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ghoulbrain · 1 month

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Saddle Up, Sweetheart

18+ 3k ghoul x f!reader. cunnilingus/face sitting, overstim, pet names, clothed/naked sex, creampie. gif credit. prompt list. written for this ask. thank you! 🖤

The Ghoul—Cooper, as you know him now—does not make himself an easy man to get to know. He was harsh with you from the start, one of the crankiest old bastards you’ve ever met. An accomplishment, given your life in the slums. He’s dismissive, angry that you even want to know him, and downright mean most days.

And yet you became fascinated with him.

It was ages before you were able to hold decent conversations, and longer than that before you had a name for him. Still, you keep digging. He intrigues you more than anyone else ever has, and despite his sour attitude, he keeps coming back.

"You won't like what y'find," he told you one day. You knew then you were wearing him down with your persistence.

"What scares you more: the idea that I won't, or the possibility that I will?" You'd asked.

He laughed. "Y'don't scare me, sugar."

You smiled. "Maybe I should."

Cooper started to look at you differently from then on. There had been a sense before that he was observing you as something ephemeral, a flower bud he was waiting to see bloom and die away as quickly as you'd appeared.

Once you made it clear you weren't going anywhere, the invisible walls between you began to fall away. You feel his gaze lingering on you when he thinks you aren't paying attention. You watch him in turn, holding his gaze whenever he catches you.

"Eye contact like that'll get'cha killed someday. Predators take it as a challenge," he tells you, adjusting the holster on his thigh.

"Is that what you are?" You ask from where you’re leaning against the wall, arms crossed. You raise your brow, inured to his broody one-liners. "A predator?"

To your surprise, he's the one who closes the distance this time. His footfalls are heavy, his swagger loose. He looms over you, bracing his forearm on the wall behind you. Your heart skips a beat. He rarely ever gets so close.

"I'm the worst kind there is," he says gravely, but you clock his tone for what it is. He's toying with you.

Undeterred, you square your shoulders. "And what kind is that?"

He leans in closer, smelling of oil and gunpowder. "A hungry one," he says, the heat of his breath ghosting your cheek.

Pushing you away hasn't turned you against him. Cornering you won't either. Despite his insistence to the contrary, you're no prey animal. "Well then... I s'pose you ought to have something to eat."

His radiation scarred lips spread slowly into a wicked smile. "Y'offering, sweetcheeks?" He asks, his yellowed teeth parted, poised to take a bite.

You swallow dryly, so keenly aware of the thundering of your own heart, you wonder if he can hear it, too. You tip your head back, jutting your chin out and bringing your lips closer to his.

"You don't scare me, Coop," you whisper, wielding his name like a secret weapon.

He hums, head tilting slowly while his gaze moves down your body in a leisurely calculating sweep. "Well..." He drawls, voice a low rumble from his chest. "Maybe I should."

You're ready for him to do as he's always done and leave you like that, to rile you up and then act as though it was all in your head. You've accepted that Cooper is a man on the run, and he hasn't seen anything in you worth stopping for.

The press of his lips against yours shocks you to your core.

Your arms uncross, hands fumbling to catch hold of his jacket, grabbing him before he can vanish. He responds in kind, cupping your face in the soft worn down leather of his gloves. Your pulse is all the way up in your throat, so wild you’re sure he can taste it when he slips his tongue into your mouth.

His touch isn’t a gradual thing. He’s upon you all at once, forcing your thighs apart with his knee and slotting his thigh between yours, pressing into you until you start to sing for him, those breathy little noises muffled by his devouring kiss. At your hip, you feel the press of his cock gradually filling out beneath the layers of clothing between you.

After so long without meaningful touch, the onslaught is dizzying. You roll your hips, grinding down on his thigh until you feel your underwear clinging wetly to your skin, an exquisite shiver trilling up and down your spine. His lips feel textured and hardened by his condition, but his tongue is hot and smooth, persistently licking into your mouth, determined to feel, to taste.

That hunger drives him from your lips to your jaw, your throat, peppering rough kisses that are as much lips as they are teeth along your neck. “S’your last chance, darlin’. Point of no return,” he tells you, voice coarse. His hand slips between your bodies and starts working your pants open. “Won’t be no comin’ back from this. I’ll ruin you.”

That he would have the audacity to warn you away from the door like this after you’ve been knocking and knocking and knocking is almost laughable. You would laugh if you had enough air in your lungs, but he’s kissed it out of you.

“So ruin me,” you tell him breathlessly. He grazes his teeth over your pulse-point in a way that makes your voice hitch. “I want you.”

The rim of his hat brushes your cheek as he buries his face in the crook of your neck, making a raw noise against your skin. “God damn it,” he says, yanking you from the wall so sharply you gasp. He whirls you around, hands fisted in your shirt, kissing you hard while he walks you backwards, towards the noisy heap of springs and fabric you call a bed.

“Y’outta your fuckin’ mind for that,” he grouses, shoving your pants down off your hips. You don’t disagree, You know how terrifying he should be, what his affliction does to him, to his hunger, but you don’t care. Not when he’s kissing life back into your dull dusty life at the end of the world.

You’re naked by the time he pushes you down onto the bed, standing above you, sunken eyes black with fervor. He unclips the bullet belt strapped across his chest and shrugs out of his coat, tosses his hat up somewhere high on the bed. You start to crawl backwards, but he snatches your ankle and drags you right back to the very edge of the bed.

“Unbuckle me,” he orders, the words all throaty feverish heat that makes your clit throb. You do, eyes flipping back and forth from him to his belt. He watches you all the while, pulling off his gloves with his teeth, dropping them to the ground. You unbutton his pants next, hands so eager they fumble briefly before you make it to his zipper, the hiss of it coming undone drowned out by the thunder of your pulse in your own ears.

Before you get any further, Cooper catches your wrists and hauls you up to your feet, spinning you around and pulling you down over top of him on the bed. He keeps you steady while you straddle his waist, moving his hands from your wrists to your hips. You start to move back, but he cups your ass and pulls you in the opposite direction.

“Saddle up, sweetheart,” he says, licking his lips. “Y’said for me to have somethin’ t’eat. I intend to.”

Oh fuck.

Nodding hazily, you follow his lead until your knees are on either side of his head, your hands braced on the wall behind your bed.

“C’mon now, relax,” he coaxes, urging you down with his grip on your thighs. You settle most of the way down before he yanks you the rest of it, startling a noise out of you that transitions into a low moan at the molten wet slide of his tongue dragging from the bottom of your pussy to your clit, upon which his lips close down and suck.

The sensation is leagues beyond the amateurish grinding, but that session still left you sensitized. The heat of his mouth is so intense it almost burns. His tongue feels just as unreal, thick and dexterous in the way it works you, swirling repetitive patterns on your clit. He drinks from you like you’re an oasis in the desert, swallowing greedy gulps before sinking his tongue into you, fucking it in and out, coaxing more and more thirst quenching wetness from you.

“Ffffuck, oh my God,” you moan, your hands curling into fists on the wall, sliding until your forearms are braced against it instead, your head hanging between them. You wish you had something to grip, something to dig your nails into as his devil’s tongue builds hot pressure inside of you, swelling sensation toward an inevitable explosion.

Cooper is shameless beneath you, devouring without care for mess or noise. Every so often you feel the graze of his teeth and you buck away from him, but you’re no match for his strength and he keeps you held firmly down, wholly at his mercy despite your positions.

Once he’s satisfied that you’re not going to try and escape anymore, he relinquishes his hold on your hip and brings his fingers between your thighs, teasing where you’re wettest with the tip of his finger. With the way he’s sucking your clit you barely notice the initial touch, but he quickly wrings a gasp out of you by sinking his finger in all the way to the knuckle, crooking it wickedly while he rocks it in and out.

It’s simultaneously too much and not enough. He walks you on the knife’s edge of your climax, deftly toeing the line with every slow stroke of his finger and swipe of his tongue. Your stomach clenches up with it, breath catching. He pushes in a second finger, and by the time you feel the third working you open, your legs are shaking uncontrollably. He is feasting on you, humming appreciative little noises between the wet sounds of him eating you out.

A sudden jarring slap to your ass makes your quivering thighs tense up and startles a loud moan out of you. He most definitely smiles against you, fucking you steadily with his fingers.

“You son of a bitch,” you manage to choke out, tears prickling at your eyes from the sheer overwhelm of it all, your breaths growing sharper, more shallow. “I should smother you,” you say, the threat dulled by the thinness of your voice.

He smacks your ass again, harder this time. You decide that’s encouragement to do just that and grind down against his mouth, eagerly meeting every thrust of his fingers until one last good slap tips you over the edge, your orgasm striking you like a bolt of lightning. Your whole body goes tense, and Cooper ruthlessly fucks and licks you through it, sucking on your clit as it pulses and pulses and pulses through what feels like the longest climax of your life.

“Enough,” you moan weakly, pushing yourself from the wall on trembling arms. His fingers have slipped free, but he’s still drinking you down, holding your thighs in a vice grip. You can’t stop shaking, the burn of pleasure beginning to feel like the most exquisite pain. “C-Coop, enough, I can’t–you fucker,” you gasp, jolting in his grip when he nips at your clit.

He finally lets you up, easing you down with two hands firmly on your ass. You slide back until you’re straddling his waist, hands braced on his chest while you catch your breath. He doesn’t give you much time, knocking you down into his lap as he sits up. He takes your face in his hands and kisses your own taste into your mouth, giving a throaty little rumble.

“I decide when you’ve had enough,” he says, dropping one hand to work his cock free from his undone pants. “And you’ll remember that you asked for it.”

Each word feels like a spark of electricity. You lift yourself on trembling knees, hands on his shoulders, and he puts his arm around you, drawing you in while you sink down until you feel the thick head of his cock–wet with his own precum–nudging against your spit-soaked pussy.

“That’s it, pretty girl. Show me how good you can take me.” You can hear the restraint in his voice, feel it in the thrum of his touch. You hold his gaze while his cock forces you open in one smooth, frictionless slide, the stretch a dull ache that rapidly ascends into pleasure. He lets you adjust a moment or so before he begins to move, holding your hips steady while he rocks his own, reclining down onto his back.

“Don’t you hold out on me,” you tell him through a shuddered breath, hands behind you, braced on his thighs. “You promised me ruin.”

As sharply as he’d slapped your ass, Cooper gives a hard thrust up, his dull nails biting crescents into your skin, his grip all that keeps you from losing your balance. “One taste and y’already damn spoiled,” he says, planting his boots on your bed–you’ll give him shit for that later–and picking up a brutal pace almost immediately. “C’mon then, sweetheart. Ride me.”

You have no choice but to comply, grabbing hold of what you can of his shirt while he bucks hard under you. Every thrust sparks inside you like the strike of a match, your cunt still sensitive. You can already feel yourself climbing towards another peak. You arch your back, watching him through the haze of your own pleasure. His eyes are dark, his teeth bared. He looks like something wild, like something ready to bite.

“Goddamn, that’s it, y’squeezin’ me fuckin’ good now,” he groans, tipping his head back, watching you bounce on his cock through heavily lidded eyes. “Give it up for me, pretty girl. Show me this is really what you want,” he rambles, his accent growing thicker the closer he gets. You nod along, panting wordlessly, his thrusts knocking sweet little keening noises from your throat. “Go on now, that’s it. Show me how it feels when I make you cum.”

The world around you goes black just before an eruption of white explodes behind your eyelids like stars, your whole body stilling to endure the overwhelming crash of your release, the shock of it rolling out in waves throughout your entire body. You don’t speak, you don’t even breathe, too struck by the magnitude of it.

Cooper fucks you through every second of it, slurring a litany of feverish nonsense–your name sprinkled within it–until he breaks off into a choked off noise, and in the middle of your euphoria you feel a the rush of his release spilling deep inside you, his body finally stilling under yours.

You sink down onto his chest, panting against the collar of his shirt. He moves his hand along your back, and a distant part of you is caught off guard by how tenderly he sweeps his fingers up the back of your neck. You answer in kind by slipping your fingers just under his collar, fingertips brushing bare skin that’s as gnarled as the rest of him.

The two of you sit in silence for a long while, neither of you willing to break the spell of your afterglow. The entire world feels softer in it, the dull sepia of it tinged with hints of gold. The dust particles floating around you almost seem to sparkle. In any other moment, you’d scold yourself for romanticizing the rotten remains of a dead world that has been so cruel to you, but for just this moment, you let yourself believe that things can be beautiful, too.

You lose yourself to the warmth of his body beneath yours, and the gentle way he traces the slopes of your body with his fingertips. Eventually, Cooper cleans his throat. You ignore it, reluctant to acknowledge him. You know once you do, the moment will be over.

“Y’might wanna get situated with a pack of Radaway soon,” he murmurs, the twang of his voice still heavier than usual.

Tucked into the crook of his neck, you smile while he still can’t see you, endeared. “I’ve had worse exposures.”

“I find that hard t’believe,” he says, cupping the back of your neck in his palm. His thumb strokes absently back and forth. You can almost believe he’s dragging out these last few moments together, too.

Lifting yourself, you brace your forearms on his chest, staring down at him. His expression is difficult to parse–while there is most definitely a sense of ease you don’t normally associate with him, there’s also a profound sadness.

Your brows furrow. “What?”

He doesn’t answer right away. Instead, he moves his hand from your neck to your cheek, swiping his thumb along the ridge of it. You lean into his touch, ready to ask again, when he makes a grab for his hat and places it firmly on your head, obscuring your vision.

“That was some fine ridin’, sweetheart,” he says, voice as coarse and sweet as raw sugar.

You push the brim up until you can see him again, failing to bite back a smile. “Guess I’m the sheriff ‘round these parts now.”

“I ain’t a sheriff," he says flatly, though the slight tic at the corner of his mouth gives away his amusement.

“That’s right, y’ain’t. ‘Cause I am,” you say in your best impression of him, tipping his hat at him.

He blows out a breath and tugs the rim back down over your eyes. “Whatever you say, sweetcheeks,” he says, and though you can’t see him, you’re certain you can hear the smile in his voice.

Today may never happen again. The world could end tomorrow–again–or Cooper could walk off into the Wastes for the very last time. If you’ve learned anything in this world, it’s that nothing lasts forever. So, you drop your head back down and listen to the beat of his heart, using it to count the moments as they pass.

If they’re gonna be the best you get, you’d like to know how many of them you have.

#the ghoul x reader #the ghoul x you #cooper howard #the ghoul #cooper howard x you #cooper howard x reader #fallout fanfic #fallout #x reader #x reader smut #my writing #smut

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eupheme · 10 days

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— mine, all mine

cooper howard/the ghoul x f!reader

rated e - 4.2k

tags: jealous!cooper, sort-of alternate timeline (includes a fo4 character for fun), partners-with-benefits, mutual yearning, light angst, fingering, oral sex, one pussy slap, come marking

prompt: something where he's possessive and jealous. anything that would cause a man like The Ghoul to get jealous. He needs to remind everyone (including her) who she belongs to.

Cooper doesn’t take kindly to the man you picked up, even if he himself had made the deal to escort him to New Vegas. Not liking their old-world charm, that easy smile. Can’t be up to any good, and he hates that you might be falling for it.

It has him thinking that he just might have to remind you of a few things. Set you straight. Make sure you don’t forget who you belong to.

You can’t help the little laugh that bubbles in your throat, as you follow through the door at Cooper’s heels.

Seeking shelter for the night, after a long day on the road. Something different than the usual bounty. Escorting a man through the Mojave Wasteland, to New Vegas. Following another lead, they had said.

He had seemed capable enough, but didn’t know the area. His home was far to the east, not used to the harsh desert sun, the creatures that lurked here. A heavy bag of caps offered that neither one of you could say no to. Enough to buy a couple months worth of vials, and that meant more to you than anything.

“No shit. It really worked?” You glance back at the man from over your shoulder. The handle of your gun a familiar weight in your hand, as you check the hallways after your partner, “You really were him, costume and everything?”

“The Silver Shroud, in the flesh.” Nate flashes you a straight, white-toothed smile, “Calling cards and everything.”

Your head shakes in amazement. He was interesting - full of stories that didn’t seem possible to be true. Leader of the Minutemen. A retired veteran from before - or so he tells you.

Hard to believe such a thing could be true. It has you distracted - your boot catching on an overturned side table, a set of chairs.

A little yelp as you tilt off-balance. The Ghoul turning, a gloved hand stretching out out - but there’s already another at the small of your back, another at your elbow.

“Careful now, sugarbomb.” Nate huffs in your ear, steadying you until you catch your balance.

It has heat flaring in your cheeks - at his words and how you embarrassed yourself in front of both of them. Ignoring the hand, and winding yourself free, giving the mess of furniture a wide berth instead of stepping over as they did.

“Did you hear about him on the radio?” You ask Cooper instead, trying to change the subject.

Instead of an answer, the Ghoul gives you a rough grunt. Turning away from you, fingers tracing over the thick bullets lined up in his bandolier.

“Gonna sweep the second floor.” He rasps, “Stay put, alright?”

He must not have heard you, too busy concentrating on clearing the space.

You nod, a little flutter in your belly at his words as he leaves you. A hint of protection in them, layered deep. He hadn’t spoken much since he picked up this job. Eyes always watchful, fingers curled around the handle of his gun.

But you didn’t think there was anything too dangerous about Nate. He seemed nice - filling the space that you leave for him with his stories. The days traveling has been spent quickly, and you couldn’t help but feel sorry when you hear how he’d lost everything.

His wife, and his son. Waking up after it was all over - alone.

You wonder how he could press on, be so cheerful now. But you suppose someone could learn to shoulder a lot, after so many years had passed.

It has you shivering, in the old apartment. Thick brick walls - the radiators are long dead, the cold seeping through the cracks in the window panes.

“Hey.” You hear behind you. Nate’s shoulders flexing as he peels his leather bomber jacket off, fingers hooking under the collar as he holds it out to you.

The worn vault suit underneath clings tight to his chest. Silver threading through his dark hair, peppering his beard at the curve of his chin. Handsome, in an old-world way - something you haven’t been able to help noticing.

Not that you’re interested.

It’s only because he makes you think of him, a little. The same strange way of saying things. Phrases you don’t know from your time growing up in the wasteland.

And you can’t pretend you haven’t wondered, just a tiny bit. What Cooper might have been like, before.

Part of you had thought that would make them a little more friendly - that point of connection between them - but the Ghoul has been wrapped up in thorns for days now.

Distant even, but you think you get it. Suppose he thinks it’s safer, this way.

“Oh,” It takes you a second to accept his offering. Not used to generosity without a price. A soft sigh when you shrug it on - the fabric warmed by his body heat, “Thank you. Are you sure? It’s just, these old buildings-”

“This is almost warm compared to where I come from,” He smiles, shooting you a wink, “Least I can do, with what you’re doing for me.”

There’s a sweep of his eyes, as your hands slip through the sleeves - a considering tilt of his head, “Looks better on you, anyways.”

The compliment sends an uneasy ripple across your skin, a warm heat in your cheeks. His easy charm sets you on edge - not used to words and tones like his. Not knowing what to do with it - your eyes flicking towards the staircase.

There’s a pause, before he’s inhaling a breath.

“Listen. About your… associate,” Nate takes a step towards you, his voice lowering, “I don’t know if you owe him caps or something, but if you need to split, you’re welcome to come with me.”

It stuns you for a second. How he thinks you might need help, that you’re indebted.

“Oh!” You manage - that eye contact breaking, as you search for words, “I’m not. We’re actually, uh-”

But you don’t have a straight answer. Involved, perhaps. You wouldn’t say together, as much as you wished it would be. Companions is too soft a word for the path you travel together.

His word - associate - too formal.

“Really?” Nate’s voice tips up - just before his eyes dip down you and back up, in a quick circuit, “Huh. Good for him, then.”

The silence that lingers is stilted. His hands raise, with the lift of your brow.

“Didn’t mean any harm,” He adds, easily, “Just, if you change your mind… it’d be good to have you on the road with me.”

Leaving you then - letting the offer hang as he pokes around in the side rooms.

Another thing that you had found fascinating - the junk that he carries with him. Not just old tape but bottles of adhesive, cans of oil. Broken hot plates, all tucked into his bag.

Your head shakes, as you move deeper.

Winding your way into the kitchen, picking through broken cabinets - snatching up cans of cram. Ending up in a study, through another door.

Books spill from the shelves. There’s an old, deep desk bumped up near a wall, the upholstered chair toppled over next to it.

A few of the novels catch your eye - nose dipping to inhale the familiar, musty smell of the pages as you crouch. Thumbing through them, trying to pick one or two to keep.

Engrossed enough that you don’t hear the creak of boots on wood. The low jangle of spurs, until the door is closing shut behind you.

There’s a slow, upward pull of your eyes, until you see the way he looms over you - eyes narrowing. A hard set to his jaw, a hand that curls around your bicep as he tugs you up and onto your feet.

“Something wrong?” You ask, as you catch the pull of his brow bone, “With the house, is it safe?”

“House’s fine,” He grits. A hand tracing up the zipper of the jacket, curling around the collar.

The frown deepens, as his eyes drag over you, “You take this off the Vaultie?”

Your eyebrows raise, “I didn’t take it off him. He gave it to me because I was cold.”

He clicks his tongue at that, one side of his lip curling. Stepping into your space, until you’re bumping up against that desk.

“Can’t leave you alone for a goddamn minute, can I?” Cooper growls.

Fingers tracing up your sides until they’re fitting beneath the fabric at your shoulders, pushing the worn leather from them.

“What do you mean?” You frown - letting him. The evening chill isn’t so bad in here, the room tucked deeper into the house. No windows to let the evening air in.

“You know exactly what I mean, sugarbomb.” He drawls, acid in his tone, “Smoothie can’t keep his hands off you.”

The jacket pools on the desk, a flick of his wrist sending it to the floor. You don’t know why the Ghoul is so angry - not when he’s made it clear this something between you is just a diversion.

Nothing more than business mixing with pleasure.

“It’s not like that.” You protest, though your mind flickers back to before. Cheeks burning as you shift back, but follows - crowding you, “He’s looking for his son.”

It has your hip pressing against a desk, his own fitting against yours. Hands flattening against the top of the desk, as he leans over you.

“Lookin’ to get his dick wet, more like.” His words are a low growl, “‘Sides, is that all it takes you get you starry-eyed? Fella lookin’ for his kid?”

There’s something in the way he says it. A tick in his jaw, the way his tone pushes at you. Needling deep, as if there’s something more to what he’s saying.

Your arms prop on your hips, “I’m not starry-eyed-”

“Aren’t you?” His head cocks, “You gonna be keepin’ his bedroll warm tonight, sweetheart?”

There’s mockery in his tone. A curl of his lip and bared teeth, all while his eyes catalog each and every expression.

Your hands press against his chest then, scoffing. Yes, Nate had flirted with you. Said you could come with him, but surely that wasn’t the reason why.

Was it?

“That’s ridiculous,” It comes out flustered, unconvincing, “He was married, he’s not-”

The Ghoul shifts, his hands fitting against your hips. Pushing, until you’re sitting on top of the desk, thighs spread so he can fit between them. Distracting you, though his look is no less fierce.

“That don’t mean much, sweetie,” He growls, “Key word here is was. Not gonna keep him from tryin’, I’ll tell you that much.”

And you think you get it now. His raised hackles from the very beginning, when Nate’s hand curled around yours.

Maybe he’d burn right up, if he had heard your conversation. You wonder if he caught any - drifting up through the floorboards. Sending him right down to you, to stake his claim.

It has you softening. Fingers hooking around the thick leather of his belt, tugging him flush.

“He can try all he wants, cowboy,” You shrug, looking at him from beneath your lashes, “It’s not gonna sway me. Was just being nice because he was.”

“Nice.” He echos, as his hands slip up to your waist. Fingers curling in the folds of your shirt, rocking you against him, “That what you think you want, sweetheart?”

There’s the dip of his head, and your eyes are closing. But he just hovers, close enough that you can feel the exhale of his breath. A jerk of his head when your chin tips up, seeking him.

“You think nice is gonna take care of you the way I do?” His hand drifts up - fitting at the curve of your ribs. Thumb brushing at your breast, as you suck in a breath.

“What are you doing?” You breathe, as your eyes open. A shiver at how close he is, how his crotch presses right against the seam of your pants.

His answer is a low rasp.

“Remindin’ you of a couple o’ things.”

There’s a familiarity in the way his other hand dips down. Those hazel eyes are still on yours, as he gives the button on your pants a sharp tug. A soft slide of the zipper.

Your fingers curl, holding on tightly. Anticipation sings in you, melding with the sharp flutter of nerves.

“W-We can’t,” It comes out as a stammer - your concentration torn. “He’s still-”

The Ghoul’s hand leaves you, but it’s only so his teeth can sink into the tip of a leather glove - the jerk of his head to pull his hand free. Already coming back to you, giving the fabric of your pants a sharp tug downwards.

“‘s cute you think I give a shit.” He husks - his eyes dark, as he jerks his chin towards your hips.

They seem to move on their own. A hum of approval as they lift - so he can tug both layers down to your ankles, leaving them to tangle with your boots.

His hands are warm as they trace back up your bare thighs. Soothing the chill - forever warmed by the radiation that lingers in him. Your thighs spread wider without thought, though his fingers linger.

Tracing the soft skin, just where your thigh meets hip. Close enough that surely he can feel the heat that lingers there - the scrape of his nails against sensitive skin sending up goosebumps, as his tongue pinches between teeth.

Eyes caught on how easily you open for him. The way you clench in anticipation, shifting into his touch.

Another protesting whimper falls from your lips, the ghost of a smile as his eyes flip up to yours.

“You’re gonna tell me you don’t want this,” His thumb twitches against you, ghosting along your slit, “When I can see you practically droolin’ for me?”

He lifts his hand for emphasis, casually examining the sheen that coats the pad of his thumb. Head cocked as he waits - dragging it slowly along the flat of his tongue.

“I do want it,” It’s hushed, though no less needy.

His tongue peeks out again. Pinched between teeth, before ghosting across a lower lip - the taste of you lingering. You expect him to bend you over the table, or lay you back against it.

Instead, his fingers pluck the hat from his head. Dropping it onto yours, the brim distorting your view as he bends. Crouching - his left knee pressing into the floorboards, as he situates himself between your thighs.

It has your breath hitching. Another exploration of his fingers, thumb pressing against your folds. Tugging you open, examining you, just like he’d do for a piece of found scrap.

Heat floods through you. There’s no mistaking that he’s still calling every shot, even when he’s on his knees.

“Then answer my question.” His voice takes on a sharp edge, those eyes back on yours, “You think he could give you what you need?”

From here, you can see the pretty fan of his eyelashes. The flecks of gold and green in his brown eyes, each little pitted scar and shiny stretch of skin.

Your head shakes.

“No.” Your thighs inch wider - hips bucking into his touch, “Only you, Cooper.”

He growls at the sound of his name, his hand coming to cup against your cunt. Fingers insistent, where they nudge at your opening. The tips of two sinking into your heat, ripping a muffled gasp from you.

A low hum, when he feels how wet you are. How you wrap so warm and tightly around him - an obscene sound as he presses them deep.

Unable to hide how he affects you, not when the pace picks up, until the heel of his hand is grinding against your clit. Until you’re dripping against his palm.

Your moan is bitten back. Fingers curling around the edge of the desk, needing something to hold onto.

His pace is steady, but he’s just teasing. Fingers merely filling you, stretching you out. No careful curl - just bringing you to hover on a plateau, leaving you to clench around him with desperation.

“Please,” You whine.

Relief then, as his fingers hook. Dragging against your spongy inner wall, as you whimper in approval.

“Yeah?” He hums - watching how your brows pinch, when his fingers flex again, “Change your mind about gettin’ fucked, honey?”

Teeth clicking together with your bitten-back whine, needing to feel more than just the unhurried crook of his fingers.

“Yes. I need more,” Your hips lift with your answer - bucking into his touch, “Need your cock, Cooper. I’ve missed it-”

A dirty trick, to use his name again.

To beg, like this.

He knows it, a heartbeat lingering before his fingers begin to move with purpose. The tilt of his head, and then - his tongue is flattening against your slit. Giving you something else, instead.

You cry out before you remember where you are - your hand quick to press against your mouth to muffle the sound.

He groans at the taste of you, as it floods his tongue. A dark glitter in his eyes, you think he did this on purpose. Trying to pull those sounds from you.

This thought solidified as he begins to devour you. Licking you from clit to hole, dipping between his knuckles. Working the muscle in until he can feel you clench around it too, his own groan caught in his throat. Coming back up - lips wrapping around the tight bud as you gasp, nails biting into wood as you moan.

Ones you still try to hide. Your breath sharp through your nose, palm pressed flat against your mouth. But it doesn’t stop the squeak of the desk as your hips move. The sticky plunge of his fingers, the wet lap of his tongue.

Something molten pooling inside you, red-hot. He knows how much you can take, how the stretch of his fingers slips into something honey-sweet.

His head rears back, as his eyes open. A sharp click of his tongue, before his left hand curls like a vice around your wrist. Capturing the other - fingers spreading wide as he pins them against your belly.

A smirk that grows wider - more sinister - when you realize you won’t be able to hide your sounds any longer. When all you can do is accept what he gives you.

“Oh, don’t hold back, sweetheart.” He coos - a rough breath, as he sees your jaw grit, eyes screwing shut, “Want him to hear just what I’m doin to you.”

A tilt of his head - slow in the way he returns to you. A pointed thrust of his fingers, another one slipping into you. Tongue flicking lazily, before spit is pooling on his tongue.

Pressing his fingers deep, as it falls from his lips. Dripping down your slit, before he’s sucking on your clit again.

The keen that pulls from you is loud. Drawn-out, your breath hissed through your teeth.

He grins into your cunt, the words murmured against your skin, “That’s more like it. Atta girl.”

Taking, as he gives.

Guilt lingers in you - thinking about Nate, wandering in the house. Hearing the muted moans and cries as you’re devoured against the desk. It has your lips pressing harder together, though it does nothing to mute the pleasure that winds higher and higher.

But he notices. Of course he does - fingers slipping free, curling against your clit before he’s pinching it between his fingertips. Teeth nipping at your inner thighs, marks blooming against your skin.

Another cry loosens, as your hips jerk.

“Now I know you want my cock, sweetheart. Asked for it so nicely, after all,” He husks, as his head tips up, “But you’re not gettin’ it till later.”

A threat and a promise, layered in the heavy pant of his breath.

“Plan on takin’ you by the fire. From three feet away, if I have to,” His smile is near-feral, “Let him hear how pretty your pussy sounds taking me. Knowin’ he can’t touch.”

You moan at his words. At the pet of his fingers - each breath short, growing louder as he brings you close to the edge. Keyed up enough over the past few days - leaving you desperate.

And you think that maybe - he just might be as well. It’s there in the way his shoulders curl in. The spread and rock of his own thighs, where you can see the tent of his hard cock.

That desire to make you come tipping into something that feels like need.

“You know why he can’t?” He coaxes, his words a slow drawl.

His fingers flattening when you’re slow to answer - pleasure-drunk, landing a harsh tap against your cunt that has you gasping in shock.

“Because…” You search for the words, grasping at their hazy shapes, “Because I’m yours.”

It comes so easily, the things you’ve thought but never said.

His knees shift, hips tilting on their own. A rough sound in his throat, as he watches how your lips form the words.

“That’s right,” Cooper coos, “Good fuckin’ girl. Knowing who she belongs to.”

It does something to you. That desire blooming into something tangible, racing from your thoughts to the needy throb of your clit.

He can hear the change in your breath. How it pitches high, drawn out. No longer holding it back - unable to, as your vision starts to go hazy.

“You liked that, sweetheart? Knowin’ that you’re owned?” He rasps, “Fuckin’ close, aren’t you. Gonna come?”

“Yes,” You chant, “Make me come. Cooper, please-”

His hand leaves your wrists - your palms curling into his jacket as he loosens his own belt. Fist wrapping around his cock as his tongue replaces the swirl of his fingers.

A whine - loud, in the quiet room - when those three fingers sink deep again, filling you. Only a few deep plunges of of his fingers before your breath is catching, eyes going wide.

The cry catches in your throat, coming out ragged. Unmistakable for anything else, as your pussy tightens around him - that thudding beat that starts low, rippling through you.

Pulsing against his tongue. Stealing your strength, leaving you boneless as your fingers anchor themselves against his shoulders.

He groans into your cunt, as he feels you gush against his palm. The way he can taste your release as it leaks against his knuckles, his tongue dipping down to taste.

Greedy again, with his gaze. Fixed on how wrecked you are - rumpled clothes, how you’re still speared on his fingers, thighs slick with need.

No one else can ruin you so thoroughly. You both know it - it’s enough that he lets go, chasing his own end. An unsteady push to his feet, as his fingers slip free.

His other hand flattening against your abdomen, pushing you back against the desk. A messy twist of his fist, seeing the gape his fingers left behind - that tension twisting, about to snap in his own belly.

His cock is coated in your release, when he comes. A feral snarl as his fist jerks - harkening back to your first few nights together. Back when he held back from spilling inside you, the vials too precious to spend on a stranger.

Fingers twitching against your belly, keeping you pinned as his own moan slips through his teeth. A needy buck of his hips into the tight curl of his hand, a cruel mockery of where he imagines it buried. But it’s enough - another rough sound before ropes of his spend arc across your mound.

Warm against your skin, as he covers you. Dripping down against your slit when he angles himself, making a mess of your slick pussy.

It already has anticipation simmering, deep inside. Unsure if he was being serious about later - but the thought of him taking you nice and slow, drawing it out - you might not be able to ever look Nate in the eye, but christ, it could be worth it.

Though something hangs heavy, as he comes back down. His head lowers from where it tipped back in pleasure. The slow drag of the tip of a finger through his release, glossy against your skin, before he finds the hem of your underwear. Tugging it back into place as you whine in protest.

“Hush, now.” He coos - stroking you over the thin fabric. Seeing how his come seeps in. A teasing circle against your clit, before his palm presses flush. Smearing himself against your cunt.

Staking a claim, you think. He’s always let you clean up before. And this isn’t a punishment, though the wait will be torture.

Fingers smooth the faded fabric when he’s content, his radiation-reddened fingers fitting against the soft curves of your hips.

And, maybe now you understand.

“I’m not going to leave you, you know.”

It’s quiet, breathed out as you gaze up at him.

He almost flinches. A different kind of shudder that runs through him, fingers pinching hard where they dent your flesh.

“You should,” His jaw grits. Voice low, the words coming out hoarse, “If you had any sense.”

But you both know you have none. Not when it comes to him.

Your hands fit in his, as he tugs you off the table. The snug fit of your pants as you tug them back into place, already feeling how he sticks against your skin.

Thoroughly marked. Unable to help the clench as you think about later - missing the fullness of his fingers already. A wobble to your legs - a hazy remnant from your orgasm - as you right yourself, fitting everything back into its place. Before stooping, to grab the jacket off the floor.

Cooper’s hand reaches out - fingers beckoning. His own duster already shrugging off his shoulders. Bundled up, as he holds it aloft.

“You get cold again, you tell me.”

It’s gruff. An offering, with the extension of his hand. Swapping the bomber jacket for his. The worn fabric enveloping you as you tug it on, that greedy look seeping back as he takes in how you look in his things.

A little nod, before he’s turning - making for the door.

Leaving you to follow behind, hiding your smile.

this started a couple different ways (flirting with a bounty or with a bartender) but I thought it would be interesting to have Cooper in a situation with a genuinely good guy (Nate is the MMC in FO4 if you choose his route!) because that would surely and truly drive him nuts (rip what a couple to join up with) 💖 thank you for reading! Hope you enjoyed!

edit: the companion fic is here - this scenario with them picking up Nora and Reader being the jealous one!

#cooper howard x reader #cooper howard x you #the ghoul x reader #the ghoul x you

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acapelladitty · 2 months

Note

The Ghoul x Knife Kink

Hotter Than A Match Head

Pairing: The Ghoul (Cooper Howard) x Female Reader

Summary: A late night fuck turns into something more when Cooper decides to bring his knife into the fray. (1.1k words)

(tw for: knife play, rough sex, nipple play, dirty talk, threats of violence, mild blood, dom/sub dynamics)

Link to AO3

Fic Masterlist

Fucking Cooper was like being trapped in a hurricane; a constant flurry of movement, of your body being manipulated, shaped, and generally thrown around with minimal care. The ferality which he so closely monitored and kept at bay only ever appeared to slip through as he ravaged your body without mercy - by hand, by teeth and by cock.

He was relentless in what he wanted and reckless in his pursuits.

But not tonight.

Tonight he was much more careful in his considerations as he pinned you to the dirty floorboards of the abandoned house you had agreed to spend the night hiding out in. The floor was cold and gritty against your back but you hardly notice it, so engrossed by both the cock which was spearing your cunt and the wicked ghoul attached to it. A man who had pinned you to the floor many minutes before and was currently rolling the edge of his hunting knife across your chest like he were mapping out an assault.

You had watched that same knife sink into countless bodies, living and dead, and the graze of the serrated edge against your collarbone was electric. It was a blade which had seen more violence than most, but the dexterity with which he wielded it was stunning to see. A skill which had led to more than one heated fantasy that Cooper had finally seen fit to make a reality.

"Don't move." Cooper threatened, his eyes ablaze with unfettered arousal as they loomed free of his sunken face. "Don't wanna accidentally slice off something that I might miss."

At the warning, he rolls the flat of the knife across your right nipple - the nub peaked and already reddened by his teeth as he had 'perked' them up earlier in your little game. Shuddering at the sensation of the cool metal, your hand grips even tighter at his forearm and the leathery skin there has very little give beneath your clawing fingers.

His knife glints in the meagre lighting, a single, shitty lamp providing illumination against the dark room, and you tighten around him; your cunt as wet and willing as ever as the thrill of his knife adds an extra layer of danger that makes you dumb as all fuck and desperate to see it used.

Writhing and groaning as he trails the edge of the blade across your skin, not deep enough to cut but with enough harshness to threaten, a cruel smile splits his ragged lips as his bright eyes refuse to leave your expression.

"It really makes you this willing, eh? Haven't seen a bitch in this kinda heat for a long time, sweetie. Maybe I'll even throw ya a bone."

Swiping the knife free of your chest, he continues to lazily thrust within your cunt - his thick cock making every rut of his hips feel like your walls were being hollowed out and punished - as he taps the knife against your stomach in a slowly descending pattern.

Your knees spreading even further, heels determined to gouge out a section of his lower back as they push into him roughly, a keening moan slips free of you as he teasingly grinds the butt of the knife against your engorged and somewhat neglected clit.

It's a fresh hell; sparking pleasure mixing with overstimulating discomfort as your most sensitive nerves are subjected to the cool leather and cruel pressure of the knife. It's a rough texture, every ridge making you flinch and whine, as the sudden onslaught has you stuttering out a slew of utterly incomprehensible pleas which simultaneously beg him for more while demanding he stop.

"It would be so easy." Cooper muses, pulling the knife away and letting it hang between his fingers as he presses his hand to the ground. "You're far too soft for this kinda life. Cut me and it don't make a difference. Hell, I'm not sure I'll even bleed. But you-" He trails off, his groin never ceasing in its movements as he continues to deliver shallow, punishing thrusts to your cunt.

"You should do it." You pant, meeting his aggression by rolling your hips against his groin to stimulate every pulsing nerve in your sex. "Cut me. Mark me as yours."

"Can't be doing that, darling." His breathing very quickly grows ragged, his cock noticeably jerking within your cunt at the lustful demand. "Cause I might never stop. By the time I was finished, you'd be painted even redder than I am."

"Cooper." A keening whimper as his hand abandoned the knife to wrap around your throat, squeezing and testing the skin there as he enjoyed the sensation of you swallowing around his fingers. "Please. Just one. Just a-an intital. You can choose where."

Punctuating each sentence with a thrust of your hips as you remained pinned beneath him, the ridges which sat along the hollow of his nose appeared to flare for a moment as he considered his options - interest alighting behind his darkened eyes.

"You're a tricky one, sweetheart. I've known seasoned whores that're less convincing than you."

It's almost a purr, his accented syllables glossing over the backhanded compliment like an old blanket, but he complies anyway as he releases your neck and snatches his knife back up, the point coming to rest on your hip.

Stilling your movements for just a moment, the feeling of his cock as it stretches you out with its unrelenting heat growing more and more intoxicating. Every passing second is a constant discomfort which makes the pleasure all the sweeter as you warm his cock for him as he works.

"Be ready." Is all the warning you get before he digs the tip of his knife forward into your unprotected hip, the sharpness of the blade splitting the skin like it were little more than butter.

As aroused as you were, it still hurt like fuck, and a stuttered cry is buried into his shoulder as you push your head up - the pain flaring with a wicked intensity before dissolving just as quickly into a dull ache. In the same instance, a tickle of dripping liquid rolls down your skin and you lie back on the floor as he discards the knife to the side with a noisy clatter.

Instantly his hand is pressing over the wound and the pain of the pressure adds to the adrenaline which is making your fingers tremble and your cunt clench, the latter making him grunt as he presses his groin as tightly against your sex as he can to fill you with every inch.

"S'only a superficial cut." Cooper groans, enjoying the determined way in your cunt was milking him with every inviting spasm. "For a scar we'll need to keep poking at you 'til the tissue is so damaged, you'll need to skin it off to get rid of me."

Pulling his blood-tinged fingers to your face, you nip at the pads of his fingers - the leathery skin rough against your lips - as you wrap your free arm around his back. Using him as leverage, you begin to roll your hips once more as you chase the release your body is now desperate for, every inch of your skin feeling sensitive and raw.

"That's the best- ah, the best fucking news I've heard all day."

Unleashing a low chuckle at the enthusiam, Cooper meets your determination with some of his own as he resumes his merciless fucking - all the while, his hand refusing to let up its pressure on the crimson 'C' which lay, freshly carved into your willing skin.

#amazon fallout #fallout #cooper howard #the ghoul #cooper howard x reader #the ghoul x reader #cooper howard x you #the ghoul x you #fallout smut #ghoul smut #cooper howard smut #fallout tv smut #fallout prime #walton goggins

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spooky-scary-scarecrow · 1 month

Text

"You have beautiful eyes."

(So, I've been skimming Tumblr and haven't found any goddamn Cooper Howard fics that involve how pretty his damn eyes are. Only a handful of people actually mentioned it - babyghoul still has his luscious eyelashes. So since nobody has written a fic of it, I put it in my hands >:] Enjoy!)

Warnings: Mild nudity, mentions of after-sex, cuddling, complimenting, tooth-rotting fluff, a teeny of lore-building in the first few paragraphs

It was a quiet evening, the both of you laying on an old mattress you had found that was surprisingly intact enough to not have a spring digging into your back. The night was elongated from the actions that happened merely moments ago, labored breath between the both of you still filling your ears.

Turning to face Cooper, your eyes roamed his scarred body. A lean frame with muscle, not too much yet not too little. Just enough to show off how strong he can be. You both met only months ago. It was supposed to be just him killing a bounty for you and you'd pay him in caps and viles. Though after the next few bounties, you grew on him and decided to tag along with his journeys. It was like the longer you were both exposed to each other, the more you fell. Ending up in this situation many times before. Quick, easy, just to relieve stress.

Until now. You took the time to observe him. Observe his scars and muscles and callouses as he laid on his back, arms behind his head as his eyes were closed for the moment. You let your gaze drift up to his face - the normally hardened expression softening.

"I can feel you starin'," he spoke after a moment, making your cheeks flush red as you look away.

"Sorry, I just never seen you so... relaxed," you mumbled sheepishly with a chuckle.

A soft hum left him, his arm wrapping around your shoulder and pulling you in without warning. This was rare, the physical touch. Affectionate. Slowly, you rest your head on his chest, hearing the faint beat of his rotten heart and the rasp of his lungs as he breathed.

A moment passed before you looked back up at him, capturing his gaze with your own. Suddenly, you noticed something you never noticed.

His eyes. You never studied them because of how much movement he made - or there just wasn't any time. You would have thought that his lashes would have been gone along with his other body hair but no. They were still there. Rather thick and long. Framing the hazel orbs of his. Making them stand out.

They seemed almost a rich, deep gold and green at the moment because of the lighting - only the dim flame of the oil lamp on the ground beside the mattress lighting the area.

They were beautiful.

"I never noticed your eyes," you blurted, your gaze lingering on his. You could just see the shift of emotion in them - they were so expressive. More expressive than you expected. It showed he was still a man - still human - even if he did turn into the being he is now.

"Is that a compliment, darlin'?" he mused, raising a hairless brow.

You pondered. Maybe it was. Maybe you should say the things about them that were stuffed in the back of your brain.

"Yes," you answered after a beat. "I'd say more about them if I could put it into words."

He was the one to break the eye-contact, leaning his head back. You didn't speak again, afraid you might have hit a soft spot in the man. But you could see the corners of his lips twitch, his roughened fingertips tracing imaginary shapes on your bicep as he gazed up at the ceiling, through the holes in the roof.

"I never paid attention," you continued with little hesitancy. "Of your eyes, I mean. I always thought all Ghouls had fully black eyes."

A grunt in response. You can take that. The silence fell between the both of you once more. With a heavy exhale, he pulled you closer until your body pressed firmly into his side. A subtle gesture. A silent thank you.

Maybe you should pay attention to him more often.

Thank you for reading! Give me a message if you want to request any prompts for our cowboy ghoul here :D

#cooper howard #cooper howard x reader #fluff #babyghoul <3 #he has such pretty eyes omg #tooth rotting fluff #cooper howard smut #but only mentioned #cuddles

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gothbitchshit · 2 years

Text

Feels Like the First Time

Pairing: Eddie x plus sized female reader

Rating: Explicit — minors do not interact

Genre: fluff, explicit smut

Word count: 5.8k

Summary: Eddie is your best friend, and has always been a little bit of a perv, but that doesn’t matter to you much considering you’re in love with him. Things change though when he sees you in something a little more revealing than he’s used to.

Warnings: idiots to lovers aka best friends to lovers, lowkey perv Eddie, mentioned porn, Eddie likes his girls thick idc I make the rules, Eddie sees the reader almost naked and falls in love™️, mentioned drug use, overuse of pet names, finger sucking, mentioned throat fucking (does not occur), choking, impact play/pussy slapping, master kink, oral (f receiving), fingering, loss of virginity (both reader and Eddie whoops), protected sex, safeword discussion, dirty talk (these two are filthy), dumbification if you squint, Eddie being silly -- if I missed anything please let me know!

Request status: yes! Requested by @friendly-neighborhood-ghoul

Authors note: sorry this has taken 75000 years 🙃 but it’s here! And it’s somewhat more lighthearted than thick with desire but I hope everyone still likes it!! Also it has been beta read so I hope it’s clean but if not, please let me know 💞

⋆ ☽ ⋆ ☾ ⋆

You always noticed how Eddie stared at you.

It didn’t bother you — you had gotten used to people’s eyes on you. There was just more of you to see than most of the other girls, and Eddie was, to put it lightly, a perv. He was obsessed with the “female form” as he put it. He never shied away from the topic of sex and what he found to be turn on, most of which came down to his personal motto: the bigger the better. And his views on sex helped you come out of your shell a bit. You weren’t a prude, just… inexperienced. But Eddie just being himself made you feel comfortable with sex — I mean you had to be with the amount of porn you found under his bed and on his nightstand. Eddie was your best friend, and he outright refused to keep secrets from you, including what type of porn he liked, and expected you to do the same. It hadn’t been easy at first, but the more time you spent around Eddie, the more free you felt.

The only secret you kept from him was that you were painfully in love with him; I mean how could you not be? He was sweet, funny, caring, and had the best hair in Hawkins (sorry Steve). But you pushed those feelings down, deep down, because you couldn’t live without Eddie. You didn’t want to lose him because of a silly crush you’d been holding onto for nearly a year, he meant too much to you. He was a constant in your life that you outright refused to give up. So, you carried on like normal, pushing down the longing you felt pang in your chest every time he made a comment about your figure, called you sweetheart, let you have the last bite of his food, or let you steal all of the blankets when you spent the night.

And you spent many nights at the Munson trailer getting high with Eddie while Wayne worked, even now after you had graduated from Hawkins High while he was attempting to finish his senior year for the third time. But an extra year for him to graduate wasn’t something that put either of you off — in fact it made you closer. Instead of meeting every day in the hallways between class, Eddie would pick you up from the salon you worked at to smoke and hang out, or even just take you home so you could spend some time together at the end of the day. Or you would join in Hellfire frivolities, much to everyone’s joy — especially the freshmen Eddie had collected.

But today was a holiday weekend, and you and Eddie were blessed by a weekend completely devoid of obligations. Wayne was out of town, the salon was closed, neither of you had anywhere to be, and your only thought was getting high enough to not feel the lingering stress of the past few weeks. Eddie had gone so far as to drag his mattress into the living room and made a fort out of some old sheets that looked suspiciously like ones that had disappeared from your linen closet after you complained about needing to get rid of them.

“Alright princess, we’ve got snacks, drinks, and enough weed to keep us obliterated until tomorrow night,” he smiled proudly, standing triumphantly in front of the entrance to the fort, before bowing dramatically, “Your castle, m’lady.”

“Why thank you, good sir,” you giggled, curtseying exaggeratedly in response. But Eddie grabbed your wrist and pulled you haphazardly into the fort, a scream leaving your lips as you felt the momentary weightlessness take over. But the next thing you knew, you were pinned to the mattress by Eddie’s lean frame, a proud smile on his face as he stared down at you. “What was that for, you big meanie,” you pouted up at him.

He shrugged, refusing to release your intertwined hands from where he had them pressed against the soft surface, “Just thought I’d keep ya on your toes, sweetheart,” he boasted, letting his body collapse onto you. You sighed dramatically, knowing it was useless to try and get him off you when he was like this.

Despite being as thin as he was, Eddie was surprisingly strong. He was able to manhandle you in a way you didn’t think was possible for your size, often taking to throwing you around like a rag doll in his play fights, and easily pinning you down to tickle you until you were crying and begging for mercy. But when Eddie got like this — especially when he was high — he stuck to you like a flytrap. Moving more than a few inches at a time was relatively impossible with his limbs wrapped around you like a boa constrictor.

You knew you were in for it when he slithered down slightly, sliding his arms around your waist and letting his head rest on your chest, his legs tightening around your own. You couldn’t help but laugh, earning a pinch to your side, “Pillows don’t laugh, pretty girl,” he chastised before finally settling.

“Eddie,” you whined, trying to shake him off you, “I’m not a pillow, and I’m hungry,” you complained, feeling the effects of the joint you two had shared on the drive over. It made you feel like you were floating, and Eddie’s body weight was the only thing keeping you from flying away.

“But sweetheart,” he whined, “We have all day to eat—“

“We also have all day for me to be your pillow but Eddie I’m hungry, and I’m warm,” you argued, grabbing a fist full of his hair and tugging on it gently, getting a deep moan from him in response.

“Christ, warn a guy before you go around pulling on his hair like that. You’re gonna give me the wrong idea, princess,” he smiled proudly, before sighing deeply and rolling off you. “But I guess you can eat. But pillow time later, promise me!” he demanded, eyebrows furrowed as he stared into your eyes, pinky held out toward you.

You wrapped your pinky around him with a roll of your eyes, a bright smile spreading across Eddie’s face as it did, “Now can you please feed me?”

“Alright, alright,” he sighed, pushing himself off the bed before turning and wiggling his fingers at you. You grabbed his hands, allowing him to heave you off the floor, steadying you as you nearly face planted into his chest, “Whoa there, don’t need you falling for me yet,” he said with a wink.

“You’re the worst,” you grumbled, pushing him away from you as you went to retrieve your backpack. He just snickered to himself, letting you stomp away from him like a pouting child.

But Eddie was grateful for the moment of separation — he was on the losing end of a battle with his own hormones. It had taken every ounce of self control he had not to rut himself into you and bury his face in your chest.

He’d always played off his attraction for you as a generalized turn on — which wasn’t far off to say. He liked seeing the girls in his dirty mags that had more on their frames. More hips, more thigh, more ass, more tits. But his real turn on was you. It had been ever since the summer of ‘84 when the two of you had gone swimming in Lovers Lake after his broken air conditioner had forced you both out of the trailer.

You had stripped down to barely anything, demanding he turn away as you ran into the tepid waters. Eddie hadn’t meant to sneak a peek, only looking when he heard you yelp loudly. He had honestly thought you were hurt; he just wanted to check in on you. But what he got instead was the sight of your thin panties stretched over the roundness of your ass, the dimples and puckers in your skin on display; it took his breath away. But when you turned, and he caught a glimpse of your nipples poking against the thin matching material of your bra, one that was nearly too small to contain the fat of your tits, made him feel like a prepubescent boy about to lose his load looking down the shirt of his uncles ex girlfriend when he was 10.

But ever since that day, he’d been embarrassingly attracted to you. He thought everything you did was pure pornography and it was torture. He was getting more and more depraved and desperate as the days went on too. The simple act of you throwing your bare legs over his during movie nights and the light catching the hair of your legs got him hard, and the pout that seemed to permanently live on your mouth drove him crazy. He wanted to fill your bratty little mouth, make you choke on his fingers, or even better, his cock; make you gag and drool and cry as he abused your poor throat.

The worst part of it was that it seemed like you didn’t notice at all.

Gareth and Jeff had approached him multiple times about his borderline creepy behavior, worried about how it would affect the group if you grew tired of it. But he’d proven to them various times that you simply didn’t care — or at least pretended not to. They watched as he manhandled you into his lap during Hellfire, hands all over you. It would have been nearly obscene if you hadn’t giggled and slapped his chest playfully, rolling your eyes at him.

And your lack of reaction only made Eddie more bold. He was never one to back down from a challenge, always willing to push his limits until he either got what he wanted, or got burned.

But fuck did he want you. You were basically already living in domesticated bliss; all that needed to change was instead of fucking his fist every night to the thought of you, he’d be actually fucking you.

He barely realized he’d gotten himself so worked up just thinking about you, he’d shoved his hand in his pants and had began to stroke his painfully hard cock, praying that he’d cum before you walked back in the room so he didn’t have to walk past you with his cock throbbing painfully. He only hoped his black jeans would conceal the wet spot well enough.

But his prayers went unanswered as you threw open the door to his bedroom forcing him to yank his hand out of his pants with a hiss as his finger caught the zipper, slicing through the thin skin shallowly. “Jesus fucking Christ,” he grumbled.

“Eds are you okay?” you asked, eyebrows furrowed in concern as you straddled his legs, taking his hand in yours to assess the damage. You pouted, eyes locking with his, “Eddie, you need to be careful,” you chastised with a small whine, “What were you even doing? If you hurt your fingers too much you won’t be able to play your show this week—“

“What the actual fuck are you wearing,” Eddie cut you off firmly, his eyes glued to your chest. “No, really, I’m gonna need an explanation sweetheart because it seems like you just want me to lose my goddamn mind.”

You looked down at the shirt, not really understanding what he meant. It was a little lower cut than shirts you normally wore, the tank top showing off a modest amount of your chest. “Eddie, I don’t know what you mean, I’m just wearing a shirt—“

He cut you off, surging forward to pin you underneath him again. It was something he did often, but the look in his eyes was something you’d never seen before. His eyes were swimming with frustration and something else you couldn’t quite place. “Sweetheart, that’s not a shirt, that’s fucking temptation,” he explained.

You rolled your eyes, ignoring the pain in your chest as you tried to push him off – you knew he didn’t mean you, just the idea of you, “Come on, Eddie, I know you like this kinda shit in porn but it's me. I know you don’t like me—“

“Excuse me?” He asked, his eyebrows nearly disappearing into his hairline, “Babycakes, you’ve got me all wrong. I am so wildly in love with you I’m barely competent when you’re in the room. Why do you think I failed Mrs. O’Donnell’s class again last year? I couldn’t think about Hamlet with you sitting next to me.”

You stared at him, eyes wide and jaw dropped open in shock. “But y-you never said anything—“

“Baby I’ve made it obvious for years now. You can’t honestly tell me you didn’t realize when I’m constantly telling you how sexy you are,” Eddie rolled his eyes. His tone was verging on annoyed, which pissed you off — he was placing all the blame on you for not noticing him when he was busy not noticing you.

“Hey! It’s not all my fault! Why do you think I always wear things you say you think are cute? I don’t do that for anyone else you know,” you defended yourself with a glare. “Plus, I asked your stupid ass to prom and you took me! How could you not realize I’m in love with you too?” It was Eddie’s turn to stare at you in shock, eyes going wide.

“I-I thought you just wanted me to feel less lonely because Gareth and Jeff had dates! I didn’t know you meant it,” Eddie stuttered, eyes going wide.

“Of course I meant it, Eddie, I’m not that mean,” you huffed, trying to throw his body off yours but he wouldn’t let you go, making you huff and turn your head away as you mumbled, “The fact that you’d think I would do all that just as a pity date is so gross and hurtful and—“

He cut you off with a kiss, lips slamming into yours with no remorse, his teeth clicking with yours from the sheer force of him, but you couldn’t bring yourself to care. His lips were soft — probably from the chapstick he continued to steal out of your bag — and his hand cradling your head felt right. His kiss consumed you, instantly going pliant in his grasp.

“I don’t think you’re mean baby,” he smiled, pulling back to look over your breathless state with a smile, “I mean… you can be an asshole, but it’s just one of the things I love about you princess.”

“And what are those other things you love so much, hm?” You asked cheekily, nipping at his ear as you pulled him closer.

“Hm, well, let’s see,” he smiled, pulling himself out of your grasp to tower over you. You couldn’t help but stare up at him in awe; he always looked so pretty hovering over you. His dark brown eyes sparkling in the low light and dimples on display as he smirked at you. “If you don’t stop looking at me like that, you little vixen. I mean fuck baby, when you look at me it’s like you unplug my brain. Sometimes, you bat your eyelashes at me in Hellfire and I’m ready to hand the campaign over to you, I mean shit, s’not fair. Even when you glare at me, it makes me wanna bend you over and fuck you till you cry.”

His words sent a wave of electricity through you, your body aching to touch him, “God Eddie I feel the fuckin’ same. Why do you think I did your chem homework so often? I almost dropped to my knees when you glared at me for taking the last beer last week. Would have let you fuck my throat, no questions asked.”

Eddie smirked, leaning forward and trapping you under him, one of his big hands grabbing your cheeks and squishing them gently, forcing your lips into an exaggerated pout, “God, the mouth on you. That’s another thing I love,” he groaned, pushing two of his fingers against your lips, your mouth opening for him instantly. Satisfaction grew in your chest as his eyes rolled back in his head, a grumble from deep inside him reverberating in the thick silence. “This fuckin’ mouth, princess. God, you can’t understand how many times I’ve thought about making you choke on me while you’re being a mouthy little brat, or fuck, when you pout at me to get what you want?”

“Wan’ it, Eds,” you mumbled against his fingers, pushing yourself deeper on his fingers, gagging slightly as you did.

“Yeah baby? You wanna fuck me? You wanna let me use your throat?” He cooed, making you whine and nod around his fingers. “So needy for me, huh? Such a pretty little thing, and you’re all mine, aren't you?”

You could only nod at him, eyes rolling back as you sucked on them lewdly. “Wan’ be yours,” you slurred, making him laugh, taking his fingers out of your mouth with a pop before wrapping his hand around your throat.

“Baby, you’ve been mine,” he grinned, watching you squirm on his bed. He had dreamed about this moment for years, you were the object of every fantasy he’d ever conjured, but fuck seeing you on his bed was better. He didn’t know if he could go back, but hearing you say that — he knew he didn’t have to. “Wanna know why I cut my finger open, hm? I was so distracted thinking about you I had to get myself off. I was thinking about those tits, that cute ass of yours, and fuck sweetheart, these legs. God these legs,” he groaned, rutting his bulge into your covered core, a pitiful whine coming out of your mouth.

“Please Eddie, I need it,” you pouted at him, your nails digging into his wrist as he tightened his fingers around your throat.

“This is the point of no return, sweet thing. We do this, you let me do this and I will never go back to just being your friend who has to jerk off in the bathroom every time we’re together. We do this and that means we’re together, got it?” He demanded, and your heart fluttered in your chest.

Being with Eddie was all you ever wanted, all you dreamed about. You wanted him to hold you and call you princess and know he meant it; know that it wasn’t a fantasy. “I want you Eddie, I want us. I’ve wanted there to be an us since that stupid campaign where you made me the damsel in distress and you pretended to be The God of Eternal Darkness who corrupted me and caused me to betray the party,” you smiled at him fondly.

“Baby, I know we’re past this now, but that was me flirting with you,” he smiled, patting your cheek, it almost would have felt condescending if the look in his eyes wasn’t so tender.

“Well maybe the mighty dungeon master should learn to be more—“ you rolled your eyes, but his grip on your neck cut you off.

“Now’s not the time to be a fuckin’ brat,” he glared at you, “I’ll give you one more chance before I decide to punish you to be a good girl.”

“Yes master,” you choked out, batting your eyes innocently.

He nearly growled at you, his eyes narrowing as he sucked in a breath. Everything stood still for a moment before his hands were gripping the hem of your shirt, pulling it off your body and flinging it to the side, leaving you breathless.

“You just have to be mouthy don’t you?” He huffed, ripping off your shorts, leaving you completely exposed to him. You only had a moment to feel shy before his open palm was coming down on your cunt with a wet crack! You hadn’t even had enough time to process what happened when a broken moan was coming out of you. “I knew it, my dirty girl,” he smirked before his hand came down on the same spot again, “I saw that look on your face when I told you about that porno I saw, and you tried to deny it! But I knew baby, I knew you were perfect for me.”

Shame and lust filled your chest, sending heat up your neck while goosebumps broke out across your skin. Everything about the situation made you feel needy — you were completely at his mercy, and you loved every second of it.

“I’m sorry, master,” you whimpered, but this time, the name was filled with sincerity. You needed him to touch you, to fuck you, and being a brat would get you nowhere with Eddie, you knew that.

“That’s more like it,” he hummed, sitting back on his heels smugly. “Will you let your master take control now? Fuck you like you deserve?”

“Yes, master, please,” you pleaded softly, making him smile at you fondly.

“That’s my sweet girl,” he smiled, kissing the tip of your nose as he dragged a single digit through your slit, coating it in your essence before bringing it up to his mouth. His finger disappearing behind his lips made you moan, your hips rocking against nothing as you watched him. A startled yelp turned into a moan as his freehand came down on you again, the pressure on your clit making you cry out as you felt the stinging pleasure radiate through you. “Impatient little thing though,” he tutted, removing the finger from his mouth with a shake of his head.

Your eyes rolled back as his wet finger plunged into you slowly, the intrusion not too unfamiliar thanks to the dildo you had hidden in your room, but the warmth of Eddie’s hands on you was shocking. You knew you’d never get over the feeling of his hands splaying out across your skin, or his long fingers inside you.

“Fuck, sweetheart,” he groaned, pulling his fingers out of you with a slick, wet sound. The loss of him made you cry out in desperation. His chuckle at your desperate sounds made you narrow your eyes at him, “What, you make cute little sounds, princess,” he smirked, “No need to be asham-ow!” He teased, but you cut him off with a sharp pull of his hair.

“Edward Munson, if you make fun of me while we are having sex ever again, I will make you regret it,” you seethed, and he nodded before grinning.

“So we’re gonna have sex, more than just this once… nice,” he nodded. You let the silence wash over you for a moment before you both were breaking into laughter, tears filling your eyes as he collapsed on top of you.

“You’re ridiculous,” you gasped, “You’re so lucky I’m in love with you.”

“You’re damn right I am, I’m the luckiest motherfucker alive, sweetheart,” he beamed, pushing himself forward to slot his lips over yours, his fingers burying in your hair to pull you closer.

You hummed against his lips, snaking your hands under his shirt, feeling his smooth, warm skin against you. His happy trail brushed over your tummy, making you giggle. He pulled away just enough to pull the Dio shirt over his head before falling back against you, getting his hair in your mouth as you laughed.

“Alright, we need to do something about this,” you mumbled, taking your hands through his hair tenderly, gathering it in a bun at the back of his head before sliding your hair tie off your wrist, and securing it into his curly brown mane. “There, now I can kiss you without getting a hairball,” you teased, but your breath caught in your throat when you saw how he was looking at you.

There was nothing in his eyes but pure, unfiltered love.

“I know I keep makin’ jokes ‘bout it, but if you wanna do this angel, there’s no goin’ back for me,” he sighed, “A-and I don’t mean you can’t say no, because that’s just gross and I’d never do that to anyone, let alone you, but I-I mean if we take this step—“ he rambled, but you cut him off with a soft kiss.

“I know, babe,” you breathed, “And I want to. I want you. I’m just worried it won’t be good for you, because I’m… you know… a virgin,” you shrugged sheepishly.

“Princess, you know I’m a virgin too,” he admitted, eyes softening, “I just watch a lot of porn.”

“I know you do, you dirty pervert,” you rolled your eyes, “But you still fingered that one girl last year, and ate out that other girl at the Hideout, so you have some experience,” you scoffed.

“I think it’s perfect,” he smiled, making you tilt your head in confusion, “We get to learn all of this together. You get to teach me what you like, what feels good,” he mumbled, burying his face into your chest. You felt his tongue on your skin, sending shivers down your spine as he littered kisses across your tits. “And then I’ll teach you what I like,” he whispered before sinking his teeth into your skin, earning a gasp.

“That sounds perfect, Eddie,” you sighed, letting him suck marks into your skin as his hands roamed your body.

His marks eventually trailed down your torso, his tongue mapping your stretch marks as he went, eventually ending up between your legs, a lazy smile on his face as he wedged his shoulders against your thighs. “Do you wanna find out what all the hype is about sweetheart? Gonna let me taste you? I bet you’re fuckin’ sweet,” he groaned unconsciously grinding into the mattress.

“Y-yeah, if you wanna,” you nodded sheepishly.

“Don’t be afraid to pull my hair angel,” he assured you, “And don’t even think about hiding those noises from me. I wanna hear how good you feel. And if you need me to stop, like you really need me to stop, just say hellfire,” he said, wiggling his eyebrows at you.

Whatever response you had died on your lips as his tongue swept over your slit, a choked moan tearing from your chest. “Eddie, fuck,” you sighed, throwing your head back.

He simply moaned into you, his eyebrows furrowing as you unintentionally tried to wiggle away from him as his hands gripped you tighter, pulling you down so you were immobilized.

You couldn’t think, fuck, you could barely breathe as he ate you messily. The slurping sounds and his grunts were downright nasty but they made your flesh burn with lust. Eddie was everything you didn’t know you needed, you didn’t know you could miss.

Eddie could think of nothing but you — the smell of you, the taste of you on his tongue, the feeling of your silky thighs around his head and your fingers in his hair, and the sound of his name and squeals of pleasure leaving your lips. He’d never get over it. He wished he could film if, maybe you’d let him in the future. But then again, why would he need a film if he could just fuck you again? He knew you’d be perfect, perfect for him.

He was obsessed. And he ate you with the same desperation he felt when he watched you casually flirt with other boys, the same desperation that caused him to steal panties out of your bag and fuck his fist whenever you fell asleep in his sheets. This moment was a culmination of years of longing and he refused to let it go to waste.

Eddie memorized every twitch and every moan, every thrust of your hips and which things made you try to run from him. His tongue breaching your fluttering walls made you sigh his name so sinfully he had to stop himself from shoving his hand into his pants, but your desperate whines when he circled your clit were otherworldly.

Because his tongue swirling on your clit felt like heaven; the pleasure was immense, and came quickly, but you knew the sensation would become too much soon, and then you’d be too sensitive to take him properly. You’d experienced it before and you were not letting a pesky bundle of nerves from fucking the man of your dreams.

“Eds, fuck, ‘m goddamn sensitive,” you squeaked, pulling his hair, “Not so much on my clit.”

He hummed and pulled away from your dripping center, eyes glassy and feral with want as your essence covered his chin, nearly running down his neck.

“I was right, sweetheart,” he smirked, “Sweet as I thought,” he said before dropping himself onto you again, trapping you in a filthy kiss. You could taste yourself on his tongue, teeth clicking against yours as he moaned.

“Please, Eddie, I can’t wait much longer,” you pleaded, “I want you inside me, please.”

Your words had him biting your lip harder than he intended to, accidentally cutting your lip as the metallic taste flooded his mouth. The taste mixed with the remnants of your essence swirling on his tongue made him nearly choke on his need to cum.

“Fuck, gotta be in you,” he slurred, pushing himself up off the bed. His hands shook as he pulled open his belt and nearly ripped his jeans trying to get them off his legs, boxers going with them. Once he had them off he stood at the edge of the bed, panting as he looked you over, before freezing. His eyes went wide before breathing out, “Condom, be right back,” before running into his room. You would have laughed if you didn’t find it so endearing.

He reappeared seconds later, eyes as wild as the grin on his face. But he kept standing at the edge of the bed, looking at you with a distinct hunger in his beautiful brown eyes. “Come on, Eddie, don’tcha wanna fuck me?” You teased, snapping him out of his trance with a moan.

“Baby, I’m tryin’ hard not to blow my load before I’m even inside you,” he said, throwing his head back.

“God that’s hot,” you moaned, “Next time, I want to watch you get yourself off, and I wanna feel you cum on me.”

“If you don’t stop talking it’s gonna become a reality,” he ground out through clenched teeth, glaring at you. You shrugged sheepishly, and he nearly growled in warning before ripping open the condom wrapper with his teeth and rolling it on.

In an instant, he was kneeling between your open legs again, rubbing his covered cock between your folds as you choked on your gasps. “Please Eddie, please,” you whined.

He said nothing, just aligned his cock with your hole and began to push himself into you. His thickness took your breath away, making you claw at the sheets and forcing high pitched squeals of pleasure out of you. “That’s right, take it baby, you’re doing so good for me,” he praised absently.

It felt like you were being split open, and it also seemed like he would never end. You knew he was long, and thick, but feeling him stretch you out felt like it took ages. But you loved every second.

You’d heard from other girls that their first times hurt, enough for them to cry or bleed, but this was a gratifying pain. And his hands steadied you, one on your hip and the other toying with your clit lazily.

He bottomed out with a satisfied sigh — he knew you weren’t in any pain. He’d watched you, eyes flicking between your face and his hardness disappearing into you the whole time, waiting for a flash of hurt or discomfort. But he never found it. He knew it — you were made for him.

“Move, do something, fuck, please,” you keened, rocking into him shallowly.

“Your wish is my command, princess,” he smirked before thrusting shallowly, watching your face for a reaction. When your moan tumbled out and your eyebrows knitted together in pleasure, he began to go harder. Your moans quickly became louder and more desperate, urging him to let go of his restraint.

The sound of skin on skin, your whines, and his deep grunts filled his trailer, drowning out the tape he’d put on when you arrived. His fingers digging into your plush skin was the only thing keeping you coherent, your mouth hanging open as your eyes rolled back.

“That’s right angel, I’m fucking you stupid, aren’t I?” He asked. You could only nod, tears filling your eyes from the pleasure that was growing in your belly. “You’re mine baby, mine. And I’m yours. And I want you to cum for me, can you do that? I’m so close, I just wanna feel you do it for me,” he ranted.

You were sure you could have cum from his words alone, but the look in his eyes — the possessive gleam you couldn’t look away from — pushed you over the edge.

You came with a scream, your walls tightening around him like a vice, which caused him to cum with a shout, his arms giving out as he face planted into your chest with a heaving sigh.

You laid in silence, both catching your breath as he softened inside you. Warmth filled your chest as he traced nonsensical patterns into your sweaty skin, your fingers toying with the curled ends of the hair that had escaped the haphazard bun you’d given him.

“So, is it too early to ask you to marry me?” He joked, sending you both into a fit of giggles.

“Yes, too soon. Take me on a date first then ask me again,” you said, wrapping your arms around his waist.

“I’ll hold you to that,” he hummed happily, before he sat up with a gasp. “Babe, I know the perfect song for this,” he exclaimed.

You sighed, going boneless against the sheets. You knew Eddie wouldn’t let it go until he made his point. “Well go on then, I don’t know how—“

“I have waited a lifetime! Spent my time so foolishly, but now that I found you, baby! Together we'll make history! It feels like the first time! It feels like the very first time!” He began singing loudly, pulling your hair tie out of his hair and throwing his head back, shaking out his curls as you rolled your eyes, unable to stop the fond smile growing on your lips.

“You’re gross,” you shook your head, earning a laugh.

“Maybe, but I’m yours. And you’re mine,” he grinned, pressing his lips to yours.

-----

taglist: @joekeeray @witchoftheewilds @vampireeddiemunson @wroteclassicaly @friendly-neighborhood-ghoul @littledemondani @bibbykins @tessab154 @manicpixiedreamcurl

#eddie munson #stranger things #eddie munson smut #eddie munson fic #eddie munson x reader #stranger things smut #eddie munson fanfic #eddie munson fanfiction #eddie munson x plus size reader

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ghouljams · 6 months

Note

I'm pretty sure I'm ovulating rn but I cannot get Keegan and angel's mutual breeding kink outta my head ik those mf be going AT IT its probably so fucking messy too (sorry if this is tmi ghoul)

"Where do you want it baby?" Keegan pants against your lips, "Inside?" You nod, whimpering when he fucks you harder, faster. "Yeah you do, inside, always inside. Tell me why, angel."

"Want you to knock me up," you mumble, more shy in the heat of the moment than when you were teasing him an hour ago.

"Mm, that's right angel," Keegan hums, he shudders when you clench around his cock. His hips actually stop, and you worry he's cum, his breath panting heavily as he rests his forehead against yours. No, he's trying to stop himself from cumming, something that won't stand. You push your fingers through his hair to pull his head back and he laughs, a deep breathless chuckle. "Getting desperate, eh love?"

"Keegan," you try to sound serious, but the way he rolls his hips makes your back arch. He hums, waiting for you to try and open your mouth again, letting your fingers tighten in his hair, as he fucks his cock into you as slow and torturous as he ever has.

"Filled up this pretty pussy once today already, fuck I love seeing you like this. Mindless little breeder in heat for her man," he turns to kiss your forearm, fucking you harder when you squeak out half a syllable, "Should keep you pregnant all the time, so you dont have to keep begging me to breed you."

"Keegan," you plead.

"Listen to you, using my name like it belongs to you," he clicks his tongue, "say it again angel, beg me to breed you."

"Fuck," you sob when he picks up to his brutalizing pace again, his cock driving into you hard and deep. His hand slips between you, fingers playing with your clit to make it just that much harder to string a thought together. "Keegan please," you dig your nails into his shoulders, you want this, it's an easy thing to ask for, "breed me, fill me up, make me a mum."

Oh it's exactly what both of you want, and it makes him growl, makes him dig his teeth into your neck with a staccato, "mine" before he does exactly as you ask. Keegan groans low in the back of his throat as you cum around his cock, his hips stilling as he fills you with ropes of hot cum. You don't have to say it, you both hope this is the time it sticks.

#cod x reader #x reader #keegan ghosts #keegan x reader #keegan russ #cod keegan #keegan p russ #keegan russ x reader #fae!keegan #f!reader #mdni #angel is absolutely the one following keegan around and asking for another kid #she looks at the space in the corner of their room and sighs #keegan: whats wrong #angel: just thinking about how well a crib would fit there #keegan is already takjng his pants off

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thesightstoshowyou · 1 month

Text

Generosity

Cooper Howard (The Ghoul) x F Reader (NSFW)

Summary: The Ghoul has never been one to refuse a lady in distress.

Warnings: Discussions of past domestic and sexual abuse, dacryphilia, dubious consent, biting, use of “daddy,” dirty talk

Everyone go bow down to @lilkrissmuffet and her delicious prompt idea

Gif by @melodyoffire

The Ghoul ought to thank you. You’re an easy bounty to track. In your obnoxious blue and yellow jumpsuit, you stick out like a sore thumb among all the lifeless tans and browns of the wasteland. Shivering and scared, you’re a prey animal in a foreign land inhabited by predators, and you just ran headfirst into the worst of them.

Despite the split lip and jaundiced bruise over your eye, you’re a pretty little thing. Stupid too; you turn and bolt like a startled whitetail when you spot his twisted face and the hand cannon nestled in its holster. The Ghoul doesn’t blame you, though. If he were in your shoes, he’d run too.

The lasso hooks you around an ankle and yanks your feet out from under you. You crash to the ground in a flurry of sand and flailing limbs. A few, quick tugs and you’re thrashing and wailing at his feet. A knife to the throat and a whispered threat to cut out your tongue and fry it up for lunch quiets you down in a hurry.

“P-Please, please, no, I c-can’t go back, please, you don’t know what they do to us down there!” They always beg. Though, none of them beg quite as sweet as you.

The Ghoul turns his apathetic gaze to your watery eyes. Your lips are chapped, the bottom one trembling as you struggle to keep your blubbering contained. Tears streak through the dust that has collected on your sunburned cheeks. Before now, you probably never went a day without a shower.

“Honey, you got no idea what I know.”

On the horizon, thunderheads build. The ominous rumbling and static that fills the air tell the Ghoul it will soon be too dangerous for you to travel. The muscles in his face flex as he works his lower jaw back and forth. If it’s not one fucking thing, it’s another.

Rain pummels the ancient shingles of the ramshackle house, your temporary accommodations for the evening. In the corner, you sit huddled and trembling, your sniveling audible in the lulls between cracking thunder. Flashes of lightening glint off his blade as it slides across a whetstone.

From under the brim of his hat, the Ghoul watches you square your shoulders and inhale a fortifying breath. Here comes the bargaining.

“Excuse me, Mr…?” He says nothing in response to your timid question. A head tilt and a quirked brow are the only indications he gives that he’s listening. Voice quivering, you try again, “Um, I-I know there’s probably a reward for…for bringing me back—

“Yer husband’s offerin’ a handsome sum of caps for yer safe return. So, unless ya’ got double that stashed in that lil’ uniform a’ yers, ya’ can shut yer trap.” The Ghoul sees the tears welling up in your eyes from across the room. Now the sob story….

“Please! Please just listen. They…we’re used like chattel down there! He, my-my husband…” you spit out the word like it’s poison, “…hurts me. Hurts me all the time. I’m not the only one, there are other wives, others he hurts. I’ll-I’ll do anything not to go back, please. I don’t have any caps, but I’ll do…I’ll do anything.”

The promise of that last word hangs in the air, thick and heavy like the humidity from the thunderstorm. It doesn’t take a rocket scientist to understand what you’re offering. If he were a weaker man, or if he cared even a little for your predicament, perhaps he’d take you up on your “generosity,” but pussy doesn’t pay for chems.

“That’s mighty generous of you, sweetheart, takin’ pity on a lowly Wastelander like myself.” The Ghoul’s tone drips with sarcasm. He revels in the way you stumble over your apologies, your ‘No-that’s-not-what-I-meants.’

Casually, he adjusts his position, the hand holding the knife draping across his bent knee so he can more comfortably observe your floundering. Admittedly, the desperate tears pouring down your face are beginning to stir something deep in his belly. It’s too easy to imagine how you’d look under that vault suit: So much supple, unmarred skin begging to be bruised….

You’d offered, the Ghoul supposes. He isn’t one to look a gift horse in the mouth. Besides, what the fuck else is there to do around here?

How you ended up beneath him, nearly bent in half and taking him up to the hilt is all a bit of a blur, but it’s too late now to question things. You’re wet and mostly willing, gripping him so tight it almost hurts. You were a fantastic little actress—probably have to be with your home life being what it is—mewling like a kitten just how most men would adore, but the Ghoul isn’t most men. A “performance” isn’t what he had in mind.

Now, you scream for real. Your nails dig into the gnarled flesh of his shoulders and fresh tears wet your face as the Ghoul grips you behind the knees and jackhammers into your suckling hole. “That’s more like it, sweetie,” he urges, his voice clipped and hoarse. “Keep cryin’ for me.”

His teeth find the soft skin of your neck and the urge to sink them in deep and tear your throat out pulls a growl from his chest. However, you’re worth a lot more alive. The Ghoul settles for sucking a purple bruise onto your flesh instead. You taste like salty sweat with barest hint of familiar floral perfume.

“Oh—god, god, D-Daddy don’t stop—

You choke on your words when you realize what you said. He chuckles low in his throat when he feels the embarrassed heat rushing to your face. “Now who told ya’ t’call me that?” he teases.

Furiously, you shake your head and stammer, “I’m-I’m sorry, I didn’t mean—

“No, no, baby, I never said I didn’t like it. Let’s hear it again. Tell Daddy how good that lil’ pussy’s feelin’.” Your needy whine makes him groan and renews his desire to fuck orgasms out of you until you pass out.

He does, almost. He fucks you until the downpour outside tapers off into a light sprinkle, until you’re sore and drooling into the dirt. He fucks you until dark bruises in the shape of his fingers bloom along your hips and your blood dries on his lips because he couldn’t help but have a taste of your sweet skin. He fucks you until he has no choice but to pull out and paint your inner thighs with spend; he’d pump you full but he has no desire to share his last bag of Radaway.

Sated and feeling merciful, the Ghoul lets you sleep off your fucked-out stupor until afternoon the next day. He spends the morning resting and refueling and sucking down Jet while you doze, oblivious. Golden rays of sun pour in through the holes in the rickety house frame and illuminate the gentle rise and fall of your shoulders. The word “peaceful” comes to mind as he notes the way your worried frown has smoothed out in slumber.

But, all good things….

The Ghoul stands with a groan and a long stretch before he slings the saddle bag over his shoulder. He nudges you with the toe of his boot and rouses you with an energetic, “Rise and shine, sleepin’ beauty!” You roll over and blink up at him, bleary-eyed and befuddled.

“Wha…?”

“Got a lot of ground to cover today. Make yerself decent.”

“What…what are you talking about? Where are we going?” Your confusion would be endearing if he didn’t already know what comes next.

“Well, sugar, I got a bounty to cash in on. Now, are ya’ gonna behave or am I gonna have to drag ya’, kickin’ and screamin’ through the dirt?”

“But-but last night…!”

“Last night was real sweet, darlin’, but Daddy’s got bills t’pay.”

Most men would be moved or even ashamed by the look of betrayal and rage etched in every inch of your expression.

But the Ghoul isn’t most men.

#cooper howard #cooper howard x reader #cooper howard x you #the ghoul #the ghoul fallout #the ghoul x reader #the ghoul x you #fallout #fallout show #fallout 2024 #thesightstoshowyou

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dazed-and-confused23 · 1 month

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Dear Hearts and Gentle People 12

Pure Indulgence 3

Summary: You and Cooper have stayed a couple of weeks in Goodneighbor, and as much as John wants the two of you to stay, he knows that he could never ask either of you to. It's a shame the mayor has always had a problem with falling hard and fast.

Pairings: The Ghoul | Cooper Howard x Female Reader / John Hancock x Female Reader

Warnings: Smut and drug use. It's more fluffy than anything, I think. John is sad 😔

Masterlist

You wake to the sound of hushed, husky voices. Your head throbs from the alcohol the night before, but it's manageable enough for you to crack your eyes open. The first thing you see is a scared chest, and you peek up to see that you're cuddled against John. The mayor has you tucked close, a cigarette between two fingers on his free hand, and black eyes looking at the other ghoul that sits on the edge of the bed.

"Commonwealth is a dangerous place. We've got shit you won't ever believe," John rasps over you, and you hear the familiar timber of Cooper’s voice respond seconds later.

"Ain't nothin' we can't handle. Besides. It's not like we'll be stayin' long."

You hear the change in John's heartbeat. It speeds up, and the grip he has around your shoulders tightens for a split second before relaxing again. You smell the acidic smoke that Hancock blows out his ruined nose and hear the odd tilt of his voice when he speaks up.

"Yeah, I know, Coop," John exhales heavily with another plum of smoke, "Still plan on leaving today?"

You watch Cooper shrug his shoulders and take in the expance of his scared back. There are bullet and knife woulds everywhere. You've mapped out most of them with your hands and tongue and lips. So has John.

You don't like the thought of leaving the ghoul behind, but exploration calls your name, and you know that it'd be unfair to drag the mayor away from his home. You didn't think it was possible for you to care for another like you did Cooper, but here you were.

"If she wants to. I'm just the muscle. She's the girl with the plans," Cooper rumbles, and the bed dips when he shifts to face John on the bed. He holds a canister of jet and exchanges the chem for the cigarette that the other ghoul holds. He casts his eyes down and smirks when he notices that you're awake.

"Speak of the devil," He quips and reaches out to pat your sheet covered ass, "How long've you been up?"

John shifts below you, and you gift the mayor a small smile. You shrug in answer and turn to place a chaste kiss against Hancock's chest.

"Long enough," you murmur, and John tenses under you. It's obvious that you've been listening in on their conversation. You don't like making the ghoul feel bad, but lingering any longer, and it would be all the worse.

"How'd you sleep, Sunshine?" Hancock asks, and his free hand smooths over your back to gently stroke your hair, pulling it away and out of your face. It's a forced change in subject, but you don't mind.

"Considering I'm the meat in a ghoul sandwich - pretty good," you tease with a snicker. Hancock wheezes a laugh, and Cooper rolls his eyes at you, though you still catch a fond look sent your way.

John watches the smoothskin and the other ghoul. He doesn't want them to leave. He likes having your easy amusement around and Cooper’s dry, western humor. The two of you were like taking one of his favorite grape mentats every time you rolled into Goodneighbor, and it hurt to know that you planned on leaving the Commonwealth.

The two of you belonged in his town, and Hancock could only hope that neither of you would forget about him. It sounded sad and pathetic even to his own ears, but John had always had a problem with loving a little too easily.

He licks his dry lips and forces a smile, "Let's talk serious for a second, yeah?" Usually, John wasn't down for things like this, but you? You made him feel different. He suspected it was the same thing about you that made Cooper stay around.

"You'll be careful out there. The Institute isn't just some fairy tale like you hear people whisper about in the streets. Not to mention those tin cans that still patrol around here-."

The mayor of Goodneighbor shuts up with a disgruntled huff and glares at Cooper, who had grabbed his leg and dragged him down to lay on the bed. The other ghoul glares right back, lips mulled into a mean smirk. You, having been dislodged in the sudden motion, find a comfortable seat on John's lap and grin down at him.

"Told you earlier not to be thinkin' bout that kinda stuff, John, " Cooper groused from where he lounged behind you.

"Yeah, just cause we're leaving doesn't mean we're gonna be gone forever," you say and reach out, placing your palms on his sunken cheeks and smiling down at him, "You're a part of us now, even if we're not here."

John can't help but smile back and turn his face to press a kiss to your wrist. You were right, of course, but the ghoul would still miss the two of you.

"Then how about you give me something to remember you by, Sunshine?" Hancock says, and his hands come up to land on your hips, his own rocking up and against your exposed sex. His cock drags through your folds, and the ghoul groans at the heat you put off. His fingers dig into your sides hard enough that dark marks would bloom by the evening.

Cooper watches from behind you, a satisfied smirk crossing his lips when he sees John's tip catch your opening and you slide home with a hiss. Despite his initial feelings, it's always a pleasure to watch you and the other ghoul fuck. John liked things slow and steady, something that the bounty hunter didn't have the patience for. It wasn't hard to see that the mayor had fallen quickly. Cooper couldn't blame him.

He makes himself comfortable, eyes latched to where John pistons in and out of his smoothskin, your cunt clenching around the other man's length as you dig your nails into the flesh of Hancock's shoulders. The two of you are loud and shameless, and Cooper knows that if he misses anything about the Commonwealth, it would be this.

#cooper howard #fallout #fallout prime #fallout tv series #cooper howard x reader #x reader #the ghoul x reader #dear hears and gentle people #john hancock x reader #hancock x reader #john hancock

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scarletttries · 1 month

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When Fallout Characters Have Their First Kiss...(Fallout Show Request)

Pairings: Cooper Howard/The Ghoul x Reader, Maximus x Reader, Norm x Reader

Author's Note: Thank you to everyone who voted on my last poll! It was so fun seeing the votes come in so I'll definitely do that again! Please keep sending in Fallout requests, or for any of the other poll options :)

The Ghoul:

- Life in the wastelands has always been tough, and Cooper Howard's skin has had to grow even tougher, literally and metaphorically. His defenses have slowly steeled themselves over the last two hundred years, every awful encounter and exchange adding another barricade around what was once a warm and friendly heart. He thought that tough exterior was what had kept him alive that long. He also thought your purpose in his life must have been to prove that thought wrong.

- From that first surprising encounter the ghoul found himself drawn to your gaze, your touch, your presence. The way you gave him all three so unflinchingly. Your eyes could look into his without disgust or pity, your hand never snatching away as if the slightest graze could curse you to the same cruel fate. Cooper tried to tell himself the kindest thing he could do for you was to keep your partnership of survival a strictly platonic one, but as nights in each other's company passed one by one he could feel himself inching closer and closer to the warmth you seemed to radiate towards him.

- So used to being in control of every situation, it only shook him more to feel so uncertain of your feelings and if he should act on his own. He feared you being the first person in a century to show him kindness had turned his brain entirely to confetti, that his heart had no choice but to hope you'd take it from his cavernous chest. But your kindness was who you were to everyone, regardless of what they deserved. It didn't mean anything about how you felt about him. So why couldn't he stop himself having that most dangerous hope that maybe his heart wasn't the only one aching with every step you passed side by side, hands hanging just shy of touching, so easy to grab and finally embrace that deep seated truth that this was becoming something more.

- Cooper prided himself on taking the brunt of any danger the world seemed to throw your way, happy to be stitched back together by your soft and caring hands. That day though, he'd been thrown from your side a moment too long and watched helplessly as a half-crazed raider slashed at you with some clumsily wielded machete. You did your best to hold them off, but before Cooper could rise to his feet and grab his pistol you'd taken a hit to the arm, blood dripping from the tip of the blade and red spreading across the tattered fabric of your shirt. The ghoul had never felt such rage encompassing him, ripping through the gang in a violent frenzy that he would have worried would frighten you if he wasn't so focused on his need for overkill.

- He's uncharastically quiet as he practically carries you back to camp, ignoring your insistence that it's just a scratch until he's been able to examine you himself by the familiar glow of your campfire. He kneels beside you and scrutinises your arm, always slightly captivated by how soft your skin has remained in this unforgiving wasteland. Once he realises that you're right, and you'll be just fine, he can feel the swell of relief and terror hitting him all at once, the awful realisation that he could have lost you without ever getting to try and be as close to you as he craves. So he stills his gaze on your face, eyes flickering down to your lips as he inches closer, bracing himself for the rejection of your retreat. Instead you meet him halfway, your lips more warm and soft than any he could remember. In that sweet moment Cooper Howard feels more alive, more human, more safe than he ever did before the bombs hit. He feels like his body is warming from the inside out, a rush of blood bringing him back to the man he once was.

- He may not look any different as he reluctantly pulls away to let you breathe, but he is a changed man inside from your kiss. He realises that it's not his callous cynicism that's kept him alive this long, but his once soft heart, desperate to find hope again. Hope that he's now found, with you.

Maximus:

- It was hard for Maximus to put his finger on exactly what he felt when he was around you. He knew his entire being ached to be near you, and even when he was, it somehow wasn't close enough. He knew that when you smiled it made him smile, no matter what the context or motivation. He knew that the longer he went without seeing you, the dimmer the world seemed to be, like you were his lens to all the joy and colour around him and he was lost in grey oblivion about it. Maximus felt a lot of things around you that he'd never felt before, but he didn't really know what to call it. And he certainly didn't know what to do with all those feelings.

- The Brotherhood wasn't exactly the best place to learn about feelings growing up, everything complex and difficult hidden behind a layer of steel and obedience. Thankfully if you put enough young people together, eventually gossip will reign supreme. And so Max heard about the idea of a crush from two tables over as he sat eating alone in the canteen. He strained to pick up the conversation between two of the older guys who'd been out on more missions, setting down his cutlery and shuffling closer as he heard one of them talk about the way his stomach was in knots every time one of the new recruits looked at him. By the time they'd described the hot flush in their cheeks when the object of their affections smiled, and how they plagued their every thought, Max was sat with his mouth hanging agape and a renewed sense of purpose for the next time you came knocking on his door to sneak out to see the stars.

- In fact he couldn't wait for that moment to come and instead you found him breathless and fighting with the opening of your tent when you came back from your latest supply run. Upon spotting you he quickly unravelled himself from the ropes that had captured his limbs in his stealthy attempts to sneak a peek inside, and offered his hand to you in such a matter of fact motion that you had to stifle a laugh at the serious expression on his face. He leads you to the quiet corner of camp the two of you frequent, a tarp tucked against a loose fence panel that almost feels like a loveseat made just for you.

"Do you know what a crush is?" Max looked equal parts concerned and excited as he tried to read your puzzled expression.

"Yes Max, do you?" You knew there was something growing in the way you and Maximus had come to rely on each other, and pass every free moment tangled in each other's company, but you also knew he didn't have the best understanding when it came to the more human parts of his life and didn't want to risk misreading the delicate situation.

"I think so, but what should you do when you have a crush on someone?" He looked up at you starry-eyed and hopeless, desperately wishing that you two could be far away from here and working all of this out without the horrors of war hanging over you. You could see the straining heart behind his wide-eyed gaze, his hand still nervously clinging to yours, and decided to take pity on the young soldier.

"Do you want me to show you?" You ask softly, inching closer to his face almost feeling the heat rising in his cheeks as he frantically nodded. Lifting the hand he hadn't claimed, you let your palm rest against his cheek, feeling his body start to tremble in anticipation of what might come next. You leaned in, eyes focusing on his soft full lips until they met yours, pressing gently into him until his brain caught up and finally he started to reciprocate. Unsure and desperate, his free hand found the small of your back, pulling you closer and making sure you wouldn't stop this wonderful feeling in a hurry. As your lips moved slowly against his, he found a rhythm with you, drinking in your sweet warmth and praying this moment would never end, because somehow this strange and overwhelming feeling was still so much better than the years of emptiness that had stretched before it. Finally you pull away from him, searching his eyes for some insight into how he's feeling after such a pivotal first for him. You're met by the widest smile you've ever seen, and a simple question, "Can we do that again?"

Norm:

- Norman Maclean couldn't help the overwhelming cynicism that flooded through him every time it was the day of another vault-exchanging wedding day. He wanted to enjoy the delicious array of food, without thinking about how insufferable it must be to suddenly live with a perfect stranger. He wanted to enthusiastically navigate the dancefloor like everyone else, without thinking about how the new couple must be feeling so uncomfortable despite how happy they looked. He wanted to be able to soak in the joy of that magical first kiss without feeling this strange hollow ache inside himself that he tried to write off as an aversion to the falseness of this whole charade. But as he watched yet another 'happy couple' lock lips or move intertwined across the dancefloor, a small part of him knew that his distaste for the day was down to one much more simple feeling: Envy.

- There wasn't even anyone in the vault he wanted to share those kinds of embraces with, but that knowledge did little to assuage the aching loneliness that was nestled deep under layers of logic and intelligence that he let guide him instead of his heart. Or at least there had never been anyone in the vault that had made him feel that way by the time the council decided it was his turn to take part in their little tradition of arranged marriages. And in a most pleasant surprise to the slight young man, he felt a touch of optimism as his wedding day rolled around and he found himself face to face with you. And in a twist of fate that had Norm quite unable to believe his own luck, he was destined to wed someone that stirred those same desperate, longing feelings inside him with no sign of relief.

- The short-lived, perfunctory kiss with which the two of you had sealed your vows had been enough to set his heart ablaze, even with the eyes of the vault on him, even though it only lasted for a split-second, even though he wished the circumstances were entirely different. And as the two of you found common ground and shared secret jokes as the night went on, Norm only found himself falling deeper under your spell and praying when the night was through that you wouldn't resent following him back to a room that might finally feel like home.

- As the music from the old record-player swelled you threaded your fingers through his and pulled him over the sparsely populated dancefloor, most of the Vault 33 having long given up on seeing Norm dance and retreated to their own private quarters. As the lights grew dimmer on the projected skyline you seemed only more beautiful in Norm's eyes, his slender arms finding your waist and holding onto you like he feared he might drift away in an ocean current that threatened to pull him back to reality. He watched the soft smile spread effortlessly across your face, the ease with which you swayed to the music making him dance before he even realised he was moving. His mind replayed the briefest touch of your lips and suddenly he found himself unable to concentrate on anything but closing the distance between you, every nerve in his body sending electricity through him that finally promised to illuminate the dark, aching loneliness that had resided in him for as long as he could remember.

- He prayed your smile was genuine as he stepped ever closer, taking a visibly deep breath before finally taking the plunge and landing what he hoped would be the first real kiss of many in your marriage. His chest pressed firmly against yours as he tried to remove all space between the two of you, every ounce of hope and affection pouring out into a kiss that had your head spinning, pure dedication from your new husband clear in his every touch. It felt all consuming to finally be so connected to another person, a feeling Norm feared would never find him but now seemed a tangible part of his present and future. By the time he pulled away his lungs ached and he worried his eyes would well up if you kept staring at him with such intensity. He felt himself freeze on the spot as he awaited your verdict; on his kiss, on the marriage, on him. A moment that stretched out an eternity passed before finally he watched a smile grace your lips, feeling your hand find his again as you said softly in his ear, an unfamiliar gleam in your eye,

"Which of these rooms is ours, husband?"

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ghoulfuckersincorporated · 23 days

Note

umm how dark are u willing to go? I'm thinking abt turning to a life of prostitution and the ghoul being your first ever client and he's not very gentle about it, (plus you're scared bc he's a ghoul ffs) in fact he's very smug bc he's the first client, probably buys you for the night :) mwah xoxo

Working Girl

Pairing: Cooper Howard/The Ghoul x Sex Worker Female Reader

Word Count: 5,411

Warnings: smut (18+), sex for pay, rough sex, knife play, cannibalistic threats (he's joking...kinda), spitting, hair pulling, humiliation, rope play, dacryphilia, face and throat fucking, cum facial, some dubcon elements, soft-ish ending (I cannot help myself).

Notes: My answer to that question is "darker than this", anon. I suppose I should probably put together some sort of "wills-and-wonts" pinned post, though, honestly, there aren't many of the latter. With smut and romance content, I think it's important to keep an open mind and broaden your horizons. We are cool with sex work and sex workers in this house, by the way.

I had to let this one stew a bit to decide what direction I wanted to go with it. I'm obsessed with the idea of Cooper menacing around in New Vegas, so I hope you're alright with that. I am also obsessed with the outfits the sex workers outside the casinos wear. I went a little crazy with the length on this one, but I'm super happy with how it turned out. Hope you like it! XOXO

The uniform you'd been given for your new job was absolutely humiliating.

Sure, you looked...nice. They'd fed you, for once you'd had plenty of water, got the first chance to bathe that you'd had in weeks, maybe months. You'd even been able to wash your hair, a rare, rare thing that still had you trying to smell the silky strands as they blew by your face. Initially, you'd felt quite confident, actually; the cropped top even had sleeves, the tight black skirt and heels making your legs look quite nice, even if they were uncomfortable to walk and stand in.

However, your confidence had diminished a bit when they'd given you the black leather collar to wear around your neck, reducing to basically zero when you actually stepped outside to begin your work.

Okay, you had technically done this before, traded sex for medicine or repair work or a place to stay. Honestly, at this point, you thought you'd had more sex for trade than sex for pleasure, the latter hard to come by for someone as picky about actual dating as you. But it felt like one thing to have someone offer it in the moment, when you were truly desperate and a spur-of-the-moment decision was distastefully easy to make. This, standing along the New Vegas Strip and advertising yourself for it, felt like another. A late evening breeze blew across the road, stirring up some dust and making you shiver.

If you were honest with yourself, you got off easy. You weren't sure what the guys and girls with the chains around their bodies and their nipples exposed had done, right or wrong, to earn that uniform, but you weren't eager to find out.

There was a man across the way, leaning against the wall in the shadows outside the tram station, a lit cigarette hanging loosely from his hand. You couldn't see his face, obscured by a dingy, wide-brimmed cowboy hat, his figure hidden as well by a long, dark duster that was incredibly ratty at the ends. He'd been there a while; you weren't sure how long, but you were fairly certain he'd been checking you out. His smokes were lasting an awfully long time.

You'd been told that oftentimes johns were too nervous to initiate the transaction themselves, that you needed to be fun and flirty and try to hook them in yourself if you wanted any business. It didn't help that you, too, were nervous to initiate, but you wanted this to work out, at least for now, and no one else had been interested so far.

"Hey there, handsome. Are you looking to party?" you called out to him, waving as playfully as possible.

That got him, the burning red cherry at the end of his smoke glowing brightly for a few seconds before he tossed it to the ground, exhaling a big cloud of smoke as he stubbed it out with the toe of his boot.

"Handsome, huh? It's been a hot, hot minute since anyone called me that, darlin'." he drawled, his voice actually quite nice. His footsteps gave off a funny little jingle you couldn't place, and you calmly took him in as he approached. But then he came close enough that you could see his face, see the pits and the sunken eye sockets and the gaping hole in the middle of his face where a nose was supposed to be.

A ghoul. Holy shit, he was a ghoul.

Now, you didn't have anything against ghouls, per se, not like some people certainly seemed to. You didn't like the idea of anyone being barred from towns and outposts or harassed just because of what they were, to no fault of their own. You still gave pause at the idea of sleeping with one. Couldn't it make you sick? Didn't some ghouls eat people? Or was that just the feral ones? No, that was stupid. There were people who ate people in this world. Of course a ghoul could possibly eat you.

"Busy the rest of the night?" he asked as if it were automatically the response he'd receive.

You tried your best to giggle playfully, desperate to no longer have to stand outside and solicit for a while, even if it meant your first trick was a doozy.

"Not if you've got the caps." you replied, clenching your shaking hands behind your back.

"Oh, I've got 'em, sweetheart. So." he asked, looking you blatantly up and down. "Are we gonna party or what?"

The two of you made your way into the casino, the bright lights throwing intriguing shadows across your new friend's gaunt face. You left him at the front desk and told him where could meet you after he relinquished all of his weapons, including the big gun strapped to his back. You'd be happy to see that go.

After you left him, you went to the back to check in and described the john you were going back with. When you said he was a ghoul, you expected some sort of reaction or concern, but all the older woman behind the counter did was produce a Rad-X from a half-empty bottle and push it across the counter at you along with a room key.

"Room three. He paid for the night." she said flatly, barely looking your way. "You're gonna wanna take that now, not later."

You picked it up and turned to walk towards the back rooms where the dates happened. You were a little floored he'd paid for that much time; you'd been anticipating an hour, maybe two. But all night? Did turning into a ghoul give you some sort of super stamina? Or did he have other plans for you?

As you passed by the doorway to the gambling floor, you could see him still standing at the counter emptying his pockets.

Just how many weapons did one person need?

Hesitating a moment, you waited to catch his eye, holding up your hand and flashing him three fingers. He gave you a slight nod, and you continued on, unlocking the third door down the adjacent, isolated hall. The rooms weren't much but the basics; a dingy but functional bed, a chair and side table with a jug of water and a few glasses in the corner. A lamp with a stained shade. A clock to keep track of the time. That was about it. You poured yourself a small glass of water from the jug and swallowed the Rad-X down, a bitter taste coating the inside of your mouth. Pulling a face, you took a fidgety seat at the foot of the bed to wait for your companion for the night to arrive, leaving your uncomfortable heels on.

Don't take off the shoes before the john gets in there, you'd been told. Some guys like to take everything off themselves.

You were pulled from your ruminations by the sound of the door creaking open, making you startle ever-so-slightly as he entered.

The people at the front desk had almost certainly offered to take his hat and coat, but it seemed he had declined. Maybe he had some particular personal attachment to them, you thought as he shucked the dirty duster, hanging it by the door. The hat remained on as he turned and appraised you, sitting straight on the bed, your hands daintily in your lap. He still wore a few layers, but you took comfort in knowing that he'd had his pockets emptied. They'd let him keep the lasso he'd been wearing, though, and you eyed it cautiously as it hung from his hip.

The ghoul didn't say anything to you as he crossed the room, pouring himself a tall glass of water and sitting in the chair, drinking it down as he stared at you. That sent you squirming ever so slightly, uncertain of how you were supposed to react.

"So, how long have you been in town?" you asked, eager to fill the silence. He didn't answer for an unsettlingly long time, finishing the first glass of water and pouring another.

"Long enough. Just blowing through." he replied, brim over his eyes and glass over his mouth.

"Ah." you responded, unsure what else to say to that. Things were quiet again for a long time, several minutes passing as you watched him dig an inhaler out of his pocket and take a long drag. You weren't sure what it was; you'd recognize a Jet container. Lots of people used it.

"I was surprised you wanted me for the whole night." you confessed.

"That right?" he responded. "Not in this line of work long, eh?"

"Oh. Uh, I guess." you replied, taken aback by that. "It's just that all night's a long time."

You were trying to make your voice as sweet and seductive as possible, despite the tingle of worry creeping up your spine.

"It sure is." he replied, a glint in his eye that you couldn't read. It frightened you a little, but you told yourself you were overreacting. Another few minutes passed by, another puff of the inhaler, before he raised his hand, still wearing those thick gloves, and beckoned you over. You stood, somewhat shakily walked over to stand in front of him as he sat reclined in the chair, and waited for him to direct you.

"Alright," he said, voice calm as ever as he suddenly produced a long, slender blade from...somewhere. "let's get that outfit off."

This, of course, sent you screaming, turning quickly to flee towards the door. However, he quickly appeared behind you, a hand moving to cover your mouth with one of those filthy gloves as he yanked you back into his chest, making you stumble in those awful shoes. The smell of leather and gunpowder washed over you.

"Jesus Christ." he said, mild annoyance in his tone as he held you almost effortlessly with the one arm. "If you're already screamin' like this when we ain't even had any fun, maybe you ain't cut out for this, baby doll. Never seen a knife before?"

Your hollering choked down into a little cry as the strange-smelling glove muffled you, as you took in what he said. You desperately didn't want to fuck up this job on your literal first night, didn't want to lose a chance to have some stability, a roof over your head. But you couldn't stop the way your brain screamed at you to run. He brought the blade back up to your eye level, turning it to and fro, as if to show it off to you, the small silver blade glinting dangerously in the lamplight.

"You aren't supposed to have that." you whimpered between his fingers, trembling.

"Lotsa people do things they aren't supposed to in this world." was his reply as he slid the blade directly between your breasts, slicing through the crop top from hem to collar. You swore you felt the blade swipe your skin, and it made you gasp in fear, but when you looked, the skin was untouched.

His hands made quick work of the button and zipper of your skirt, dropping it around you feet and leaving you standing before him in nothing but your underwear and your uncomfortable shoes, your heart clamoring in your rib cage.

Looking you up and down once more, he stepped back and took in the whole scene before slinking back down into the chair in the corner, his hands moving down to undo his own belt and fly. He paused, however, to invite you forward again, urging you to close the few foot distance between you. You moved as instructed, still shaken as you stood a foot or so in front of him.

"Kneel."

Carefully, you lowered yourself down onto the scuffed old floor, cool against your bare knees as you looked up at him.

From this angle, it was much easier to see his whole face, including his eyes, and they were gorgeous. You hadn't noticed before, between the nerves and the hat, that they were like pools of dark honey. They distracted you so much that you missed him actually tugging his cock free. When you looked down at it, you were pleasantly surprised at how normal it looked, save for the radiation-roughened texture of the skin. Save for that, all the normal parts were there in normal quantities. You let out a very soft sigh of relief.

"Well, go on." he said, brandishing the thing at you like a weapon. "If you're gonna be a whore, you gotta act like one."

You could feel yourself pouting at his statement, and you hated it, hated the way his words rang through your brain, but you felt some ease at finally getting into something you had experience with, at least. Promptly crawling forward the last foot or so, you let yourself sit a tad more comfortably, leaning forward and reaching out to wrap your fingers around him.

"Uh-uh." he corrected, stopping you in your tracks. "If you're any good at it, you shouldn't need your hands."

This gave you some pause, scanning him over as your palms came to rest on the bit of exposed chair between his legs. Slowly, you leaned forward and dragged your tongue along the underside of his erection, sending it twitching at the contact. The man sitting before you hummed in approval, fully reclining against the back of the chair to watch you closely as you cocked your head somewhat awkwardly to allow your lips to wrap around the tip. He tasted differently than you were accustomed to, you thought as you began to let your head bob up and down on the first few inches of him, your tongue running along the leaking slit; there was an almost metallic aftertaste to him, like licking a cap.

"There you go." he praised lowly as you slid down to take as much of him as you comfortably could, his right hand coming to softly fist in your hair. The movement made you vaguely suspicious, and rightly so, as a few moments later, his other hand joined the first, and together they held your head in place, his hips pistoning up to fuck your face. You tolerated it well, only gagging at the last few thrusts when it seemed he was trying to push deeper and deeper. When you did, the sensation made him pull your head back, his saliva-coated cock laying against his leather-clad stomach as he appraised you, his eyes largely obscured again, drool all over your lips and chin.

"Let's move over to the bed, shall we?" he said, already standing by the time he finished.

Awkwardly, you attempted to right yourself out of your kneeling posture, but before you could even try, he stooped and grabbed you around the waist, tossing you over his shoulder like you weighed absolutely nothing. He was so strong and it made you blush as an indignant sound left you.

"Hey!" you let out before you could stop yourself. You weren't supposed to complain, but it felt like he was almost antagonizing you.

"Allow me." he replied, shooting you a look over his shoulder.

He dropped you down back onto the foot of the bed rather unceremoniously, your hair falling in your face and eyes; when you moved it away again, the switchblade was back in his hand, and you screamed again, unable to stop yourself.

"Keep it comin', sweetheart. I doubt anyone's rushing in here to help you. Honestly, I think they'd respond quicker if you quit screamin' for too long." he said, mocking.

"Quit scaring me and I'll quit screaming!" you shot back, righting yourself so that you were at least properly sitting upright.

"Boy, you sure do love to run that filthy little cocksucking mouth of yours, don'tcha?" he sneered, grabbing your hair again and yanking you close. "Pretty sure I'm payin' you to put out, not to bitch."

The blade traced back down your cleavage to dig into the waistband of your black bra, quickly slicing through it as well and sending your breasts popping out, the now damaged garment hanging uselessly from your arms. The ghoul insistently urged you down onto your back by your hair, and you followed, your legs dangling over the foot of the bed past your knee. For a moment, he simply looked at you.

"Open your mouth." he demanded, leaning over you.

You did as you were told, the command not unusual, but then he puckered his lips and let a rather large gob of spit fall onto your tongue, sending you gagging and scrambling to sit up.

"Nope. Swallow it." he said, maintaining that painful grip against your scalp, keeping you on your back. "You need to remember where your place is right about now, girlie."

Incensed, you hesitated a moment before forcing yourself to do as he told you. Your face was burning bright red with humiliation. He was still leaning over you, bringing the sharp edge close to your skin again. You steeled yourself, calling his bluff despite how dangerous that felt, trying your best to keep your eyes on his, challenging him as he traced the point across your flesh.

"Such pretty, smooth skin." he muttered, watching your reaction closely. "Looks good enough to slice a piece off and eat..."

As he spoke, he let the sharpened edge dig fully into the side of your breast, and you let out a whimper, your stomach rolling at the feeling, at his words. You were certain he was about to really hurt you.

However, he stopped after a moment, pulling the thing away to reveal nothing more than a thin red dash the length of the blade. A kitten scratch. A joke. You looked to him rather incredulously, and he rolled his eyes, folding the edge back into its handle, showing you that it was fully closed before tossing it across the room, landing with a thud in the chair.

"Since you're so afraid of it." he taunted, putting his hands on your hips to flip you onto your stomach. "Hands and knees. Face down."

A frustrated huff escaped you at this newest little jape as you pulled yourself up into the proper position, watching him out of the corner of your eye, your face buried in the musty mattress. It was hard to focus your vision like this, but you watched him move up towards the head of the bed until you couldn't see him anymore. There was a sound you couldn't put your finger on, quick and quiet, but by the time you could even hazard a guess at what it was, he'd seized your right arm by the wrist and was wrapping the rope he'd been carrying around it, finishing it off with a knot. This was enough for you to risk a quick glimpse in his direction, only to see that he'd used the lasso to tie your arm to the head of the bed. Your heart raced as he gave the knot at the headboard a yank before disappearing behind you, tugging your collar loose and dropping it on the floor.

He left the heels on.

"It's funny that these fancy casinos think all these dirtbags and desert rats'll come in here and just give up every weapon they have willingly. That's not how things work out there, and it's still not how they work in here, no matter how much they pretend it is." he mused, his voice making it seem almost as if he were talking to himself and not you. His still-gloved hand petted at the round globe of your ass.

Now you were annoyed. Why was he fucking with you like this?

"Are you a dirtbag or a desert rat?" you muttered into the sheets, jumping when he suddenly grabbed you by your hair again in response, holding you tight in his grip as he forced you to look at him.

"I'm the first thing, darlin'. It'll be good for you to learn the difference." he said, actually smirking at you, at the pained look on your face as the feeling once more burned in your scalp, one of his hands slowly moving up the back of your thigh to stroke your mound over your underwear. Quickly, he pushed them aside, his longest finger tracing up and down your embarrassingly wet slit, and you bit your lips hard to muffle the moan you wanted to let out.

Soon, he was working that finger inside you, then another, and another, all in quick succession; this wasn't about making you feel good, it was about making sure you could take him properly. You could feel the head of his cock nudging against your bare ass cheek, leaking and throbbing. He was eager, no matter how cool and calm he seemed to be.

"Spread your legs more." he mumbled, knee pushing at your right leg to "help" you open yourself wider for him. You did as much as possible, feeling like you could fall at any moment. However, you tensed again when you felt the tip of him slip through your folds, collecting some of the wetness there before sliding down to press at your entrance. You held your breath.

It burned when he pushed inside, though whether that was because of the rough texture of his skin or because you weren't completely prepared, you didn't know. He didn't give you much time to adjust to his size, simply bracing one knee against the mattress as he began to fuck you. The sound of flesh slapping flesh filled the room, his blunt cock head slamming painfully against your cervix.

At one point, he shifted himself higher over you, seeking a way to be deeper inside. The change in angle caused the slick head of his cock to slip out of you for a moment, pressing against your taut asshole for just a split second, but it was enough to make you panic, squirming wildly beneath him. Pure fear shot up your spine. He only laughed sardonically, tugging your hair to make you look over your shoulder at him.

"You're lucky I ain't real mean, sweetheart." he murmured, slamming his cock back into your leaking, sore cunt. The way it hit hard against your already tender cervix made you whimper, but you were glad he didn't do what you'd thought he was gonna do. It was upsetting you that you weren't more upset, frankly. The whole thing made you wanna be sick, especially the part where you were insanely close to orgasm suddenly.

"The funniest part of all this is that you're still gettin' off on it." he called you out as if he could read your mind.

You desperately shook your head, silent tears beginning to run down your cheeks and tickle onto your chin. You weren't enjoying this, weren't enjoying the rough way he was using you. You certainly weren't enjoying those strangely captivating eyes pinning you as he held you down.

"Please." he scolded. "It's one thing to be a whore. It's another thing to be a liar."

That actually managed to draw an embarrassing little sniffle from you; not his taunts, but the fact that you were fluttering so enthusiastically around him at his words. The man on top of you tilted his head again at this, watching you teeter on the edge of something terribly amazing.

"Poor pretty thing." he cooed with fake sympathy, rubbing away an errant tear with his thumb. Your neck ached at the angle he was holding it at. "Open."

You obeyed, and he spat in your mouth again. It actually didn't have much taste, and you swallowed with no complaint, your brain foggy from the rough way he was fucking you. The feeling of humiliation was still there, creeping hot up your back, but it also made you clench hard around him.

"Fuck." he snarled, suddenly pulling back from you, standing beside the bed again, one hand jerking himself as he grabbed you up onto your knees once more, his fist in your hair as he rubbed and slapped his throbbing cock against your face.

"Open your fuckin' mouth." he growled, pushing himself as far back down your throat as he could go as soon as you did, both hands cupping the back of your head as he skull-fucked you with wild abandon. Your hands braced on his hips, your efforts to blunt his thrusts futile. You gagged and choked and drooled as he used your throat; embarrassingly, one of your hands appeared on your swollen, aching clit, rubbing it in tight circles as he began to throb.

"Shit, girlie, you're gonna make me cum." he panted, pulling himself back from you, leaving you sputtering for air as he resumed rubbing his cockhead on your lips and cheeks. His eyes were burning into yours. "Better keep your mouth closed."

You clenched your lips between your teeth just as the first jet of his release hit your cheek, much thicker and hotter than you'd anticipated, another and then another, seemingly an endless amount covering your entire lower face, dribbling from your lips and chin as he groaned and growled his way through it. Your hand was still rubbing furiously between your legs, and he must've noticed, slipping his fingers down in place of yours and rubbing those same circles, his rough touch just what you needed to fall over the edge as well, moaning loudly as your whole body seized.

Everything was eerily quiet and calm as you both let your breathing settle, one hand supporting his weight against the wall by the head of the bed for a moment, his eyes hidden by the hat once more. Surprisingly, he undid the knot at the headboard, then the one around your wrist, tossing the rope down onto the floor next to the bed as he went rummaging around in his pockets. You noticed that he was tucked back away into his pants. Suddenly, a dingy handkerchief was pressed into your palm; it took you a moment to realize that he intended for you to clean the mess from your face with it.

You set to it, the incredibly thick, almost gelatinous substance difficult to wipe away with the thin square of cloth, but you managed to make it happen. Mostly. As you tidied yourself, he pulled the inhaler from one pocket and a rumpled pack of cigarettes from another, taking a puff and jamming a cig between his thin, cracked lips. He paused to hold the pack out to you, and you shook your head.

"You can take a break, kid. We've got all night." he said, lighting the smoke and sitting down on the edge of the bed.

You supposed he was right; you were absolutely exhausted physically after that whole ordeal, and it was his time. If he was alright with you resting some, you'd rest some. Carefully, you crawled up and laid your head on one of the pillows, your side against his back as he sat there, smoking and righting his clothes. In the back of your head, a little bug nagged at you.

"How did you know?" you asked, voice almost timid.

"Hmm?" he replied, his focus seemingly on re-winding the lasso.

"How did you know that, uh, tonight's my first night on the job?"

This got him to turn to you, a mischievous, but not unkind gleam in his gaze.

"I watched you for a while. Just got off the tram when you came outside, wanted a smoke. Noticed you. Couldn't not notice you. You looked like a nervous little bunny out there, just waitin' for a hawk to come and snatch you up."

"So you decided to be the hawk?"

"Yep."

You were both quiet again at this, the perfectly coiled rope now sitting near your feet. Outside, you could hear the clinking of glasses, the drunken laughter of gamblers and bar patrons. Your eyelids were so heavy.

You'd sort of assumed that you would want to cry yourself to sleep after what you'd been through, between the roller coaster of emotions and the general humiliation of it all; oddly enough, you didn't. Instead, you drifted off into a brief, fitful rest, dreaming of disgusting leather gloves and radiation-pillaged skin.

The Strip at twilight was quite the sight, the neon and bright colors washed mute by the early morning hues. It would be nice to stop and admire if you weren't so desperate to get out of town.

As much as you were loathe to admit it, the ghoul you'd been with the night before was right; you absolutely weren't cut out for this. You'd hated every single second of trying to entice people to pay you for sex, the way people had looked and leered at you as they'd gone by. Besides, your employers gave you the impression that they didn't have your best interest at heart. They also gave you the creeps.

And if anyone in the future wanted to go further than he had, you now knew you wouldn't be able to handle it. Though, you'd be lying if you said that you hadn't learned some things about yourself.

An unidentifiable feeling passed over you as you thought of him.

You'd awoken, shocked you'd managed to sleep at all, with quite the start, eyes frantically jumping to the clock to find that only about half an hour had passed. To your genuine surprise, the ghoul was gone, several hours still left in the time he'd paid for. The jug of water on the table was empty. You'd waited dutifully, naked on the bed, for the remainder of his time slot. You'd even kept the heels on. At first, you'd wondered if he'd maybe gone to the bar for a drink. But after another hour passed, you were fairly certain he wasn't coming back. Despite yourself, you were strangely disappointed.

At the end of his paid time, the end of your shift, you checked back in at the desk, collected your pay, and immediately went upstairs to collect your things.

Your meager possessions were few enough to fit into a little drawstring; you'd cast a quick glimpse at the destroyed shirt the man had cut off of you, crumpled on the floor with the rest of your uniform after you'd changed back into your dingy street clothes, before tucking it away into the bag. You weren't sure why. After that, you'd tucked the bag up inside your jacket, calmly walked outside for a "smoke", and kept walking until you made it outside the walls of Freeside, feeling like there were eyes on you the whole way. It was only once you were past the border of the junk fences that you allowed yourself to pause and take a shaky breath.

"You made the right choice." came a familiar drawl from behind you.

The voice startled you, already on edge as you worried about being followed from the casino, sending you freezing in the middle of the decaying road. Through the dusty haze, you could make out his hat and coat, emerging from behind a barricade of concrete, smoke in hand. The big gun was back in its place, slung loosely across his broad shoulders.

"You scared me." you hissed, your hand resting on your flying heart.

He tilted his head at you, those hauntingly beautiful eyes scanning you. He gave a shrug, which was very apparently not an apology.

"Where you headed?" he asked.

"I dunno." you confessed flatly, trying your best to not fidget in place. "Not here."

He took a long, long drag off of his smoke before dropping it into the dirt, stubbing it out with the toe of his boot before looking up at you underneath the brim of that accursed hat. Everything felt very familiar, all of the sudden. Another transaction waiting to happen.

"Quite the coincidence. I'm also headed 'not here'." he replied, quietly assessing you as he leaned against the barricade, lighting another cig.

You hesitated for a moment before responding, considering some things. But eventually, you replied, tone teasing:

"Looking for some company, are you?"

He smirked at you, smoldering cigarette hanging loosely between those vicious teeth.

"Sure am. Interested?"

You crossed the rest of the way over to him, standing close. The smell of leather and gunpowder washed over you once more.

"If you've got the caps, handsome."

#cooper howard #the ghoul #cooper howard smut #cooper howard x reader #cooper howard x you #fallout tv show #fallout prime #submission

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greyfics · 2 months

Text

even if it's handcuffed, I'm leaving here with you.

- °•. ✦ .•° -

pairing: the ghoul (cooper howard) x reader fic type: enemies to lovers, no smut, mild spice + eventual fluff slow burn meter: ◈◈◇◇◇ word count: 3.8K inspo: TPD lyric prompt list, reblogged on main reader type: assumed wastelander background, gender neutral, 'I don't need a knight to save me', assumed negative views of BoS, assumed gun for hire cw: strong language, violence, reference to fictional drugs, mild dismemberment summary: reader is a gun for hire who has gotten themselves into a bit of trouble in the form of a moderate bounty with a local segment of the brotherhood- and cooper howard knows he can get all the drugs he needs for what seems like an easy job.

- °•. ✦ .•° -

"We can do this all day, darlin'. Even if it's handcuffed, I'm leavin' here with you." you feel the pressure of a pistol barrel pressing against the base of your skull from behind, and a disgruntled, defeated sigh slips through your lips. The game is up- you're out of ammo, down to the ripper hanging from your side, and 'gun against the brain-cage' is the indisputable checkmate.

Up to this point, you'd been pretty successful in shaking off the swathes of bounty hunters and jet-scrounging raiders that'd been on your tale since you became an enemy to the brotherhood- which, nowadays, seemed to be a pretty fucking easy feat to accomplish. The rusty knights were getting a little big for their oversized, several-tonne boots- and you had never been a fan of self-asserting authorities using their power in the name of 'order', especially not when they could hardly organise their own little sectors across the expansive, sparse remains of the USA.

As good with a revolver as you are, today it seems your luck has ran out and your karma has caught up with you, because you've finally met your match in a ghoul with a face so smug you wish you at least had a chance to slap it before losing the game of cat and mouse you'd been playing for a couple days now across Junktown. Your face collides into concrete and a quick click combines with the feel of steel against your wrists, The Ghoul's threat having evolved into a promise.

You spit a ball of blood and saliva from your mouth, wrought up by the hard impact with the ground below, "Alright, you win this round you freak- I'll come with you, just get these off of me." You hear a smirk from above, "Now how stupid do you fuckin' think I am? No, I gave you a chance to come willingly, you chose to shoot me in the leg. Lucky I ain't returned the favour." He gives you a light, sharp kick in the side with the tip of his boot, "Up. We got a long way to travel, and sooner we get there, sooner I get paid. I'll be reminding you now that I only get a bonus for bringing you alive, so make my life hell and I'll live without the extra caps." "Not exactly easy when my-" you hear the chick of a safety being cocked, and awkwardly shuffle back until you can jut sharply up onto your knees and slowly stand, turning to glare daggers into your now captor. The Ghoul's expression remains stiffly affixed with the wry, smug facade he bears: relaxed, squinting eyes peeking out above a thin, ever-upturned lip- you swear to yourself to you'll smack that smile off his face- but by all accounts, beneath the withered, decaying skin that had festered in his ghoulish transformation, the man had the stature (and admittedly, the jawline) of a filmstar.

You shake off the irritable possibility of monster like this getting lucky with the gene pool as a calloused hand secures a vice grip on one of your wrists and tugs you in suit as it's owner sets into motion, dragging you away from the remnants of an old civilisation and towards a military base miles away you are all too acquainted with.

You had been so caught up in the wild ride of adrenaline that came with being on the lamb that you briefly detached yourself from the catalyst of the chase- but as concrete and clay inevitably crumbles away to distant sandy dunes and cacti, the dread stirs in your stomach like a plague. It was easier to wave off the consequences of your actions when you weren't being marched towards the gallows to face them- it wasn't like you made an attack on the organisation. You kill one knight trashing up a town in the name of redundant technology, and suddenly you're on a hit-list. You know The Ghoul probably doesn't know this, and you know for certain that even if you tried to give the man a sob story he wouldn't care. This was it. "You about to be sick?" You snap from your pessimistic daze at the sudden interruption of silence, "No. Why?" "You look like you just ate a mouldy iguana, that's why- and I don't want sick on my boots." You let out an irked groan, and sharply snap your head to face the horizon in the opposite direction to your captor. You hope this will satiate his sour jabs for the time being-

Your hope is crushed five minutes later.

"Go on then. I'm bored shitless and I'm outta jet, so spill." He says with an almost theatrical exasperation in his voice, "Spill what, exactly?" you coldly respond in a mute tone, focus still fixed on the horizon to the west, "Well what's the big story? Someone's always gotta be the victim when they got a bounty on their head, so what's the tragic tale behind 'Y/N', huh?" the muscles in your neck and shoulders tense up at the mention of your name- you weren't exactly a known associate or long-time rival to the brotherhood, and the wanted poster you had wrestled from the stiff fingertips of a raider last week only had a sketch and a scrawled account of the incident. You falter for a moment before replying, but ardently avoid taking the bait, "If your plan is to get me to tell you how we got to where we are right now just so you can mock me, then I think I'd rather carry on enjoying the view, if you don't mind." The sweet-toned sarcasm at the end of your sentence seeps with venom, and the hostility it implies does not slip away from your adversary.

This time, his laugh is a soft, whisper of a chuckle- something spiteful, foreboding- followed by matching words, "You should hear what your little community had to say about you for a couple caps and a promise not to shoot anybody- well, anybody else-" his words cut into something personal, then- and though you would normally know that attacking someone with your hands cuffed behind your back is never going to end in your favour, at this moment you couldn't care less as you swing your leg round in a swift roundhouse motion, and raise your knee towards the only place you can think to leave a mark-

You hit your target, but instead of howls of pain you are met with a split second of awkward silence as the ghoul cocks his head, unimpressed, before slamming it into your own, sending you staggering back a few paces-

Before you can reorient your vision, a heavy dull force plummets into your ribs- the sand cushions your blow slightly better than the concrete you met face-to-face with an hour ago, at least. Your arms, however, are not grateful to be pressed beneath you as a familiar, withered hand pushes into your throat, putting as much pressure on your trapped limbs when your upper body presses back as it does on your esophagus, halting your air supply as he lowers himself down to a kneel and fixes your gaze onto his,

"If I wasn't already a walking corpse, that could've really hurt- not a very nice thing to do to someone just tryna have a little bit of light conversation now, is it?" All you can do is glower through eyes blinded by the sun, which gleams behind the shadow of the ghoul's head, bearing on it a smile tweaked with frustration- you need to breathe- you can't keep this up, your heartbeat is louder than the sun in your eyes and-

The pressure releases. You turn your head to the ground and suck in air between dry, heavy coughs, and after you've finally steadied your breath, you find a minor fleck of relief in being hoisted up from the ground this time instead of scrabbling to get up at gunpoint. You wonder, perhaps, if this is some small act driven by guilt- perhaps this man had a conscience once and a set of values beyond doing what it takes to ensure one's own survival. You were a gun for hire yourself, so it would be hypocritical to criticise your captor for his line of work- mostly, you preferred to stick with jobs guarding merchant caravans and to take out bands of raiders harassing the cities you passed through, but you never questioned the legitimacy of the requests you received, or the cargo you oversaw; you had settled for a little while, having stuck around the same little settlement for a few years now and had started to develop some semblance of a connection to the people there-

or so you thought.

You know you're going to be walking for a while- so with a resigned breath, you begin saying what little there is left to say about your present situation, "Well, you probably know most of what I can tell you from the sounds of things, but I guess there's nothing else for me to do right now, and the horizon is the same no matter where you go around here. I guess you could say we're in similar lines of work, but that's not really what got me in trouble with The Brotherhood. They think they can rock up in a power armour with a logo on it and wreak havoc as they please because it's for 'the greater good', but they leave towns half-destroyed when they pass through. I didn't want that to happen to... well, I didn't like the sound of that happening where I was. So, dude gets out of his power armour and starts waving guns around screaming about some piece of pre war tech or the other, and I tell him with... a strong choice of words, to get going. He starts running for the power armour, guns blazing- and I just have better aim, I guess. Not even like I got paid for killing him, either. Maybe that would've made this whole thing a little bit sweeter."

Your profession leaves a silence hanging in the air for a little while after, but it feels appropriate. The dunes filter sand from the far west to respond to your story- the horizon quivers, but only through the illusion of heat; the sand dries your eyes before they have reason to shed tears. A loaded sigh escapes the ghoul in front of you, and the clasp on your wrist softens but for a moment before stiffening to pull you onwards, "Yep, well, caps keep you going a little longer round these parts, but money can't solve all your problems." "You should tell that to the Brotherhood. They seem to be doing pretty well for all the wealth they've hoarded- can even pay big time bounty hunters to do their shitwork from the looks of things." You retort, but after a moment follow up with, "Wish I could say I was upset about it but hell, if I were you, I'd turn me in too."

You hear that soft chuckle again, but when you turn around to catch a look at the face that matches it, you see relaxed muscles and a far-off stare- he won't let you go, but he has let his guard down but a little bit- perhaps when we get closer to my story's end, he'll even let me walk to my death with my hands unbound.

- °•. ✦ .•° -

After trudging on in silence for a while, head bowed to your fatalistic contemplations, you find as you drag yourself out of the pit in your head and look over the horizon once more that the scene has changed: the atomic orange dewdrops spattering the sky not long ago have quickly to faded into a bruised overhanging shadow of violent, lavender, crimson; twilight approaches, and you're still surrounded by desert hills and illusions.

One of these illusory quivers catches your sharp eye, a dark blip that has appeared somewhere in that distance; it's moving, but it isn't close enough for you to determine whether it's just a trick of the heat or whether it's something heading in your direction. Your brow furrows, but you say nothing yet.

Within a minute, the object comes into better focus- or, rather, the creature. Your heart skips a beat, and you open your mouth to utter some kind of warning, managing to rasp, "Get the handcuffs off of me." "Now, darlin', I thought we managed to get past this already-" "No-" You tug your bound wrists, pulling the ghoul into your side- his other arm steadies itself against your shoulder before slipping up to your jaw and dragging it to face him, his own clenched and unaccompanied by a smile this time- the pallid complexion of your own face gives him enough pause for you to blurt in a fruitless, strained whisper, "Deathclaw."

If The Ghoul's skin could have paled more than it already had in his lifeless state, then it might have at that moment. The tight grip holding you against him slackens completely and you thud onto your ass as he draws his guns and casts you a playfully pitiful glance from above, shrugging and saying, "Sorry, darlin', guess I forgot to pick up the keys." He steps in front of you as a curse rips out of your throat in the sudden panic that ensues, and you try to muster enough brain cells in this moment to figure out a way of not dying, prematurely, and becoming just another skeletal curio.

There's the back-up plan, the 'if shit goes south' plan that you still hadn't gone through with because of the possible dismemberment that it might entail- but you had not been unarmed when you had been restrained earlier, and the phantom hum of a ripper blade always strapped to your waist as your last resort. You won't be able to wield it with any competence with your hands restrained as they are, but you can hit the power button from your current position-

Though, usually, you'd prefer to do it when the blade was already in your hand, not digging into the side of your leg.

shredded leg is better than deathclaw snack. Your astute analysis confirms your decision, and with a grunt and a whack, the blade starts chugging into a steady whirring action by the will of the dregs of an energy cell embedded inside- the next couple of seconds are far too long.

The blade begins it's excursion into your thigh as the gunslinging ghoul whips around at the sound, eyes wide at the sudden display of spraying crimson. You scream, struggle to try to align the cuffs without jerking your shoulders out of place. The deathclaw bounds into the mid-distance, closing in upon it's approach- it caught your scent before you could even see it's silhouette-

The tip disappears as your leg reflexively jerks, responding to the dancing jig of the chainsaw blade- you see pathetic sparks as the thing bounces off of the cuffs- strong enough to sever a leg, too rusted and battered to cut through metal. Your plan is failing. Your leg is bleeding. The cowboy falters as the deathclaw closes further-

You make a snap decision: fingers are easier to fix than legs.

You twist your wrist, and the pain just melts into the already existing burn emanating from your leg- a bloody, three-fingered stump slips from it's cage, and you swing your still-cuffed hand around in a fluid movement to drag the ripper from its sheath within your leg, snapping the cord that ties it to your waist-

You hear a frenzied firing of a revolver, but the approaching thunks are unimpeded- and though you know your leg may give way when the adrenaline finally dies, and though you know you need to find the two fingers you lost before sand vipers snatch them up and you're known as three-fingered y/n for the rest of your life- you launch yourself from the ground on your good leg, and stagger towards the approaching beast.

You grew up in the wastelands. You grew up in a settlement up here that, like any of the rest, was constantly plagued by critters and beasts- and if you were taught anything by the survivors that surrounded you, it was the following:

If you can't blow the bastard up, get 'em in the belly.

The deathclaw- a baby, thankfully- has it's gaze fixated on the man that had in the past half a minute become it's primary aggressor- so when you stumble forward, low and bleeding, with what to the creature is just another indistinguishable bit of metal in your hands, it does not see reason to change the track of it's jump.

As it launches itself above you, you pray to lady luck that you hit your mark.

An ear-splitting yowl and a sudden muffled crash tells you she's listening, for once.

Finally, after a few ragged breaths, the adrenaline wears off and you feel the weight of your body pressing into the wounds that liberated you- and the blueberry sky fades to black as you become weightless. This time, your fall is of your own accord- and this time, something stops you from hitting the ground.

- °•. ✦ .•° -

When you come to, you do not open your eyes at first- awake though you might be, your body is heavy with exhaustion. Before your encounter with the ghoul, you had been on the run for weeks, and in the last twenty four hours had not had time to stay put long enough to sleep. Coupled with the rough journey and the blood loss, you couldn't move if you wanted to. That being said, in those few dark minutes, a few things of note still catch your attention.

There is a faint crackling to your side, and the lulling warmth of a fire that brushes in waves against your face- and though you feel the silky grains of sand cushioning most of your resting body, your head lays higher up, neck leaning up to a more elevated surface- your attention snaps to the light sensation of fingertips absently grazing your neck in a repeating pattern, and the distant hum of an old country song embedded into muscle memory. The surrounding sensations are a strange comfort for all the brutal imagery this post apocalyptic world usually beholds; but it is brief, as your neck tenses, giving away your lucidity. The hand pauses, lifts- settles somewhere to the side.

When you dare to open your eyes, you are unsurprised to see the question-begging smirk and sharp eyes peering down from above, "Have a good nap?" You bolt upright, and immediately regret it when the bending of your leg snags one of the stitches you didn't know had been sewed into you until just now. Defeated, you flop back down, turning your head to the side to gaze into the dying embers of the fire beside you- praying you can brush off the flush of blush creeping into your face to the influence of the fire. Eventually you garner the courage to speak, "Feels like I've only been out for an hour." He snorts, shaking his head, "You went down around sunset, and it'll be sunrise in a couple hours." This catches you by surprise, and not just because of the amount of time you've lost, "What happened to getting your caps as soon as possible? Lost a lot of time waiting." He frowns, but does not lose his grin, "You trying to get yourself killed? 'Cos you've done a damn fine job of that so far. No, I've just been doing some thinking." "Congratulations. I'm proud of you." His eyes narrow into slits and he tuts at your sarcasm, following your gaze into the fire, "See, it could be argued that I would've been minced ghoul splattered n' buried six feet under the dunes if you hadn't gone all psycho slicing yourself up like that to get that baby deathclaw where it hurts." "That was a baby?-" "Anyway, guess my point is I might be willing to do a lot of things, but I still got my principles- only human thing I got left, probably. So I'd say I owe it you to not kill you at least. When you can walk, we'll go east to- well, to what's left of Shady Sands, and then you can do whatever the fuck you want."

You consider his words, and not knowing how to express appreciation or what to begin to make of this mysterious stranger and his obscure appeal, you find yourself rejecting this suggestion, though you don't know why- and so naturally, you dig yourself into a hole, "Well, you could also say that I would have died of blood loss if you didn't stitch my leg up." He studies you then for a minute, before shrugging and clasping your hands together at the wrists. You begin to stammer indecipherable protest and with a smirk he pulls you up, your hands still held rigid in your lap by his own, his head resting on your shoulder as he murmurs, "Now, I'm starting to get the impression you want me to march you up to our friends at the brotherhood just to keep my company." If he can't see the warm hue in your face now, he can certainly feel the heat flushing through your flustered face- you fight against the feeling, if only to make sure you stand a chance of winning this little exchange,

"Says the man who watched me sleep all night." You feel him shrug your comment off as his grin extends, "I might look like a monster, but I was a gentleman once upon a time. Like I say, I got principles." He lets you slip forward out of his grasp when you move to shuffle yourself around. As you do, you feel for the first time you are looking at him properly, sincerely- face to face, on equal grounds, with no threats of death or necessary facades of false confidence. After soaking in as much as you allow yourself to without losing yourself to curiosity entirely, you crossing your arms across your chest, and reply,

"Well, I have principles too- and if you're oh so graciously not turning me into the brotherhood then I still I owe you, so I guess I'll just have to stick around until you nearly get yourself killed again- that's all. No other reason." The ghoul rises, resting a hand on his pistol,

"You tell yourself that, darlin'- I'm gonna enjoy this change of scenery, I think."

#greyfics ✰°.• ➸ [ 01 ]#greyfics ✰°.• ➸ [ cooper howard ]#greyfics ✰°.• ➸ [ fallout ]#greyfics ✰°.• ➸ [ x reader ]#cooper howard x reader #the ghoul x reader #cooper howard x you #the ghoul x you #fallout fanfic #cooper howard fanfic #the ghoul fanfic #x reader #greyfics #fallout tv series #I know that the way I used the lyric does not match the lyric but hey don't knock the weird literal train of inspiration #may rewrite to polish a couple details nagging at me but have put way too much time into fidgeting around with the words for now hehe #also I feel like this definitely has second part potential if I want to divvy into it in the future so #note to self for that one

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eupheme · 1 month

Text

— clean slate [into the fire, part v]

part i | part ii | part iii | part iv | masterlist

cooper howard / the ghoul x f!reader

rated e - 4k

tags: dubcon, power dynamics, vault dweller!reader, bounty hunting, sex for favors, sub/dom elements, canon-typical descriptive violence and death, references to blood/gore, anti-ghoul sentiments, physical violence against reader, hurt/comfort, kissing

a/n: please mind the tags! this chapter got twice as long as the others (maybe I didn't want it to end, haha!) and there was a good break, so to keep things consistent, I am splitting it in half! both are being posted today though, so you don't have to wait 💖

Always said he did this shit for the love of the game. But this time - he thinks - it might just be personal.

(or - they took something from the Ghoul, and he’s here to collect)

The afternoon edges into night, and he tells himself each hour is the last one he'll think about you.

The Ghoul had waited for you to look back. Stock-still in the swirling dust that bit at his skin. A white-knuckled grip around the thick coil of rope.

You hadn’t.

His hand still reaches to scrubs at his neck, his jaw. To wipe you away or rub you in, he’s not sure.

It doesn't fucking matter.

He's stuck around a long time. Enough to see generations of families grow old and then die. The last few weeks are no more than a blip, in his far too-long life.

Hell - he's spent more time underground, than with you.

But something prickles at him. Lingering like a bad trip, leaving his teeth clenching and jaw aching as he finishes out the bounty.

It's messy.

It shouldn't have been. Should have been easy - but he's aching for a fight, something to take his mind off things. He's antagonistic.

Could've finished everything up from afar, but he ends up in close range. Another scar marring his chest, new splatters streaked across his dark coat.

It aches, a deep bruise as it heals.

Still only slightly dulling the itch of irritation.

I haven't lied about anything.

Didn’t last night mean anything to you?

It's sometime the next morning, after a night of a starless sky closing in around him, that he gives in.

Heading the way you went without thought, and when he does notice, he tells himself it's only because he needs more chems. That it’d be a shame to lose a supplier as good as you.

That it's easier, for both of you to stick together.

Maybe that's why he was careless. Knowing deep down, it would be easier to find a corpse later than to haul around a bounty, kicking and screaming.

The small sliver left of another man, from another life, knows he was cruel. That anger had turned him into a viper. Had always been good at striking first. Self-preservation beaten into him after two-hundred years - an old, festering wound.

He doesn’t know how to apologize anymore, but he can already think of a few ways to distract you.

Maybe you’ll forget completely, if he's thorough.

The Ghoul is faster than you are. Needs less rest, less food. Has already plotted just how far you can get in a day. Your footprints faded as packed earth leads to woods, but you’re not the type to wander, and there's only a few settlements in the miles ahead.

Halfway to his destination, when his eyes snag on a patch of rocks. A broken bits of branches on the trees just before it. There's something smeared across the stone - tasting like iron, when the tip of a finger brings it to his tongue.

Something ancient twists in his stomach, awakening from a slumber.

Backing up, he's able to piece together the struggle. Seeing the flattened grass, the heavy boot prints, melding with the smaller ones.

Finding a body, fallen off to the side - angling off the rock with the stain. Something familiar about the look of him.

A boot sinks into their side, rolling them over. A curl of a lip - he recognizes them. One of the two bounty hunters they’d fun into.

He had hated their eyes on you when they blew through that town.

Something had prickled at him then, but he had ignored it. A grit of his jaw - should’ve dealt with both of them.

There’s a hole in their head - red spilling down their neck, still tacky to the touch. A clean, close shot. His finger sinks in the wound, the same size as your 10mm.

"Good girl." The Ghoul murmurs.

The slightest ease of the knot in his chest.

A crunch of glass beneath his feet, the glint of the sun catching the needle. Another shape he knows well - a syringe. Probably a tranquilizer.

Three meeting one, with three leaving. The dead weight of you weighing down their steps, the footprints pressing heavily into the earth.

Easy enough for him to follow, as he slings his gun free.

Always said he did this shit for the love of the game.

But this time - he thinks - it might just be personal.

Despite being back among faces you knew, fear had been your only companion since the meeting in the forest.

Hazy memories flicker through your mind. Being dragged, snippets of light and the heat of a fire. The bright sear of dawn, and the dry embrace of the desert again.

Waking to the feeling of your arms being wrenched above your head. Coming to, hissing and spitting. Nails catching the face of one of them - Baine, you think - his fist cracking down hard against your cheek in retaliation.

Leaving you dazed, as your wrists were caught again - bound in place. A cruel curl of a lip, as they examined you like a brahmin.

“You look like a Wastelander”. It’s spit out, a wet mark against the floor, “We’ll get you back where you belong soon enough.”

You’re not sure how much time has passed. A day, maybe. Hunger gnaws at you - only a small sliver of comfort in the dried meat and fruit tossed your way.

Axton, the head of the Reclaimers - those who were tasked with bringing people back - had grown up with you. At one time, was perhaps even more than that. A distant relation of the current Overseers, his blood too thinned out to be of use - but even he won’t look you in the eye.

You both know how this will go, when you get back home.

Hope drains from you, with each hour. Eating away at the little flicker of hope in your chest, wrapped tightly around your heart.

Maybe he’d show.

But despair clouded your thoughts, soon after.

“You get hurt doing some stupid shit, and I’m leavin’ you behind.”

“You're a goddamn fool if you think I hadn’t been planning on turnin' you in the first chance I get."

Maybe he’d been truthful all along, and you hadn’t listened. Read into all those small moments, weaving them together until they had made something tangible.

The looks, stolen breaths and almost-careful touches. All fleeting, but you had caught them. Holding them close to your heart.

But life isn’t like the holotapes you grew up, back when everything felt safe.

There aren’t cowboys anymore. No heroes on horses - with their silver spurs and a shining, golden badge.

No one was coming for you.

The footprints die out, as the bleached trees grow thin.

Tall grass to packed dirt, dried by the sun. Rolling hills and then mountains, scraping against the horizon. The dipping sun casts him in a red light that bleeds to black at his ankles, his shadow stretching back long and lean behind him.

But these roads aren't wholly unknown to him.

Spent time blowing through Junktown and The Hub, a couple dozen miles away. The memory hazy, but there weren't too many places folk could stay, once the sun went down and everything wild and unruly came crawling out.

A feeling in his gut has him stopping two miles down the road. A half-dug quarry, long abandoned even before the world went to hell. Threadbare railings and platforms held together with spit and a prayer, framing the rusted building that cuts into the stone walls.

The tip of his boot taps a loose rock, sending it off the edge. Head cocked as he thinks, until he hears the faintest clatter a hundred feet below.

Two-hundred years ago, he had stood on a ledge much like this. Valley of the Gun. The final shootout had his guns lost in the dust. Fist-fighting with the leader of the gang, until they both near tumbled off the edge together.

Honorable, in the way he had caught the man's hand. Tried to haul him up, but had to let go when a knife was pulled - keeping him the hero. A satisfying death that wasn't his fault, a way to keep his conscience.

All movie tricks. Angles and the implication of falling, as the camera focused on his face that swam with regret.

Comin' after a girl then, too.

Thinks that's why the old memory has loosened in his mind.

Funny how things can change, but the bones remain. How he's still drawn back to life he's left far behind. Even if his conscience was buried, a long time ago.

Some things linger. He could go down. Take one of those ladders, work his way through the tunnels that are sure to wind through the limestone, and up through the back.

But he's never much liked being underground.

Another second of considering, before he's heading for the front door.

He used to like a script, but that was back in the day when the worst thing that could happen was a box-office bomb, not the hell he's been dragged through.

A half-cocked plan already forming. Twisting that connection between them, his own abandoned contract. Get him through the front door and to the man in charge at least, and that might be all he needs. Let years of instinct take over, after that.

Had already gotten a good look at a couple of them, when he first picked up the bounty. It had made him curious - why there was so much fuss, over so small a thing. Easy caps, he decided, when he had gotten a look at you.

Picking up that their brutality had been learned from sharpening their teeth against a silver spoon. Hardy - compared to some Wastelanders - with their filling meals and their pristine weapons.

But they sure as hell don't have the same grit as one.

Not much of anything, really, when compared to him.

The door opens with the push of his shoulder. Hand beneath the swirl of his coat, finger already fixed on the trigger. Not far in until he’s running into one of them - another Vaultie.

The man startles, wide-eyed when he sees him. Green, in his shades of blue and yellow.

“Here ‘bout a job.” The Ghoul keeps his voice light, in spite of everything.

Knows they’re keeping you alive for someone else, as much as that makes his jaw clench. No need to go rushing in just yet.

A flicker of recognition, as the man frowns, “How’d you find us?”

His head tilts, that smooth drawl slipping in, “Wouldn’t be much of a Bounty Hunter if I couldn’t, now, would I?”

The Vault Dweller’s eyes are fixed on his face, that familiar look of fear and disgust - dipping down to the pocket of his nose, the curling smile of yellowed teeth.

It’s strange how foreign it feels, after the hours spent with you looking at him so differently.

Maybe he’d been a fool, after all.

Maybe it’s more than your tight cunt that he wants to bury himself in, to claim. Something soft, bitten back behind his teeth. Something he doesn’t even know if he has a name for, anymore.

Something he didn’t know he needed , until he had chased both it and you away.

“We’ve already got her.” The man manages, after thinking it over, “Don’t think we need your services anymore.”

There’s another flash of teeth at the confirmation.

“Agreement was to find her. And who do you think rustled her up?” His brow lifts, “Would’ve been half-way to New Reno by now, if I hadn’t herded her your way.”

That sharp edge creeping in, “Think my time’s worth a little somethin ’. Don’t you?”

It’s easy for the guard to leave that decision to someone else. Standing aside, to let him pass.

“Thank you kindly.” The Ghoul tips his hat, a swirl of his coat as he passes.

Taking just enough steps past them, waiting until the man’s back turns. Spinning on his heel, after.

The knife glints between his fingers as he twirls it. A hand pressing over the Vault Dweller’s mouth, before the blade sinks into their neck.

Muffling the dying gurgle. A grunt as the Ghoul yanks the blade free - leaving the body crumpled in the shadows, as he winds deeper.

One down.

Hold on, he thinks.

I’m coming.

His whistle echoes in the chamber.

Half old-world - a long-forgotten leitmotif that fuses with new notes of his own. A part to play until he doesn't, letting the Ghoul guide him.

Down the half-lit hallway, the lights flickering overhead from the ancient generator. Everything picked clean like he figured it would be - every last piece of scrap ferreted away, leaving only dusty crates behind.

Still playing the part, as the low murmur of voices grows louder. Ears pricking up, listening for hers. Picking out at least three or four others from the layered hum.

A sneer, at the number. He’s faced worse odds. It’s in his favor really - take out as many fuckers as he can. Send bits and pieces of them back.

His intentions masked, an old habit, by the time he enters the warehouse. A wide steel grate floor, opening up to a second level below, scattered with old machinery.

There’s a table. Cards littering the top - a luxury brought from the Vault, as they bet using caps. Couple Vault Dwellers and that Wasteland son of a bitch from the town. Four total, one lounging on a sleeping pack as if it’s just another night, and they weren’t bringing you to your death.

It rankles him, teeth set on edge.

A scrape of chair legs on the floor, at the drawling condescension of his voice.

“Ain’t y’all a little old for a sleepover?”

Hands rest on holsters, but they don’t draw. The Ghoul focuses on one - a face he recognizes, the one who had sought him out.

The man’s legs spread, as if he’s got something worthwhile between them. The leader of this whole operation. Axton , or some shit like that - it hadn’t been worth his time to remember.

“Believe you fellas got somethin’ of mine.” The Ghoul drawls, “I’m here to collect.”

There’s a pause at that.

One of them, a right-hand man by the look of their padded leather armor - not a scratch on it - scowls. A face that tells another story. Pink marks start at their cheek, jagged lines that end at a thick neck.

His eyes narrow at that, lip curling. A flicker of unease in his belly - fingers clenching where they rest against his hips, close enough to draw.

“You’re too late for payment, ghoul. Heard you were dragging your feet.” His head tilts, towards the Wastelander who had gone still, “We went and got her ourselves.”

The Ghoul grins - a fierce thing, with a flash of teeth. A lilt, in his voice.

“Now, what makes you think I’m here for caps?”

It gives them pause. His question - the prospect of a ghoul showing up, unannounced.

“What else you here for?” Another grunts - eyes already back on his cards, a comfort in their numbers.

“Think you know.”

“The girl?” Atmos laughs, and the sound is cruel, “Heard she split from you. Caught her after.”

A tilt of his head towards the armored man and the Wastelander. Taunting then, “Must not be that good, if you let her slip away. What, she get tired of looking at your ugly mug?”

If they only knew the kind of things he’d done to you. What you had done to him, right back.

The Ghoul is only half-paying attention. Sticks and stones, all their insults falling on deaf ears. Too busy with eyes that flick over the top floor. Then down to the ground below.

Something flipping inside his guts, when he sees it. Cast in shadow near the base of the stairs, but his eyesight is keener than it’s ever been.

Arms bound, the knot looped around the hook of an overturned crane. A raw, split mark - swollen and bruised flesh - on the curve of a smooth cheek. Just above where your teeth cut into a piece of cloth, tied tightly around to gag you.

A tilt of your head, and then your eyes are meeting his. Round and blank with fear. Widening, when you see him.

His girl.

Muscles string tight, eyes narrowed as his teeth clench. You’d paid for what you did, and he’d be there to return the favor.

His gaze snaps back, and focuses. Whatever plan he had been working up burns, turning to ash.

“Always heard that beauty was in the eye of the beholder.” The Ghoul’s tone is conversational - although his blood boils, scalding hot, “But if you wanna see an ugly fucker , well… you best look right there.”

There’s a nod of his head, towards the man in charge. As if on cue, their heads twist to look - just as he draws, and then fires.

The Vault Dweller’s head caves in. Gore splattering against the blue of his suit. Barely a breath before his finger is tugging again, a bullet going through the chest of a second.

Always too goddamn slow.

Hesitant to take a life, even with their bravado.

Something that molted from his skin with the rest of him, over a century ago. He’s already reaching for the gun holstered at his shoulder before return shots are fired.

He can feel the flicker of something miss him, before he’s charging. Ducking under the swing of a knife, the muzzle pressed against ribs.

A hoarse shout that is drawn out by the ringing blast. The knife caught and sent spinning into the back of the Wastelander, heading towards the door.

Flinching, as something slams into his shoulder, just shy of his collarbone, and out the other side. The turn of a head - an eye fixed on the last man standing.

Padded armor won’t do much to stop him.

“That your handiwork?” The Ghoul growls, as his head tips towards you.

The man's finger twitches but he’s faster - a shot going into the meat of their thigh. Downing them as they scream, as the Ghoul saunters over to tug the hilt from where he’s buried it in the Wastlander’s back.

It glints a gleaming red in the light, as he adjusts his grip. Eyeing the scripted tattoos that cross over the man’s knuckles - as they grip at their thigh, near-tenderized from the blast.

Ones that had struck you. Could send them back, spelling out something obscene. A rough laugh at the thought.

He’s got someone waiting for him. But, he knows from experience…

That this won’t take too long.

In the hours since you parted, it’s only now that you can breathe.

For a long moment, you hadn’t dared believe. Eyes drawn to the noise above - the loud pitch of voices.

One of them - rough and low - draws your attention. Everything dark from your angle, an ache as you had tried to see.

Knowing that shadow. The brim of his hat.

The burn of his eyes, when they fixed on you. You could feel the fury in them, even from here. A muted sound of desperation from behind your gag, as you watched.

The Ghoul shoots first - the second his eyes pull away, and it’s all over in a matter of moments.

Your eyes closing at the sound of gunfire, of screaming - until it finally cuts short. Leaving the warehouse eerily silent, except for the clicking of spurs against metal.

He crouches in front of you, now - and you can’t help the whine. So much trapped behind the thick binding of cloth. All you could do is tug at your bound wrists - neck craning as you tried to watch from below.

A force of nature. Bared teeth a quick draw. Again you’re forced to admit to yourself how lucky you were to still be standing, after your first meeting.

He had blown through them like it was nothing.

“Hold on a minute, honey.” That low tone is familiar, calming you as his fingers hook around the cloth. Leaving a smear of red against your jaw as he tugs the gag free - shucking his gloves after.

“Are you hurt?” It comes out ragged. Tongue heavy in your mouth, throat dry. Eyes scanning the dark leather of his coat - all that red , smeared across it, “Thought you got hit.”

He barks out a laugh, your chin trapped between thumb and forefinger, “That’s what you’re worried about?”

Something dark swirling across his features, as he tilts your head towards the light. His thumb pressing at the edge of your bruise, denting skin.

“They got you good, didn’t they?” He murmurs, and you smile through a wince, at the dull ache of pain.

“You got them.”

“Sure did,” It’s distracted, as he cuts at the binds, next. The rope fraying and then splitting, an ache in your shoulders when your arms finally lower.

“Fuckin’ amateurs.” He mutters again, watching as you wince at the rubbed-raw skin at your wrists. The corners of his lips tipped down, lost in thought.

“Thought you would’ve liked seeing me all tied up.” It’s a weak thing. An attempt at humor, the ache in your heart at seeing him cut by the acidity of your last meeting.

He blinks. Comes back to himself, a hoarse hum of amusement.

“Only when I’m doing it, sweetheart.” The Ghoul’s eyes meet yours then, a hint of a smirk with the tilt of his head.

“Can think of a much better way of gagging you, too.”

There’s almost a softness to his tone. Just barely there, tinting the rough edges. Something like hope flutters - delicate, behind your ribs.

“You… you came, for me.” You need the clarification. To hear him say it. That this isn’t some ruse, a way to take you directly to the source, “You’re not-”

There’s a sigh, as he fixes you with a long look. His head tipping towards the platform above, a lazy flick of his finger towards an arm that dangles from the ledge.

“Well that there man’s the one I got your contract from,” The Ghoul drawls, “Said I was to return what belonged to somebody else.”

Those eyes fixing on you again, “Seein’ as you’re not , and seein’ as that man is now indisposed…”

His words trail off - and you can’t help the small smile, as he finishes.

“I’m thinkin we’re square.”

The look you give him is soft. Admiring. You don’t know how he tracked you down, but he did.

“You saved me.” It’s hushed, and at your tone his eyes pull from you.

Fixing somewhere low, off to the side, as he crouches. Uncomfortable with the way you look at him. How you see him. Not used to it, not after so many years.

You’re not able to resist.

Muscles stringing stiff when you lean forward. Lips pressed against the leather of his cheek, fingers ghosting against his jaw.

A huff then, teeth biting into his tongue with the shake of a head. His eyes dark, as you pull back, hovering.

“Darlin’ if you’re going to be stealin’ a kiss, you best be doin’ it properly.” The Ghoul rasps, eyes flicking down to your mouth.

His head tips towards yours, but it’s your that meets his first. A little sound in your throat as your lips slot against his. Warm and insistent as his knees drop to press into the cement floor.

Tugging at you, as your fingers grasp at his collar. A hungry lick of his tongue against the seam of your lips as you whine, crushing your chest to his.

His fingers at your neck, your jaw. Angling your head, a rough groan as you part for him. Turning ravenous - wandering hands as your tongue slips against his. Panting breaths and a grinding of hips when he yanks you closer.

“How many were there?” He hums, as you try to sneak a ragged breath.

The curve of a smile when you try to ignore him, a click of his tongue.

“I dunno,” Your mind is too foggy. Too focused on the hands that trace against your waist, “Four? No… maybe five?”

“You don’t seem too sure, sweetheart.” He does smile then, at the little mark between your eyebrows. Untangling himself - a hand reaching down to adjust himself, as he stands.

“As much as I’d like to take you right here,” He husks, eyes dragging over you, “The last thing I need is a bullet in the ass.”

A tilt of his head, towards the open floor.

“Come on, cowpoke. Let’s do a sweep.”

the last (final, for real this time) part will be up in just a little bit! 💖 thank you so much for reading - this series has become so much to me, and every ask or comment or tag or reblog has absolutely meant the world 💕

#please mind the tags!#cooper howard x reader #cooper howard x you #the ghoul x reader #the ghoul x you #fallout smut #fallout tv series #fallout #cooper howard

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acapelladitty · 23 days

Note

hello! I'm not quite sure if you enjoy bottom Cooper but I headcanon that his p-spot is Very sensitive considering everything he's got on the outside is desensitized marred skin. I imagine after having gotten used to the dulled sense of feeling in his cock, it's almost too sensitive. Maybe he wants to get fingered while he gets his cock sucked 👀? Just some food for thought, sorry if this isn't your cup of tea! :]

Love your work, hope you have a great day!

in the fire, i call your name out

Summary: Spread on all fours before you atop a dingy bed, Cooper Howard, AKA The Ghoul, is treated to a wicked prostate massage. (1.4k words)

Fic Masterlist

Link to AO3

(warnings for: prostate massage, anal fingering, oral sex, prostate milking, cum as lube, snark, cum play, multiple orgasms, swearing, stretching, mild dom/sub)

From how easily he assumes the position, his knees spread wide as his upper body lowers itself into a comfortable all-fours position, you can immediately tell that this isn't Cooper's first rodeo when it comes to having his ass played with.

"C'mon, sweetheart." His accented words are sharp and little more than a teasing growl as Cooper tilts his head back at you with a challenge in his blazing eyes. "I ain't gonna break and it's wicked to tease a man who just spent a half hour with your thighs warming his ears."

Chuckling at that, the throbbing sensation in your overstimulated cunt was loathe to pass as every slight movement of your thighs and groin ignited a fresh electric spark of pleasure from both your mess-coated slit and your swollen clit.

"One good turn deserves another, cowboy."

You dip your fingers into your cunt, swirling around the mess there as a soft sigh slips free of your lips and you pull free the digits and admire the way that the glisten in the low light of the room. Quickly moving them to his ass, you playfully slap the rough, reddened skin before beginning.

"You ready?"

"Quit asking fucking questions and get on it."

Teasing your fingers around the rim of his hole, the roughened texture of his skin is as exciting as ever against the pad of your own much softer digit. Your finger wettened by your own arousal, it's easy enough to slip into his ass and a soft gasp is your reward for the sudden intrusion and you twist the digit around to coat as much of his hole as possible.

Your second hand comes to rest almost lazily around his thigh as you knead the flesh there. Like this he's absolutely beautiful, his irradiated skin standing out against the light coloured sheets with a starkness that makes you want to explore every rough patch with your mouth as you leave him a desperate mess. It wasn't often that he willingly took on a more submissive role while you were fucking but you treasured it like something special that was yours and yours alone.

Without any warning, you add a second finger to his ass and bask in the sharp moan which flees him as he arches his back even higher. You can see his cock hanging between his thighs, the thick length painfully hard and bobbing against his stomach as he subtly gyrated his hips into your hand.

Fingers scissoring him open, you wait until he's relaxed into the digits to push yourself deeper and work him open with a diligent firmness; twisting and pumping through fingers within his hole to ensure that he's nicely warmed up and that no inch of his skin is left neglected.

Cooper, in turn, pushed his ass to meet you and a slick sheen of sweat is quick to develop across his body as he barely controlled the little noises which breached his lips while his breathing came more erratically.

A third finger made him shudder and you feel your cunt pulse around nothing as you drag the nails of your free hand down his ass - enjoying the way the slight discomfort made his hole clench around you.

"I'm going to move deeper now. You're doing so well for me. Such a good boy."

The pet name was a risk but one that payed off as his knees widened in unspoken invitation and his cock visibly twitched while his fingers curled without the sheets.

Pushing your fingers as deeply as they would go, you continue to explore his walls; only pausing to gather more arousal from your dripping cunt to ensure that he's not in too much discomfort. The soft sponginess of his inner walls is at odds with the roughened skin which coats him and it bring a smile to your lips as you consider the vulnerability he's presenting you.

His breath coming in short pants as he remains stubbornly silent, you can feel the tell-tale signs of his approaching release in how his thighs tightened as his cock freely drips pre-cum to the sheets.

You know you've hit his sweet spot when your fingers curl against a rougher patch of the skin to the rest as they explore his walls and his knees almost seem to buckle as he dips heavily - his fist banging against the sheets.

"God damn, darlin'. Gotta be giving a warning before a move like tha-" The rest of his words dissolve into a moan as you brush the spot again, fingers gently massaging his prostate as he comes undone at the sensation.

His release seems to catch even him by surprise as his heavy cock jerks against his stomach and thin ropes of his cum splash across his lower stomach - a few droplets quick to drip across the sheets as he buries a guttural moan in the crook of his arm. Heat dancing across your skin, you continue to massage the area around his prostate, giving him a small reprieve from the direct pleasure as he gathers himself.

Not for long though.

"I think you have another good one in you, Mr. Howard. Let's see about getting it out there."

You resume a punishing rhythm on his prostate, fingers pumping in and out of his ass as they specially curl along his sweet spot and every thrust of the digits makes his ass tighten and his hips punch back to meet you as he selfishly chases his own pleasure.

So worked up, you can't help but comment on his obvious agitation.

"Wow, Coop. You're actually dripping for me," your free hand curves around to wrap along the base of his cock and you feel his release sticky against your hand, "just like a whore. I mean, your ass is practically swallowing these fingers. Maybe it's hungry for something. more?"

His response is incomprehensible; the sensitivity of his ass feeling amplified by just how roughened and irradiated his outer skin had developed and it was a sensitivity that robbed him of his cohesiveness. With a simultaneous beg for mercy and relief, Cooper can't quite meet your sly comment with one of his own and you bask in the power it gives you as you lock your hand around his thigh and decide to finish him then and there.

You curl your fingers against his prostate once more, this time with a cruel pressure which you know straddles the line between pleasure and pain, as you rub him into ruin - your fingers flexing to ensure that he feels every inch of the digits as they simultaneously continue to stretch out his ass.

With an animalistic howl, he comes again and his release is pathetic, dribbling free of his cock and rolling down his length as he bucks frantically, his head thrashing and catching the dim light as an audible tearing noise alerts you to his fingers tearing through the sheets. He's moving so roughly that it's difficult to keep hold of him but you manage with a slick grin as you cease your movements and allow him to calm down.

"Any more and you'll be shooting dust at this point, cowpoke." You comment wryly, enthralled by just how pliant he has become in your hands. "Can't have you wasting all the good stuff. What would be left for me?"

Pulling your fingers free of his ass with an obscene noise, you gently massage the base of his cock and roll his balls between your fingers as you let him enjoy the comedown of his makeshift milking - his body going slack against the sheets as you quickly slide up to curl around him as his erratic breathing starts to even out.

"Keep being a good little cowboy for me and we'll see about letting you have a free ride for your troubles." You mutter into his ear, feeling the heat radiating from him like a furnace.

"Give a man a minute to recover, sweetie." Cooper growled, his voice low and curling around the words like serpent as he allowed you to nestle in close to him; your soft skin a stark contrast to his own. "Fuck, I'm gonna need to check my legs are working after a show like that."

Chuckling, you tighten your grip of his body and inhale the scent of him - sweat and leather mixing with the stale air of the room as you roll your eyes.

"Drama king."

#bop it. twist it. pull it. flick it. OWWWW!#cooper howard #fallout #the ghoul #fallout tv series #fallout fanfic #cooper howard x reader #cooper howard x you #the ghoul x reader #ghoul x reader #ghoul x you #the ghoul x you #cooper howard smut #cooper howard fic #walton goggins #fallout amazon

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forlorn-crows · 5 months

Note

Crow my love will you pretty please tell me all about how Rain fucks Swiss' mouth the night Swiss kneels for him on stage? <3

i cant stop thinking about it. swiss was made to kneel for rain, i think. made to let rain tower over him and fuck his face 'til he's dazed and bleary-eyed. but he's gotta be smug about it too, right?

in a crazy turn of events, rain is cis for once. i know, i can't believe it either. crow writing rain with dick and balls? unheard of. and yet, here we are. mainly bc i am unwell about the idea of rain having a knot.

anyway. woe facefucking w/tiny mention of oral knotting be upon ye. this ones also for @askingforthesun >:)

EDIT: now w/a companion art piece by the wonderful @floating-goblin-art❤️

“Just like that,” Rain groans, pulling Swiss closer by the hair until his nose nudges the little nest of curls at the base of his cock. “Yeah, take it all.”

Swiss hums around him, sending a shiver up his spine. Still smirking despite a mouthful of cock and water ghoul slick coating his throat.

It’s unfair, really. But it turns Rain on like no other. Confidence and desire cutting him deep through that hazel-eyed gaze. Swiss’ throat milking him for all he’s got while he grabs at Rain’s perky ass. And the noises. Lucifer, the noises he makes, all of them rumbling through his core. Straight-up sinful.

Rain loves every minute that Swiss spends kneeling for him.

“Bet you hmpf wanted to do this on stage. Get my cock out for all those people. Show them how feral you can really be, huh?” Swiss’ eyes flutter when Rain grips his locs tighter, but he holds steady. Humming an affirmative and muffled uh huh while tonguing along the underside of his length. Pushing his lips flush to his groin and swallowing hard.

Rain swears and tosses his head back, knees going a little weak. “Lucifer, your mouth . . .”

Swiss pulls off with a pop, wiping the drool from his chin and stroking him with a coy look. Fangs out and far too handsome for his own good.

“You’d like that wouldn’t you, you dirty voyeur.” He gives a lick to Rain’s dripping tip, flat over the slit like he’s tasting a popsicle. And again, squeezing from base to tip so milky-white pre dribbles onto his tongue. Rain’s eyes roll back against his will, tingling right down to his toes at the sight of his own slick pooling in Swiss’ mouth.

The multi ghoul swallows, licking his lips. “You’re so easy, rainbow,” he chides. “Get’cha wobbly over a few strokes.”

“Shut up,” Rain bites back. But it's a token protest, given how his fingers start loosening their grip on Swiss’ locs the longer he pumps his fist.

He snorts. “You like my dirty mouth,” he says, pitching his voice lower on purpose so Rain’s stomach will swoop. “Just as good talking as it is taking, isn’t it?”

He shakes his head, biting back a groan. He regains the grip on his hair and takes a step forward, caging in Swiss’ body between and under his legs, looming over him just enough that he has to put a hand behind him for balance. Rain’s tail snaps behind him, eyes darkening as he brings his gaze back down. Cool and calculating. Swiss challenges it, of course, grinning as he strokes his cock over the long column of his throat.

“Put it back in,” the water ghoul hisses. Control seeping back into his voice, that commanding tone Swiss loves so much. Rain bats his hand away and replaces it with his own, cupping the multi’s chin with the other. Digging his thumb into the side of his jaw until he relents, opening wide and letting his tongue loll out. Ready and waiting to be fed.

“That’s better,” he lilts. “And you say I’m easy.” Rain doesn’t give him space to reply, immediately rubbing the dusky lilac head of his cock over the flat of his tongue, letting his taste buds push the foreskin back and forth a little before sinking back in.

Swiss gags like he does every time his cock pushes past the back of his throat, muscles trying to force Rain out despite the eager way he takes him down. But he likes the tension, the resistance. Leans into it as he thrusts all the way down to the base with a satisfied sigh.

Rain looks down his nose at him. Cocking his head when Swiss makes the smallest of noises. “Do you want me to really use you, pretty boy?” he asks, voice sharp and equally as saccharine. “Make you take it until you can’t anymore?”

The multi ghoul’s eyebrows dart up in the middle as a visible wave of arousal runs down his spine. A puff of air rushing out of his nose and color rising to his cheeks. He’s weak for this, and Rain knows it—abuses the fact, really, when it’s time to get his way.

Swiss is a big ghoul, though; he can take it, masochist that he is. So he hums a sound that means yes, nodding as much as he can with Rain holding his face steady.

He knows Swiss is hard in his pants without even looking.

“Good,” he purrs, brushing a stray tear off of his cheek. A bit of softness before he starts thrusting in earnest, aiming to fuck his throat raw. Get his balls slapping against his chin and coated in Swiss’ desperate drool. Inch by wet inch, over and over until Swiss really gives in.

When Rain’s knot inevitably swells some time later, he tells him, reedy, wounded, and oh so desperate, to take it. Not fucking stopping. That’s it—squeeze it. Can’t stop. Lucifer, take it, you have to—all of it, Swiss, all of it.

#mmm rulti #ask #miasma #ficlet #the band ghost #ghost fanfic #the band ghost fanfic #rulti #swiss ghoul #rain ghoul #swiss/rain #rain/swiss #rain x swiss #swiss x rain #swiss army ghoul

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v-ternus · 6 months

Note

pebis 8=D

pebis you say? boy do i got a treat for you

// The new ghoul was certainly… something, and he’s sure clueless to what he does to a certain earth ghoul //

Corruption kink, praise, size kink (if you squint) and a nice handy in the common room for you to indulge in :)

Aeon loved his new pack, loved the way they took him and Aurora in so quickly. He especially loved the way they shared parts of themselves— Rain taught him how to swim, Cumulus and Cirrus spent a day watching the sky and clouds with him, showing him how you could tell storms were coming in. Probably the most nerve wracking of all, Dew showed him how to build up the campfires when they wanted to enjoy the cooler summer nights outdoors. Fires hurt, he had murmured when his hand got a little too close to the growing flames. He got to learn the word burn that day.

Besides the accidents with fires and forgetting that he can't breathe underwater, (thanks Rain), his favorite thing was what Mountain had to show him.

He would’ve guessed that he’d show him the gardens around the abbey, or even take him for a walk through the forest that borders the land– something with his element, like the others had done. Instead, Mountain had led him into the common space one day and told him to get comfortable on the couch. He did as he was told, put himself down with his legs crossed under him and found a blanket to put down on his lap. Mountain was still in front of the TV when he heard a beep and quiet whirring.

“It’s a console,” Mountain said, and Aeon could only give him a dumbfounded look. “This one’s a PS4, Swiss has an Xbox. You play videogames on them.”

Aeon chirped, mumbled ok as Mountain started up Spiderman before handing him the controller. Mountain had shown him all the controls, taught him how to swing through New York and be the ‘friendly neighborhood Spiderman’.

Ever since that day, it's become their thing. Every Tuesday after they’ve finished their chores, they’ll play one of the handful of games that sit by the TV. Some days they pick a shooter, or maybe an RPG, sometimes even an old school player versus player. Whatever it is, Aeon always has fun, and Mountain always gets a kick out of watching his bug like eyes that stay trained on the colorful screen.

Today was no exception. Mountain already had Call of Duty started up as Aeon finished his work.

“Zombies?” Aeon asked as he walked in and dumped himself onto the free space next to Mountain on the couch. Mountain didn't answer, didn't need to. He just picked the mode and handed Aeon his controller. Their afternoons were always easy like this, with little words spoken besides when they were deciding on a game.

Besides the groaning undead and hellfire sounds of bullets and grenades, they were quiet, both lost in the world.

Until they weren't.

Between rounds, when no shots were echoing through the room, Aeon could hear it.

Mountain’s little coughs, muffled groans and heavy breaths.

“You ok Mount?” He asked before the next hoard of zombies came around, only giving a passing glance out of his peripheral. He should’ve known then, when Mountain took awhile to offer a noncommittal grunt. Yeah, —m good.

It only got worse from there. The earth ghoul seemed more and more restless with each round. He kept rearranging himself, tugging on his pants, stretching his legs.

The new ghoul had had enough. He quit the game, quickly before Mountain could realize, set his controller on the table and turned to face him.

“Come on,” he whined, drawing out the words like a child. “Tell me.”

Mountain sighed heavily as he set his controller down and rested his arms on his knees, hunching himself over the tent in his pants that’s been quickly growing ever since they started.

He keeps his eyes trained to the floor, knowing that fully taking the little ghoul in would have him aching for friction. With a wave of his hand, he finally breaks the silence, “—m hard.”

He can feel Aeon’s questioning gaze on him, like it’s burning a hole through his body. The words are too slurred, mumbled dismissively. He knows Aeon didnt hear him, so much to his dismay, he repeats himself.

“Im hard,” he says, clearly this time, finally finding the strength to look at Aeon— what a mistake. He takes in the sly tilt of his head, swallows up the look on his face. He can see the gears turning behind the soft lilac eyes that still feel like they’re staring daggers.

“Hard?”

“Hard.” Mountain mouths through gritted teeth, growing harder as the seconds go by. He’s sure he’d find a sticky mess right over his tip if he looked down.

“An erection. Stiffy. A hard on, if you will.”

The words float in the air, heard, but not understood. Once Mountain realizes, shame washes over him. Mountain shouldn't be enjoying this the way he is.

“What does it mean?” The innocence all but knocks the air out of his lungs, and so does the notion of explaining an erection. Where does he start? What words can describe it?

Oh yeah. It just happens because all I can think about is the way my fingers could touch if I grabbed you by the waist. My dick starts to ache when a sliver of your skin shows as you reach for something on the table. No biggie really.

“It uhhhhh… happens when I'm attracted to someone.” Worst fucking choice of words ever. Literally anything else would’ve been better. But he’s thinking with his other head now, there’s no room for anything more coherent— what’s said is said.

“Attracted?” Satan below this ghoul was going to kill him. He’s gotta be playing dumb, right?

“Yeah, attracted,” He tries to breathe, tries to put his urges to the side. “Means I like them.”

Aeon moves closer to Mountain, till his knees are pressed to his outer thigh. He sits back on his haunches and rests his hands palm side down on his legs. His excitement is palpable, Mountain can almost taste it.

“Does that mean you like me?” His voice pitches up, animated and fun. Mountain can only nod. He should use his words, lie and tell him no, but he cant figure out why his tongue wont move. Regardless, the answer had Aeon sporting a wide grin, he’s got pride written across his features. Mountain likes me! His inner voice cheers.

“Then I can help you, right?”

Oh the doe eyed innocence. Too kind for his own good. He shouldnt ruin him. Not like this. But he’s too sweet. Mountain has no choice, he cant help it.

“Yeah, want me to show you how?” Aeon nods enthusiastically and Mountain finally relaxes and leans back onto the couch, spreading his legs just so. His problem is obvious now, pressed up tight against the seam of his boxers, pre leaking through and darkening the light wash of his jeans. Aching to have Aeon’s pretty hands wrapped around him.

“I need help pulling it out bug,” he feigns incompetence as he stretches his arms over the arm and back of the couch.

“Undo my pants for me,” he says gently. Aeon reaches over and gets to work, moving deft fingers over stiff denim. Its weird undoing pants from this angle, and Mountain is loving the struggle.

“Pull my boxers down,” Obedient as the day he was summoned, Aeon follows. He hooks a finger under the waistband and slowly pulls down and out of the way, just enough for Mountain’s dick to spring out and curve against his stomach. The pre that smears onto his shirt is a problem for later.

Mountain finally gives himself relief, wraps his hand around the base and holds gently. It's just enough to take the edge off. He looks at Aeon who’s fixed on the way his hand holds his cock.

“Give me your hand little one,” he takes Aeon hand in his free hand and laces their fingers together, his hand almost covering Aeon’s entirely with the way its spread across the back.

“Ready?” He asks, as if Aeon is the one that needs to be ready. Mountain thinks he might cum the second he brings their hands down.

He was dangerously close to his prediction, the little warmth from his hand against his aching cock was better than he could have imagined. It had his stomach in knots faster than he’d like to admit.

Stilling himself, he drags their hands along slowly, wanting to savor each touch, twisting over the ruddy tip that’s been leaking pre.

“It’s sticky,” Aeon remarks the first time his fingers glide over Mountain’s slit. It’s cute really, the way he remarks so simply.

“Yeah bug, it’s cause you’re making it feel really good.” A pit of guilt brews in Mountain’s gut, he shouldn't be doing this, not when the ghoul is so fresh, but it’s not his fault Aeon always eyes him up. It’s certainly not his fault the little ghoul has him chubbing up in his pants whenever he’s around.

“I can do it on my own I think.” Aeon looks at Mountain with a slight smile, and Mountain answers by just taking his hands away. Wordless, easy, just like their regular Tuesday afternoons.

He watches in awe as another slight hand wraps itself around him and strokes just as slow as before. Any other day he’d be upset with the teasing, but today? He’ll let the young ghoul do as he pleases, he is just learning after all.

Unknowing as he is, he’s doing well, very well. He knows how tight to squeeze, knows that Mountain loves to have mean fingers press into the spot right under the head, as if by magic. Maybe it is, he thinks, but Mountain sets that thought aside for later.

He’s never fought this hard to not cum. He doesnt want it to be over, no matter how much he aches and throbs. The only things he lets free are the sweet sounds that are being drawn out of him. Aeon responds with hums, and before long, he’s purring, rumbling in his chest.

“Do you like touching it, little one?” He studies the focused look on Aeon’s face.

“I think so… I can feel it moving.” Moving, Mountain laughs, knowing his cock has been twitching in Aeon’s soft grip for what feels like hours. Each time he looks down, he feels himself throb with the way his hand barely covers half of his length.

“It feels very good bug. You’re doing so well, being so helpful.” He chokes on the last syllable as Aeon thumbs at the slit, letting a string of pre stretch as he pulls away. There’s more now, slick dripping down onto his pants. He could practically hear everyone’s teasing if any of them came waltzing into the common room.

Almost wetter than a water ghoul Mounty, all ‘cause the new ghoul has his hands on you.

Dirty Mountain, ruining our new summon like this. What would Papa think?”

Letting Aeon get you like this for all of us to see? Doesnt take much to undo you sprout.

The thoughts get him too close to the edge, the fire growing in his gut burning too hot. He’s not going to last much longer at this rate. His eyes drift shut as he tries to pull himself back from plummeting to his finish.

“Mount, why is it bigger?”

Oh whatever peace he found is quickly washed away. Mountain peels his head off of the couch to look at Aeon, before letting his eyes drift down.

“This…” Aeon’s voice trails off as he cups the base of Mountain’s cock where his knot is starting to form. “Bigger”

Fuck. It's not something he thought he’d ever have to say out loud. He’s not even at his fullest yet, and it's already filling Aeon’s hands. He tries to not think about how good it’ll feel when he squeezes it, but he can’t help but thrust up into the pressure that threatens to push him over the edge.

“Its my knot. Helps me stay inside, helps me stay close when I like someone.” The words arent perfect ,not by a longshot, they barely scratch the surface of what it is, but it seems good enough for Aeon who just hums as he keeps working his hands over Mountain's cock.

“Would you like to knot me?” That’s it.

“Someday little one,” he doesnt mean for it, but it comes out ragged, louder and harsher than before. He swears he sees worry, maybe even fear splash across Aeon’s face. He wears it so well.

To hell with drawing this out, he thinks, he needs to finish. Desperately wanting to paint his spend on the fingers that hold him so tenderly, he finds the words to get Aeon just how he needs him.

“Help me with this first hmm?” Aeon nods as Mountain reaches for him and gets him to straddle his legs. He wraps his hands Aeon’s and fucks into their grip, twitching as Aeon squeezes on the down strokes.

“Keep going just like that,”

“Watch it, watch how good you’re doing” He’s rambling and he doesnt care. He needs it now, worse than ever. He brings a hand up and cradles Aeon’s face, dragging his slick covered thumb across flush skin. He looks at him like he hung the stars. Mindlessly, he leans forward for a kiss, its soft and slow. He can tell Aeon doesnt know what to do, but it just makes it that much more enticing.

“Put your hands around my knot little one, hold it nice and tight for me. Can you do that?”

“I’ll try,” he mumbles against Mountain’s lips. His hands find their way around the growing base of Mountain’s dick and squeezes, just like he said. He watches as a hand keeps stroking, making wet noises as another pays special attention to the head, and before long, white ropes of Mountain’s cum coats their fingers and drips down his length

Mountain cums with a sharp breath. He’s sure he blacked out with the way his ears are ringing. As if by magic again, he can feel Aeon tightening and loosening his grip, milking him dry, making sure to get everything he has to give.

“Good boy, Aeon” he says as he throws his head back, breathless and floaty, leaving the curve of his neck open to the ghoul in his lap. Curious, Aeon drags his tongue up the damp skin and groans at the taste of Mountain. If Mountain wasn't already sitting, the feeling would've had him dropping to the floor.

“Can I taste it?” Aeon asks as he holds his messy fingers up between them, wet with pre and striped with cum.

Mountain goes stupid and gives a quick grunt. Yes please, he practically screams the words in his head. He feels his dick pitifully try and fill out again as Aeon mouths at his fingers, sucking the cum off and taking in the heady taste of Mountain.

Mountain watches as Aeon swallows him down.

“Salty”

#the band ghost #mountain #aeon #phantom #earth ghoul #nameless ghouls #quintessence ghoul #vee answers #vee writes #mountain x phantom #mountain x aeon #mountain ghoul

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