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vanteguccir · 9 months ago

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── ୨୧ !　𝗥𝗢𝗦𝗟𝗬𝗡

　　　　　　　　𝒎𝒂𝒕𝒕 𝒔𝒕𝒖𝒓𝒏𝒊𝒐𝒍𝒐 x reader

SUMMARY: Where a storm is happening and Y/N is afraid of thunder, making her seek comfort in her best friend's brother arms, Matt.

WARNING: Thunderstorm.

REQUESTED?: Yes, by anon

AUTHOR'S NOTE: That is my work, I DON'T authorize any plagiarism, copy, or "inspiration"! | English isn't my first language, so I'm sorry if there's any grammar error.

　　　༻✦༺ 　༻✧༺　༻✦༺

Nick's room was a welcoming haven for Y/N. The walls decorated with frames and posters and the rustic wooden furniture provided a feeling of security and comfort. She had spent countless nights there, in his soft, cozy bed, surrounded by the familiarity of her best friend.

However, that night, the tranquil atmosphere was abruptly interrupted by the distant roar of thunder. Y/N curled up under the sheets, her heart beating wildly in her chest. She has always been afraid of storms, ever since she was a child. The thunderous sound of thunder and the flashes of lightning in the black sky left her petrified with fear.

With each thunderclap, she could feel the anxiety building up inside her, squeezing her heart like an iron fist. Her body shook involuntarily, and she struggled to control her rapid breathing. The feeling of helplessness overwhelmed her, leaving her unable to move, as if she were trapped in an endless nightmare.

Y/N knew she needed to calm down. She closed her eyes tightly, trying to block out the frightening sound echoing through the top floor window. The girl took a deep breath, trying to find some inner peace, but fear continued to envelop her like a relentless shadow.

Deciding to seek comfort, Y/N reached out into the darkness, searching the comforting warmth of the boy beside her. She tried to shake him gently, whispering his name in an urgent tone. However, Nick remained motionless and sunk into a deep sleep, only a light mumble escaping his throat.

Frustration and despair began to build within her. She couldn't face this storm alone. The girl tried to curl up against his back, but her body exposed to the room had no effect in calming her down, Nick remaining oblivious to her silent call, lost in distant dreams.

Y/N bit her bottom lip, fighting back the tears of frustration that threatened to spill over. She felt so small and powerless in the face of the force of nature outside. The sound of thunder seemed to grow louder, echoing in her mind like a relentless reminder of her vulnerability.

With a resigned sigh, Y/N got up from the bed, determined to get help. She knew exactly where to go.

Sneaking out the white door and down the stairs, careful not to make any loud sound, Y/N arrived at Matt's bedroom door, knocking softly on the wooden surface. She waited for a moment, her heart beating nervously in her chest as her right leg bounced incessantly in anxiety until she finally heard a sleepy murmur coming from inside the room.

The door slowly opened, revealing Matt's silhouette on the threshold. His eyes were downcast and sleepy, his brow furrowed in confusion and anger at being woken up, but his expression immediately brightened upon seeing Y/N standing there.

"Y/N, hey, what are you doing here? Are you okay?" Matt asked, his voice soft and concerned as his eyes took in the way her body was shaking.

Y/N swallowed hard, fighting back the tears that threatened to escape. She moved slightly closer to Matt, her arms crossed tightly against her chest, seeking the comfort she so desperately needed.

"I... I can't sleep with this storm, Matt. I'm so scared, and Nick won't wake up." The girl confessed in a shaky whisper, her chest burning with embarrassment for waking him up with something so... trivial. "I'm sorry for-"

Without hesitation, Matt wrapped Y/N in a comforting hug, interrupting her sentence while pulling her closer and holding her firmly against his chest, his arms wrapping around her shoulders with just the right amount of strength. He could feel the tremors that ran through her body, almost sensing the palpable fear that consumed her insides.

"It's okay, sweet girl. I'm here now." Matt whispered, gently stroking the girl's hair with his right hand. His presence was like a balm to Y/N's grief-stricken soul, slowly dispelling the shadows of her fear. "Come on."

The boy took a few steps back, eventually pulling her along before slowly closing the door. He kept his left arm firmly around her shoulders as he straightened his posture, beginning his slow steps towards his unmade bed.

With his free hand, the brunette pulled the duvet down before gently guiding Y/N to the mattress, helping her lie down on the side he didn't sleep on. He adjusted the strands of her loose hair so that they were not on her face, watching her eyes blink slowly in sleep, her eyelashes trembling with each thunderclap.

Matt quickly walked over to his own side of the bed, laying down on the still warm surface, right where he was previously lying, before pulling the duvet up, tucking it tightly around Y/N's body so that not a piece of her skin covered by thin pajamas would be exposed to the freezing air.

He laid down on his side and rested his head on his pillow, extending his left arm - which was against the mattress - and, with his free hand, gently pulled Y/N, encouraging her to get closer. The girl quickly got the message, pressing her cold body against Matt's warm one and laying her head on his outstretched bicep, her legs shrinking and her knees pressing against the boy's abdomen, a sigh of relief escaping her nose almost instantly.

Matt encircled her torso with his right arm, bringing her closer - if that was possible - and lowering his face, sealing Y/N's forehead with his lips tenderly, conveying a sense of safety and protection that she so desperately craved. The brunette caressed the warm skin of her face with the tip of his nose gently, whispering small words of affection and reassurance, muffling the sound of thunder against Y/N's ears while his hands caressed the back of her shoulders.

As the night progressed, Y/N gradually felt calmer and more serene in Matt's arms. The sound of thunder still echoed in the distance, but now she was no longer alone.

"Thank you, Matty." Her voice, now sleepy and low, came out of her mouth in a whisper, her eyes gradually closing as the sound of slow breathing and rhythmic heartbeats that echoed from the his larger body acted as a natural tranquilizer for her.

"Anything for you, petal."

taglist:

@lustfulslxt @ladybunny44 @worldlxvlys @earth2starkey @remussbitch @freshloveforthefit @sturniolowhore @luvr4miya @alorsxsturn @urfavgirllyyyyy @hearts4chriss @cupidzsq @dracoflaco @rootbeerworshiper @junnniiieee07 @elliesturniolo1 @sstvrnioloo @lightsgore @gidgett11037 @ksskianshd @soimightlikeoldmen69 @ldr-sl0t @breeloveschris @its-jennarose @sainzzsturns @ecliphttlunar @soso-scarlettolivia @sturnolio-luvs @bitchydragonparadise @lvrsturn @freshsturns @h3arts4harry @patscorner @strnilolo @bernardsbendystraws @mattsneezing @poetatorturadaa @meg-sturniolo @orangeypepsi @jnkvivi @chrisactualwife @watermelonreid @iammattswife

(If you want to be added to the taglist, go to this post)

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afrowrites · 28 days ago

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Princess and the Farm-Boy (Special Chapter 😏

DISCLAMER: ALL CHARACTERS ARE AGED UP

Author's note: Y'all it was been one hell of a year. I mean I have never been so overworked and with other stuff in my life it has been impossible to write anything, but I had this one in the works for awhile and I thought you guys deserved a treat. So here is my first *Ahem* "Spicy fic". I really hope y'all enjoy it :).

Clark Kent !Smallville! x Black reader

Warnings: Smut, Oral (f! receiving), Unprotected P in V sex (Please be careful irl)

Read on Ao3: https://archiveofourown.org/works/61783975

There you are stuck in the rain, the mud creeping up your loafers and on your nice white stockings. Once again your plans to escape Smallville have proven futile. Your eyes start to tear up in frustration, which makes no sense. After all you're not a child, so why should you start crying like one.

Your thoughts are interrupted by the sound of a familiar and annoying truck pulling up.

“Hey, are you ok?” Clark asks, he sounds genuine.

“Yeah, I'm uh just fine.” You answer, he looks at you quizzically. He knows how much you hate mud and all things dirty.

“Doesn't look like it.” “Well what would you know anyway?!” You spat, your pride may be bruised but it's not broken.

He grumbles in frustration, he knows you're not going anywhere without a fight. So he goes for the next best thing, you see him get out the truck his tall frame makes his way to you and then he grins a little devilish grin.

“C'mon I know you don't wanna be here out in this rain, your hair’s too important.”

“I don't see how that's any of you- Oh my God what are you doing!!!” You squeal as you are suddenly hoisted in the air and on his shoulder.

“Well princess, I'm taking you home.” He smiles.

You don't know how to feel about his nickname for you.

Usually you hate it but right now it makes your cheeks heat up in a way you have never felt before.

He drives you both in silence, he realizes that he kinda kidnapped you, and you are feeling an acute sense of butterflies. Something you could never feel for Clark Kent.

You shake the thought right out of your head, he looks over to you sort of reading your mind,

“Hey so uh- what is the deal you, I mean ever since we met you act like you hate me.”

You turn your head towards him, looking at his defined jaw, it's making you melt right in your chair.

“I don't hate you Clark,” you sigh “I just needed something to be upset at. It just felt weird to be taken from my penthouse in metropolis and come to Smallville, y’know.”

He does understand where you're coming from.

“Look, I might not be super rich and super smart like you, But I know what it feels like to be taken from my home.” He comforts you, hesitantly placing a warm hand on yours.

Before your able to pry further, you make it home. “I guess this is your stop,” He chuckles.

“You know the staff aren’t home, It’s pouring out there,” You sheepishly continue “I-I wouldn’t want you to get hurt.” You can’t even believe the words that are coming out of your mouth, yet they feel so natural.

He does his usual goofy shrug and mumbles an “Okay”.

You say your name into the intercom and your let in to your expansive house, It’s a far difference from his warm and inviting home. You both walk across polished wooden floors with high ceilings, old paintings and weapons from a time before. He felt it was all a bit macabre.

You take his hand leading him to your room. It’s hilarious when you get to your room. It's pink and filled to the brim with hello kitty and poster’s of Beyonce on your wall, it’s much more girly than the cold academic you are.

“Don’t gawk, I’m still a girl y’know.” You tell him, your words bringing him out of his trance. You take your sweater off infront of him as you're preparing to take a nice warm shower. He peaks over and sees you in your rain soaked white button down. He begins to blush as he sees your bra pink and full of ruffles just like your room. He almost gets an anime nosebleed from seeing you.

“Here I’m gonna take a shower,” You throw him the remote. “Pick anything you want, I pretty much have all the good movies.” You wink uncharacteristically and slink into the bathroom.

He turns on the tv and flips through the channels until he finds something. He hears a knock on the door, and while no one is on the other side he finds a fresh T-shirt and some comfy pants in his size in a warmed box.

“Hey um, I thought you said no one was here.” He asked you through the wall.

“Oh there isn’t, I had my robot send it over.” He rolls his eyes. Of course you have a robot, He thinks to himself.

He slips into the warm clothes, He doesn’t know however that you're peeping through the crack in your bathroom door, You notice his strong arms and wide back, He has such a soft chest. He’s jacked but not ripped and you don’t mind it one bit.

You walk out into your bed room still in your robe, He’s sitting in your bed comfortably hand on his stomach. You look out the window seeing the worsening storm.

“Hey do you wanna just stay the night?” You ask him. And while he could go through the storm no problem he needs to keep up the facade of being powerless so he just nods. You hand him your phone and tell him to call his parents.

You sit at your vanity and start to moisturize your brown skin. He looks over to your glowing beautiful skin. He's so hungry it’s almost like he’s eating you with his eyes,he almost trips over his words when telling his parents he wouldn’t be home for dinner.

There you are in your silk pajamas and a cute boy in your room, You have no idea what in the world to do. So you just get under the covers next to him. You hesitantly put your hand on his chest, and before you can pull away he takes your hand in his. The warmth he gives you makes you melt.

“You know farmville, Sometimes I think I like you.” The confession falls out of your mouth like your Niagra falls. You sit up wide eyed staring into his sky blue eyes.

He just gives you a toothy grin like no other and plants a soft kiss to your lips, after a second he pulls away. “ I was wondering when you were gonna come to your senses.”

You roll your eyes and kiss him, this time it gets deeper. You rake your hands through his messy brown hair as he places you on top of him. You straddle his lap and his strong arms cradle your back. He melts into your mouth like vanilla ice cream on a hot summer’s day, And he smells like fresh cut wood and apple pie. He tastes like a dream you’ve been desperately reaching out for but you could never hold.

He pulls away to catch his breath, with blown out pupils like he’s in love, (Well he is now lol).

“Gosh, you’re just perfect.” He breathes into your neck slowly kissing down your collarbone to your plump and supple chest.

You take a deep breath everytime he kisses your radiant brown skin. “Clark,” You break him out of his trance. “Yes, Princess?” The nickname sounds fresh and new but familiar and quiet all at the same time.

“Are you sure you wanna do this?” You ask him timidly. “Girl, I don’t think your brother himself could keep me away from you.” He chuckles into you as he slips off the strap of your top. Exposing your glowing bare breasts.

His mouth salivates at the sight of them, And in one swift motion he pulls you further into him.

He places his warm mouth on one of your soft peaks while caressing the other.

“Oh Clark,” You say his name with a sharp gasp “That feels s-so good.” You enjoy his movements as he kisses lower and lower till he reaches your soft entrance.

His eyes roam the sight, his pupils blown and his breath hazy. Your scent light and sweet envelops his nose.

He starts licking your clit with long swipes of his tongue, you sharply moan. Tangling your fingers in his soft brown hair.

He’s eating you out like he is a man on death row, and you're his final meal. And then when you didn’t think it could get any better he places his thick fingers in your sloppy wet pussy.

“Oh-Oh my god Clark,” you moan out. You're loving every single bit of attention he gives you. And he’s doing so much it’s like he can hold his breath forever he hasn’t even come up for air.

You're so focused on the pleasure he gives you, you don’t even realize how your belly feels warmer. How your toes start to curl, how your body starts to writhe and squirm. But he knows, he knows that even between the broken sentences and near pornographic moans your body is close to climax.

“C’mon princess, think you can give me me a-” and before the man can continue there you are creaming this poor farmboy’s fingers. Your back arches as you cry out in pleasure.

“GOD, FUCK.” Your words spurn him on as he didn’t realize himself that he was grinding into your bed. His dick so hard and with precum leaking at the tip. He’s afraid to hurt you with his size. He won’t even bring up the subject of his sore cock to you opting to handle his business in the bathroom.

“Oh my god Clark that was amazing.”, “Oh well I thought-” you interrupt his words with a deep and passionate kiss as your hands glide down to his member. You can almost feel the heat coming off of it.

“ I think I know how to help you with that.” You giggle. You can see his cheeks heating up as he blushed furiously.

You pull his pants down to reveal a huge throbbing cock. “How the hell am I supposed to fit this in my-”

He hears you mumble under your breath, “Y’know you don’t have to do this.” “Clark, Baby if I didn’t want to do this you would know. Now open my side drawer, there’s a bottle of lube in there.”

So he grabs the lubricant for you, for some reason he is surprised at your usage of the bottle mostly because it’s halfway gone.

“Oh relax, it's for my dildo’s, ya goof.” You giggle at him once more. He doesn’t think he’ll ever get tired of that noise.

You apply the cold lube to his red throbbing cock, which sends shivers down his spine. His chest heaves in pleasure as you stroke his thick member.

“Baby do you want me to ride it, or do you wanna be on top?” The two options scream out to him, “Can you ride me p-please?” he asks, almost nervous like he didn’t just eat your pussy like it was a birthday cake.

You straddle his lap, grinding on him teasing his very soul. You finally give him some relief when you place his tip at your entrance. He’s so big you have to catch your breath every inch on the way down.

“I’m sorry princess, I know it’s a lot,” “Oh no it’sss.” You hiss in the middle of your sentence. “I can take it.”

You finally bottom out and it feels like the air has been removed from your lungs. You reassure him that you're fine but he insists you take a breather before you start.

You slowly pump yourself up and down on his length relishing in the feeling, His hands gripping the sheets trying so hard not to hurt you. The pleasure is almost to good as his beautiful pink lips part in an attempt to breath out a silent prayer of release.

“Princess, I’m so sorry I can’t-” He grabs on to your hips, speeding up the pace on both of your pleasures.

“W-wait Clark, Oh ff-uck!” You whine as you take your arms and wrap them around his back, glistening with sweat.

It seems like his strokes would never stop but as his pleasure builds with yours.

“I’m gonna, s-hit.” He hisses as spurts of his cum flow inside of you as you follow releasing on to him.

You both look at each other with boundless stars in each other's eyes. “That. was… Amazing, I never would have thought goody two shoes Clark Kent could do all of that.” You breathily laugh.

“Right back atcha, now I think I need a shower. Care to uh join me?” he asks shyly.

You smirk because the fun has only just begun.

Taglist: @blackynsupremacy

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essmeow · 3 months ago

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CHAPTER ONE : MIST

❝ first meetings & other cliches ❞ previous | masterlist | next wc | 1.2k

as you step off the train, a cool autumn breeze sweeps past you, lifting the soft flowy sleeves of your top. the train ride from your new aparemnt to work was only about a half an hour, and now you stood down the road from the used bookstore. the streets are quieter than you're used to—and the light of early morning filters through the trees, casting shadows on the pavement.

you countined to walk down the sidewalk, only a few cars passing you on the slow road. as you apprach the bookstore, you stop. it was older, a hand painted sign that had seemingly start to chip away over the years. the wooden exterior—weathered by seasons of sun and rain, gave off a sense of warmth and welcoming.

the doors were glass, you peeked inside. you saw nanami at the front coutner—his focus fixed on a stack of papers he was carefully sorting through. you looked to the right, seeing a younger boy around your age with striking pink hair that caught the light in an almost unreal way. he was on a ladder, sorting through books on the higher shelf.

you walked in, a small bell hanging above the door letting out a small ring. nanami looked up, giving you a small smile before speaking.

"ah, y/n, there you are! right on time."

"goodmorning."

you looked around the store, it was cozy—older looking books lining the walls. a few movie posters—classic films with faded edges, and framed photographs adorned the other walls. the lighting was warm, the store being lit by natural lighting and a few lamps across the floor. the cash register where nanami was standing was wooden, there was even a type-writer on the counter and a few trienkets.

your gaze drifted to the pink haired boy you had saw in the window earlier. he was lost in the rhythm of whatever song was playing in his headphones, his head bobbing to the beat. he was wearing baggy jeans that were swallowing his sneakers and a red oversized hoodie. he seemed completely absorbed in his own world as he restocked books. you wonder why he choose to dye his hair pink but you on't want to stare, so you just look back at nanami.

"yuji."

nanami spoke, bringing his glasses up with his finger. he looked but also tired—wearing an oversized-ish collared sweater and khaki pants. defintly more mature then shoko, even though she mentioned he was in the year before her in school.

the pink-haired boy, yuji, dosen't reply, you assume he can't hear over his music and you wonder how safe it is for him to be on a ladder while not being able to hear. nanami groans and clears his throught twice.

"yuji!"

he says, much loader this time, almost even startling you. yuji finally looks back—moving his headphones down to his neck. he looks over to nanami, then to you, and you think you see his eyes widen a bit when he glances at you.

"yo, you must be the new employee!"

he jumps down from the ladder, you make another mental note of something that is proably not very safe that he's doing and he runs over to where you're standing in front of the cash register. you open your mouth to begin to speak, but nanami instead introduces you.

"this is y/n l/n, she's moved here all the way from the city and she'll be working with you."

he smiles a bit to bright for your liking and moves his hand forward to shake yours. you're caught off guard by the gesture, hesitating for a moment, then reach out to shake his hand, and he grips yours firmly.

"im yuji itadori, nice to meet you!"

"nice to meet you."

"yuji, can you show her the ropes please? i have to make a few calls about the next shipment."

nanami spoke, heading into a door which you assumed was his office. for a moment, you were confused as to why he would leave the register unattended—but it was only 8:30 in the morning, there probably won't be many costumers.

"sure thing nanamin!"

yuji replied cheerfully as he made his way to the back corner of the store. you followed behind him, trying hard not to be annoyed by how effortlessly upbeat he seemed.

"so, all we have to do is unload these boxes of used books. it's pretty easy—but i'll show you how, 'kay?"

you nodded in response, mentally cursing yourself for forgetting your headphones—now you'd actually have to talk to him.

he picked up a book on the top of the box, his fingers brushing off the dust with a quick sweep.

"there will be a tiny sticker on the spine that says the genre, look at that and find the section for it! pretty easy, huh?"

"sounds fine."

you replied in a monotone voice. you looked around the store once agian, seeing a small handwritten sign next to the diffrent sections. you decided that you liked the charm of the store—most if not all of the furniture and decorations being vintage.

"its nice right? i love it here. i've been going here for ages even though i don't read a lot, been trying to get nanami to sell comics for like ever but he says that they're not real books."

you watched Yuji as he spoke, pulling a few books from the box. as you observed him, you couldn't help but wonder about the dynamic between him and nanami—they clearly knew each other well, probably for quite some time. you decided that you probably needed to start conversation with him.

"so you like comics?"

he sparked up, as he grabbed a few books also. "yeah! my favorites spiderman...but you can probably tell from my hoodie."

you glanced back to his hoodie and then up to his smiling face. it was sort of...cute, but you quickly pushed that thought away. no way.

"i liked across the spiderverse, the animation was nice—i've always loved animated films."

you replied, placing a book in a shelf as you spoke. a hint of annoyance stirred within you—why did you have to find something in common with him? after all, you weren’t here to make friends.

"you like movies, what's your favorites? i love movies."

"i like studio ghibli stuff, anything tim burton, human earthwo-"

"you like human earthworm! those are my all time favorites."

you turned around as he spoke, his face lighting up in excitment. You nodded, feeling a slight spark of excitement yourself. turns out, you had more in common with him than you thought.

"hold on, wait."

he quickly ran over to the register, rummaging through the drawrs untill he grabbed what seemed to be a peice of paper and a pen. he clumsly scribbled something down before rushing back to you.

"here's my number, please text me after work! i've never met anyone here that likes the same movies as me."

you hesitated for a moment. you'd never had anyone seem to eager to be your friend before, it made you slightly...happy. and you thought he seemed not to bad to be friends with.

"alright."

you took the slip of paper from him and slipped it into your pant pocket.

the rest of your shift went supprisnly well, you spent the day restocking books while yuji chatted with you intermittently. nanami came back and seemed pleased the two of you were getting along. as costumers started coming in, the pace went by fast, and before you knew it, the day had flown by.

once you were back home, you sank onto the couch and pulled out your phone, carefully typing in yuji's number.

notes / extras :

yuji's backstory will be reveled in later chapters :3

the store is very vintage, nanami got all the furnite from antique shops and thrifting (he probably thrifts his clothes for the most part aswell)

yuji LOVES spiderman

yn is a bit scary at first...yuji was 100% nervous around her untill she started talking about things they have in common

yn reminds nanami of his younger self

a/n : chapter one !!! i love writing this sm already guys, yuji & nanami are so fun to write! you guys are in for a wild ride w/ the yuji and yn backstory lore drop coming soon hehe, also not proofread shh

taglist : ask/comment to be added @brideads @stillnotherapy @solaqes @chososcamgirl @yuu-via @mikikkoo @gumims @hel-lhound @m1ndfulsorrows @fushiguruuzzzz @kiss-my-asscheeks @rreveurdoll

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bonesxbows · 7 months ago

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Act Naturally - Chapter 1 (Cooper Howard X Reader)

Masterlist

While exploring an old section of Hollywood, the two of you stumble upon an old advertisement for a cowboy movie. But the man on the poster looks suspiciously a lot like Cooper, even down to the same smile. But it couldn't possibly be him...right?

(WARNINGS) - anger issues - negative self talk (from Cooper not you)

I feel like I dragged this on for way longer than it needed to be BUT it's a done thing now and tbh I'm pretty happy with it. I fucking adore soft Cooper moments and idc if I have to write them all myself

Also! This idea came from @land-of-evergreens-and-dye so full credit to them for letting me stew on this prompt

Hope you enjoy reading this as much as I enjoyed writing it! Reblogs and comments much appreciated!

Banners by @strangergraphics

The two of you had found yourselves in an old section of Hollywood. It had been so long since Cooper had told you his reason for bringing you here that you’d forgotten what his motivation for this excursion was. Although it didn’t really matter to you, you’d follow him anywhere whether he wanted you to tag along or not. There was no separating you two. Not anymore.

Most of the buildings had been boring to scavenge through, if you could even find a way inside at all. Not much was left of the boulevard besides dusty sidewalks and rusting billboards. But one building in particular piqued your interest. It had a larger facade than all the rest where small billboard-like signs hung above the wide double doors. Broken and busted bulb lights framed the signs and the rows of black lettering were missing far too many letters to be able to read it clearly. What letters you could make out only baffled you more than the strange-looking building did.

‘Co - How - Starr - in - Th - M - Fr - Dea - Horse’

“Horse? What’s a horse?” you asked out loud, more to yourself than to him. He usually never listened to your mid-exploring ramblings, though he never did tell you to stop. You turned around to find him staring up at the old sign too, although his brow was creased and a scowl was stuck on his face. You placed a hand on his shoulder and he turned to you, his expression softening as his eyes shifted to looking at you instead.

“You wanna check inside there, don’ you?” He asked.

You nodded and gave him a small smile. “Can we? Please? I’ve never seen any place like it before.”

“Hm. ‘Spose we can. But make it quick alright?” He checked his pistol’s ammunition levels and flipped the barrel back into place once he was satisfied. You led the way forward, pushing the swinging doors inward as Cooper was right behind you, pistol in hand and trigger finger ready.

He was a little disappointed when the place appeared to be empty. But the feeling didn’t last, he couldn’t stay upset as he watched you scurry around the place, your eyes wide with fascination. The interior was even more astonishing to you than the exterior had been. Rows of folding booth-like chairs covered the majority of the floor, their fabric exterior faded and torn, and in the back of the building was a wooden stage. Ragged old curtains framed the blank wall behind the stage where its faded white paint chipped and peeled off the plaster. There wasn’t much hiding between the rows of chairs besides dust and sand but you still kept your hopes high that the rest of the building would hold something worthwhile.

“What is this place? Some kind of shooting gallery?” you asked, your wasteland-born intelligence of pre-war places was lacking, but fortunately for you, Cooper liked you enough to fill you in on what knowledge you didn't have.

He chuckled at your observation. He supposed a shooting gallery was just about the closest thing you could get to a theater these days. “Not ‘xactly, sweetheart. It was used for movies, picture shows, that kinda thing. A place where folks could feign ignorance ‘bout the end of the world fast approachin’ on their heels.”

“Movies? Like the kind on those busted-up televisions?” you continued to explore around as you talked. He followed you, keeping an eye out for anything out of the ordinary that could be dangerous while you focused on the useful and exciting things you could find.

“Mmhm. Just like those. Never endin’ loops of fairytale stories kept alive by people long gone by now.” he explained, and you ended the conversation after that. His voice was strained and scruffy, meaning he was either remembering something he wanted to forget or he was getting agitated. Either way, you knew it was in your best interest to stop asking questions.

Things got progressively more interesting when you discovered the back rooms of the building. The first one had been large, with dusty velvet ropes leading to a counter filled with food machines and nuka-cola dispensers, you’d come back here to scavenge all the food you could carry with you on your way out, but the hallways and storage rooms were what really piqued your attention.

Posters lined the wooden walls of the hallways, the plaster that had once surrounded them now nothing more than dust on the ground. The paper was old, torn, and extremely faded, even with the lack of sunlight in the place. The color was all but gone from the paper, but you could still make out the words if you squinted hard enough.

“Cooper Howard Starring in The Man From Dead Horse.” The letters matched up with the ones from outside but yet you were still baffled on what exactly a horse was. The poster had no other information to help clarify, although you found it interesting that the man on the paper supposedly shared your cowboy’s name.

“Huh.” You exclaimed as you studied the pictures.

“What?” Cooper called after you, pulling his attention only slightly away from the containers he was looting around the place, looking for spare ammo or anything else that was useful.

“Nothing. Just something about these posters. Are these about those movies you were talking about?” you asked, which had him turning around to examine the poster along with you. The only response he gave you was a short grunt, which you knew translated to a yes. You shifted your eyes back to the paper on the wall. Most of the color may have been gone but you could still make out a blue shirt on a man with a white cowboy hat on top of his head. He stood in a pose with his revolver in the air and his other hand on his hip. He wore a smirk on his face that felt familiar and something in the back of your mind itched like you had seen this all before…somewhere. But you couldn't pinpoint the memory.

When you turned back around Cooper was already gone down the hallway so you hurried to follow him, tearing your eyes from the poster but keeping your mind on the nagging feeling it left you with. Maybe if you turned the picture over in your head enough times the memory you were looking for would click, or so you hoped.

His attitude had significantly changed after you found that poster. He became more on edge and that gruff exterior he had when you had first met him was back. He rushed through the rest of the building, seemingly not caring if you were behind him or not. By the time you caught up with him, he was shoving his way back out through the swinging front doors. You could see the finger on his pistol’s trigger starting to twitch. You followed him outside and down the road a way until he stopped in front of the first billboard he saw.

Like everything else in the wasteland, the colors were gone and the picture was faded, but you could clearly tell it had been an advertisement for Vault-Tec before the bombs. Cooper didn’t hesitate to unload every round in his revolver through the billboard. Pieces of wood and metal went flying and you instinctively covered your face, listening to the bullet casings and wood chips hit the concrete around you. He eventually ran out of bullets, although you could still hear him clicking the trigger. Once the gun sounded empty you lowered your arms again, examining the now hole-riddled Vault Boy on the billboard. Cooper’s face still held a nasty scowl.

“You got a personal vendetta with Vault-Tec I don't know about or something? What just happened?” you asked. If you were anyone else he would have filled you with lead just for asking a question right then and there. He was currently too angry to deal with stupidity. But he would never purposefully hurt you, that was one line he refused to cross in his mind. But unknowingly to you your words only fueled his anger more.

“Shut it. Let’s go. I’m sick of this place.” he snapped, his usual drawl and accent missing and replaced by venom in his words. He quickened his pace out of the block of streets and you followed him, but you kept your distance to a minimum of a few feet at least for the remainder of the trek.

It had been a few hours since Cooper’s outburst and the two of you had set up camp for the night inside of an old diner. He had seemed to calm down a little but he had set himself up in the corner of a booth with his hat pulled down over his eyes and his feet kicked up on the table in front of him. Which left you alone with your thoughts in front of his makeshift campfire. You watched the sun sink below the horizon as you replayed the earlier events of the day over and over in your head, still trying to connect the dots. You stared at Cooper, his supposedly sleeping form leaning against the worn material of the diner booth, hoping that if you focused on him hard enough you could will the connection in your mind to click.

And then the realization hit you like a lightning bolt, your eyes pulling all of the pieces together in front of you as you stared at his hat and the rough skin poking out from underneath it.

You sprang up from your seat on the ground, sliding yourself into the booth on the other side of the table in front of him. He didn't seem to notice until you reached over and yanked his cowboy hat off of his head with one swift motion. His eyes shot open and immediately landed on you.

“Can’t a ghoul get some shut-eye ‘round here without you botherin’ him?” he scoffed, pulling himself up into a sitting position and turning to face you across the table. You didn’t respond and instead placed his hat on the table in front of you, staring at him with full intent. He was unbothered underneath your intense gaze, either he was used to being stared at or knew you weren’t much of a threat to him. “I got somethin’ in my teeth or is this a new hobby of yours I don’ know about?” he asked, your silence was irking him more than your constant staring.

You let your eyes do all the work and your imagination filled in the blanks, pulling both images in your head together; the man from the poster and the man sitting in front of you. His dirty blue shirt peaking out from underneath his duster confirmed your suspicion.

“You’re him.” was all you said as the realization set in.

“Pardon?”

“You're him! From the poster earlier! That's why he looked so familiar!” your excitement was getting hard to contain. You had known Cooper was from before the bombs but you hadn’t known he was THAT Cooper Howard.

“Darlin’, I have no idea what you’re on about. You best forget ‘bout that whole theater ‘fore you go and stir up trouble.” he told you, folding his arms in front of him on the table as his brow darkened his eyes.

“What’s the big deal, Coop? Why didn’t you tell me? Is that why you rushed out of there so quickly?” you spoke quickly, the questions flooding out of your mouth faster than you had intended.

“Hmph. ‘What’s the big deal?’ The ‘big deal’ is that man is dead. Has been for over 200 years. I ain’t keen on bringin’ him back neither. His optimism and gullibility got him killed and that was the end of that. I’m done rememberin’ the sorry excuse I got for a past. Reminiscing don’ keep you alive for long.” his western accent was tangled together with poison as he spat out his words. But his scary looks didn’t work on you anymore.

“Maybe, but you’re still him, Coop. You’ve adapted to the wasteland but you’re still you. Roughed up and scarred a little, sure, but who isn’t?” you told him, doing your best to keep your voice soft to combat his spitefulness.

“A little? Sweetheart, I’m a damn monster, everyone out ‘ere thinks so. Whatever was left of good ol’ Cooper Howard died when this here skin started fallin’ off. I’m done bein’ nice in a world that does nothin’ but kicks you when you’re down.”

“I don’t think you're a monster.”

It was one sentence, just a few words, but it made him pause. His scowl vanished for a few seconds and was replaced by a look of confusion. There was a small smile tugging at his lips too, if you were quick enough to notice it before it was gone. He sighed and leaned back against the booth.

“Well then that’s one hell of a lapse of judgment on your part sweetheart.” he hooked his hands together and put them behind his head, cradling the back of his neck as he closed his eyes again and leaned further into the booth. But you weren't done with the conversation just yet.

You got up, grabbed his hat off of the table, and shifted yourself into the booth he was sitting in. You looked at him and then looked down at his hat in your hands. A relic from over two centuries ago, covered in sand and caked in dirt. But still a working and functioning cowboy hat. It protected its wearer from the harsh sun and there was a sense of safety woven somewhere in between the fibers. Broken and beaten and even dirtied beyond repair, it was still a hat. And Cooper was still a person.

You climbed on top of the table, being careful not to accidentally kick him with your feet as you positioned yourself in front of him and placed a leg on either side of his body. You placed his hat in its rightful place on top of his head, making him open his eyes again when he felt your touch. He looked up at you curiously, fully not expecting you to be on the table in front of him. You reached down and grabbed both of the lapels of his duster, balling the fabric up in your fists as you pulled him forward and smashed your lips into his. You were quick with your movements, something you had learned from being around Cooper so much recently, which left little to no time for him to react or protest against your sudden affection.

Although he didn't seem to mind. His hands found their way to your hips almost automatically and he slipped them under your shirt, grabbing at your soft skin roughly. Tomorrow morning you would have bruises all over your hips in the shape of his fingertips, but it happened so often now that the purples and blues were a permanent part of you. You had started this impromptu makeout session but he was determined to finish it. His tongue worked fervidly like he was mapping the constellations in the night sky across the inside of your mouth. He never once gave you the chance to take the lead and he was as quick as a viper to wrangle back control when you tried to take it yourself. At some point he had shifted his hands underneath you and scooped you off the table, sliding you right into his lap while still keeping a strong grip on you, never once slowing down with his tongue. Your legs were forced to wrap around him, your bodies now flush against each other in the booth.

It wasn’t long after he had pulled you closer that you had to pull away, panting and taking gulps of air. You finally let go of his jacket as you leaned back against the table, feeling the metal edge digging into your back as you did so.

“You know for a so-called ‘monster’ you sure know how to make someone feel breathless.” You told him as you admired the way he was smirking at you. Ironically it was the exact same smirk from that old poster of him, although you noticed he had shifted from that old-school charming look to now one that held an aura of danger around him.

“Hm. Well, now I’ve never been the type to pass up an opportunity when it’s handed to me. ‘Specially if it ends with somethin’ pretty sittin’ in my lap.” his grip on your hips was still ironclad as his eyes raked over you. His stare felt similar to a hunter stalking its prey. You knew what he was doing, trying to convince himself he was right by acting like a predator, but you knew the truth underneath the facade. You had seen firsthand how he had cared for you and looked after you even when he stood to gain nothing in return.

“Whether the old Cooper is dead or not doesn’t change the fact that I love this, right here, right now. Whatever led to you being my cowboy, I wouldn’t change a thing.” you ran your fingers up his chest as you spoke, fiddling your way underneath the collar of his cowboy costume to run your fingertips along the raised edges of his scarred skin. He sat back and let you touch him, not making any move to try and stop you. He’d let you do anything your little heart desired. He was your cowboy, he knew that, and yet two hundred years ago he would have never imagined meeting someone like you. He’d be damned if he would let anything happen to you, you were the only good thing he had left in this fucked up world. He refused to let anything else be taken from him.

“Whatever you say, sweetheart,” he mumbled as he brushed a strand of your hair behind your ear, relishing in the way the soft cartilage felt against his marred fingertips. He ran the very tip of his finger against the edge of your ear, earning a tilt of your head as a response to the sensation.

“Cooper?” you asked, making his eyes flick to yours. He noticed you had pulled your hand out from under his shirt and instead, you had placed it on top of his chest, mindlessly fumbling with the ancient fringe attached to the front.

“Hm?”

“I still have one question,” you told him, knitting your brows together in curiosity.

“I’m listenin’.” he had been so enraptured by your affection that he had no idea what to anticipate, especially when your face had turned so serious.

“What even is a horse, anyway?”

It took him a great deal of effort to stifle his laughter.

#my writings #cooper howard x reader #cooper howard #the ghoul x reader #fallout the ghoul #the ghoul #fallout tv series #fallout tv #fallout prime #fallout tv fanfic #cooper howard fanfiction #Cooper howard fanfic

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rotworld · 3 months ago

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15: For Your Own Good

art by @exorbitantsqueakingnoises

in the midst of the chaos and destruction of a word bearers invasion, you are singled out for a specific purpose. can you outlast the appetites of a being who knows nothing but desire?

->warhammer 40k. original slaanesh daemon/reader. explicit; contains non-con, graphic descriptions of violence, invasion/mass destruction/mass death, non-human genitalia, manipulation.

You’re in a bedroom, remembering again—

How the sky quaked. How blood spilled like rain, how it trickled and poured and filled the corpse pits, congealing so each stone fissure glistened like a gaping planetary wound. How it burned for miles. How the smoke rose up in swirling, soot-black clouds and stung your eyes. Death so vicious, so constant, so incomprehensibly vast that you no longer understood it. Do planets die? Can they be killed? So many voices screamed and wept in those open graves, those world-wounds, that you began to believe that the ground beneath your feet was wailing.

But not you. No, not you, pushed and pulled and led away by monstrous, blood-soaked hands. Not you, paraded down the shattered charnel streets between the dead and dying. No festering in a terrestrial scab. No slow, oozing torment upon a sacrificial altar. They dragged you through the mud, the ash and all the suffering, up the jagged steps carved of bones so fresh they were still pale pink and wet.

Not you, they said, because you were chosen. But for what?

You jolt awake and stumble, finding yourself already on your feet. Were you sleepwalking? You’re in a bedroom. It’s not yours and it’s not familiar. And it’s changing, you’re sure of it. It’s not just your bleariness or imagination. The floor was cold, bare hardwood but now there’s a tasseled rug beneath your feet. Colors trickle and soften like mixing watercolors, bold reds and garish golds fading into more restful hues. When you walk by the four-poster bed, it sprouts a canopy, the magenta curtains open and waiting. The far wall curves into a bay window to reveal an alien sky, splintering tendrils of atmospheric lightning and auroral ouroboroi flickering in a prismic maelstrom.

“Love?”

The voice is rich, warm and sweet as honey. You turn and find a stranger standing across the room. A stranger, you’re almost certain, but you feel that you know him and he knows you. From the port? From your hab-block? He’s dressed in the same drab, grungy attire everyone does around here, shirt hem unraveling, work pants tucked into scuffed leather boots, but you can’t remember meeting someone so beautiful. Not pretty or handsome in a normal way. Beautiful like the luminescence of a poisonous rad-slug, nature’s warning sign. Beautiful like the shimmering slag slick atop a still, tranquil lake choked with so much chemical runoff that if you stick your hand in, all the skin up to your wrist will slough right off. Beautiful like the skin-taking bogeymen in Underhive children’s bedtime stories, too perfect strangers with their too perfect smiles.

Dark, silky hair spills over his shoulders. Fuchsia eyes gaze at you with a lover’s knowing fondness. “Are you alright?” he asks. “Did you have a nightmare?”

Did you? You look around the room again like the answers will be here somewhere, tucked into ornate wooden furniture or inscribed on the lurid oil paintings hanging in golden frames. No. No, it wasn’t a nightmare. It was real. It happened. You’re remembering it in glimpses. Mountains of corpses. Rivers of blood. And the sky, how it twisted and quivered like a sick animal, how the stars flickered and the night peeled like the singed, scabbing flesh of a burn, and everything behind it was—

“You poor thing. Why don’t you sit down?” He runs his hand up and down the wooden frame of the bed, caressing the intricate carvings in the wood with his palm. “Just relax. And let me take care of you.”

“Who are you?” you ask. You step back in hasty, frightened retreat but there’s nowhere to go. You don’t see a door anywhere.

“Don’t you recognize me?” His smile stirs fluttering warmth in your stomach like love at first. “You do, deep down. You can feel it. Do you remember that little shipping mixup a few years ago? All those crates of food meant for a faraway pleasure world, sitting forgotten in a warehouse at the port. You held a peach in your hand and it was like nothing you’d ever seen before. Soft, lightly fuzzed, and so tender, so mouthwateringly sweet…” Your heart hammers in your chest. He shouldn’t know about that. No one is supposed to know about that. “No, darling. Don’t be afraid,” he coos. “It’s alright. I was there. I watched you. I saw light, cloudy peach juice dribble from the corner of your mouth, and how you licked it from your thumb.” He comes closer, each step slow and graceful like the slinking dance of a wolf cornering a hare.

“I don’t know you,” you insist. “I’ve never seen you before.”

“Yes,” he says, “you have.” And like lampshade at the bedside table that keeps shifting, paper to stained glass to bead-tasseled cloth, like the squirming patterns on the rug and the suggestive writhing of the paintings, he, too, changes. Ragged work clothes morph into a glittering evening gown. Short, blunt nails become long and lacquer-polished. The woman in front of you wears scarlet lipstick and black eyeshadow, small crystals embedded in the skin beside her eyes.

She has the same long black hair and the same haunting eyes in a vibrant shade of pink. She has the same alluring smile that makes your heart race and your head spin.

“Do you remember the music?” she asks, slinking closer. You see her thigh through the slit in her dress, clad in a stocking of black lace. “That night those musicians came? Those sweet strings and woodwinds, how they dazzled you! Such beauty trickling all the way down from the upper hive. You did not even wonder how much more lovely it would be to hear properly, seated in the theater. You were too awestruck to even consider it.”

You don’t back away from her as quickly as you did before. You hesitate. Your foot scuffs against the rug. Your back hits the edge of the bay window and you feel a cushioned seat that wasn’t there before, plush pillows that your palms sink into. Her hands fall on either side of you, trapping you there. Her breath warms your lips.

“I was there,” she whispers, stroking your cheek with the back of her hand. “I saw your eyes wide with wonder. What a sad life you’ve lived in this terrible place, love of mine. So deprived of pleasures great and small.”

You push her away. You’re remembering. Those stairs you were forced to climb, feet dragging, knees bruising as they dragged you into a chamber of stone. What was it? A building? A cave? You had never seen such a place before. It felt ancient—older than you. Older than everything. It thrummed and pulsed with unseen life. It was built wrongly, impossibly, the floor twisted and the walls crawling. It knew your name. That room, that wanting and hungering place, knew your name and whispered it. It had her voice, and his voice, and every voice you’ve ever loved and every voice you’ve ever missed.

You’re remembering the butcher-priest in blood red, thorny armor, with horns upon his head. You’re remembering his outstretched hands. His beatific smile. He called you “blessed child.” He said you were chosen for a greater purpose.

“No,” you say, your voice trembling. Everything burns away but dread and terror. “No. No, no, no. Not again.”

“Yes,” she hisses, her smile sharp and cruel. “Again. And again. And again. As many times as it takes.” She backs you into the wall, one beautiful, long-fingered hand resting on the wooden panel beside your head. “You sweet, stubborn thing.”

You feel lightheaded with fear. “You keep doing this. Keep making me forget—”

“And you keep remembering. But that’s alright. I enjoy this panicked realization each and every time it happens.” She cups your chin, the pad of her thumb tracing the shape of your mouth. You would bite her, but you know she’d just enjoy it. “Is the room to your liking? You can change it, if you’d like. You can change me, too. I can be anyone your heart desires.”

You’re remembering—does she urge you to, or does your mind fly back with such eagerness on its own? She’s fucked you in this room more times than you can count. She’s been everything, has worn countless faces, has had every imaginable appendage, human and inhuman. On your back, knees over her shoulders, hands tangled in her flowing locks; on your belly, legs spread, panting into the sheets as clawed hands cover yours; seated on thick, muscular thighs and pinned against the wall by a strong, enormous body and opened gradually on a long, snaking tongue—

“You’re thinking about it,” she murmurs. She presses her knee between your legs and grinds it hard against your sex, making you shudder in pleasure and pain. “There’s no shame in enjoying it. No shame at all, my love.”

You want to argue that you don’t enjoy it, that this is cruelty and torture and you’d be a fool to make a deal with a daemon. But then she tilts your chin and kisses you, and you don’t think at all for a moment. Euphoria floods your veins. It’s the peach meant for a rich noble and the echoes of a symphony from the hive’s highest tower and every good thing, every pleasant, perfect, wonderful thing you’ve ever experienced, magnified to brain-searing extremes. Before, there was only spilling blood and unspeakable torments of the flesh—and death, even before all of this, grueling, slow death from smokestack fumes and skin-melting waste and exhaustion and never having enough, but this is pleasure. Unspeakable ecstasy. You can’t stop yourself from kissing her back, horrified and humiliated when she pulls away with a giggle leaving you gasping with slick, swollen lips.

“What did I do to deserve this?” you ask her, your voice quivering with tears.

She changes—the man again, now wearing only a long purple loincloth and golden jewelry. He caresses your side and your clothes slither apart, unraveled into dissolving string. You want to blame it on him but part of you knows he can take away all of this fear and weariness. Just for a moment. Just for a minute. The wall feels carpet-soft behind you, undulating with breath behind your back.

“Is that what you’ve been taught, precious?” he sighs. “That joy is your just reward for unending, thankless service and that misfortune is punishment from He Who Knows Not Love?” His hands smooth down your back, squeezing your hips on their way to your backside. He pulls you into the slow rhythm of his hips, a leisurely grind that lets you feel the hard, throbbing shape beneath the loincloth. “No. You don’t really believe that. You did once, but I see it waning. So why deny yourself this perfection?”

Chosen, said the butcher-priest, for a greater purpose. And in that living chamber of flesh like stone, the whispers called to you, sang to you, begged for you. “The death of the old for the birth of the new,” it said, cajoling. “Together, in one flesh. Together, in nuptial bliss. As we could never be alone.”

You’re turned around, shoved into the wall and held there with the daemon draped against your back. “I need you,” he sighs into the side of your neck, kissing and licking at your pulse. “I need you more than anyone has ever needed you. I cannot walk the world of what is real without you. I cannot even exist.” He keeps up the same sensual pace, a thick, achingly hard cock draped in fine cloth rubbing against the curve of your ass. He’s changing again. The legs bracketing yours thicken with muscle and end in cloven hooves. The hands braced on either side of your head grow larger, the fingers lengthening and ending in vicious claws.

Something hard and sharp, bone-like and pincer-shaped, closes around your waist. The inner edge is lined with fine serration that pricks your skin, making every flinch and moan a razor-sharp, painful sensation. You whimper and low, rumbling laughter vibrates against your back—neither the man’s voice nor the woman’s but a warped melding of the two speaking in harmony. The daemon grows. The cock now sliding between your thighs is obscenely long and thick, transformed into something distinctly inhuman. It’s lavender at the flared, blunted tip and deep violet further down its length. A bulging ring around halfway down the shaft haunts your imagination with how it would catch and pull at your insides.

“Why so afraid?” they ask. “You needn’t be. You have taken me before. I have ensured that you can.” They grind between your legs one last time before they pull back. The tip, wide and spongy, prods against your entrance. One of their large hands pushes down on your shoulder, forcing you to bend over, palms pressed against the wall to steady yourself.

You tremble at the dull pressure of slight, teasing thrusts, the head of the monstrous cock pushing with slightly more force each time. Your legs shake and your nails scrape the wall. It shouldn’t go in so easily but your muscles unclench and your body opens as though welcoming the daemon. You’re thinking that you will let yourself have this—this pleasure. This mindlessness. This moment of respite from the end of everything you’ve ever known. Just a little longer.

Then the daemon snaps their hips and you’re not thinking at all. Your eyes roll back in your head as you’re forced onto your toes by the strength of the thrust. You can feel it all the way inside of you, deeper than anything is meant to go. You can feel throbbing veins and ridges and small, soft nubs, textures designed to drag on your inner walls in perfect, agonizing pleasure. You’re hardly aware of the way you arch your back and raise your hips until the daemon makes a rumbling sound of delight, sharp fingers squeezing the swell of your ass.

“You think you can taste me and resist the temptation for more? Shall we test that, my love?”

You shouldn’t be alive with the way they fuck you. You should split in half, brutalized and impaled on their massive length, but somehow your body takes everything and pushes back against their thrusts for more. The daemon smooths their hands up and down your back, reaching around to flick your nipples between their claws. That punishing pace never falters and never stops. You cum just like that, practically hanging off their cock while it pummels into you, and the daemon hisses praise. You are stunning, they say, you are splendid, you are divine, you are beauty incarnate, you are love made flesh.

“And I would do anything for you, beloved,” they say. “Anything at all. A binding born of mutual desire is more fruitful and long-lasting than any other, and so I will strive to please you always. Be my feet upon solid ground and I will be the shield that keeps you from harm, the honey that keeps you nourished, the lover that keeps you forever.”

You have no answer now. You have nothing but lust and sensation, pushing your hips back against every vicious thrust. The daemon encourages you with purrs and caresses and a hand sliding between your legs, working your sex with talented fingers. Orgasm and orgasm leaves you limp and gasping. The room changes. You’re taken against the window, bathed in the swirling lights of a planet dying. You’re held up in powerful arms and fucked like a toy, watching your belly bulge and distend with their girth. You’re pounded into the bed and only then do you glimpse the daemon through blurring, dizzy vision—luscious hair and great, curling horns, teeth like daggers, eyes like pink will-o’-wisps beckoning you to certain death.

“Do you accept me for all that I am?” speaks the daemon—the room—your lover. “Do we become the perfect flesh at last?”

You can’t speak. You can’t think. You can’t do anything but writhe and cry for more. But there is an unease deep in your soul. Among spreading tendrils of sickening sweetness, there is a stubborn spot of reluctance. The daemon tastes it, mild and unappealing. They rumble with displeasure and delight.

“Very well, my love,” they say. “Not now. Not yet. But I have all the time in the world to change your mind.”

And then you’re full again, trapped against a body that keeps changing. Scales and chiton and slithering tentacles, forked tongues, aphrodisiac-filled stingers, and a voice that says your name like a holy mantra. You are licked and bitten and fucked, engulfed in snaking coils, filled in every hole, driven to the edge for hours, for eons, forever…

“Darling?”

You gasp. Someone shushes you gently, a hand stroking your cheek in the dark. “Wh…” Your voice is a hoarse croak. Have you been crying? Screaming?

“Hush. It’s alright. Deep breaths.” A light flickers somewhere in the room; a lamp turning itself on. You see a bed. A magenta canopy. A stranger who isn’t, a person you know without knowing how, lying beside you. Long black hair spills across their pillow. Eyes of hypnotic fuchsia drink in your hard swallow and trembling shoulders. “Did you have a bad dream?” they ask with a knowing smile.

You’re in a bedroom, remembering again.

#rotpeach writes #goretober #warhammer 40k

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harmonyludwig · 7 months ago

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Man why most Dark Academia decor ideas are like "get a Roman marble statue" or "put an antique gramophone".

Most of the Dark Academia "fanbase" are students, myself included. So here's a list of actual room decor that won't make you go bankrupt or rob a museum (tho that would be nice), which works for not only Dark, but any Academia:

Books . Pile up your to-read list or your favorite or just good looking ones.

A lamp. Preferably a little antique-ish, something affordable and nice and one that actually works and doesn't take half your desk.

Candles . The easiest. Just normal or scented one. Put them in one place or scatter through the room.

Flowers . Maybe a little Cottagecore-y, but flowers are nice to gaze upon while daydreaming, calms you down and a nice addition to any room.

Something floral but withered . A pressed flower or a branch with dried leaves. Maybe weird, but it's nice and stays longer than flowers.

A thing or two from a second hand or a flea market just for the ✨ aesthetic ✨ (I have a wooden pipe. I don't smoke and don't intend to). Like a candle holder.

Bo - I can't emphasize this enough - xes. Any size and colour, to put anything from notes to books to flowers. I got a nice looking chest and a jewelry box.

An inspiration board. I got a cork board with letters from my friends and some pictures. I also put there things to remember and tips.

Wall decor. May be a glued to the wall music score, a picture in a frame, flowers (again), photos, quotes and pages of books.

Additional shelves (if possible).

Stationery holder. I've got like 8 (I'm not kidding) on my desks for different purposes bc I'm a horder ;)

Posters. Anime, movies, inspiration, nature... Anything. It's your room.

Anything you feel fits there. A skull you found in the woods? Stick it in. Your laptop to work and watch movies on? Make sure it can charge. Your collection of anything? Make that shit visible fam. A photo of your idol or a loved one? Put it on! A poster with a boys band covered in writing? Above the bed it goes!

You may add more.

#shitpost #dark academia #room decor #dark academic aesthetic #dark academia room decor #chaotic academia #light academia #academia aesthetic

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the-trans-folk-witch · 11 months ago

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The Green Devil of the Ozarks: The little green fairy of... moonshine?

It was 2005. I was with my grandfather in an old shop similar to "dick's 5 and 10" outside of Branson, Missouri. This is where The Green Devil caught my eye.

My grandfather frequented little old fashioned stores like this. He loved collecting all kinds of gadgets. Old movie posters, salt water taffy, and soda parlor paraphenalia. It was heaven on earth to him in this little corner of the world that was stuck in an older Ozark time. His house wasn't too dissimilar to a crackerbarrel gift shop. All kinds of wooden toys and dolls. He loved his little knickknacks. But on that day he found it. A copy of an old French absynthe poster with "the little green fairy" smirking at the viewer. He had to have it. It was being sold for $8! frame included! If only the seller knew the true value of it. Or how it's mere existence was breaking so many copyright laws.

Maurin Quina, as it's named, is a French apéritif advertisement painted by Leonetto Cappiello in 1906. The drink was made illegal soon after its creation. But this poster is now being reused today. It was not well known in the US at all back then. Not even in the 2000's. but my grandfather being a moonshiner, absynthe fan, and art history drop out, knew all about it.

My grandfather was not as religious as the rest of my family. But he sure prayed to God when he was trying to avoid the law. He was selling homemade moonshine without any sort of license or proper knowledge of sanitary practices. It was an arte form he learned from his father that I never had the pleasure of learning.

He decided to hang this new poster up in his storm cellar where he kept his aging bottles of various liquors. Over time it developed A life of its own. My grandfather would kiss his hand and place it on the poster of the little green fairy after every jar was sealed or sales were made. I Don't think he saw this as devil worship so much as just a simple good luck ritual. Not too disimilar to his high school basketball team kissing the image of their mascot before a game. He always practiced these superstitions even though he didn't seem to really believe in them.

Fast forward to today. I'm an Ozark trad witch. So of course I now work with this image as if it is the devil himself. He is a devil that rules spring and summer. Drunkenness, poison, lunacy, fairies, and nature. He is associated with law breaking, alcohol, healing, harming, and fertility. With Easter coming up He is on my mind heavily. A time I feed him red dyed eggs symbolizing the blood of christ and the blood of good Christians. I feed him this with intentions of causing those which share the eucharist to lust. Poisoning the church so to speak. I attend mass in spirit form and dip my blessed turkey wish bone down in the communion wine. The turkey is symbolic of love in the Ozarks. And the wishbone is horned like the stang, and my devil. Midnight mass on Easter is filled with drunkenness and sex. Those consuming this spiritually poisoned wine are consumed with lust for others in the church. An orgy ensues in the great house of God. Only for all members to awaken Easter morning with no memory of the incestuous rituals performed with their brothers and sisters in christ. To do such things in the house of God and not confess them (due to not remembering) is damanble. This is my goal as a witch. To bring the witches Sabbath to the church and to pervert the souls of good men.

By turkey wand and lustful stang I complete my work in the devils name.

A call to the Green Devil:

"Envy is his name. Drunkeness and poisoning are his arte. He is Lord of the little people and plants alike; come little green fairy and bring your lust and your lunacy. Green devil rise from the roots below like a serpent. Green devil come down from the tree tops like a booger in the night who takes its flight. Join me in this witching hour oh beast of the green and hear my call to the wild. By my witches flame may it be so."

Look out for a post on the black and red devils later this year. Our horned one changes with the seasons

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technofeudalism · 1 year ago

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ID:

An old-style poster inspired by Victorian advertising posters.

The scene shows a group of animals supporting a wooden shield to protect themselves from a rain of arrows symbolizing various oppressions. It takes place in a simple setting: a path that cuts through two beds of grass in which thistles are also growing. The view is from one of the beds and the shield is almost facing us. Finally, the scene is lit by a natural light coming from the left of the image and leaving shadows directed to the right.

In the foreground, arrows come from outside the image, from the left. Some are already frozen on the shield, others are still air. One is on the ground. The tips are made of grey metal, the shafts are also grey. The finial is long and white, inscriptions are written on it (in black, in a hand-drawn sans serif font) :

"sanism / sexism / queerphobia / racism / capitalism / ableism / imperialism"

The shield takes up almost half of the image. Shaped like a shield, it is made of light orange wood (from which one can guess the grooves and the boards) with a silver metal ring attached by a few nails. Its point is planted in the ground, at the level of the path, and it is maintained at the back by two pieces of dark brown wood with square section.

On the wooden part a text is painted in sans serif writing and drawn by hand, one can read: "mutual" (in light red with a black border) "aid" (in black) The whole reads "Mutual Aid". An anarcho-communist star (red and black 5-pointed star) is under the text. 2 small ornamental waves are on each side of the word "Aid".

Four animals can be seen stuck to the shield or extremely close:

• ⁠a puffin on the left side of the shield (you can only see a wing folded over the iron band and its head with its orange, yellow and black beak, pointing to the left of the image)

• ⁠a raccoon at the top of the shield (only its paws are seen resting on the iron ring and its black and white face is looking towards the viewer with an almost blasé look)

• ⁠a coypu on the right side of the shield, very slightly behind (its hair is light brown with white streaks, it looks in the direction of the spectator)

• ⁠a green and yellow frog towards the bottom of the shield, which seems to be running.

These animals form a kind of defense line (they support the shield which blocks the path) which is completed by large gray and rectangular blocks of stone, placed in the grassy areas.

Behind these animals, in the prolongation of the image (right side of the image) we can see a whole crowd of other animals whose features become confused the further we go from the shield. In the middle of the horns, ears, wings and other limbs, one can see banners, signs, torches or pitchforks brandished by the crowd. Among the animals that can be distinguished are:

• ⁠a deer hidden by the shield (whose antlers, one ear, chest and front legs can be guessed)

• ⁠a cow

• ⁠a grayish-yellow dog with a spot on its eye and holding a lever-action rifle on its shoulder

• ⁠a cat (of which only the upper left half of the body is visible, the rest being hidden by a bush and the frame of the image)

• ⁠a rabbit with a rifle

• a heron

The scene is completed by 2 large flags whose poles start behind the shield (at the level of the crowd) and whose fabrics float above the shield (on each side of the raccoon's head). The flag on the left is red, despite its folds we can read a text written in sans serif font drawn by hand: "commu...me" which corresponds to the word "Communisme" (Communism in French). The flag on the right is black, we can read the text "ANARCHIE" ("Anarchy" in French) written in black with a white outline.

Finally, the image ends with a block of text decorated with curves and fine linear patterns, located at the very top of the image. We can read the sentence "Solidarity is a Fight". The words "Solidarity" and "Fight" are written in a very large display font with pointed or fully curved serifs. The letters are two-colored red and black (horizontal cutting) and present a shading effect (offset on the right) represented by lines with hatchings. "Solidarity" is written in a wave shape while "Fight" is slightly tilted upwards.

The part of the sentence "is a" is written in a smaller font, in red with an internal shadow effect represented by black hatching and a darker area to the right of each letter.

[ credit: Loki Gwynbleidd - art and ID ]

#mutual aid #leftist flyers #anti capitalism

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