He removes the clamps. Your nipples throb with the renewed blood flow, a pain that registers as pleasure now. Everything registers as pleasure now.

You blink at the clock. 00:06:43.

Six minutes. After everything. How?

He's undoing the restraints. Your wrists fall free. Your ankles. You can move. You can leave.

The thought sends ice through your veins.

Leave? Leave this room? Leave him? Go back to a world where no one touches you like this, where you're responsible for your own orgasms, where pleasure is something you have to chase instead of something that hunts you down and devours you?

The silence of outside presses against the walls. Empty. Ordinary. Unbearable.

He steps back. Gestures toward the door. "It's almost time."

Your hand moves own between your legs, finding your clit, swollen and slick and excruciatingly sensitive. You rub with clumsy desperation, chasing the build.

"Don't," you hear yourself say. Begging. Sobbing. "Don't make me leave. Please. I need to cum. I need more time."

He goes still. Watching you fuck yourself on his bed, desperate to add another hour to your captivity. The pressure is building fast, your ruined body trained now, eager.

"Let me stay. I'll be good. I'll cum as many times as you want. Just don't make me go."

Four minutes on the clock.

Your fingers work faster. You're so close. So close to another hour in this room, in this darkness, in this endless cycle of being broken and put back together wrong.

The clock ticks down.

You chase it like your life depends on it.

All you have to do is cum.

[just-a-down-bad-guy]

Passenger princess wearing a skirt without panties 🤝 driving bf who fingers her and rubs her clit every chance he gets

[caskethrill]

pls pls any smut with steve rogers!! i’m obsessed with ur writing, so maybe even an enemies to lovers with sort of a dark nomad era stevie? tysm <3 and totally ignore if not your thing!

i’m on it boss 🫡

[caskethrill]

hey so remember when u said this a year ago … i finally did it!

[caskethrill]

come back i need ur writing in my life 😭

heyyyyy … 🤭

[caskethrill]

omgg queen you're back !!!!

im so so happy because i love your writing and your vibes

stop this is such a sweet thing to say

[caskethrill]

salvatore ᓭི♥︎ᓯྀ

pairing: dark!steve rogers x f!reader

summary: your training partner is getting particularly sick of hearing you with your hand between your legs late at night.

warnings: mentions of death, masturbation, degradation, choking, manhandling, dubious consent, age gap impilied

word count: 1.8k

authors note: i just wanted to get this posted. it is a mess. i will be back

“i could snap your neck like it’s nothing, y’know?” 

steve’s tone was taut with tension— the fleshy mound at the base of his thumb sunk further into your delicate neck like a bee to pollen. his fist left nearly no room for the sweet, sweet oxygen that you sputtered so desperately for. you couldn’t breathe.

“like a twig.” he detailed while you thrashed. he didn’t even have to try. you were tiring yourself out— like a wounded bird waiting to be put out of its misery. 

steve had his knee rammed between your thighs, the other bent at your hip. his grip was viselike and unrelenting. the pressure was too dire, and with the hand that he hadn’t wrestled behind your back moments ago, you pawed at his thick forearm; a pathetic, feeble attempt to free yourself. 

you took it well most days— the grappling that left you with more lesions to tend to than a planned mission. you were steve’s punching bag under the guise to prepare you for the usual orgy of hot, flying blood and gore.

the obesity of grief following wakanda was too much for steve to bare, and that infuriating moral backbone of his was consumed by whatever demons taunted him when he closed his eyes at night. it was easier that way, he found; to get the job done and deal with the fallout after… if at all. 

he stopped licking his wounds. altruism curdled to misanthropy, getting thicker and impossible to push through without ripping away at parts of himself. with every city, every country, spite bled into his veins, and eventually, steve stopped pulling his punches. 

the indifference in his glare was unmistakable when he finally let up. you dropped to the floor, limp and shamefully aware of the pool of arousal building between your legs. the tip of your nose kissed the ground he’d just stood on. he huffed like a provoked animal, retreating off of the jet and back into his habitat that was the third motel they’d jumped to in a week. sometimes you wondered if he’d beat you to a pulp you if there wouldn’t be any consequences, but how would he take his anger out then? 

you were another kid that he had to worry about— another on the roster that sam took in like a stray dog. you were a trained fighter, collateral damage for hydra and mouthy like no other. you were begging to be put in your place— too quick to confidence now that you were “free”. like a true military man, steve didn’t waste any time. 

how you got mouthy with him on a mission and he lost it? it started as once a week training. to keep you well-oiled, steve chided when you insisted it wasn’t necessary. and well-oiled you were. after every session you buried yourself in the flimsy sheets of your cheap bed and prepared to pretend that you hadn’t touched yourself with your neck still hot from his knuckles when you see him next. unlike steve, who couldn’t embellish the truth any longer. 

it didn’t matter if you shared a wall with steve or if he was on the opposite stretch of the building— your muffled moans and the lewd squelch of your fingers buried between your thighs  was no challenge for his hearing. 

the romance of cold showers and fucking his fist to the sound of your open-mouthed panting had died. you’d woken him up for the third time this week, and the little restraint that steve rogers had left in his body was kept for moments like this— ones where he couldn’t break down your door and take what he wanted. he might’ve been put through hell through the war, but at the end of the day, he was a man. an old one, afterall. he didn’t think he could get it up anymore until the first time he had you in a reverse armlock and heard the wounded cry that spilled from your lips. the well-intentioned, 1940s gentleman that was steve had fizzled out months ago by then, and he tended to err on side of hatred when you weren’t writhing beneath him. it didn’t bode well for you— you were taking luxuries, biting at the hands that fed you. bickering and and back-talking now that it wouldn’t result in a bullet in the head… not unless you caught steve on a historically horrible day. 

you’re in a rear headlock this time. his hips are heavy against the fat of your thighs, one of your hands curled around his thick forearm and the other being utilized to pathetically strike at his gut. you’d woken him up again tonight. he’d had enough. 

you were always playing a losing game— struggle only for show when you both knew you were helpless to his strength. this was foreplay for steve. the hill of his bulging bicep was forced into your windpipe. you could feel the blood rushing into your head with a sickening thump. your knees gave out before your hands could react, and he let you drop. you could feel the warmth of blood pool above your lips, and the ghost of his strength hung heavy on your neck like a weight. 

“bad day, roger’s?” you stammered out between heaves for oxygen, clutching at the mat to ground yourself until your vision faded from black and into colour again. your expression was rich with that arrogant sneer, even as your nose had started to bleed. yeah, steve had a bad day, and you took the brunt of it. this was nothing knew, but what was new, was the fist in your hair. he tugged, forcing you to gaze up at him, and you cried. he smirked. the desperation was straining in his pants, and he made sure you could see it too. 

the sexual tension had been marinating for far too long— a wealth of muffled moans when he forced your cheek into the mat or jimmied his leg between your thighs where you had to be positively aching. he noticed the way your back always arched. he could smell the sweetness of your arousal every time he pinned your hands above your head. you could only hide so much from a super soldier. 

“i’m tired of listening to you finger-fucking yourself down the hall every night.” he leaved down to hover just above your face. blunt, spoken in that rocky, authoritative tone of his. the once-refined steve rogers would be squirming in his seat, but the one towering behind her hadn’t flinched. in fact, his jaw was clenched tightly now. 

“i’m—“ the word came out in a gasp. eyes pricked with hot tears and cheeks went the shade of rosewood. it was like her mind had went numb, faced with the fact that he’d been forced to listen to her moan and shift around in her sheets every night just to hit the right angle. it was a stress-reliever, she’d sworn to herself, but steve’s scarred hands didn’t make it hard to get started. “i didn’t—“

steve saved you the poor excuses, cutting  off your pathetic lies with his own assumptions instead. “such a bitch when you don’t get some cock, huh?” 

it was true— you were high-strung, moodier on the days when you hadn’t given yourself a release. steve had started to wonder just how pliant you’d be if he took care of you. just once; just to see if you would stop talking-back, and then he could consider a better… treatment plan.  

the veneer was broken, and you finally saw him for what he was— a pervert. you were humiliated, bottom lip trembling now, frightened by the tingle in your skull once the implications settled in. instead, your eyes went big and soft like some sort of doe-like defence mechanism to save you from your ultimate fate. it wasn’t good enough, given steve used his leverage with his fist in your hair to bully your stunned, parted lips over the fabric of his cock; a pair of thick, black sweatpants. they left little for the imagination, especially with his tip just prodding at your jutted-out lower lip. he nudged it between your drooly lips, and his sac curled into his body in anticipation. 

“stevie—“ you whined into the wet cotton. he cut you off with a gentle smack to your lips, and you listened like a well-trained dog, sat eagerly at his feet. 

"don't open that mouth again unless i have something to put in it.” he was sterner this time, bucking his hips forward into your face this time. you could smell his musk, feel the hardness of his tip poke at the corner of your lips. you were quiet, almost paralyzed with your nails dug violently into your plush thighs. 

“isn’t it so much better when you give in?” he murmured, loosening his waistband and tugging his hard cock free from the confines of his pants. 

a bout of suppressed need was heavy in your gut, saliva thick and pooling in your mouth when steve pawed at your jaw. he hooked his thumb under your tongue, introducing his cock with a swirl of his tip on your tongue. he’s heavy and thick, just liked she’d imagined all of those times with her eyes screwed shut. what she didn’t expect was for him to be so gentle, and it certainly didn’t last long. 

"you deserve this. say it." steve heaved, feeding you his cock in rhythmic, even thrusts. his fist is white in your hair, the veiny underside of his cock pronounced against your battered tongue. “gettin’ used like a fuckin’ slut. it’s what you deserve.” 

the words could barely be gargled out through each desperate plunge of his hips. your nose kissed his happy trail, face flush to his groin with every tug and push on your hair.  

you could barely breathe, choking and pounding at his meaty thighs. it was fruitless. he’d entwined his hands behind your head to rock your face into his groin, humping like a rabid dog to get his fix. 

“shut up, you’ve been asking for it. you can take it.” he grunted out through your whines. besides, your core was weeping anyway. it spurred him on, bulldozing into your cavity until salty beads of precum sprouted from his tip and onto your pallet. 

he was all-consuming— pawing at your neck, pulling at your hair. you couldn’t do anything but gag around the width of him, and the tears did nothing to slow him down. the way he cradled your jaw when his hips stuttered, his fat balls coiled and his sticky seed shot back into your throat with an aggressive pulse of his shaft would be on repeat in your mind for weeks. 

he ended the training session with a pat on your cunt. you’d swallowed him down to the hilt, and licked him clean like your swollen mound wasn’t crying for his touch. 

“good fuckin’ girl,” he uttered like he hadn’t just escalated his problem by a hundred. 

[caskethrill]

i miss ur fics so much 😭 they are all so beautifully written where i need to read every single line and detail (usually i skip around) i understand if u dont wanna write anymore but tysm for what u did bless us with!! 😫❤️

thank u … i’m trying desperately to get back into it 🥹 i have a steve piece that i might just post the first few paragraphs of to see if people want it

[pinkandblueblurbs]

a firm hand

“dbf”!jack abbot x fem!reader. established open/poly relationship, mentions of arguments (so possibly liiiiight angst?), age gap, d/s dynamics, bratting, brat taming, spanking, discipline, praise, degradation, daddy kink, references to sex.

this is part of my little mr. abbot universe. in addition to that introductory blurb, you can find the ongoing drabble masterlist for this au here! i’d definitely recommend it for some background on this dynamic :P enjoy!

word count: 1.8k

“Mr. Abbot,” Jack hears your pleading tone when he answers his phone, your voice familiarly small and tinny over the line. “Can I come to your place tonight?”

Jack doesn’t have to ask what happened. These calls have become a semi-regular occurrence.

“Sure, pumpkin. I’ll be there in 5.”

Jack gets in his truck and heads to you. As promised, he’s pulling up to Robby’s house 5 minutes later. He can just barely see you in the low light of dusk. You’re sitting on the stoop—head resting on your hands, elbows on your knees, and pout on your lips.

You stand up when Jack gets out, meeting him halfway up the yard where he takes your bag from your hands.

Up close, Jack can tell you’ve been crying. Your eyes are puffy. When he reaches out to cup your cheek, your skin’s still warm and balmy. He coos.

“Poor thing. You really get into it with the old man?”

“I don’t wanna talk about it.” You grumble.

Jack hums. You’re not usually so cagey after one of your arguments with Robby. Sure, they tend to get intense, but it’s more because you’re both so hard-headed than because of anything serious.

Jack figures it’s just too fresh.

“Alright. We’ll put a pin in it.”

There’s a heavy silence as Jack restarts the engine and pulls away from the curb. There’s none of your usual teary venting or frustrated ranting, and Jack’s not sure what to make of that.

“You hear that your mall’s getting an Urban Outfitters?” Jack cringes as soon as the question leaves his lips— he’s sure you want some peace and quiet, but he can’t help it. He’s never been good at quiet.

“Oh, yeah!” You chirp, turning away from the window and meeting his eye with a wide grin. Jack eyes you with surprise. “It’s opening next month.” Your brows furrow. “How do you know about it?”

Jack doesn’t respond for a moment. You’re awfully cheery for a girl who just got into a shouting match that ended in tears and an SOS call.

“It was, uh, those clothes I ordered for ya,” Jack says after a while. “Think it signed me up for a newsletter or something. I keep getting fuckin’ emails.”

When that makes you laugh, pride washes away his uncertainty.

You both chat for the rest of the short ride, and Jack figures he’s giving you exactly what you need. A laugh, a distraction, a reason to get out of the house for a bit.

Soon Jack’s pulling into his driveway. He helps you inside, where you make a beeline for the couch, grab the remote, and settle in right away. Jack chuckles.

“Don’t be shy, make yourself at home.”

You grin at him. “Thanks.”

Jack sits next to you. You curl right into his side when he lifts his arm.

He waits as long as he can stand to— which, as it turns out, is about an hour’s worth of New Girl episodes— before he brings it up again. “You ready to lay it on me now, hon?”

Your demeanor shifts immediately. You stiffen and your expression sours, and Jack can practically feel the effort it takes not to roll your eyes.

“Not really.”

“You can’t ignore it forever, y’know.“

“Duh.”

Jack squints at you. Before he can decide how to respond, he feels you move against him, and next thing he knows you’re crawling into his lap to straddle him. Jack’s hands find your hips without second thought.

“Pumpkin—“

You lean down to kiss him, sweet and needy. 

Jack groans into your mouth. Despite his efforts, his dick is hardening in his pants right away. The effect you have on him is frankly unfair. If he were about 20 years younger it’d be completely overwhelming— and even now it takes him a few long, torturous moments to get himself together and remember he’s supposed to be an adult here. He pulls away.

“I know Mike isn’t always easy to talk to–”

“I’ll talk to him.” You brush off Jack’s worry, trying to lean down to connect your lips again. He leans away.

“Really? Cause you won’t even talk to me–”

You manage to catch him in a kiss. This time your tongue slides inside his mouth right away, and your teeth teasingly nip his lower lip.

Jack groans again. His fingers thrum, kneading the soft flesh of your hips as he tries to contain himself. His resolve is wavering. This may be a fuck now, talk later situation. Yeah. Jack can justify that. 

“You just need some TLC to be a good girl and sort this out in the morning?” He murmurs, reaching out to cup your jaw and thumb over your lip. You grin.

“Yes, Mr. Abbot.”

There’s something about it that makes Jack suspicious. It’s like you’re trying too hard to sound sweet. He gets the feeling that you’re playing him, but after eyeing you for a moment and feeling you grind down on his bulge, he decides to take you at your word. He pulls you back in for a kiss.

You end up riding him right there on the couch. Then you move to the bedroom, where he settles between your spread legs and eats you out like you’re his last meal.

Two hours later he’s settled against the headboard, reading glasses on while he scrolls on his phone. You’re on your stomach at the foot of the bed, wearing a t-shirt and underwear, legs kicking idly as you read some old chapter book you found on his shelves. He looks at you.

“What’re you gonna say to Mike tomorrow, doll?” He asks, tone light and conversational.

Nothing. You don’t even spare him a glance. You flip the page.

“Hey. Kiddo.” Jack says, a bit more firm.

“Hm?” You still don’t look up.

“What are you gonna say to Mike tomorrow?”

You shrug. You flip the page again, and Jack knows there’s no way you’re actually reading that fast. He sighs.

“Can you please close the book and look at me?” Jack waits a few long moments. Gives you some time to make the right choice. You don’t. “I don’t wanna ask you again.”

“Jesus christ, you sound like Robby.”

“Yeah? Good. He’s a decent guy.”

You scoff.

“You disagree?”

Your jaw twinges. “Maybe I do.”

“Why don’t you tell me what happ—“

“God,” You gripe, finally looking at him to shoot him a nasty glare. “Can’t we just fuck without the therapy session?”

Jack stares at you, steely. Trying to keep his frustration in check. His voice comes out low but steady. “That’s not how this goes, pumpkin.”

You chuckle blithely. “You seemed fine with that arrangement when I was riding your dick.”

“You agreed to talk to him.” Jack grits out. He takes off his glasses and puts them on the nightstand along with his phone. “Y’know what? The more you refuse to tell me what happened the more I think you were just acting out.”

You scowl at him then look away, back to your book. He can see you chewing the inside of your cheek. He knows he has you pegged.

“Is that it? Gave Mike a little too much attitude, so you decided to call me up knowing that I’d treat you nice?”

No response.

“Guess I oughta text him and get his side of the story—“

“Would you just fuck off—“

Jack’s in motion before you can even finish your thought. He gets close enough to grab you under your arms and start wrenching you over his lap.

“Hey! Let go of me—“

“I tried doing things the nice way, pumpkin.” Jack intones. His voice is calm and collected, but his anger comes through in the harsh way he grips your waist and legs to keep you still. “I was happy to talk things through like adults–”

“This is such bullshit— ow!” Jack shuts you up with a sharp smack on your ass over your panties.

“--but I don’t appreciate being taken advantage of.” He continues lecturing, as if you’d never even spoken at all. “You call me up, you have me bring you to my house and dote on you all damn night under the impression that you and your daddy had an actual argument.”

“I didn’t–” another smack.

“Come to find out you were just being a brat from the start.” 

“I didn’t mean it like that!” You insist, voice high and whiny and laced with guilt. Now he’s getting somewhere.

“No?” Jack spanks you again, and this time you yelp at the contact to your already stinging skin. Then you squirm when he roughly gropes the area right after. “How’d you mean it, babydoll. Enlighten me.”

“I really did wanna see you.” You whimper. “That’s why I called. It wasn’t some big trick.”

“Aw, well aren’t you sweet?” Jack coos, more condescending than usual. It makes embarrassed tears well in your eyes. 

“I swear, Mr. Abbot.” You plead. You gasp when Jack spanks you again, lurching forward in his lap. “I was really mad, and I wanted to see you, I just didn’t wanna talk about what happened–”

“Because you know you were in the wrong.” Jack finishes for you. Your mouth clamps shut in a thin line. He raises a brow and lands another blow. “Say it, sweetheart. Just admit it.”

Your head falls to the mattress limply. “Mr. Abbot,” your whine comes out muffled. You practically sob when he spanks you again. 

“You know I don’t like doing this, babydoll. Just be honest with me and we’ll stop.”

Jack waits a couple beats. You shift in his lap slightly, but don’t say a word. He spanks you again, the hardest one yet. You yelp.

“Ok!” You turn your head to the side. He sees shiny moisture around your eyes, a fresh tear rolling down your cheek. “It was my fault. N’ there wasn’t an actual argument, I was just being a brat.”

“Attagirl.” Jack coos. He rubs his warm hand in a circle on your warm asscheek, soothing the inflamed skin. “See? That wasn’t so hard.” 

Your head falls into the mattress again with a watery groan. “Yes it was.”

Jack chuckles. “Alright, correction: it doesn’t have to be so hard.” He grips your waist and guides you to sit up. You lean against his chest and he cups your wet face as more shameful tears spill from your eyes. “Take it easy, baby, it’s done. You’re alright.”

“Stop being so nice,” You warble. Jack raises a brow. 

“You sure? Cause I can start spanking you again–”

You whine and shake your head against his clavicle, making him laugh.

“That’s what I thought.” He rubs soothing circles on your back. “You really do need a firm hand sometimes, huh? Guess your daddy’s been right all along.”

You huff. 

“I’ll have to let him know after you apologize to him tomorrow. I’m sure he’ll love to hear me admit it.” 

[groovyangelkisses]

sunday nights spent slow dancing to marvin gaye and jack talking about how lonely he's been his whole life until he met you.

swaying with you and looking in your eyes and smiling when you tell him you like this song. huffing a little laugh at your youth and telling you how you make him feel like that young man he used to be.

whispering how good he'd have treated you, and a part of him is sick because he's missed out on so much time with you. so many years lost. time that you weren't even born for. he's a melancholy old man, but he's yours <3

[stillvathek]

She was gone. She was so gone.

Eyes glazed, staring at nothing. Dumb smile on her face, streak of drool running down her chin. Panting, shallow breaths. Little wet spot between her spread legs, thighs glistening. A giggle every so often. She was gone.

For fun, he reached across and mimed plucking something from her head. She didn’t immediately notice, but after a delay of a second or so there came another giggle. Silly owner.

“I took all your brains,” he said, holding up his fingers pinched together, as though he was dangling something. He wasn’t, obviously, but she still struggled to bring her eyes to focus on it anyway, woozy, confused. She stared intently at the nothing a moment and then giggled yet again, blinking slowly.

“‘Don ‘wan brainsss….” she slurred, the closest she’d managed to actually speaking in a long while now. He considered this, nodding to himself.

“Alright. So I should just throw these away?” He asked, motioning to do that. She’d started groping her tits again, eyes fluttering shut, and if it hadn’t been him speaking she probably wouldn’t have listened at all.

“Brainss bad… no brains…” she mumbled, head lolling.

She was so gone.

“Alright,” he said again, getting an idea. “Maybe best to keep them for now, case I need them. Maybe your friends start asking questions again or something, you know? But where to keep them, hmm…”

With her eyes closed she didn’t notice him getting closer.

“Somewhere safe, somewhere we probably won’t lose them… ah, I know…”

She gasped as his fingers slid into her, so, so easily. Her whole body juddered, head falling forward, eyes still closed. She was so gone.

“This seems like a good place, hmm? Nice and safe here. I think your brains fit much better here than they ever did in your head. Isn’t that right?”

The sound his fingers made between her legs were obscene.

“Nnnhhhh ah riiggghttt…”

“So I think your brains can just stay tucked away here, nice and safe in your cunt. You do most of your thinking down here anyway, when I’m not telling you what you should be thinking, so this is for the best. Yes?”

“Besssst yesss…”

“My little dummy just thinks with her cunt. Can you say that for me?”

“N’little dummy s’thinks cuntss…” she slurred. He smiled, pulling his fingers out and not even waiting until she’d finished halfway-mumbling the words before feeding them, slick, into her mouth. She sucked automatically, moaning like how she’d been trained to, and how she thought she always had.

So gone. So, so gone.

[gxtitobxby]

what if i said anal with frank but he’s whispering “shh it’s okay, it’s okay, baby, it’ll feel good in a minute” while you whine about how much it hurts …. what then

[sirddlg45]

Dm open

[professional-sinner]

Good cop bad cop but with doctors/scientists. One barking orders "I said lie STILL" the other holding you down, tightening the restraints "just do as he says, sweetheart okay?"

[bobdylanyaoi]

doing petplay and gunplay at the same time im a horse with a broken leg and you have to just shoot me