justghoulythingz

[justghoulythingz]

he can coop on my howard til i fallout if you know what i mean

🛒shop prints + posters on my etsy! 🎨patrons also got early access + behind the scenes content for this piece!

detail shot under the cut 👇

#ghoul #fanart #uhh hmm haaa is this seat taken gunslinger #sling that gun this way babe

[justghoulythingz]

𝐌𝐞𝐝𝐚'𝐬 𝐅𝐢𝐜 𝐑𝐞𝐜𝐨𝐦𝐦𝐞𝐧𝐝𝐚𝐭𝐢𝐨𝐧 𝐑𝐨𝐮𝐧𝐝𝐮𝐩

Hey, all!! So. I talk a lot about how terrible I am about getting around to reading the fics in my drafts. My attempt to combat this is compiling monthly roundups of all that I've read, loved, and reblogged. This month brought a new character into my pantheon of madness: Cooper Howard.

But the overall theme for this month has been discovery. I'm very stubborn about reading. When I find a favorite, I'll reread it to death. So I really tried to broaden my horizons and found so many writers I'd never read from before. I've been pleased to add some more to my dragon's hoard of favorites lmao. Thank you to all the writers I sent asks to inquiring about their favorite works of theirs. I've still got a few more of them to peruse through but I'm super excited to get to them!!

I've got a little symbol system listed below to label what each one contains but make sure heed to the individual warnings before reading. Please remember to reblog and send some love to all of these writers as they're all massively talented and deserve the attention!!

♡ – fluff. ♤ – angst. ♢ – smut.

𝐂𝐨𝐨𝐩𝐞𝐫 𝐇𝐨𝐰𝐚𝐫𝐝/𝐓𝐡𝐞 𝐆𝐡𝐨𝐮𝐥

♡♤♢ time, wondrous time by @beskarandblasters

♡♢ curled smoke and gossamer clouds by @justghoulythingz

♢ run rabbit run by @ghoulphile

♢ saddle up, sweetheart by @ghoulbrain

♤♢ animal instinct by @ghoulbrain

𝐃𝐚𝐯𝐞 𝐘𝐨𝐫𝐤

♤♢ this godforsaken mess by @agentmarcuspike

𝐉𝐨𝐞𝐥 𝐌𝐢𝐥𝐥𝐞𝐫

♡♢ love tap by @gutsby

♢ summer love by @vivian-pascal

𝐓𝐞𝐬𝐬 𝐒𝐞𝐫𝐯𝐨𝐩𝐨𝐥𝐨𝐮𝐬

♤♢ aurora by @5oh5

𝐓𝐢𝐦 𝐑𝐨𝐜𝐤𝐟𝐨𝐫𝐝

♢ hold tight by @sin-djarin

#EXCUSE ME?! #this is so sweet ARE YOU KIDDING!!! #thank you thank you thank you!! and thank you for the recommendations 🥹 #AMY I SEE YOU ON HERE TWICE LOOK AT YOU GO 😍 #AHHHHH I AM! beyond flattered 🥰

[justghoulythingz]

BARB HOWARD + LYRICS - epic iii / hadestown — it was like you were holding the world when you held her, like yours were the arms that the whole world was in.

#barb howard #when she first appeared on screen i was ENAMORED #need her to step on me as many times as she sees fit

[justghoulythingz]

i truly don’t know how to respond to this in a way that would correctly convey my emotions, but i will, at the very least, say thank you so much for reading and sharing your thoughts. it means the fucking world to me 😭🥺🖤

curled smoke and gossamer clouds

an au in which you and cooper howard get snug as a bug in a rug inside a photo-booth at the county fair.

pairing : cooper howard/afab reader

word count : 1.3k

warnings : sentimental horniness, finger banging in a confined space, desperate grinding, light praise kink, cooper being a genuinely kind, suave motherfucker. 18+, mdni

writing tag

gif credit

divider credit

The photo-booth is a snug fit, perfect for two adults enjoying an evening straight out of their youth. You taste like cotton candy and he smells like cigarettes. A contrast that melts into one another smoothly, painting a picture of curled smoke and gossamer clouds.

His words are spun sugar in your ear, your laughter hoarse and secretive in his.

“‘Member the first fair we went to?” Cooper reminisces, tracing circles along your abdomen.

Your initial pose is looming, so you stare at the lens, anticipation for more (always more) of him beginning behind your ribs and spanning your limbs.

You make sure to smile before you answer, the timer moving faster than the leisurely pace at which you like to experience these moments.

Outside, you hear muffled conversations and the buzzing of insects. It’s industrious farm land and the pleasures of city life combined. An eight o’clock hue beneath the curtain. Summer.

Every day is a summer’s night with Cooper Howard.

“God, I was so nervous,” you finally reply, and the deep rumble of his own laughter tickles your backside.

His thighs flex. As they distract you, pressed so tightly to yours that they’ve started to stick, one of his hands slips through the dense humidity to caress the front of your hip.

You twitch. He grins, award-winning. Your heart demands an encore.

“Scared outta your wits by a harebrained ranch hand, were ya?” he teases, peppering kisses along your throat, the shell of your ear. Right where you feel the thunder of the ocean.

The second photograph captures your full-tooth smile, glancing toward the floor, his smirk buried in your throat.

“Who is this harebrained ranch hand you’re referrin’ to? Because I distinctly remember a very determined teenage boy who excelled at everything he put his mind to. Hell, you even got me t’talk. Remember how mousy I was?”

Your speech warms him, igniting a flame, a match struck by fingertips grazing the sinew of your inner thigh. You inhale as if sparks flew directly from its tautness. He speaks against your straining tendons, watching you swallow.

“I can still make ya squeak, darlin’,” he purrs, nuzzling the bridge of his nose into you. A fever passes on to the sweet softness of your lower belly, fluttering like the wings on the other side of this maroon curtain.

In retaliation, you roll your eyes and your hips, hard. Cooper groans, his other hand sliding upward toward the curve of your swathed breast.

“‘Sides, y’weren’t mousy. Jus’ selective. I felt pretty damn lucky y’chose t’have me in your winner’s circle. You were always someone I wanted t’impress.”

You sigh contentedly: charmed, transported, as the third picture snaps.

“Coop,” you breathe, lips ghosting his. He lifts the hem of your dress, its airy texture silken against the heat dampening your skin. “You’re a naturally impressive person. Never had t’try so hard.”

He roams the length of your body, squeezing you, dipping lithe fingers between your clenched thighs. Your underwear is like a glistening veneer of dew blanketing early morning grass. His dull nails split your supple folds through the white fabric, stroking you lovingly.

The gaze you’re met with is rife with affection, adoration, ardor. Witnessing how you unfurl within its grove; how alluring you appear, how beautiful he is; causes your stomach to seize. It clamps down around everything and nothing and suddenly thaws.

The tranquility of winter, then the newness of spring.

You moan quietly, tenderly. All for him.

He stiffens underneath the pressure you provide, solidifying the more noise you make, the more you squirm.

“I wanted to.” Cooper’s voice echoes that smoker’s rasp, an amorous break. “I already told y’that. I want to. For you- ain’t that what you want? A fella who aims for your sky an’ doesn’t miss a single speck?”

Instinctively, you swallow him whole with your outstretched pupils. He lulls and stimulates you, grip on his pant leg firm, yielding, firm, yielding.

He finds specks you neglected to name. Reaches somewhere beyond the pines and hits the overwhelming enormity of space. Somehow, he makes it seem attainable.

“I want you, no matter what sky you’re aimin’ for.”

The fourth and final still is as intimate as a carnation fastened to the lapel of a school boy’s jacket, restless as he waits for his prom date at the bottom of the stairs. Dodging scrutinizing glances from her parents. Complexion reflecting streaks of sunlight as he follows her descent, standing straighter, shoulders pinned behind him.

There’s no one else in the room.

You have your arms around Cooper, drawing him closer until whatever gap remains is filled entirely with avid mouths and Elysian Fields. You live and die as many times as you devour and bring him back, returning hungrily to the parting of his lips while he delves between yours.

“Well, right now,” he grunts against you, accelerating, shifting, sneaking digits inside your panties. “I’m fixin’ for you t’cum. All over this pretty, pretty dress.”

He slots a finger beneath one of your straps, eluding the shawl decorating your shoulders, and playfully snaps it against your kindled flesh.

“All over me.”

Words are trapped in your chest as you nod. Anticipation and longing hang in the expanse of tongue and cheek, lingering like a raw scratch in the throat.

You whimper, almost wounded, as he massages your panty line, pinching and fondling the elastic like he hasn’t already made an incredible mess of you. Like you aren’t about to be ravaged inside a very small, very public photo-booth.

You are his sole focus as he ultimately succumbs to your shared desire, jaw clenching and pointing toward the ceiling while staring you down the heavy lids of his eyes.

Panting, you spread as wide as limited room allows, scuffing one of your kitten heels on the ground below. It scrapes along solid surface, sending tremors up your calf toward the tingling of your scalp, pulled by the roots.

He nods out of encouragement, mouthing whispered praises of that’s it, baby, that’s it, dulcet tones making you wetter, your release steadily building.

Like he’s aiming for.

Holding you stable, Cooper’s opposite palm fastens to your lower back, clutching you, feeling the rigidity of your spine bump into his fingertips. Added weight shoots directly to your cunt, squeezing his middle and ring finger, coaxing a breathless moan from his lungs.

“Fuck. Yes. Gettin’ close. C’mon, sugar. Gimme somethin’ sweet t’taste.”

He throbs beneath you, undulating, thrusting the littlest bit upward. You salivate at the mere imprint of his intoxicating arousal, giving him friction as you rock back and forth.

Driving him deeper inside, his thumb swirls your clit and you dip backward, exposing the slender column of your throat.

Seizing the opportunity, he sinks his head into your open, thrumming chest, cleavage cushioning and hardening him further. Fingers work faster, applying ample pressure that gathers in your belly and blossoms, stemming to each and every inaccessible part.

Your strangled gasps, both of you attempting to keep these matters private, blend and bleed together as your orgasm plunges outside of you, gushing all over the digits that gradually still.

Cooper doesn’t wait for your heart to cease its racket. He leans away and leaves you empty, a stream of restrained essence draining from you and onto his lap.

He pops fingers into his mouth, one by one, including his thumb. Humming satisfactorily, he samples them like he’s on his fourth course. Then he offers you to yourself.

You observe him past a rose-colored haze, cotton-candy film. Gripping his wrist, you bring his center digit to your lips first, wrapping your tongue around its length, moaning as the salty summer air of you brushes your senses. Tar from his cigarettes mingle with what you originally picked up on, easing in like banter on a date.

Cooper reminds you that he loves you. Loves watching you enjoy yourself. Loves being the cause of it.

You return the sentiment, reluctant to untangle your body from his. You’ve already tangled up this booth much longer than necessary.

You are, however, excited to see how the pictures turned out.

#fic reblog

[justghoulythingz]

your feedback means so much to me, thank you! i just needed to write something sweet about our favorite cowboy. he is summer personified to me. i’m so glad you liked it!! 🥹🖤

curled smoke and gossamer clouds

an au in which you and cooper howard get snug as a bug in a rug inside a photo-booth at the county fair.

pairing : cooper howard/afab reader

word count : 1.3k

warnings : sentimental horniness, finger banging in a confined space, desperate grinding, light praise kink, cooper being a genuinely kind, suave motherfucker. 18+, mdni

writing tag

gif credit

divider credit

The photo-booth is a snug fit, perfect for two adults enjoying an evening straight out of their youth. You taste like cotton candy and he smells like cigarettes. A contrast that melts into one another smoothly, painting a picture of curled smoke and gossamer clouds.

His words are spun sugar in your ear, your laughter hoarse and secretive in his.

“‘Member the first fair we went to?” Cooper reminisces, tracing circles along your abdomen.

Your initial pose is looming, so you stare at the lens, anticipation for more (always more) of him beginning behind your ribs and spanning your limbs.

You make sure to smile before you answer, the timer moving faster than the leisurely pace at which you like to experience these moments.

Outside, you hear muffled conversations and the buzzing of insects. It’s industrious farm land and the pleasures of city life combined. An eight o’clock hue beneath the curtain. Summer.

Every day is a summer’s night with Cooper Howard.

“God, I was so nervous,” you finally reply, and the deep rumble of his own laughter tickles your backside.

His thighs flex. As they distract you, pressed so tightly to yours that they’ve started to stick, one of his hands slips through the dense humidity to caress the front of your hip.

You twitch. He grins, award-winning. Your heart demands an encore.

“Scared outta your wits by a harebrained ranch hand, were ya?” he teases, peppering kisses along your throat, the shell of your ear. Right where you feel the thunder of the ocean.

The second photograph captures your full-tooth smile, glancing toward the floor, his smirk buried in your throat.

“Who is this harebrained ranch hand you’re referrin’ to? Because I distinctly remember a very determined teenage boy who excelled at everything he put his mind to. Hell, you even got me t’talk. Remember how mousy I was?”

Your speech warms him, igniting a flame, a match struck by fingertips grazing the sinew of your inner thigh. You inhale as if sparks flew directly from its tautness. He speaks against your straining tendons, watching you swallow.

“I can still make ya squeak, darlin’,” he purrs, nuzzling the bridge of his nose into you. A fever passes on to the sweet softness of your lower belly, fluttering like the wings on the other side of this maroon curtain.

In retaliation, you roll your eyes and your hips, hard. Cooper groans, his other hand sliding upward toward the curve of your swathed breast.

“‘Sides, y’weren’t mousy. Jus’ selective. I felt pretty damn lucky y’chose t’have me in your winner’s circle. You were always someone I wanted t’impress.”

You sigh contentedly: charmed, transported, as the third picture snaps.

“Coop,” you breathe, lips ghosting his. He lifts the hem of your dress, its airy texture silken against the heat dampening your skin. “You’re a naturally impressive person. Never had t’try so hard.”

He roams the length of your body, squeezing you, dipping lithe fingers between your clenched thighs. Your underwear is like a glistening veneer of dew blanketing early morning grass. His dull nails split your supple folds through the white fabric, stroking you lovingly.

The gaze you’re met with is rife with affection, adoration, ardor. Witnessing how you unfurl within its grove; how alluring you appear, how beautiful he is; causes your stomach to seize. It clamps down around everything and nothing and suddenly thaws.

The tranquility of winter, then the newness of spring.

You moan quietly, tenderly. All for him.

He stiffens underneath the pressure you provide, solidifying the more noise you make, the more you squirm.

“I wanted to.” Cooper’s voice echoes that smoker’s rasp, an amorous break. “I already told y’that. I want to. For you- ain’t that what you want? A fella who aims for your sky an’ doesn’t miss a single speck?”

Instinctively, you swallow him whole with your outstretched pupils. He lulls and stimulates you, grip on his pant leg firm, yielding, firm, yielding.

He finds specks you neglected to name. Reaches somewhere beyond the pines and hits the overwhelming enormity of space. Somehow, he makes it seem attainable.

“I want you, no matter what sky you’re aimin’ for.”

The fourth and final still is as intimate as a carnation fastened to the lapel of a school boy’s jacket, restless as he waits for his prom date at the bottom of the stairs. Dodging scrutinizing glances from her parents. Complexion reflecting streaks of sunlight as he follows her descent, standing straighter, shoulders pinned behind him.

There’s no one else in the room.

You have your arms around Cooper, drawing him closer until whatever gap remains is filled entirely with avid mouths and Elysian Fields. You live and die as many times as you devour and bring him back, returning hungrily to the parting of his lips while he delves between yours.

“Well, right now,” he grunts against you, accelerating, shifting, sneaking digits inside your panties. “I’m fixin’ for you t’cum. All over this pretty, pretty dress.”

He slots a finger beneath one of your straps, eluding the shawl decorating your shoulders, and playfully snaps it against your kindled flesh.

“All over me.”

Words are trapped in your chest as you nod. Anticipation and longing hang in the expanse of tongue and cheek, lingering like a raw scratch in the throat.

You whimper, almost wounded, as he massages your panty line, pinching and fondling the elastic like he hasn’t already made an incredible mess of you. Like you aren’t about to be ravaged inside a very small, very public photo-booth.

You are his sole focus as he ultimately succumbs to your shared desire, jaw clenching and pointing toward the ceiling while staring you down the heavy lids of his eyes.

Panting, you spread as wide as limited room allows, scuffing one of your kitten heels on the ground below. It scrapes along solid surface, sending tremors up your calf toward the tingling of your scalp, pulled by the roots.

He nods out of encouragement, mouthing whispered praises of that’s it, baby, that’s it, dulcet tones making you wetter, your release steadily building.

Like he’s aiming for.

Holding you stable, Cooper’s opposite palm fastens to your lower back, clutching you, feeling the rigidity of your spine bump into his fingertips. Added weight shoots directly to your cunt, squeezing his middle and ring finger, coaxing a breathless moan from his lungs.

“Fuck. Yes. Gettin’ close. C’mon, sugar. Gimme somethin’ sweet t’taste.”

He throbs beneath you, undulating, thrusting the littlest bit upward. You salivate at the mere imprint of his intoxicating arousal, giving him friction as you rock back and forth.

Driving him deeper inside, his thumb swirls your clit and you dip backward, exposing the slender column of your throat.

Seizing the opportunity, he sinks his head into your open, thrumming chest, cleavage cushioning and hardening him further. Fingers work faster, applying ample pressure that gathers in your belly and blossoms, stemming to each and every inaccessible part.

Your strangled gasps, both of you attempting to keep these matters private, blend and bleed together as your orgasm plunges outside of you, gushing all over the digits that gradually still.

Cooper doesn’t wait for your heart to cease its racket. He leans away and leaves you empty, a stream of restrained essence draining from you and onto his lap.

He pops fingers into his mouth, one by one, including his thumb. Humming satisfactorily, he samples them like he’s on his fourth course. Then he offers you to yourself.

You observe him past a rose-colored haze, cotton-candy film. Gripping his wrist, you bring his center digit to your lips first, wrapping your tongue around its length, moaning as the salty summer air of you brushes your senses. Tar from his cigarettes mingle with what you originally picked up on, easing in like banter on a date.

Cooper reminds you that he loves you. Loves watching you enjoy yourself. Loves being the cause of it.

You return the sentiment, reluctant to untangle your body from his. You’ve already tangled up this booth much longer than necessary.

You are, however, excited to see how the pictures turned out.

#fic reblog

[justghoulythingz]

y’all… i need to stop collecting walton characters before it gets too out of hand. deputy steve naish has been heavy on my mind. i’ve been itching to write a little horror anyway.

#lee is still there I JUST NEED THE MOTIVATION AGAIN AGH #how do we feel about an unhinged reader giving him the ride of his life before his untimely demise #better than the slow shot we got of otis shooting him point blank lmao #HE JUST GAVE UP I AM SOBBING #anyway woof #need to exorcise this demon

[justghoulythingz]

RAWHIDE - cooper howard x barb howard - 1.6k - request for @tearueful trigger warning for; sub!cooper, dom!barb, femdom, subspace, hair-pulling, edging, spanking, tease & denial, praise kink, finger sucking, dirty talk, this is a romp honestly note: this is an inbox request, prompt: ❛ ah, ah- don’t touch. ❜

She’s in his head, telling him to stop fucking his fist. But Barb is the one stuck in traffic, being late is usually Cooper’s job. He certainly copes with it differently, all alone with his bad decisions.

Will she pity him? God, he hopes so. His wife is in his empty brain, telling him to stop thinking with his hard cock. So impatient, and doesn’t she expect better? 

Cooper audibly whines, Janey’s at her first sleepover and he doesn’t have to be quiet. Doesn’t mean he’s proud of what comes out, but he won’t be caught. 

It’s Friday night, Barb should be here. Why isn’t she here? He can be good, but it’s such a bitch when it’s not easy. And he’s so hard. His dick has a heartbeat, thudding against his palm. On instinct, he pumps his fist and then squeezes until it hurts. Otherwise he’s going to cum all over the rug. 

He wants all of Barb, but then he wants her pussy. Rubbing himself while he can taste her is heaven, nothing better than being of use. And when he’s good he’s rewarded.

Cooper is not being good. He’s humping his hand and thinking she wore the peach dress this morning. Love how her ass looks in that dress. Hugs the curve just right. Sit in his lap, please let her sit in his lap.

She won’t if she sees him like this. He pushes off the couch, sinking to his tired knees and pressing his forehead against the coffee table. If he’s good enough and patient he can ask for things. He only wants to please her. 

And she knows it, which is her bargaining chip. Overwhelming Cooper Howard is very easy, let him off the leash and don’t touch him. He knows what to do. He spreads his knees, keeping them together is painful. 

She’s in his head saying, “Ah, ah, don’t touch, remember?” when his wrist won’t obey. Trained him so good, he does the discipline all by himself.

He puts his fingers in his mouth, the other hand resting flat on his thigh. The glass against his skin is cool and grounding, enough of a tether. He just has to wait, just a little bit. And won’t she be proud that he can occupy himself, without breaking rules?

Bites his fingers a little, can’t help it. Barb doesn’t mind nibbling within reason, the oral stimulation dulls the mindless urge to rut. He feels good, feels owned. Not his to touch, it’s hers. It’s all hers.

He can’t move, hears the lock click and the door open but this is his fixing point. He’s clinging to the table, angry cock starting to flag for lack of stimulation. Not a lot of time for relief, he twitches at the sound of heels on the hardwood.

“Sit up on your knees,” Barb says. Then, “Hi, honey. I’m home.”

He does partly as he’s told, he overthinks it. Lurches up and twists around to look at her, fingers still in his mouth. Mrs Howard drops her purse on the armchair and cups the back of his head, pressing Cooper’s ear against the table. Bent over, pushing his knees wider apart to keep his balance. 

“Like that,” she says. Doesn’t expect an answer, sweet puppy’s mouth is still occupied. “Have you been touching what’s mine?”

He’s not a liar, Cooper nods. Hate the sin, love the sinner. Throws himself on his wife’s mercy and hopes he looks pathetic enough for whatever she thinks he deserves. He cuts a hapless figure, his fly open and his fingers on his tongue. He feels so much the room is spinning.

His body responds to the slightest touch, the tip of his dick flushing red. Drooling precome that threatens her clean carpet. Barb squats beside him, reaching between his legs and mopping up a milk-coloured drop before it can fall. She barely touches him, but he bites down hard. 

“Hands out of your mouth,” she instructs. He hasn’t said a word, doesn’t need to. She knows what she’s late for, poor baby. 

Barb replaces his fingers with hers, which makes the transition easier. He tastes like salt and metal, focuses on cleaning what he’s given.

“Talk to me,” she gives clear, simple orders. Takes her hand away so he has no choice but to answer.

“Missed you,” he warbles. Barb’s smile is so beautiful. “Good day?”

“It was frustrating,” she admits. His brow furrows. “I’m glad I didn’t catch you practicing self-love. I’m a little pent-up.”

He lurches when her fingers brush his sac, giving the handful of delicate nerves a light squeeze. Barb adds, “So are you.” 

“Need it bad,” he nods. “Want you to ride me.”

“Have you been good enough for that?” His wife asks.

“Then lemme eat you out, make you come ‘til I’ve earned it.” He pants.

“You’ll take a spanking first, I think,” she tells him.

“Yes, ma’am,” he voices obedience but his hips jerk forward involuntarily.

“Trousers down, no touching anything else,” she says. “How many strokes did you steal?”

The easiest part is what she tells him to do, but Cooper’s huffing like a dog by the time her soft palm fans over his bare ass. He almost forgets the question, before, “Twenty, t-twenty,” spills out.

She blinks, asks, “Are you being honest?”

“Need it to hurt,” he whimpers, “I’m real sorry.”

“I know,” Barb sighs, which is the nicer way of saying he will be. The truth is way less than twenty, but she seems impressed with his choice. 

Barb pets her hand over his left cheek, tracing circles with her nails to give rise to goosebumps. The anticipation sits heavier in his gut than the pain. His glutes tense on instinct, nervous and sensitive. 

She cups her palm before the first swat, so the sound is harsher than the sting. He still keens anyway, like it hurts so bad. What a baby. 

He hugs his arms tight around his knees, bucking towards the pain source. It’s cute, the way he keens like a puppy when he’s struck. But he doesn’t protest his punishment, accepts it as a necessary part of goodness. 

Ten spanks leave his ass warm to the touch and faintly pink. By eighteen the skin is a soft red and radiating heat. Poor love, still arching his back. If she isn’t quick enough his hips will sometimes buck towards an imaginary impact, mindfucking him is too easy.

Barb waits on the last two swats, drawing it out by rubbing her hands over his cheeks. Pressing enough that Cooper hisses. Her hands are cool and sturdy, soft and firm at the same time. She blows a thin stream of breath over his sensitive flesh. 

“You ain’t done,” he whines, his way of begging for the last of the pain. Aftercare is his favourite part, she knows, but there’s no rush. “Don’t— don’t pet ‘til it’s done.”

“I do what I want,” Barb replies, “it looks like it stings a little.”

“Uh huh,” he mindlessly agrees. 

“I can make it sting a lot,” it’s not a threat, more a singsong promise that Cooper jumps on immediately. 

“Please,” his favourite is after the pain, but he still likes pain. “Then—"

“Then I’ll hold you and pet you, yes.” She assures him, his cheek is still flush to the coffee table. Big, green eyes welling up with loving tears. 

“An’ I can eat you out,” he insists. 

“Later,” Barb coos, “Don’t tense up too much, I’ll be gentle.”

She cups his sac in her hand again, but doesn’t squeeze. No pain yet, she just appreciates the weight and lets his mind eat itself a little. Cooper flinches, his muscles flutter in anticipation. 

“C’mon,” he whines. “Got two more.”

“Mhm,” Barb says, and she lets her hand fall less carefully. So the heel of her palm hits his balls as well as his ass.

Cooper doesn’t scream but he wants to, especially when she does it again. Gentler, but full contact. He wants to ask for twenty more, to really earn the way she’s whispering in his ear.

“My good boy,” she’s smiling, he can hear it in her voice. “You did it, how are you feeling?”

“M’right there,” he begs. He’s deep. He’s close. He’sclosehe’sclosehe’s— “Don’ touch me, I’ll—“

Barb listens. It’s too much, she can hear it in his cracking voice. She holds the back of his neck, coaxing his face away from the table.

“Come here,” she guides his cheek to her collarbone, placing kisses to the top of his head. “Yes, right here, be careful how you sit.”

His ass hurts, not terribly. Twenty hits is nothing, but she’s never touched his balls like that. He didn’t know pain could feel so good. His cock is leaking on his stomach, he cants his hips towards her belly. 

“Fuck my mouth,” he remembers his promise. Before he got greedy and needed correction. “Gonna eat you out ‘til you scream. Please, god. Please.”

“We’ll get to that, you need to breathe.” She says. He doesn’t want to, pressing himself against her as close as he can. 

She reaches between his awkwardly-splayed legs, giving two languid strokes before he gets her hand all wet. He doesn’t make a sound as he comes, maybe he’s too scared.

“You had permission,” Barb knows that broken look on his face, the fear of being bad. “It’s all right, did that feel good?”

“Love you,” he’s floating somewhere safe, barely registering that they’re still sitting on the living room floor. He’s in her lap, he’s where he belongs.

His wife kisses his brow, she says, “I love you too.”

#cooper howard #barb howard #cooper howard x barb howard #fic rec #HOLY FUCK #i was throbbing with him ngl #i could FEEL his ache #like literally taste it #obsessed with this dynamic thank you

[justghoulythingz]

Um I don't know if anyone's requested this yet but uh.... The Ghoul x Reader cockwarming? 😳 Maybe she's being punished and has to sit in his lap... And we all know how patient Cooper can be.

oooh omg yes!! 👀💖 I couldn’t stop thinking about this!!

— he’s a demon, he’s a devil

cooper howard | the ghoul x f!reader

rated e | 900 words

tags: power dynamics, cock warming, begging, mirrors, punishment, references to rough piv & overstim

“Stop your squirmin’.”

Cooper’s voice is harsh - a hot fan of breath in your ear, as his fingers tighten against your hips, “Supposed to be your punishment, for runnin' off like that.”

Too curious, too foolhardy. You hadn’t meant to leave his sight, but the pull of the empty house and the possibility of food inside had been too great.

He had been furious with you - bared teeth and snarling when you’d nearly upset a nest of radscorpions.

“Teach you a little somethin’ about patience.”

Teeth nip at your neck, then - a reminder to pay attention to what he’s telling you. Knowing that your mind is currently more occupied with much more pressing matters.

Like how he has your thighs spread wide, hooked over is. Unmoving for some unknown amount of time now - you’re not sure if it’s been minutes, or if time has been creeping closer to an hour.

It’s almost as if time has no meaning for him. As if it stopped ticking a long time ago.

Content to keep you here, just like this.

But all you can think about is the thick stretch of him inside you. Stuffing you to the brim while three fingers tuck against possessively against your cunt.

Two split to frame, the middle pressed right up against the tight, slick bud of your clit. Just enough pressure to keep you leaking around him, wound up.

Pinching, whenever you move. A silent warning.

You wonder if he can feel your pulse. The rapid racing of your heart, how it flutters behind your ribs. How much you need him.

The rough texture of his skin nudges against your walls each time you squirm - an effort to feel him move, just a little. Exactly what he was scolding you about now.

It’s not your fault. You’re not used to this.

Too used to him taking. Cruel thrusts that seem to carve you out from the inside, only so he can fill you himself.

Bruises that match the grip of his fingers, denting your skin. The too much of him giving you one, and then another, and the one more - just to hear the way you beg, only to turn around and sob with overstimulation.

This withholding - it is more torture than you can say.

Your toes curl inside your boots. Fingers pinching against your bare thighs, nails biting into your palms until they leave crescent-moon marks.

Trying to ignore the brush of his broad chest against your back as he breathes. The rough sound of it in your ear, making you shiver - resting the urge to clench down around him, because he will feel it and he will know.

Even trying to distract yourself brings no relief.

The room is plain - yellowed peeling wallpaper, a sun-bleached floor, broken furniture. The patterns all ones your eyes have already grown tired of tracing over.

Always going back to tipped-over vanity against the wall, the mirror spider-web cracked in its frame. It’s impossible not to look into it, at your angle.

To be drawn to it.

To the spread of his thighs reflected within, the lean stretch of his legs in the oversized chair. Fractures of where he splits you open. The broad cup of his weathered hand. The thick base of him, his sack beneath hanging full and shining with your slick, where it’s dripped down from your pussy.

Seven years bad luck, and right now it feels like you’re the one that broke it.

His fingers twitch and you can’t bite the soft moan back, as it slips from your throat. The slightest buck of your hips before the hand at your waist tightens. Pinning you firmly against him with a growled-out warning.

“Don’t make me start over.”

The thought of that has your heart plummeting, your words coming in a rush.

“No, I’ll be good. I’m sorry-” You beg, voice pitching up with your whine.

He clicks his tongue, and you swear you can almost feel him throb inside you.

“Are you, now? ‘m not so sure.” He rasps, “Can feel just how much your cunt wants to squeeze me. She’s aching’ for it’, ain’t she?”

A low drawl, as his fingers press slightly against you again in a cruel tease. Trying to coax you into moving again, though this time you try hard to stay still.

But you still can’t help the desperation that tinges your words, the syllable drawn-out.

“Please-”

The hum he makes is paired with a long sigh of mock-disappointment. As if this is torture, in any way, for him. As if he’s not getting off to it.

Just how needy you are for him. Testing the limits of your obedience.

“Maybe when I see some tears leakin’, sweetheart.” Cooper husks, his drawl making each word come out syrupy-slow. Sealing your fate.

“Then I’ll know you’ve learned somethin’.”

The ragged sound you make is pathetic.

Eyes flitting to the mirror again, and they meet his this time - a kaleidoscope of hazel in the cracked pieces of glass.

Where he’s been keeping an eye on you this whole time. Each greedy glance at where you’re joined, every shift of your hips.

Cooper hums, a rough sound of amusement, when he sees your expression. A silent answer with the tilt of his head, a sharp peek of teeth.

It tells you that you can whine all you want.

He has all fuckin’ day.

thank you so much for sending this in!! so perfect for him! 💖

#ghoul #ghoul x reader #fic rec #good GOD i am a MESS #the mirror reflecting your bodies back to you is so fucking perfect #seven years bad luck line got me acting the fuck up #gorgeous gorgeous gorgeous

[justghoulythingz]

#ghoul #uhhh hmmm ahhh wow #jesus i just #i’m that venom meme #giving him the opportunity to become a hero #DBNSSJAKAJAISJSJ

[justghoulythingz]

petition for the ghoul to show some tit and forearms in season 2 (and be a damsel in distress) ref

#ghoul #fanart #FUCK FUCK FUUUUCKKKK #i need ghoul tiddy asap #gimme the goods (literally) amazon #fuck and the rolled sleeves 😩 #i need to lie down #preferably on them dirty pillows NXNSNSJS

[justghoulythingz]

it's always the quiet ones | c.h./the ghoul

➥ pairing | pre-war cooper howard/the ghoul x f!reader ➥ word count | 700 ➥ warning(s) | 🔞 smut; oral (m receiving), throat fucking, choking, dirty talk, bathroom sex ➥ summary | based off this ask; We can see that Cooper tends to go for good girls (like @ghoulfuckersincorporated mentioned!), but what if he ran into a seemingly innocent - or at the very least kind - person… but they dirty talk like a sinner in the sack? ➥ notes | i humbly offer this drabble to @gingersforeverbox 🙈 masterlist | feel free to send in thots, questions, requests! | feedback is always appreciated ❤️

It’s always the quiet ones, isn’t it?

At least, that’s what Cooper’s mama always said (and he wouldn’t know how right she was until he found himself shoved in a swanky club bathroom, slacks tucked under his ass as the prettiest — politest — lady choked herself with his cock).

Frankly, how he got here’s a hazy blur of bourbon and cigar smoke.

Whispered conversations and coy looks. The flash of cherry red nails, and a well timed head tilt; a pretty little thing cozied against him as nameless faces passed in and out of view.

Another pointless after party (though far smaller of an event than he used to pull) where vultures circled the room, waiting for their chance to pick at his bones. LA devotee’s ready to snap up the scraps of the once great Cooper Howard.

Dog eat dog; he couldn’t stand the petty games —the mindless indulgences.

So, he’d invited you as a buffer.

An acquaintanceship that’d gone back years, having met on set of one of his earlier productions, you were always cordial and had a kind word to say about anybody. Not a mean bone in that body… or so he’d thought.

Now, he’s not so sure he knows you half as well as he thought he did.

“Fuck!”

Air hisses through his teeth, his hands hovering over the sides of your head, unsure where to grip. Your hair looks awfully pretty (like it took a long time to force into shape), he’d hate to ruin the style. But if you keep trying to suck his soul out through his cock, he might just have to sink his fingers into those delicate curls and yank.

“S-Sweetheart, what are you — oh, ssshit.”

You peer up at him from beneath the spiky fan of your lashes and hum. His hips jump and you choke, your tongue pinned as your teeth scrape along his thick shaft.

Spit drips past your swollen lips, clings to your chin in sticky strings. The lower half of your face is a mess of smeared lipstick and pre-cum.

He pants, gazing down at you with awe. “How’re you so fucking good at this?”

He’s so big, stretching your mouth to the limit. A tender ache sets behind the hinge of your jaw, tears pricking at the corners of your eyes.

Those half-lidded eyes, dark and hungry, make it all worth it. The slack circle of his mouth, the pained furrow of his brows as he wrestles with his self control all the payment you require.

You pop off; trace along the throbbing vein with your tongue as the heavy weight of his cock slips free with a wet suction. Your thighs clench and your toes curl in your heels at the low-throated groan punched from his chest.

“Practice makes perfect, don’t you think, Mr Howard?” you press a sloppy kiss to his leaking slit, lapping up the salty beads of fluid. Your fingers roll his balls, dragging the tips of your nails along the sensitive skin to watch him shiver. “Besides, I’ve seen how you look at me.”

His eyes flick off to the side, blowing wide once he catches your reflections in the mirror. He gulps, his knuckles white beside his hips. “I don’t know what you’re talking about, sweetheart.”

“Please, spare me.”

You snort, roll your eyes and shoot him a catty grin. Laugh when his cock throbs at the teasing flash of your tongue.

“You’re sweet — as true a gentleman as they come — but you can’t fool me. You’ve wanted me since you met me... and I don't get my best dress dirty for just anyone.”

“...”

“Now, before you try to say otherwise, remember whose on their knees with your cock in their mouth.”

“...No. Y-You’re right but I… I shouldn’t want to.”

You wink, circle the crown of his head with a red nail. More pre-cum dribbles from the slit, sticky drops you kiss away with your tongue.

“It’s okay, Mr Howard,” you say. “I want you too. Now do us both a favor and fuck my throat until I can’t talk. Please, I want it to hurt — want you to make me cry.”

#cooper howard #cooper howard x reader #fic rec #my crops are watered my skin is clear my head is SPINNING LIKE I’M IN THE EXORCIST #coop is FLABBERGASTED and i am too #your writing is impeccable i wanna put a cherry on top of it and call it my dessert #the tables were in fact turned and he was not ready for the force of nature behind it UGH yes #so fucking nuanced 🖤

[justghoulythingz]

honestly tho!!! the whole born to die paradise edish is such cooper vibes. off to the races is the one i fixate on the most for coop. and i know its basically the novel lolita in song form but ughhh fuck it makes me crazy thinking about cooper on the run with his pretty baby and they’re both obsessed with each other and also the worst versions of themselves lol idk dude i’m stoned but this is my vision

but you’re so right!!!! your stoned vision is appearing to me wrapped in sparkling diamonds and frayed rope and a yearning to have it all while also content with the simplicities life has to offer. having someone to share that with, to spoil even if that means being humbled, to hold close in the night when it inevitably gets cold, to lock fuck me eyes from across the room until there is no other choice but to take this rodeo to the cramped bathroom stall and spill pent up aggression into every available hole until legs shake and eventually give out.

YEAH YEAH YEAH i need (even more so) painfully human cooper and all the mistakes he can make. but guess what? you aren’t one of them. 🥹

#likedovesinthewnd #ask #you are making me go through some trippy shit rn and i am stone cold sober #SHOOO WEEE

[justghoulythingz]

Vault-Tec Presents: I'm You! Starring Lucy MaClean and Cooper Howard

#ghoul #lucy maclean #cooper howard #STUNNING stunning stunning i can’t say that enough 😍

[justghoulythingz]

i’ve been screaming over this for 45 minutes

#cooper howard #I SEE YOU I SEE YOU yeehaw ride ‘em cowboy!!!

[justghoulythingz]

hiii hello!! just lost my mind when you mentioned lana just now bc literally prewar cooper is so national anthem coded. i just wanna be his pretty baby okay 😭

anyway i got excited bc finally someone else i can gag about this with!!

HOWDY!!! i’m SCREAMING without the s bc i have literally been listening to lana on repeat today for the vibes™️ (also no ordinary love by sade, HER VOICE TRANSPORTS ME TO ANOTHER PLANE OF EXISTENCE)

anyway, yes, where do i sign up to be called his pretty baby. i’ll even act like a horse idgaf- what parts do i have to sell on the black market 👀

national anthem and cola and yayo and ride AND AND AND

you can gag about anything ever with me (coop’s dick included 😏), i’m so happy you jumped into my inbox 🖤🖤

#ask #LOSING MY MIND FOREVER AND ALWAYS thank you for sending me your Thots 🤠 #likedovesinthewnd

[justghoulythingz]

FIRE OF UNKNOWN ORIGIN - cooper howard x barb howard - 1.3k - request for @adobecult trigger warning for; sub!cooper, dom!barb, rough oral sex, hair-pulling, subspace, messy kisses, desperation, begging, slight references to vault-tec's all-consuming evil, d/s elements as a metaphor note: this is an inbox request, prompt: preoccupied. cooper riling barb up while she works ♡

“Lemme eat your pussy,” his mouth is in the shell of her ear, feather-light kisses to her neck and jaw.

“Not yet,” her face is hot, he makes her smile like a schoolgirl. But Barb’s voice has an edge, she’s told him no once already.

“I need it,” he promises. “Don’t make me beg.” She’s sure he wants it, but that isn’t his business. Her pleasure is his business, and she’s always been more stubborn. 

“You’ll do it anyway,” she smiles, turning her nose to his cheek. He smells like powder foundation and sweat, he licks a kiss over her mouth, sucking at her bottom lip.

“Please,” he grunts, barely worries his teeth into her. “Need to kiss you all over.” Wanting mercy when he hasn’t earned it. Wanting his wife’s legs to part when he’s barely waited.

“You’re slobbering all over me,” Barb laughs. God, he loves her laugh. 

She thinks he’s being silly and a younger Cooper would’ve pushed tented trousers against her back. Would’ve rubbed himself like a mongrel on her shoe if she ordered it. He still might, Cooper thinks with a warm and downward rush. But he stands behind her, bent at the waist to give kisses.

“Get on your knees, then,” she says the magic words and now she talks to her husband’s eyes. Not just his greedy mouth. 

Cooper’s going under, she can see it on his face. He blinks slowly, dilated pupils and kiss-plump lips looking very tempting. She takes a fistful of his hair to get a better look, tilting his love-drunk expression back and forth. When she leans in for another kiss he moans brokenly.

“I’m deep,” he begs. Slipping into subspace the longer she talks. Just the sound of her voice can send him.

“I can see that,” she smiles. Drags her finger by his lips to mop up the mauve stain she’s left on his skin. “Use your words.”

“M’usin’’em,” he protests. “Can I eat your pussy?” Tries to suck her thumb when she brings it too close. Eventually Barb just lets him. The pile of applications on her desk isn’t going to shrink with this distraction, but she’s very clearly needed. 

“You’re being so good,” she coos. He looks heartbroken and hopeful at once.

“Yeah?” Cooper has to ask. He needs to hear it again, once is not enough. 

“Uh-huh,” her fist in his hair is suddenly gentle, petting it back from his forehead. “Can you be gooder?”

“Gooder ain’t a word,” Cooper insists, thinking of Janey. Gotta set a good example. “I’ll try.”

“That’s my boy,” she sounds so proud of him. It makes his ribs hurt. 

“Yours,” he repeats, sounding like an idiot but unafraid. “Want you.”

“I know. Put your head on my knee, there you go.” She guides him to where he needs to be, no ability to disappoint. “How’s that?”

“It’s nice,” he replies, but Barb knows it’s insufficient. He wants he wants he wants. 

But there’s work to do. She’s approving families for the control vault in Illinois, the hardest decision in America. Who can simply be?

She looks down at her husband, her love, lost in his safest space. She can’t think about anything else right now. She won’t.

“Baby?” Barb asks just to watch him lift his head. His big green eyes ask yes? Am I good? Do I get to be good?

Lately he hates his job. Mandatory script rewrites enforced by the shareholders, he let her read the revised ending. It’s cold. Her love is not a cold man. Not a bad man, but he’s in his own head. She wants to help him out of it.

“My baby,” she smiles, leans in for a kiss. He accepts it hungrily. Barb braces her hand against his cheek, overwhelmed for a moment by her favourite mouth in the world.

“What?” He asks, grinning against her lips. Brat. She tugs the hair at the nape of his neck, bending him back and kissing him tenderly instead of answering.

“When I use your mouth, can I trust you to safe-word if it’s too much?” She asks.

He just opens his mouth, shows her teeth and tongue and all his neediness. Use it, he doesn’t say. Use it now, make me of use. Sweet boy, good man. Needs protecting. Needs to be the one protecting but not now. Not with her, she’s got him.

Delicious pain bites the back of his neck, she uses her nails. He whines, not understanding until he realizes he didn’t voice an answer. In his mind he said it’s never too much. But Barb won’t accept that. He has to be good. 

“Three taps,” he says, “On your pretty thigh. Promise.”

“Oh, my love,” she’s so proud of him, lets him know it. “Come here.” 

Her legs part and he falls between them. A man almost trips on his own knees. He wants to bite the soft swell of her thigh at the top of her stocking. Remembers to be good. Be good. Pull her skirt up, spread her legs, start to drool. Be good.

Cooper’s in it, Barb can see. Thinking with his dick, even if that’s not what he asks for. He likes to be used, she knows. She remembers he knows.

He gags himself with her mound, pressing his nose against the gusset of her silk panties. She eases herself back in her seat, hooking one knee over the armrest.

He meant it when he said he wanted to kiss her everywhere. Especially down here. She smells like fresh laundry and a slice of wet pussy, good enough to eat.

If he had a tail it would’ve found a beat by now, wagging against the floor. He looks expectant, gazing over the soft bump of her lower belly to her gorgeous face. On his knees for the most beautiful woman in the world, it’s only right.

“Can you be a good boy and take orders?” she doesn’t need to ask, but wants to watch him unravel. Yes yes yes. The tight ball of energy in his gut begins to soften. “Start by taking off my shoes and stockings.”

Simple enough. Coop’s good with his hands, manages to unclasp her garter strings from the loops at the cuff of her nylons. A desperate kiss for each bit of exposed thigh. 

He leads with his tongue, smelling her detergent and arousal as keen as a perfume.  

“Hands behind your back, my darling,” she warns.

Her darling, he thinks, lapping gratefully at her panties for the pet name. It would be nice if they had rope, tying his hands ensures he can’t disobey. No choice but to be good. 

He thinks about short tugs guiding him by the neck, lasso pulled tight enough to dig into his skin. Leash tied to the gate of heaven, unwilling to pull away. 

But Barb likes watching him do all the work, down to micromanaging his desire to overindulge in her skin. He licks her thighs, exploring anywhere soft with his teeth. Then when she lifts her hips he helps pry away the wet fabric. And she is wet. 

Wetter than water, he doesn’t wait for permission to press his nose against her sex. She stiffens against the sudden, overwhelming pleasure of his mouth on her clit. No hands to pry her lips apart so he forces his tongue into her entrance. 

Her nails in his hair don’t quite force him back, instead pressing him flush between her legs. His nose bumps her vulva, Cooper forgets to breathe. Has to lurch back when his face flushes and gulp lungfuls of air as quickly as he can, all to return where he belongs.

“My good boy,” Barb whispers. Her other knee hooks over his shoulder, shifting her hips forward to give him better access.

Her’s. Her good. Her boy. Always, he promises himself. He licks a thin line from her opening to the pearl of her clit. When she taught him to do this they started with the alphabet, he traces letters mindlessly with the tip of his tongue. Spelling words of love he doesn’t recognize.

#cooper howard #barb howard #cooper howard x barb howard #fic rec #reading this the whole way through with my face like 😳 #damn GODDAMN #cooper being barb’s eager dog is going to live in my head rent fucking free #also the fresh laundry and slice of pussy line I AM SHAKING YOU #AHHHHHrrggg

[justghoulythingz]

thank you so very much, you’re so sweet 😭🥹

curled smoke and gossamer clouds

an au in which you and cooper howard get snug as a bug in a rug inside a photo-booth at the county fair.

pairing : cooper howard/afab reader

word count : 1.3k

warnings : sentimental horniness, finger banging in a confined space, desperate grinding, light praise kink, cooper being a genuinely kind, suave motherfucker. 18+, mdni

writing tag

gif credit

divider credit

The photo-booth is a snug fit, perfect for two adults enjoying an evening straight out of their youth. You taste like cotton candy and he smells like cigarettes. A contrast that melts into one another smoothly, painting a picture of curled smoke and gossamer clouds.

His words are spun sugar in your ear, your laughter hoarse and secretive in his.

“‘Member the first fair we went to?” Cooper reminisces, tracing circles along your abdomen.

Your initial pose is looming, so you stare at the lens, anticipation for more (always more) of him beginning behind your ribs and spanning your limbs.

You make sure to smile before you answer, the timer moving faster than the leisurely pace at which you like to experience these moments.

Outside, you hear muffled conversations and the buzzing of insects. It’s industrious farm land and the pleasures of city life combined. An eight o’clock hue beneath the curtain. Summer.

Every day is a summer’s night with Cooper Howard.

“God, I was so nervous,” you finally reply, and the deep rumble of his own laughter tickles your backside.

His thighs flex. As they distract you, pressed so tightly to yours that they’ve started to stick, one of his hands slips through the dense humidity to caress the front of your hip.

You twitch. He grins, award-winning. Your heart demands an encore.

“Scared outta your wits by a harebrained ranch hand, were ya?” he teases, peppering kisses along your throat, the shell of your ear. Right where you feel the thunder of the ocean.

The second photograph captures your full-tooth smile, glancing toward the floor, his smirk buried in your throat.

“Who is this harebrained ranch hand you’re referrin’ to? Because I distinctly remember a very determined teenage boy who excelled at everything he put his mind to. Hell, you even got me t’talk. Remember how mousy I was?”

Your speech warms him, igniting a flame, a match struck by fingertips grazing the sinew of your inner thigh. You inhale as if sparks flew directly from its tautness. He speaks against your straining tendons, watching you swallow.

“I can still make ya squeak, darlin’,” he purrs, nuzzling the bridge of his nose into you. A fever passes on to the sweet softness of your lower belly, fluttering like the wings on the other side of this maroon curtain.

In retaliation, you roll your eyes and your hips, hard. Cooper groans, his other hand sliding upward toward the curve of your swathed breast.

“‘Sides, y’weren’t mousy. Jus’ selective. I felt pretty damn lucky y’chose t’have me in your winner’s circle. You were always someone I wanted t’impress.”

You sigh contentedly: charmed, transported, as the third picture snaps.

“Coop,” you breathe, lips ghosting his. He lifts the hem of your dress, its airy texture silken against the heat dampening your skin. “You’re a naturally impressive person. Never had t’try so hard.”

He roams the length of your body, squeezing you, dipping lithe fingers between your clenched thighs. Your underwear is like a glistening veneer of dew blanketing early morning grass. His dull nails split your supple folds through the white fabric, stroking you lovingly.

The gaze you’re met with is rife with affection, adoration, ardor. Witnessing how you unfurl within its grove; how alluring you appear, how beautiful he is; causes your stomach to seize. It clamps down around everything and nothing and suddenly thaws.

The tranquility of winter, then the newness of spring.

You moan quietly, tenderly. All for him.

He stiffens underneath the pressure you provide, solidifying the more noise you make, the more you squirm.

“I wanted to.” Cooper’s voice echoes that smoker’s rasp, an amorous break. “I already told y’that. I want to. For you- ain’t that what you want? A fella who aims for your sky an’ doesn’t miss a single speck?”

Instinctively, you swallow him whole with your outstretched pupils. He lulls and stimulates you, grip on his pant leg firm, yielding, firm, yielding.

He finds specks you neglected to name. Reaches somewhere beyond the pines and hits the overwhelming enormity of space. Somehow, he makes it seem attainable.

“I want you, no matter what sky you’re aimin’ for.”

The fourth and final still is as intimate as a carnation fastened to the lapel of a school boy’s jacket, restless as he waits for his prom date at the bottom of the stairs. Dodging scrutinizing glances from her parents. Complexion reflecting streaks of sunlight as he follows her descent, standing straighter, shoulders pinned behind him.

There’s no one else in the room.

You have your arms around Cooper, drawing him closer until whatever gap remains is filled entirely with avid mouths and Elysian Fields. You live and die as many times as you devour and bring him back, returning hungrily to the parting of his lips while he delves between yours.

“Well, right now,” he grunts against you, accelerating, shifting, sneaking digits inside your panties. “I’m fixin’ for you t’cum. All over this pretty, pretty dress.”

He slots a finger beneath one of your straps, eluding the shawl decorating your shoulders, and playfully snaps it against your kindled flesh.

“All over me.”

Words are trapped in your chest as you nod. Anticipation and longing hang in the expanse of tongue and cheek, lingering like a raw scratch in the throat.

You whimper, almost wounded, as he massages your panty line, pinching and fondling the elastic like he hasn’t already made an incredible mess of you. Like you aren’t about to be ravaged inside a very small, very public photo-booth.

You are his sole focus as he ultimately succumbs to your shared desire, jaw clenching and pointing toward the ceiling while staring you down the heavy lids of his eyes.

Panting, you spread as wide as limited room allows, scuffing one of your kitten heels on the ground below. It scrapes along solid surface, sending tremors up your calf toward the tingling of your scalp, pulled by the roots.

He nods out of encouragement, mouthing whispered praises of that’s it, baby, that’s it, dulcet tones making you wetter, your release steadily building.

Like he’s aiming for.

Holding you stable, Cooper’s opposite palm fastens to your lower back, clutching you, feeling the rigidity of your spine bump into his fingertips. Added weight shoots directly to your cunt, squeezing his middle and ring finger, coaxing a breathless moan from his lungs.

“Fuck. Yes. Gettin’ close. C’mon, sugar. Gimme somethin’ sweet t’taste.”

He throbs beneath you, undulating, thrusting the littlest bit upward. You salivate at the mere imprint of his intoxicating arousal, giving him friction as you rock back and forth.

Driving him deeper inside, his thumb swirls your clit and you dip backward, exposing the slender column of your throat.

Seizing the opportunity, he sinks his head into your open, thrumming chest, cleavage cushioning and hardening him further. Fingers work faster, applying ample pressure that gathers in your belly and blossoms, stemming to each and every inaccessible part.

Your strangled gasps, both of you attempting to keep these matters private, blend and bleed together as your orgasm plunges outside of you, gushing all over the digits that gradually still.

Cooper doesn’t wait for your heart to cease its racket. He leans away and leaves you empty, a stream of restrained essence draining from you and onto his lap.

He pops fingers into his mouth, one by one, including his thumb. Humming satisfactorily, he samples them like he’s on his fourth course. Then he offers you to yourself.

You observe him past a rose-colored haze, cotton-candy film. Gripping his wrist, you bring his center digit to your lips first, wrapping your tongue around its length, moaning as the salty summer air of you brushes your senses. Tar from his cigarettes mingle with what you originally picked up on, easing in like banter on a date.

Cooper reminds you that he loves you. Loves watching you enjoy yourself. Loves being the cause of it.

You return the sentiment, reluctant to untangle your body from his. You’ve already tangled up this booth much longer than necessary.

You are, however, excited to see how the pictures turned out.

#fic reblog