#cooper tag

[cryptcatz]

my beautiful son who has never ever committed a crime in his life

[gravehags]

thinking about how cooper would get up and come over to the side of the bed i was sitting on while playing video games every time i was in a tough fight and he would put his head on my leg or in my hand. every single time.

i miss him so much, gaming isn’t the same without my nurse dog looking out for me.

[princenothinq]

With tightly coiled springs that snap for anything We're gonna keep a lighter to it even while it burns for you And I'm going to heaven with or without you!

[xandirt]

RAJHHHH XANDER OC JUMPSCARE!!!!!!!!!!!

everyone say hi to cooper. he's my stupid idiot stoner oc :}

lore dump below the cut because i can!!!!!!! and also the link to my original cooper lore post cause i copy-pasted it from there

but anyways, here's the boy!!! cooper!!!! he was made as a science experiment who lived his life in a lab and escaped at some point. he lived in a vacant apartment in a big city (im thinking new york or atlanta maybe) and yeah. he doesnt have a job & is teaching himself english, so he's got a funny accent & he mixes up his words !!! that explains his funny speech

he's around 30 give or take (nobody knows for sure since he was artificially made) and he has 6 fingers, 4 eyes, point ears, and a few other features :3 he's a cis bi guy and yeah. stoner and stupid. very prone to saying dumbass shit & completely missing social norms because he's so used to literally being in a lab. but he's trying cooper's overall a really sweet dude and he's very affectionate - i think of him as a big lazy dog. he's not quick at all to anger or anything but he's defensive when need be but tends to just Hang About. hes my baba and i love him ok. he's kind of a piece of shit stoner and all that but who's counting. he's friendly enough and very sillay to me

he also has a fiew of his own body mods ehee piercings: smiley, gage, & nips

he wears green tactical pants (that are a size too big. idiot) and a weird glove. it covers the tattoo that marked him as an experiment and he thinks it makes it less obvious (spoiler it does not) Nd honestly he just walks around in socks and sometimes even used black converse .

he also. keeps his eyes closed becausr he thinks it will make jt less obvious hes high. it doesnt work he talks slow snd stupid. hes a big dumb "slightly" horny idiot

heres the post with more of coop :]

[sandsofsolstice]

another older thing...... a bunch of side/bg ocs for convalescence

[musings-of-a-lovesick-fool]

Shiptober Day 19

Prompt: Pancakes

Ship: (@strafethesesinners oc) Cooper McCoy x Gabriel Stokes

Words: 1, 619

I hope I wrote Coop okay here, i've been wanting to write their first meeting out ever since we talked about it and I think it turned out real cute with some good ol' spicy undertones <3

Gabriel was exhausted and the day had barely begun, his arms were sore, his legs were sore and his feet had been killing him for the past hour. He just wanted to sit in the back of the diner, enjoy the 'pick me up' waiting in the back pocket of his jeans and have a few minutes to himself. 

It was Friday—Thank god—so he could sleep in tomorrow but tomorrow was painfully far away right now. 

Gabriel clears away a table, carefully putting the empty plates and coffee mugs on his tray before wiping it down with his rag. He swivels on his heel and offers smiles to any patrons that meet his blue eyes, but his mouth quickly twists into a small frown as he enters the kitchen. Jazper glances up from the eggs benedict they were cooking as he bustles his way over to the large sink, emptying the tray and scrubbing away at the dishes rather harshly.

"Are you good over there?" There's a playfulness to their tone and Gabriel blows a strand of his hair out of his eyes with a heavy exhale.

"I'm fine Jaz—Just ready to clock out," He huffs, getting the dishes done as quickly as he could before drying off his hands. The sound of the front door opening and that familiar jingle dances through the air and Gabriel whines gently under his breath, Jazper chuckling as they plate up the eggs benedict and slide it onto the bench in front of him.

"Four more hours, you got this," They smile encouragingly and he can't deny it does make him feel a bit better. Four more hours and then he's free.

"Thanks,"

He picks up the plate, puts it on his tray; tosses his rag over his shoulder and makes his way back out to the front. He glances toward the door as he walks to the awaiting table, almost halting completely in his tracks at the sight of the most gorgeous man he'd ever seen this side of the County. Blonde curly hair poking out from a signature cowboy hat, piercing blue eyes, a jaw so sharp it could cut glass lightly dusted with stubble and fuck—Arms and thighs that look like they could snap his neck with very little effort. 

Gabriel swallows thickly, quickly turning to place the plate on the table and ask the elderly couple in the booth if they needed anything else. They don't, of course, but they prattle on anyway—compliments and the like but still Gabriel finds himself much more compelled by the handsome stranger moving to sit on one of the stools at the front counter. 

He sees him place his hat down on the counter and drag his eyes over the blackboard on the wall. He also sees Dorothy step away from the table she was cleaning; He sends her a stern glare as she moves to get the stranger's order, halting and holding her pencil and notepad up in surrender as she backs off. He was getting his order, and if he was lucky, his number. 

Gabriel does his best to politely excuse himself from the couple's conversation and rushes behind the counter, slowing his stride as those blue eyes look up at him. A charming smile spreads across the man's face and Gabriel feels his knees go weak, he was almost convinced this guy had walked right out of a cover of a magazine. It should be illegal to be that pretty.

"Good morning handsome, what can I get for you?" Gabriel flashes his best smile at the stranger, flipping his notepad and holding his pencil to the paper in anticipation. 

"What do you recommend, handsome?" He tosses the compliment right back with a playful glint in his eyes, resting his arms on the counter and leaning forward. Gabriel catches the scent of cigarettes, leather and a hint of old spice, which somehow all together is more intoxicating than any of the wonderful smells wafting out of the kitchen. For a second his mind is blank and he has to remind himself how to speak.

"Our beloved chef happens to make the best pancakes in the entire County and I so happen to make amazing coffee," Gabriel says with a prideful hum, leaning against the counter himself. A deep chuckle rumbles through the other man's chest, the rich kind that sends shivers up his spine. Today was suddenly turning around for the better.

"Pancakes and Coffee it is then," 

"Coming right up…" Gabriel trails off, scrawling down the order messily and glancing up at him through his lashes.

"Cooper."

Cooper. Gabriel repeats it a few times, enjoying the sound of it. It suited him. 

Cooper tilts his head forward and raises a curious brow, obviously prompting Gabriel to also share his name.

"Nice to meet you Cooper, you can call me Gabe," He winks, turning and sauntering to the back. He can feel those mesmerising eyes on him as he pushes the door open and slips inside the kitchen, grin stretching across his face from ear to ear. 

"Jaz, I need you to whip up the best pancakes you've ever made in your life. Make 'em extra fluffy," He grins, half-hazardly pinning up the order. Jaz can't even turn to look at him before he's back out front getting the coffee ready. He works fast, fills up the pot and grabs a mug off of the rack. He shoots Cooper an easy smile over his shoulder when he catches him watching him.

"You been in Hope County long cowboy?" 

"Apparently not long enough since I haven't had the pleasure of running into you yet," Gabriel nearly drops the mug on the ground, a warmth crawling up his neck and flooding his cheeks at the smooth line. Good looking and a smooth talker, he really was a jackpot.

"Well, now you've seen me—and I hope I'll be seeing a lot more of you," Gabriel grins, finishing off the coffee and striding back over to slide the mug in front of him.

"I hope so too, Gabe," Cooper smiles, drawls his name out in such a way that has his heart in his throat as he watches him bring the mug to his lips. Gabriel toys with the rag in his hands, winding it around as his mind conjures up all the things he'd love to do to that pretty mouth. 

"Mm, you know, I think this is the best coffee I've had in a while," Cooper muses, licking his lips as he sets the mug back down. Gabriel nods in acknowledgement, shamelessly staring at his now glistening lips as he tries to string a sentence together.

"You know I've been told it tastes even better right after you wake up," He says, pointing at the mug and flicking his gaze back up to Cooper's eyes. Something seems to spark in them at his words and his smile widens enough to draw out those charming creases under his eyes.

"Is that so?" 

"Mhm, pairs real well with my own morning special too," Gabriel drags his tongue along his teeth as Cooper's face flashes with interest.

"Now I—have—to find out what that is," Cooper grins, adjusting himself in his seat as Gabriel smirks. Before he can say anything else the familiar ring of the kitchen bell goes off and he sighs.

"Hold that thought," Gabriel holds his index finger up as he steps back.

"Holding," Cooper holds both of his hands up and Gabriel let's his mind wander, they looked strong; he could probably fit one around both of his wrists and—

The bells go off again. 

Gabriel slips into the back and Jazper is waiting, arms crossed over their chest as he rushes over to grab the plate holding three thick pancakes doused in maple syrup with a scoop of icecream on the top. 

"These look awesome, thank you," He flashes them a grin, scooping the plate carefully onto a tray.

"Yeah, yeah, stop using my cooking to pick up customers," They roll their eyes, scrunching up the note and tossing it at him.

"I used my coffee this time thank you very much," He says, tilting his chin up as he backs up, using his shoulder to open the door. Jaz waves him off dismissively and he returns to Cooper patiently sipping on his coffee.

"Wow," Cooper says upon seeing the stacked plate. Gabriel chuckles, giving him his knife and fork and slipping the tray underneath the counter.

"They're not normally this impressive but I buttered up the chef just for you," Gabriel whispers in a conspiratorial tone, holding his hand up to his face as he leans in close. He gives another wink and Cooper watches for a moment with the tiniest shake of his head before he shuffles forward, resting a hand on his forearm. He was warm.

"If that's the case you're gonna have to let me find a way to thank you," Cooper murmurs, his voice as alluring as his suggestive gaze. Gabriel bites the inside of his cheek, a rush of excitement washing over him. It had been far too long since an attractive man had walked into his diner and flirted with him, and so effortlessly at that.

"I can think of a few ways—" The front door opens, that familiar jingle stealing Gabriel's attention for only a moment. Dorothy welcomes one of their regulars and Gabriel straightens back up, delighted by the small, almost unnoticeable pout on the other man's face.

"You eat up and I'll come back to you buttercup," Gabriel assures him, patting his hand and letting it linger for a moment longer than necessary.

"You better,"

Oh, like there was any doubt.

[quaggas]

tried to scan some beans…but cooper wouldn’t let me do more than this one paw smh

[mosquitofootprints]

finally the reuploads are done. tehcnicvally i was the one reuploading allat but listen

[horatioo]

I got tomorrow tomorrow...i got to write yaoi for fanfic class

[eupheme]

— on the fence [into the fire, part ii]

part i | masterlist

cooper howard / the ghoul x f!reader

rated e - 3.8k

tags: dubcon, power dynamics, vault dweller!reader, bounty hunting, pwp, restraints, sex for favors, oral (m), exhibitionism, spanking, biting, hair pulling, light choking, sub/dom elements, PiV, radiated creampie

a/n: hi! I had a couple ideas I wanted to explore, which turned into a mini-series. I have them all mapped out & I hope to have them up for you soon! 💖

“Why don’t you show me again,” He husks, “What you’re so good at.”

Your breath catches - eyes flicking warily towards the door, but he’s quick to call you back.

“Hey, now. Eyes over here.” The Ghoul snaps, “You need to worry ‘bout me more than anyone out there.”

(Or - the Ghoul gets you out of your Vault Suit.)

You’re not sure you like the look of this town.

It sprawls wide and low across the desert, the inhabitants gathering in the shadows to escape glare of the sun. A low buzzing murmur that carries with you through the streets.

It feels suffocating, after the open miles before.

Following the dark figure of Ghoul, as you wind through the streets. Partly because you have to - that leash still pulled tight, wrapped around a fist.

Partly because you want to stick close, always.

“-don’t need you slowing me down.” The Ghoul gives the rope a yank, and you scowl, “You get hurt doing some stupid shit, and I’m leavin’ you behind.”

Your frown softens. His words still just as harsh, snarled out. But they’re a far cry from before.

Before, when you were certain he was going to hand you right back over to your Vault, in spite of how far you’ve come. Something significant passing in the journey through the desert, as he had taken what you wanted.

The taste of him has since faded, but he still lingers.

“Gotta earn your keep, too.” His head turns, eyeing you from beneath the brim of hat, “You good at anythin’?”

Unable to help it, you smirk - a brow raising. He scoffs in response, eyes narrowing.

“Anyone can be good at suckin’ cock, sweetheart.” He drawls, unimpressed, “’m not so bad at it, myself.”

Your lips part in surprise and he’s the one that grins, now.

The Ghoul picks up another bounty here. A shady, alley-way deal - keeping you close to his heels as he snatches the faded paper contact off a tattered board.

Running into another pair looking for jobs - a fresh scar splitting across the nose of a man who tries to start a conversation, before quickly retreating.

“Fuckin’ amateurs” muttered in reply to your heavy, silent judgement.

The client is tracked down for more information, after. Wasn’t hard to find the man with cage over the lower half of his face. Spikes that scream Raider with the way they jut through his clothes.

Fifty caps for the “goddamn no-good thief” that wiped out his stall in the night, taking every last bullet and can of cram. Last seen about two days ago, heading north.

Dead or alive, the client doesn’t care.

“Did you see ‘em?” The Ghoul frowns, “What they look like? Give me somethin’ to go off of.”

“Course I did,” The man huffs, “Looks just like me, don’t he? He’s my own damn brother.”

You can’t contain your own sideways look in disbelief, only to see The Ghoul returning it.

He bargains for a hundred, and gets it.

It’s hard not to wonder if he had taken your bounty this way. If your face had been scrawled across a piece of paper. Exchanged in a no-nonsense, disconnected way.

How much had your life been worth?

You never asked him. It’s something you’re not sure you even want to know.

The rest of the afternoon is spent stocking up. Caps exchanged for some more ammo. A couple bottles of watery chems, shoved deep in his bag to join the others.

A way the ease the cough that rattles him every few days. The smallest bottle kept out, wrenched open with a tight fist.

It snags at you - the way he swallows it like ambrosia the second he steps away. Gasping and groaning as if it’s air he needs to breathe.

“I’m good at medicine,” You tell his back - following again. Memories of the Vault pushing their way to the surface, “Could make that for you, if we find the stuff. Wouldn’t have to dilute it.” You almost run into him, with the way he’s gone still. The tilt of his head, a single sharp eye piercing through you under the brim of a hat.

Shifting over your shoulder. Narrowing.

His hand fists in the collar of your jumpsuit instead, hauling you down the nearest alley and into the shadows.

“Hey!” You protest, your back knocked against the wall. He cages you in, knuckles pressing into your jaw with his tight grip.

The vial is pinched between his fingers, dangled in front of your face.

“You can make this?” He confirms.

You’re able to confirm it now, never quite getting a good look before. RadAway. It would be simple, compared to some of the stuff you’d had to cook up.

“Get me to a lab, some supplies,” You nod, “And I will.”

“Huh.” He’s close - you can’t help squirming in his grip, as he considers you, “Ain’t that something.”

A second, before his grip eases - but he doesn’t let go. Your bound fists rest against his chest, but there’s no force behind them to drive him off.

“Could’ve just asked.” You huff, “You don’t have to man-handle me.”

He almost smiles - his voice coming low, with a tilt of his head.

“Don’t I?”

It flusters you, how his body presses against yours. Your heartbeat kicking up a notch, your chest brushing his with each short breath.

His thumb sweeps, ghosting against your skin. Those sunken eyes dropping to your collar, with a frown.

Another glance down the aisle, before they’re dragging over you - voice lowering.

“Need to get you out of this suit.”

His words make stiffen in his arms, a sharp inhale of anticipation.

“Not so smart, are you?” He husks, his gaze dragging from your parted lips, up to your eyes, “Runnin’ around like this. Downright advertising you’re a Vaultie, when someone’s lookin’ for you.”

He’s not wrong. He tracked you down easily enough. You nod is small, a pang of regret as his fingers drop - as he steps away.

“Come on, then. I know a place.”

The place is an old saloon, the windows blasted out over two centuries ago. The gutted insides filled out with a patched-up bar, the mended tables and scattered chairs filled with patrons. Rooms to rent lining the first - and second floor - if you were brave enough to risk the staircase.

A few stalls set up alongside a wall - a barber ran by a Mister Handy with a looping stutter, the second by another Ghoul. Her few racks are filled with a patchwork of fabric, all in stained and faded patterns.

He gestures, a tilt of his head at the racks, “Pick something out, quick like.”

You’d gape at him, if you weren’t afraid he’d change his mind. Serious about your suit - you’re quick to grab a shirt in your size with only two holes. A pair of trousers, a rip at the knee.

“This ain’t for you.” The Ghoul clarifies darkly in your ear, “This is a trigger-happy town. Don’t need to be wasting my bullets.”

You hum in agreement - undeterred by his tone. The package clutched to your chest as he hands over a couple caps. Stuck over a full two weeks now in the same suit - you’re itching for the soft cotton against the skin.

Turning to leave, but then you’re halting. A couple of the patrons look familiar, hovering just inside the door. Something about that scar-

You’re trying to recall, in the crowd of people you’ve seen today - when a hand clamps down on your shoulder. Wheeling you around as the Ghoul turns to the shop owner.

“You got a room she can borrow?” There’s a change in his tone, almost a sticky-sweet edge to his drawl.

It must work - you’re shown to what used to be an old parlor room. An array of broken chairs, a heavy wooden table. The wallpaper torn and faded, the shades of cream long stained a dull, dirty yellow.

He fills the doorway - an arm propped against the frame, and you hold your wrists out to him dutifully.

You’ve worked at the knots before, to no avail - only to scowl now, as he undoes them easily with one hand.

A moment of silence hanging then, as you give him a pointed look - rubbing at sore wrists.

“You gonna leave so I can change?” You ask, “I’ll just be a second.”

The Ghoul steps forward instead, pulling the door shut behind him. An audible click, as he thumbs at the lock.

“Oh, I don’t think so, darlin’.”

A heat flares to life in your cheeks, “You’re staying?”

“That’s right,” He sinks into an old loveseat, propped up on concrete blocks near the boarded-up window, “Can’t leave you alone in a place like this. Fuckin’ vultures would swoop right in.”

You hesitate, watching him warily as an arm slings across the back, legs stretched out against the floor. If you didn’t know better then you think it was something almost akin to concern in his tone.

Or then again - he might just want to keep your bounty to himself. You had hoped you were past that, but-

“What?” His tongue pokes at his cheek, tone taunting, “Gettin’ shy again?”

The clothes are dropped unceremoniously on the table, your Pip-Boy following. A glare, as you reach for the zipper of your Vault Suit, starting to yank it down.

“Hey, now.” His hand raises, “Slowly. Got it?”

There’s an immediate urge to resist, to test him - but then, you’re catching the look on his face.

It’s hungry, beneath the brim of his hat. You start to feel like you did in the desert, and then the alley - intrigue, and desire, and an ache from his words, all melding together.

So, you take it slow. The zipper slipping from your throat, to breasts, then belly. A roll of your shoulders as you slip your arms from the tight sleeves.

His eyes follow, lingering on each inch of bare skin that’s revealed.

“Turn around.” He growls when you reach your hips, and for him - you do.

Bending at the waist as you unlace your boots and step out of them. Back arched as you wiggle, pushing the suit down past your knees. Down soft legs that part, so you can step out of them.

A glance over your shoulder, then. His head tilts, eyes sweeping from your ankles to fix on the crux of your thighs. They press together on their own, a thrill at being on display for him.

He catches you looking, his hand lazy as it drops to his lap. A lift of his hips as he adjusts, palming himself. The other hand leaving the revolver shotgun that rests on the cushion next to him.

Crooking two fingers at you, silently beckoning you over.

You fit between thighs that inch wider. His hands curl on his lap, before he’s slowly peeling his gloves off. Warm, against your hips, biting into your skin.

“Don’t make ‘em like you above ground anymore,” He idly comments, a flatness to his tone that betrays nothing.

Soft and smooth skin. You wonder if he’s thinking about ruining it - sinking his teeth in and taking a bite. Leaving a mark that you’ll carry.

You think you’d let him.

His grip dents your skin, before his hands are dropping. A heated look thrown your way, as his face tips up to yours.

“Why don’t you show me again,” He husks, “What you’re so good at.”

Your breath catches - eyes flicking warily towards the door, but he’s quick to call you back.

“Hey, now. Eyes over here.” The Ghoul snaps, “You need to worry ‘bout me more than anyone out there.”

It sends a heat rushing through you, knowing that he’s right. You’re locked in a room with the most dangerous man in the city, and it does something to you.

A boldness, in the way you reach behind. His growled out “fuck” when you let bra loosens - joining the blue and yellow suit on the floor.

The wood is rough under your knees. Letting your hands wander, lifting his hips while your work open his belt. Drawing down the rusted zipper.

You grasp at his hips, tugging the faded fabric until he’s free. Fingers tracing over thighs, just as rough and reddened at the rest of him. It’s still not much, but it’s more of him than you’ve ever seen.

Bare beneath the stained pants, cock already thick and full where it curves against his hip. All from just watching you - perhaps a strange thing to be proud of, but fuck, you are.

Your hands curl around his knees, as your head dips. Taking more time than you did before. Lips pressing against the taut base, as a hand twists in your hair again.

“Come on and thank me, sweetheart.” He growls - urging you upward, “Gettin’ those clothes for you. Make it worth my while.”

It’s different this time. A familiarity in the way your tongue presses against the flushed head. The taste of the salt on your tongue, before your lips are part around him.

A soft groan, when he’s filling your mouth again. You’ve thought about it often since last time. Wondering when he would have you on your knees again. If he’d want more, the next.

Your heartbeat thuds between your thighs, with the shift of his hips into your mouth - chasing his pleasure.

An urge to make him feel good. Without thinking - your hand wraps around his shaft, as your head eases back.

“Easy, now.” He grits, though his eyes are fixed on how your fingers curl around him. How it pumps, squeezing him with spit-slick fingers.

Jerking him into a mouth that parts so prettily for him. Your other hand slipping against his thigh, with feather-light brushes. A short inhale before you take him deep again, your fist sliding down to the base.

The next time you pull him from mouth for a breath, drool stringing from his cock to your lips, he hears himself growling out, “Stop.”

You’re being too tender, and he finds that he can’t stand it. Should have kept you bound, like last time.

The Ghoul’s fingers bite into your chin, your mouth glossy from how you swallowed him down.

“I’m taking you this time. Know you’ve been just aching for it.” He husks, his thumb pressing against your lip. Watching your tongue peek out to taste it, “Go on. Get up, and get your ass over to that table.”

Your desire nearly eclipses everything else. Pushing on his thighs for support, crossing the three steps to the side of the table.

“No,” He follows - the gun clattering on the table top, brought over from the couch. His hands at your hips, guiding you until you’re facing the door, “Right here, sweetheart. I’ll be keepin’ watch.”

It has you remembering where you are - that you’re just supposed to be getting changed. Wondering if you should worry that you don’t care - the thought of piping up, having the risk of losing this chance and denying pleasure again has you quickly adapting.

A hand presses at the small of your back insistently, bending you over it. You can feel him against the curve of your ass, sticky against your skin.

“Cross your wrists,” His thighs shift against yours, as you fix your hands that has flattened against the tabletop.

Making it easy for him to grasp at them with one hand - stretching them further, pressing them against the wood as he kicks your thighs further apart.

Leaving you on tip-toe, arched against him.

“Look at you, listening.” He almost coos, with another lazy rock. His cock shifts, fitting between your thighs, nudging against you.

“I think-” You start, but it’s punctuated by a moan, “Think you just like tying girls up.”

“Now you’re gettin’ it,” He drawls, “Though I don’t discriminate. Theres just something ‘bout havin’ you like this-”

The Ghoul leans over you then, his grip tightening. Pinning you firmly between him and the table, unable to do more than squirm as his free hand slips between your thighs, cupping you.

It’s the first time he’s touched you like this, and your muscles string tight - trying not to buck into his palm. Against fingers that rub against your clit, pressing the sticky fabric to your skin.

“Fuck.” He rasps in your ear. Nails bite into your hips, as he tears the fabric down to your thighs.

Coming back to press against your bare cunt, fingers slipping against your folds. You’re unable to help the soft whimper as he parts you, two fingers teasing at your entrance.

“Please,” You whine, as he pets against you. Smearing your slick up to your clit again, his fingers parting just as he reaches it.

His cock presses against your leg, thick and stiff. A roll of his hips until it’s pressed snug against your cunt - jutting between your thighs just below his hand.

“Your pussy is downright leakin for me, sweetheart,” He growls, “You need it that bad?”

You whine, your head turning to look - watching how he arcs over you. That blown-wide look in his eyes again, as you nod.

There’s a split second as his hand leaves you, before it’s cracking down on the meat of your ass. You gasp in shock as you go still beneath him, the pain unexpected and swirling with your heady need.

“Say it out loud,” He barks out, “Tell me just how much.”

Your skin stings, his fingers twitch before he kneads roughly at the flesh - the burn of it akin to way you ache for him.

“I need it,” You keen, “Need your cock. Want you to fuck me-”

The words cut off - a rough hum of approval before he’s lining himself up, a hand curving to grip your hip. The other flexes around your wrist, before he’s driving himself deep with a single, powerful thrust.

Your cry is loud, this time. Low and rough, pushed from your lungs as your pussy makes room for him.

“Fucking christ, you’re tight,” He grunts, unable to help the shallow buck of his hips, “Better than my goddamn dreams.”

It makes you moan - the gritted-out admission not lost on you.

Even with how wet you are, you still feel like you’re stretched wide. An ache radiating through you, sparking to life as he inches out, only to plunge deep again. The table bites into your hips, back arching as he sets a rough rhythm.

The sharp twinge starting to fade, as you begin to accommodate him. Growing accustomed to the heavy weight of him inside you, the steady stroke against your walls that has you starting to clench down around him.

Your breathing grows shorter, faster. Face turning to bury in the curve of your shoulder, muffling the moans that are pushed from you - until his hand is leaving your hip, twisting in your hair with a sharp tug.

Forcing your head back, his grip anchoring you.

“Don’t think so, darlin’. Know you saw those eyes on you,” He’s lost the steady edge to his voice, words turning rough, “Go on, be loud.”

The Ghoul’s hips pound harder, the rough texture of his cock stroking deep. Each sending a current through you, leaving your fingers and toes flexing, aching for just a little bit more.

“Saw you come in with me. Show ‘em who you belong to.”

“Fuck!” You cry, wishing you had a name to scream. Unable to muffle your ragged breath, the moans he pulls from you.

It fills the room, melding with the slick punch of his cock into your wet and needy cunt. Better than before, because his hands are on you now - leaving your hair, blunt nails dragging down your back. Ghosting across your hip, where your skin presses into the wood.

“Touch me.” You beg, again, “Let me touch myself, I can’t-”

His hand withdraws, and you whine - backpedaling. Afraid that he’s going to pull from you, finish himself across your back or your ass for asking.

“Please. Fuck, please. Don’t, I’m so close-”

He groans at your plea through clenched teeth.

Releasing his grip on you, only for his hand to slide to the base of your throat. His other arm looping beneath you as he hauls you against him, flattening against your ribs.

Palming at a soft breast, as you’re pulled up and pressed flushed to his chest.

“Listen to you, miss manners,” He grins - teeth bared, “That’s more like it, honey.”

The bandolier cuts into your skin, the wood into your thighs. And change in the angle that has your cries growing louder as his cock pounds against a soft spot inside you. Warm breath ghosting against your neck, deep rumbling growls in your ear.

Everything fades, growing hazy. His fingers tighten, but not enough to fully choke the air from you. An implication - your own hands wrapping around his wrist to anchor yourself to him. 

You can hear him inhale you, the scrape of teeth against your skin above the heavy press of his fingers. Salvation in the way the hand splayed beneath your chest drifts lower, his voice smooth in your ear.

“This is for listening,” He husks, “You understand?”

Relentless, when his fingers press against your clit. Slick and circling until you’re grinding into his touch, meeting the hard slap of his hips.

The gasping chant of “fuck, fuckfuckfuck,  please-” turning into mindless whimpers, his rough rhythm growing sloppy.

“Goddamn, you feel good.” It’s a ragged sigh, “Feel your tight little cunt squeezing me. Gonna make a mess, sweetheart?”

It sounds muted, layering with a ringing white noise. Your nails bite into his wrists as the swiftly building tides breaks. Almost missing the sweet growl in your ear.

“Let them hear how a pretty thing like you sounds coming on a cock like mine.”

You do, with the next swirl of his rough fingers - the sound broken as he rips it from you.

Bearing down around the cock that fits so deeply into you, with each blissful pulse of your release. Forgetting about the rest - about the outside world - as your nerves alight with pleasure.

His hand drops from your throat to brace against the table. Bending you flat again as he feels you flutter and gush around his length, crushing you against the top as blunt teeth close against the pulse point of your throat, biting down.

The sounds of his own orgasm muffled - a ragged groan as his cock throbs, as he fucks himself deep into you. Tasting the salt of your skin as you yelp, clenching around him - milking him until your walls are coated with his spend.

He hadn’t meant to - but the urge to pull from you had wavered the moment he buried himself in your cunt. Abandoned completely, after feeling you come so sweetly around him. An instinct lingers even now - to enjoy the soft press of your body against his, your warmth.

You shiver as his lips brush your neck, the closest thing to an apology as you’ll get - before he’s pulling away from you, leaving you clenching and empty.

A ragged hand slips between your thighs as you prop yourself up on your elbows, catching your breath. Pleasure still radiating from your core as fingertips swipe through the come that is just starting to leak from you.

“Fuck, sweetheart,” He laughs - the sound ragged, with a flash of yellowed teeth.

“Guess this means you better start cookin’.”

The Vault Suit is left beneath the table, a crumpled up reminder that you’re happy to leave behind.

Your cheeks burn as you leave the saloon - the strangers from before cleared out. A definite wobble to your steps - something that The Ghoul certainly notices, the low tilt of his hat hiding the curling pull of his lips.

Outlining the path towards the next bounty as you find your way out, guessing where you might find a lab along the way.

And it’s only as the city starts to fade, that you realize -

He never bound your wrists again, after.

I have the brainrot for this man for sure! Thank you for stopping by & reading 💖 (and I have also been reading so much about the new chem the Ghoul takes! For plot & smut reasons - I am going with RadAway, haha)

[ben--solos]

"I'm going to make him come down here. I'm going to make him see me. I'm going to make him see us."

Percy Jackson & The Olympians 1.02 // 1.07

[cryptcatz]

why does he look like this

[gravehags]

miss my dog extra hard tonight so here’s some pics from when he was 2

he was the goofiest mf you’ve ever seen, loved everyone, had the softest ears on the planet, and once tried to steal a whole brisket directly off a barbecue. my sweet boy.

[princenothinq]

my beautiful princess with a disorder

[sleepy-writes-stuff]

DP X DC PROMPT #24

Been a while since I wrote a prompt. Let's change that!

✦

Pen Pals

Red Hood comes across Cujo somewhere in Gotham (location and reason like feeding off of ambient ectoplasm, looking for a new toy, lost, etc are your choice). At first, he's kinda freaked out over this pup that glows Lazarus Pits green but slowly learns that Cujo is relatively harmless as long as no one threatens him or anyone under his protection. Kinda hard not to learn that since Cujo has been glued to his side ever since he found the pup roaming the streets at night.

Cujo eventually gets into Red Hood's good books when the sweet little pup turns into a rottweiler the size of a small house and nearly bites the Joker's head off due to him being his usual creepy, rancid self.

Once he's gotten comfortable enough around the strange dog, he gets close enough to spot a tag/nameplate that reads the pup's name along with "Belongs to Phantom" scratched onto the back in messy handwriting.

He thinks nothing of it until Cujo starts getting restless and Red Hood gets the feeling that he'll be leaving Gotham soon. So, given the dog is clearly supernatural and his tag had no contact information, he assumes Cujo is basically a free roam pet and is able to get back to his owner on his own.

The night before he feels Cujo is going to leave, he ties a letter to the pup's collar. The next night, Cujo is gone.

Weeks pass and he thinks of Cujo often, wondering if he made it back to his owner. If his owner got the letter. If this "Phantom" is similar to him. He doesn't think just anyone owns a Lazarus green dog that reeks of death magic.

It's not until he's out on patrol one night, almost two months later, that Cujo suddenly appears and barrels into his stomach. As the excitable pup slobbers kisses all over his helmet, he sees an envelope covered in stickers attached to Cujo's collar.

Looks like he's got himself a pen pal.

[wuntrum]

coopy and snoopy...