im-a-slut-for-an-accent

[im-a-slut-for-an-accent]

𝐜𝐚𝐥𝐥 𝐦𝐞 𝐂𝐢𝐥𝐥𝐢𝐚𝐧 | dad's best friend!cillian murphy x reader

𝐬𝐮𝐦𝐦𝐚𝐫𝐲 | based on the following request: what would dilf/dad's best friend cillian do if he found your dildo?

𝐰𝐨𝐫𝐝 𝐜𝐨𝐮𝐧𝐭 | 5k (this was literally supposed to be a drabble...)

𝐰𝐚𝐫𝐧𝐢𝐧𝐠𝐬 | smut (18+ only), significant age gap (reader is college-aged, cillian is in his late forties), voyeurism/exhibitionism, semi-public sex, use of toys, praise kink, unprotected sex, very brief/semi sarcastic 'sir' kink, shockingly fluffy??

Not that your parents' anniversary cocktail party wasn't horribly riveting (cue dramatic eyeroll) but you were upstairs, on your bed, on your phone; you'd had enough of 'so how's college going?' and 'what's your major again?' and 'got any boyfriends yet? you must be a heartbreaker' for one evening— or a lifetime, preferably.

It wasn’t even that comfortable to be on the bed in your party dress—a cute, short sparkly one that you’d picked out for tonight—but it was better than standing around and trying to balance in those sky-high heels; those you had kicked off into the corner of the room the second you were alone.

When you heard a small rap on the door, you hummed a quick "Come in!" and didn't even look up from your phone, figuring it was your mom or dad come to find you after you disappeared.

Instead, you heard Mr. Murphy's voice as he leaned in the doorframe; "Sorry to bug you," he said, startling you slightly as you closed Instagram and set your phone down. "Just needed a Tide pen— your mom said you might have one in here?"

"O-oh, yeah," you said, sitting up, "sure— what happened?"

"Salsa fiasco," he joked softly as he shut the door behind him, showing you the dark red stain on his shirt— though the shirt itself was red, so it wasn't too egregious, but still noticeable.

"That's too bad," you chuckled, "I warned them about that salsa— if you serve salsa, there's gonna be a fiasco, that's what I said."

He clicked his tongue disapprovingly. "They should listen to you more," he agreed.

"I've got a couple stain remover pens in that top drawer," you suggested as you pointed to your dresser.

"Great," he smiled, starting to unbutton the shirt; you got nervous for a second until you realized he had on a black undershirt beneath. It's hard to say why you were nervous about that, since you'd seen him shirtless plenty of times in the years you'd known him...

"Nobody's worried about me going missing, right?" you wondered as he continued working on the buttons, and he shook his head while shrugging slightly.

"Not yet," he replied, "but they're going to want to find you soon, you're sort of the star of the night."

You rolled your eyes, frowning. "It's my parents' anniversary party, I think they should be the focus."

"Maybe they should, but you're the much more interesting one," he informed you.

You pulled your legs up a bit, leaning to the side as you sat on your bed; as much as all this attention from your parents' friends was usually annoying to you, something about being interesting to Mr. Murphy didn't bother you so much. "Is it weird for you?" you asked, lowering your voice a bit; he tilted his head quickly as if to ask what you meant. "Going to an anniversary party after, you know—"

The words hung in the air, seeming to gather around his conspicuously naked ring finger: after the divorce. "Oh, no," he scoffed, taking off his cufflinks. "It's fine; but I'm sick of the questions about it."

You winced. "Sorry, I didn't mean to—"

"Don't worry," he laughed finally shirking off the shirt; he looked a little too good in just the short-sleeved undershirt. "You can make it even by letting me ask you how college is going."

"Oh god," you groaned, rolling your eyes, and he laughed.

"If I didn't know from your parents that you were acing it, I'd worry that your aversion to talking about it meant you were struggling somehow."

"It's not that," you assured, "it's the people."

"The people?" he pressed. "Or the guys?"

You laughed nervously, looking down at your lap. "Geez, you learn to mindread while I was gone or something?"

He stepped around your bed to get to the dresser, laying his shirt down over it. "No, I just remember that time— somehow. And I remember how much of a headache I and every other young guy was."

"I guess not much has changed then," you smiled.

"What, I'm still a headache?" he grinned as he looked over his shoulder at you.

"No, I meant—"

"I know what you meant, I'm just teasing," he chuckled. "Top drawer you said?"

"Yeah," you nodded, and he opened the top drawer of the dresser; of course, only right then did you remember that you should have specifically said top left. Because the top right was—

Oh shit.

You swallowed thickly as Cillian stared down into the open drawer, and your heart pounded as you somehow hoped and prayed that what was in there had turned invisible or something; but if the look on his face was anything to go by, it was just as visible as ever.

“I—fuck, sorry, I forgot that’s—” you choked out, face burning impossibly hot.  “I never meant for you to see—I’m—could you shut the fucking drawer, please, you pervert?!”

“I’m the pervert?” he laughed thinly, looking at you again finally.  “You’re the one with a massive fucking dildo in here.”

“Well—you weren’t supposed to see that—”

“Yeah, but—fuck,” he choked, “I was just looking for your stain remover and I see your— you have a— are you sure that isn’t technically considered a weapon or something?  How’s a guy supposed to compete with that?”

“That’s the great thing about it: he doesn’t have to compete,” you explained, “that’s sort of the whole idea.”

He looked back at it for a second and you yelped, reaching your leg off the bed to kick him in the hip.  “Would you please shut the drawer?!”

“Sorry, sorry,” he laughed a bit, “but I mean, how am I supposed to react to that?

“Well, you’re not supposed to just stare at it!” you insisted.

He shut the drawer, giving you a look you couldn’t possibly decipher.

“What were you thinking?!” you said, somewhat rhetorically.

“I—well,” he hummed, looking away from you for a second, “I was thinking that I can’t imagine how you can possibly fit something like that.”

You blinked quickly, not sure what to say in response to that.  “Well—I mean, it’s a little big, but… it gets the job done.  Keeps me from calling the guys I shouldn’t be calling.”

He nodded.  “Well, that’s good… none of those college boys could possibly deserve you…”

His eyes were running all over you, and even though you’d picked out this dress just for this party because you loved how you looked in it, you felt a little exposed by his stare.

“I just can’t believe a girl like you—”

“Come on, I’ve never been a saint,” you scoffed, glancing away.

“No, I just mean… the size of that thing…” he trailed off.

“You really can’t get over that part,” you noticed, “is this some kind of… intimidation, Freudian situation?”

You glanced quickly at his pants, and he started to deny it instantly.  “No—come on, it’s not—I just can’t believe you take all that.  For fun.  It looks like it would break you.”

You hadn’t even had any drinks at this anniversary party, and yet you found yourself with this foggy head like you were tipsy; you blurted something out as if you were tipsy.  “What, you want me to prove it?”

His chest sunk a bit, and you were about to take it back when he spoke before you.  “I’d like to see you try.”

Biting your lip, you sat up on the bed, reaching around him and into the drawer.  He didn’t step back or out of the way, just let you grab the toy and lean back on the bed in front of him.

You reached up under your dress, sliding your panties out of the way, finding yourself suddenly plenty wet to fit this toy.

His eyes never left you, though they certainly travelled all over your body as you pressed the toy up to your entrance; it was thick, he wasn’t wrong, and you had to slowly warm yourself up to it whenever you used it on yourself. 

After pushing with enough pressure, the tip finally slipped inside and you let out a small sigh.  He watched carefully, and your lips fell open into a moan as you pushed the toy deeper into yourself.  When the stretch became a bit too sharp, you winced and slowed down, trying to take your time even with your heart racing and hands shaking.

You heard his own breathing picking up, watching you take the toy deeper; you found your gaze wandering over him, even lingering on his groin to see if you could catch a bulge growing there, but nothing was obvious yet.  You stared for a moment at his hands, too, suddenly wishing to have them all over you—well, maybe not that suddenly, you’d sort of thought about this before.  It wasn’t until somewhat recently that you noticed how sexy he was.  Maybe when you were younger, you understood that he was better looking than all the other adults you knew, but only once you left for college did you start thinking about him out of nowhere, imagining what he was really like when he wasn’t just being friendly with you—you even asked your mom once on a phone call if he was dating anyone.  Thankfully, she didn’t seem to get suspicious when you asked that; but she’d be more than fucking suspicious if she walked in now, saw you doing this to yourself under his watchful eye.

Oddly enough, the knowledge that someone could walk in and see this just made you even more desperate, and you gasped as you pushed the toy in deeper.

It still wasn’t all the way in, and you already felt so full… truth be told, he had a point about it maybe being too big for you—when you usually used it on yourself, you only put it in a little over halfway, since that was all you really needed.  You hadn’t put the whole thing inside since you first got it—and yes, you’d ordered it online, because if you’d seen it in person you probably would’ve been as intimidated by its girth as he was.

Your decision not to wear a bra with this dress became very apparent when his gaze settled on your chest; your nipples were hard, and clearly visible under the fabric now.  It was just because it was strapless that you went without, but you were thankful for it when you saw him quickly lick his lips at the sight.  You dared to moan just a little louder as you pulled the toy in and out, picking up your pace carefully.

“How’s it feel?” he asked lowly, his eyes drifting back to where the toy slid into you. 

“Good,” you mumbled, “really fucking good.”

“Can you really take it all?” he pressed, making your walls clench on the silicone.

Instead of answering aloud, you simply pushed it all the way in until your eyes rolled back—it was so deep, pressing heavy and fat against your deepest points until it felt like you might burst.

“Fuck,” he praised—it was just a swear, but the way he whispered it made it sound like a praise.

You sped up slightly, trying to do this the way you normally would without someone staring at you.  But you were even more sensitive with him watching, your walls clenching more and more around the toy until it was almost hard to keep thrusting it in and out.  Sighing, you shut your eyes and laid back on the bed to try to help yourself relax.  The change in angle just seemed to make the toy go deeper, rubbing harder against the spot inside you that made your back arch.

“You’re so wet,” he breathed; you whimpered, nodding in agreement, and kept moving the dildo as deep as you could get it with every thrust. 

Your free arm went back over your head to hold onto the comforter under you, your hand gripping tight for some relief for the pressure inside you.  “Fuck yes,” you whispered, knitting your brows together and fucking yourself faster.  “Feels so fucking good…”

He hummed a little, but you kept your eyes shut, afraid you’d lose your nerve if you looked at him again.  It had been months since you used anything but this, and you had no regrets—the toy performed way better than any of the guys you’d met at college.  But, truthfully, you didn’t like having to do this to yourself.  It felt like you could never move it fast or hard enough, and you needed to constantly have perfect control over the toy to get yourself to come—and when you come, the last thing you want is to take control, you want to lay back and lose control.  Still, it was better than the college fuckboys who smelled like beer and didn’t last more than two minutes.

Thinking about them wasn’t going to help you now, though; it was much better to think about Cillian, about those icy blue eyes running all over your body, about how his hands would hold you down while he claimed you, about how his lips would feel on your neck before he whispered in your ear that you were his…

You let out a sharp and sudden moan as the toy hit harder on that spot; your legs started to shake.  “Good girl,” he mumbled, making you moan even louder because god, those words just sounded right in his accent, with that rough voice—and they sounded right being said to you.

“Fuck,” you choked, “Mr. Murphy, I—”

He laughed a little.  “So polite,” he cooed.  “Open your eyes and look at me.”

Though it made your heart beat even faster, you did as you were told.  His stare was all-encompassing, making you feel completely trapped in a way you enjoyed more than you could’ve imagined. 

“Call me Cillian,” he insisted.

You weren’t sure if he meant to literally call him that right in that moment, but it sort of came out anyway: “Cillian,” you moaned, and the grip he’d taken on the dresser behind him tightened.

“Can you come for me?” he asked lowly.  “Right now?  Can you come on that fake cock?”

You bit your lip and nodded, moving the toy faster and faster— more desperate to come than ever.  “I—fuck, yeah, I’m close…”

“Good,” he praised again.  “Let me see you come, honey.”

Your back arched harder, deeper—your hands were shaking but you kept going, holding on tight to the dildo and forcing it back and forth as your legs began to quiver.

Moans poured from your mouth faster than you could try to quiet them—everyone was downstairs, you just had to hope the music and conversation was enough to drown out your desperate, pleading noises.  “Fuckin’ beautiful,” he mumbled, right as you hit the peak and melted into the mattress, a wave of ecstasy pouring over you.

You felt hot everywhere, but especially between your legs—you could swear you felt yourself leaking out around the toy, soaking it, giving away how needy you’d become and not even having the mental energy to feel any shame for it.

Cillian certainly didn’t look like he was trying to shame you for it; when you opened your eyes again, he had a stunned expression—in the best way.  “You normally come that fast for a toy?”

You laughed a little, but you still couldn’t quite catch your breath.  “No,” you admitted, “it normally takes… a bit longer than that…”

“What was different about tonight?” he mused, and you scoffed and rolled your eyes again.

“Shut up,” you sighed.  “Now I have to figure out how to take this thing out—I’m always sore after…”

“If you can handle putting it in, taking it out shouldn’t be much trouble,” he noticed.

Which, yes, that would make sense, but after coming you always got all tight and sensitive and it could be a little intense.

“How about I help you?” he offered, and your chest tightened.  He waited for you to nod before carefully wrapping his hand around your own, watching your face as he gently guided you to pull the toy out.

Your lips were slack and your eyes were probably glassy and dazed as he looked at you like that, completely enveloping you in his stare as he studied every detail of your expression.  Aside from some heavy breathing you didn’t react much to him sliding the toy out of you, until the ridge of the head reached your entrance and you winced.

“Shh,” he soothed gently, “it’s okay…”

A long sigh of relief emptied your chest when the toy tapered off and you felt the last of it slip out of you; you really noticed then how soaked you were, as a draft in the room seemed to cling to the patch of wetness that had coated all between your legs somehow.

“Lemme see, baby,” he cooed under his breath as he set the toy aside, kneeling down and resting a hand on the inside of your thigh to keep your legs open.

You could barely catch your breath with him doing that; you’d never had someone… look at it like that.  You felt incredibly vulnerable but impossibly sexy as you heard him sigh at the sight.  “Is it all stretched out now?” you wondered.

“No,” he said, “you look… just as tight as before.  Fuck.  That’s incredible.”

You bit your lip, sitting up enough to try to get a look at his face past the puffiness of your dress’ skirt, and he smirked up at you with the loveliest sparkle in his eye.  “Really?” you breathed, and he nodded.

Even though your hands were still shaking you suddenly felt brave; maybe it was just the afterglow, but you grabbed him by the shirt and sat up to kiss him, colliding your lips with his.  He reciprocated instantly, putting his hands on your upper back that the strapless dress left bare.

The kiss was perfect—needy but not too fast, sweet but not too chaste, teasing but not too slow.  The guys in college couldn’t even kiss like this… you were wondering why you ever even tried with them—or, you would’ve been if that kiss left you capable of thinking about anything but him.  “Need you,” you whispered as you pulled him closer, wrapping your arms around his strong shoulders.

“Fuck,” he mumbled against your lips, a hand holding your waist while he started to kiss your neck and jaw.  “Not here—your parents—”

“Don’t care,” you whimpered, “I’m so—fuck, Cillian, please—”

“You already came,” he noticed with a small laugh, “didn’t that take the edge off?”

“Not enough,” you whined, getting impatient and running a hand down over his shirt and down to his pants—and you smiled proudly as you felt the hardening bulge beneath.  He choked a little when you touched him there, holding you tighter.  “You want me too,” you noticed.

“Of course I do, but—” he breathed, then stopped himself as he tossed you back on the bed; you giggled as he crawled up over you, pinning you down.  “But we can’t… your parents would have my head on a platter—once they’re done serving crawfish etouffee off of it downstairs.”

“Well, I wasn’t planning on telling my parents,” you smirked.  “Were you?”

“No,” he agreed, kissing your neck again as you hummed happily.  “But if they found out—”

“So?  They wouldn’t like if they found out about what just happened, either—and they won’t.”

“But this is different,” he insisted.

“How?”

“Because this…”

He trailed off, kissing down your neck and over your shoulder, until a hand reached up to pull your dress down and expose your chest.

“Shit,” he sighed at the sight of it, and you smiled up at him.

“You were saying?” you teased.

“Right, erm,” he swallowed, “this is different because—because if we do this, you’re gonna be my girl.  Not just a misguided one-time fuck because you were turned on after screwing yourself with your dildo while I watched.”

You felt a little out of breath but nodded up at him.  “Okay,” you agreed.

“Okay?” he repeated, looking a little shocked.  “I tell you that you have to be mine and you just say okay?”

“What was I supposed to say, yes sir?” you joked.

“I just mean—shit, if I knew it would be this easy, I would’ve said something sooner,” he chuckled.  “But I’m, er, not complaining about the yes sir thing either…”

He sat up and started to unbutton his pants, making you wiggle a bit on the bed impatiently.  Even though you’d just gotten filled by your big toy, you felt needier than ever for something inside you—something real. 

Your throat caught when he took it out— it was pale and veiny just like the rest of him; long, uncut, a bead of precum starting to leak from the slit… it was beautiful, honestly.  The artificial fleshy hue of the silicone could never compete.

“Big enough for you?” he asked with a smirk, but you had to swallow before you answered because your mouth was watering.

“Yeah,” you panted, “plenty.”

He kissed you again, laying more of his weight on top of you; your legs wrapped around his hips, keeping him close as he pressed you down into your bed.

One hand found your wrist and held it back above your head, while the other kept a tight wrap around his cock so he could guide it to your waiting entrance.  When he pushed inside, you both sighed with relief like you’d been longing for this for ages—perhaps because both of you had, in your own ways.  “Fuck,” you breathed, “Cillian…”

He whispered your name back to you, heavy and desperate and right by your ear, and you absolutely knew you were his, just like he said.  He only stilled for a moment when he was all the way inside, already starting to rock back and forth—but he was sort of tender about it, watching you move under him as he fucked you.  “So pretty,” he praised quietly, kissing you again, even harder than before.  You both moaned into the kiss, and a warm, rough hand settled on your thigh under your dress.

Soon, the pleasure was too much to even focus on kissing, and your mouth just fell wide open in front of his as needy moans passed through it.  He stayed close, though, watching your face go slack with ecstasy.  The previous orgasm had left you sticky and sensitive inside, still totally dripping for him, everything in you begging for more.  “Oh my god,” you sighed, eyes rolling back, your composure completely slipping already.  He made you feel so good so easily—and fuck, the way he was looking at you, it was just too much to bear.

“Mm,” he hummed proudly, latching his lips onto your neck again until your fingers tangled in his hair.  He moved down and caught a nipple in his mouth, making you whimper as he suckled at it gently. 

“Fuck,” you whined, nearly pulling him along by the hair when he moved to the other one; you couldn’t stop clenching inside, squeezing him until he groaned against your skin. 

“Won’t last if you keep doing that,” he warned you softly. 

“What if I don’t want you to?” you teased, and he growled a little between his teeth, sitting up to look down at you.  He fucked you harder, but put a hand on top of your head and pet your hair for a moment, looking at you like you hung the moon; how could he be so dirty then so adorable within the same split-second?!

“I’ll do whatever you want me to,” he decided, speaking softly, “how about that?  What do you want me to do?”

That was a little too much power to give you, at least in your opinion, but you grinned as you considered it.  “Then I want you to come way too quick,” you decided, “like all those annoying college boys—because you just can’t help yourself.”

He laughed a little, though he stopped to bite his lip as he fucked you even harder—and faster, too.  “Okay,” he breathed, “don’t know why you want that, but—fuck— it won’t be very difficult after that little show you gave me.  You look so pretty when you come…”

“Just keep going and you can see it again,” you promised, holding onto him tighter as he pressed into you and really let you have it—not really rough or anything, you couldn’t risk making any more noise than you were, but still aggressive and passionate and desperate.

He kissed your neck again, burying his face in your shoulder and finding the spot that made you gasp out his name suddenly; your fingers clutched at fistfuls of his undershirt, and your legs began to shake where they were hooked around his hips and half-pushed-down pants.

“Oh my god,” you gasped, the pleasure hitting you again—but it was better than with the toy, it was stronger, and it just kept going because he kept going.  When your head fell back onto the mattress with a sigh, he realized that he’d made you come.

“Wait, fuck, I wasn’t looking,” he rushed as he popped his head up from the crook of your neck, “do it again.”

You laughed breathlessly and pushed against his shoulder a bit; “Shut up, I can’t do it on command.”

“You did it the last two times I told you to,” he reminded you, and that just made you feel even more deliciously dizzy. 

Yes, you were definitely his girl now—totally addicted to him.  You’d never felt like this with somebody—not just physically, but the trust and the laughter and the comfort of it all.  This wasn’t a too-empty dorm room that still smelled like fresh paint, it wasn’t a mattress with no sheets in an apartment with 5 roommates nearby, it wasn’t a guy you vaguely knew from a two-hundred-student class or someone you saw on a dating app and talked with for an afternoon before meeting for ‘coffee’ (it was never just coffee).  This was Mr. Murphy—and that should’ve made it weirder, but somehow, it just made it make more sense.

“So, if I tell you to come again,” he spoke lowly by your ear, a new authority to his tone, “you should come.”

You couldn’t think of anything else to say: “Yes, sir,” you breathed, hugging him close to you and pressing your face against his shoulder.

Of course, it wasn’t quite instantaneous, but just another minute of him giving you those deep, controlled thrusts right into your favorite spot sent you over the edge easily—and this time, he gently guided your face out of its hiding spot and looked at you, watched your pleasure overtake you, tenderly rubbing your cheek with his thumb.  “Good girl,” he praised softly, kissing you again just as the last of it drained from you; you were so numb that you barely heard him whisper something to you—it took you a few seconds to process it.

“I’m gonna come,” he’d whispered to you, “fuck, you’re so fucking warm…”

“Come inside,” you instructed, and for all the concern he tried to perform for you after you said that, his moan was undeniable, as was the way he started to move faster.

“Fuck, really?” he nearly whined.  “Are you sure?”

“Yeah,” you nodded, panting.

“You’re on—”

“Yes, please, just come inside me,” you begged, and he finally stopped protesting and pressed himself as deep into you as he could—you could feel the way his cock flexed, and it made your exhausted walls dig up just enough energy to flex back.

“Fuuuuck,” he groaned, holding onto you tightly.

You hummed a little at the feeling, turning your face towards his, hoping to see what he looked like in this moment—but he pulled you into another kiss before you could get a good look.  Even this kiss was different from the others—a little slower, a little more tired in a wonderful, dreamy way.  He was breathing heavy against you, and eventually he found the energy to push himself up with his arms on either side of your head, and you smiled up at him.  He looked really fucking good like this: his face a bit flushed, which seemed to show his freckles and fine lines even more (which you adored); his hair falling down, a little wavier from the slight sweat he’d worked up; his lips swollen and slick from the kisses; and those eyes, they looked as beautiful as always, but they made you feel beautiful, too.

“Is taking this one out gonna hurt, too?” he asked you with a smirk.

“Probably a little,” you shrugged.

“For both of us,” he agreed, “I’m so fucking sensitive now… you really do have me acting like a desperate college boy—but you know, it’s been a while, so…”

“Right, sure—good excuse,” you joked, but you didn’t mind any of it either way.

He did it a little quicker, pulling back as he took a sharp breath in, and you giggled softly.

“Fuck, I can feel it, like… leaking out,” you admitted, biting your lip at the sick satisfaction of the warm gush.

“I think I need to see that,” he said, sitting up and picking your legs up from under the knee to look at you.  This was apparently a habit of his—and you were starting to get used to it already.

“How’s it look?” you asked, wondering if he’d finally stretched you out after that.

He just stared at it for a moment longer, running his tongue over his teeth, before finally looking back at you and saying with a smile: “Looks like you need the Tide pen more than I do.”

[im-a-slut-for-an-accent]

mackie’s gonna make sure tom knows he’s getting his movie

[im-a-slut-for-an-accent]

Sam Wilson Masterlist

🍋 smut 🌺 fluff 🌩️ angst 🔱 dark

♡ Rulebreaker 🍋

♡ Something Sweet 🌺

♡ Loveletter 🌺

♡ Good Morning 🌺

♡ Rapture 🍋

♡ Picnic Date 🌺

♡ Heat 🍋

♡ Clean 🌺🍋

♡ Introductory 🍋

♡ Resentment 🍋

♡ Unfaithful 🌩️🍋

♡ Glorification 🌺🍋

♡ Hospitality 🌺🍋

♡ Haven 🌩️🌺🍋

♡ Contentment 🌺

♡ NSFW alphabet 🍋

♡ First Love 🌺 ♡ Fortify 🌩️🧛🏿

─── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ───── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ──

☆ never better 🍋

☆ want some help? 🍋

☆ daddy kink 🌺🍋

☆ dominion 🔱 🍋

☆ dbf!sam 🍋

☆ sugar daddy!sam 🍋

︵‿︵‿︵‿︵‿︵‿︵‿︵‿︵

☆ Moodboards ☆

╰┈➤ ♡ SamShips MasterList

╰┈➤ ♡ Sam Aus Masterlist

♡ Sam Wilson

♡ Delacroix

[im-a-slut-for-an-accent]

J.H. | The Duality of Jim Hopper

Masterlist | Buy me a coffee

Summary: Ever since Joyce introduced you to the local chief of police, Jim Hopper, you’ve thought maybe this town is a little too small. You’re certain that there is no truth behind the rumors until you take one hell of a beating and Hopper wants answers.

Pairing: Jim Hopper x Reader

Warnings: mentions of an injury, teenagers being punks, swearing, Hopper being Hopper

Word Count: 4.5k

“How are you settling in?”

The voice tears your attention away from one of the books piled up on the table in front of you. You glance toward the sound and see Marissa, the librarian, standing beside you. A part of you wants to groan at her question because you are acutely aware that you don’t share the same history as most of your friends in Hawkins. 

You didn’t approach another child on the playground during your first day of kindergarten and establish a once in a lifetime kind of friendship -- like Mike and Will. You didn’t share cigarettes under the bleachers of your local high school while attempting to not get busted by administration -- like Joyce and Hopper. You didn’t attend new mother classes and bond over the newfound joy of motherhood -- like Karen and Marsha.

No. You haven’t lived in this small town your entire life. You moved to Hawkins after everyone your age had settled into their lives -- with jobs, and spouses, and children. Meanwhile, you came to Hawkins from Indianapolis in an attempt to have a quieter life. No children, no spouse, and no job -- that is until you had an interview with Donald Melvald.

And Melvald’s is where you met Joyce Byers, who quickly became your lifeline in Hawkins. You remember your first day at work, when she took all day just to train you. Little did you know, Joyce was just as excited as you were to have some company throughout the day. She easily took you under her wing and brought you up to date with the history of Hawkins. Eventually, she invited you into her life and home. Dinners at the Byers’ home became more frequent as you continued working together. The Byers slowly became your family in Hawkins.

“I’m doing well. Thank you for checking in.”

She gives you a polite smile. You were hoping she’d leave the conversation at that, but she asks you another question.

“Are you still working over at Melvald’s with Joyce?”

You give her a nod in response and turn your attention back to the stack of books that Will had recommended to you. It’s not that you don’t like Marissa. She’s fantastic at her job and you enjoyed the few conversations you have had with her, but you know she’s also a gossip -- or at least that’s what Joyce told you when you asked why the local librarian started asking you so many personal questions during your first visit. 

“How’s she doing?”

“She’s good. So are the boys. I’m actually going over there for dinner tonight.”

You hope you’ve given her enough information to quench her thirst for details.

“Oh. With the Chief?”

Apparently not. 

Your brow furrows at her question and you shake your head. Ever since Joyce introduced you to the local chief of police, Jim Hopper, you’ve thought maybe this town is a little too small. 

The two of you became quick friends, but you weren’t aware of his reputation in town until after you had dinner with him. It wasn’t even supposed to be just the two of you at Benny’s; Joyce was actually the one who had planned the little outing, but Will ended up coming home from school early that day with a fever, so Joyce had to cancel last minute. Hopper ended up wandering into Melvald’s later that day after Joyce had called the two of you about her predicament. 

“We can still go tonight. If you want?”

Hopper will never tell you that he wants to take you out to dinner. Instead, he leaves the decision to you; afraid of the rejection that could come if he were to just blatantly ask you out. 

You shrug before giving him a verbal answer.

“I don’t have anything else going on tonight.”

Hopper smiles as he leans against the counter, watching as you continue restocking the shelves. 

“Meet you at Benny’s? 7:00 o’clock?”

You stop restocking and glance up at him. If you didn’t know him, you’d think he was intimidating. He’s a large man and his presence practically demands your attention. Hell, his broad frame is taking up half the counter. But then his hands are anxiously fiddling with an unlit cigarette as he waits for your response. It almost makes you laugh -- the duality of Jim Hopper.

“Actually, can you pick me up? My car has been acting up.”

“I’ll be there at 7:00 and maybe I can take a look at your car?”

Jim watches you stand up. As you walk past him to get behind the counter, you gently place your hand on his bicep. It’s nothing you haven’t done before, but for some reason, every single fucking time you touch him, Hopper has to fight off the shiver that begs to journey down his spine. He doesn’t give it a second thought though. He can’t. He’s had his heart locked up tight for years. He isn’t sure if he could find the key even if he tried.

“You’re a lifesaver, Hop.”

You enjoyed dinner and Jim did end up fixing your car that night. You repaid him for the ride and a free tune-up with a case of beer, which the two of you powered through in the span of a few hours. At some point, you stole the keys to Hopper’s truck and convinced him the crash on your couch for the night. The next day, you two were the talk of the town after your neighbor told everyone she knew that the chief of police was leaving your house awfully early in the morning.

Since then, you’ve gotten quite a few questions about Hopper from the local citizens who didn’t know you too well -- assuming you were just another one of his many flings.

It takes everything in you to not roll your eyes at Marissa. Still, you offer her a polite response.

“Hopper’s working tonight.”

Marissa seems to be content in your answer and leaves you with your stack of books. You let out a sigh of relief and glance out the window. A small smile pulls at your lips as you spot Jonathan and Nancy talking to a group of boys in the parking lot, until you see one of the boys throw a punch a Jonathan.

You hastily push out your chair, turn on your heels, burst through the doors and sprint through the parking lot. You can hear Nancy begging for the boys to stop, but her protests fall on deaf ears as the boys continue to pummel Jonathan. Nancy turns toward you and relief washes over her features -- she doesn’t know you well, but Jonathan has always spoke highly of you and right now she’ll take any help offered.

“Get off of him!” 

Your voice gets one of the boys’ attention for just a moment.

“This has nothing to do with you!”

You furrow your brow at the comment. Jonathan may not be your child; however, you care for him as if he was your own and you’re not going to let this teenager lay another hand on him. Quickly, you try to get inbetween the two boys. You think you have the upperhand until the boy on top of Jonathan throws his elbow back in an attempt to get you off of him. His elbow cracks you in the nose and immediately sends you crashing to the ground. The sound of your body hitting the gravel stops the boy’s assault on Jonathan. He turns to you and you can tell by the look in his eyes that he did not mean to hurt you; he had been blinded by anger and made a stupid decision.

However, those stupid decisions seem to continue as you watch red and blue lights reflect off of Jonathan’s car. You can vaguely hear the sound of a police siren and someone yelling your name, as you watch the boy who had been pummeling Jonathan into the pavement run in the other direction. You take a moment to take in details about the boy, knowing that you’ll end up at the station giving a description of the boy to Hopper. 

As you try to get up, you’re met with the face of Officer Callahan. 

“Woah, there. Seems like you took quite a beating.”

“No, no, no. Jonathan. You need to check on Jonathan.”

Officer Callahan puts a gentle, but firm hand on your shoulder to keep you in place as you frantically search for the boy.

“It’s okay. Powell’s with him right now. We’re going to get you both to the hospital. Chief is already on his way.”

You give Callahan a nod and lay back down on the rough gravel. As the adrenaline begins to leave your system, the pounding in your head starts to take precedence. In an attempt to ease the pain, you close your eyes. You only mean for it to be a minute, but as you hear Callahan’s voice begging for you to just hold on, you feel yourself slipping deeper and deeper into unconsciousness.

When you open your eyes again, the pounding in your head has dulled and your ears are met with the rhythmic sound of your heart beat on the monitor next to you. You’re about to call for a nurse to get some information when you hear a woman yell from down the hall. 

“Sir, you can’t smoke in here!”

You hear a string of grumbled expletives before a familiar figure leans against the doorframe of your hospital room. 

“Hey, Hop.”

He’s disheveled. His uniform shirt is fully unbuttoned and falling off one shoulder, leaving his henley to be on full display. It looks as though he threw on the shirt hastily as he pulled into the hospital parking lot. Somewhere in the chaos he’s lost his hat as well, allowing you a glimpse at his unusually tousled hair -- he’s been running his hands through it in frustration since he got the call from Callahan that you were on your way to the hospital.

His eyes rake over your body, checking for injuries, before they settle on your face. The hardened anger in his gaze quickly fades to a tender concern as he studies your broken nose and two black eyes. 

Eventually, he moves from the doorframe and takes large strides toward you. He towers over your body as he stands beside your hospital bed. His jaw is clenched so hard that you begin to worry that the man might crack a tooth. The anger in the pit of his stomach begins boiling over once more as he gets a better look at your injuries -- they’re much worse upon closer inspection. Callahan was right -- you took one hell of a beating.

“Hop.”

Hopper lets out a solemn sigh as you slide your hand into his. Finally, he meets your gaze and his features soften. You swallow a string of emotions -- Hopper has never looked at you this tenderly before. It’s a lot to take in -- on one hand he’s got a warmth in his features that you’ve never witnessed before that only seemed to spark once he entered your hospital room and, on the otherhand, his body is so rigid that you fear he might snap if another goddamn thing happens today.

Keeping a tight grip on your hand, he takes a seat beside you on the small hospital bed. He reaches out and places his free hand on the side of your face. Your breath catches in your chest as his thumb gently traces over your wounds. His touch is careful, the softest whisper of contact. He’d stop if you asked him to, but you wouldn’t dare. You’d let him trace over the bridge of your nose over and over and over again, if it means that you’ll maintain Jim Hopper’s undivided attention. However, as he grazes over the area where the kid split your nose open, you flinch away from his touch. He pulls his hand back immediately and anger washes over his features once more. It was only for a second, but it was enough for you to recognize the festering rage stewing in the back of Hopper’s mind. 

“Who did this to you?”

His voice is low and he ducks his head down to your level, maintaining eye contact with you as he speaks. You open your mouth but no words come out. You’re entirely enamored in the duality of Jim Hopper once again -- fierce and rageful, while simultaneously gentle and kind. A protector in every sense of the word. He moves cautiously, placing his hands on either side of your face. He’s cradling your face like a coveted prize jewel. He takes a moment and then asks you again.

“Sweetheart, who hurt you?”

You finally let out the breath that got caught in your throat. His voice is somehow sweet as honey while simultaneously laced with venom. 

“It was just some punk kid that was giving Jonathan trouble.”

His brow furrows immediately at your response.

“What kid? I’ll make sure he never touches you again. And Jonathan.”

There’s a beat before he says the last two words. He rushes to add Jonathan into the equation in an attempt to make it seem like he’s sitting here with you because it’s his job, and not because his heart dropped into his stomach when he got the call from Callahan. He didn’t even both listening to the rest of Callahan’s message over the walkie. He knew someone hurt you and that you were being escorted by an ambulance -- that was more than enough to get him racing to his truck and speeding to the hospital. But now, in this moment, where it is just you and Hopper, he tries to cover up the fact that he’s here solely because he cares for you. 

“He didn’t mean to hurt me.”

He looks at you with an incredulous expression. Where Jim is harsh, you are forgiving. He’s always appreciated the ways you’ve challenged him since you moved to Hawkins. But, right now, he wishes you were as angry as he was. But, instead, you’re sitting here with your infinite grace and it’s just pissing him off more. He retracts his hands from your face and stands up, before raking a hand through his hair in frustration.

“Oh, he didn’t mean to hurt you? Sorry, sweetheart, Callahan didn’t relay that to me that in his message -- you know the one where he let me know you were unconscious! I should go find him then, right? So I can check in on him?”

The honey is long gone from his voice, it is all venom. And the way he says ‘sweetheart’ this time is almost condescending. You’ve heard Hopper raise his voice before, his anger is no stranger to you; however, this is the first time he has risen his voice at you. It startles you for a moment. You let out a frustrated breath and furrow your brow.

“Hey, don’t take this out on me. That isn’t fair.”

“You scared the shit out of me!”

And then there is a painful silence between the two of you. Hopper is practically panting as he tries to regain his composure. Against his better judgment, he glances in your direction. Guilt immediately blooms where anger had previously resided. Deciding he’s done enough damage, he turns and begins to walk toward the door in an attempt to find Jonathan’s room. 

“Hey, Hop. Wait.”

Hopper stops as he hears your voice. It sounds smaller than normal -- almost as if you were scared that he’d cast your plea aside and leave you in this room alone. Don’t you know by now he would do anything you asked of him? He lets out a sigh before turning back to you. 

“Please don’t go.”

Hopper nods at your request before slowly making his way back over to you. This time, instead of sitting beside you on the small hospital bed, he pulls a chair up to your bedside and slumps into it. He no longer looks angry or concerned or soft. No, he just looks exhausted and the sight causes a sharp pain in your heart. The two of you sit in silence for a few moment before Hopper notices your hands wringing anxiously. He decides then to break the silence.

“How did you even get caught up in this mess?”

You let out a laugh before answering, catching Hopper off guard.

“I was actually at the library.”

Hopper raises an eyebrow at your confession and looks at you in disbelief. 

“You’re joking.”

The two of you laugh together at your absolute dumb luck. You’re glad that the tension in the room has dissipated. Now, the silence is comfortable.

“You know Marissa?”

Hopper raises a brow at you once more.

“The librarian?”

“Yes, the librarian. I think she likes you.”

Hopper lets out a half-hearted laugh at your comment. A part of him wishes you were around when he was a younger man -- when he was less bitter. Before the war totured the boyish charmisa out of him. Yet another is glad that you weren’t there to witness his past. That unlike everyone else, you don’t assume that he’s already slept with the local librarian -- even if it’s true.

“Trust me. I know.”

You stare at him with a look of naive confusion. Eventually, you put the pieces together and your eyes light up. You roll your eyes and laugh before covering you face with your hands.

“This explains so much.”

Now it’s Hopper’s turn to be confused.

“What are you talking about?”

“She asks about you all the time.”

If Hopper were a few years younger, that comment would fuel his ego; however, those days are behind him.

“And that explains why she doesn’t like me.”

Hopper is taken aback by that comment. He can’t imagine why anyone wouldn’t like you.

“Why wouldn’t she like you?”

“Because she believes what everyone else does.”

Hopper looks at you as if you’re speaking a different language. You let out a laugh at his oblivious nature which only seems to confuse him more. It makes sense that the comments were directed toward you and not the intimidating chief of police; however, you can’t believe he hasn’t overheard anyone talking about it at this point.

“People talked after you crashed on my couch that night.”

“Oh.”

You don’t have to get into details about what they said. Hopper knows. He knows his reputation proceeds him. And he should have known that spending more time with you would raise a few eyebrows in town. Sometimes he hates this stupid small town and the fact that someone is always watching.

“Did you think about it?”

Hopper looks at you for a moment before he furrows his brow. God, this oblivious man is going to kill you. Deciding that it’s too late to back out now, you decide to double down. 

“Did you think about me that night like you thought about Marissa?”

“How hard did that kid hit you?”

He attempts to lighten the mood and brush off the question, but you won’t have it. He’s avoiding your eye contact, deciding instead to fiddle with the pack of cigarettes that he pulled out from his pocket.

“Jim.”

It knocks the breath out of his lungs. You’ve only called him that one other time -- the same night you’re asking about. Hopper was already one too many beers in when you fell beside him, onto the couch. He let out a loud laugh while throwing an arm behind you, on the back of the couch. You laugh along with him and lean your head back into his arm. You turn your head to face him and you’re suddenly aware of how close you are to Hopper. He’s looking at you like you’re a goddamn dream. And you’re not sure what time it is but Hopper looks softer in the moonlight. And you know you’re not thinking straight; however, leaning into the sudden intimacy between you and Hopper doesn’t seem like a terrible idea.

And then you say his name. And it sounds like a goddamn prayer. His mind is fuzzy and he swears you’ve never looked as stunning as you do right now -- he takes a moment to capture this memory and file it away into the back of his subconscious.

He watches as you lean into him. You move slowly, allowing him room to back away if he wanted; however, he doesn’t pull back. Instead, he takes your lead and leans in as well. Before any drunken, heat of the moment decisions can be made, your phone rings, cutting through the thick silence. Hopper emits a low growl, but allows you to pull away and leave the room. You answer the phone and he can hear your voice from the other room. He sets his beer down on your coffee table, deciding that he’s definitely had enough to drink. By the time you return to your living room, Hopper is snoring and the moment has passed.

He may not be drunk now; however, he’s just as enamored as he was that night as you say his name. 

“No.”

His answer hits you harder the elbow you took to the face. Your eyes fall to your hands and you nod. Hopper is immediately filled with regret. God, he’s an idiot. That’s not what he meant. Of course he’s thought about you. It’s just different and he’s not quite sure how to explain it to you, but he’s going to try because he cannot stand the sadness that has washed over your features.

“Sweetheart, you’re not Marissa. When I was with her, I wasn’t thinking about her; I was just thinking about me. Of course I thought about it that night -- you and I.  It’s just you could never be just a fling to me.”

Hopper avoids eye contact with you as he speaks, but it doesn’t matter. His honest words make your heart flutter and repair the heartbreak that his previous answer caused. A small smile spread across your face at the sudden realization that Hopper likes you. 

“I thought about it too, that night.”

Hopper’s head rises and he meets your gaze. 

“You know -- you and I.”

You repeat Hopper’s words back to him with a small smile on your face. Hopper can’t help the laugh that escapes him. The two of you have entered uncharted waters; however, Hopper has never felt more comfortable than he does right nwo, wading into the deep end with you. He moves his chair closer to your bedside and takes your hand in his once again. When he meets your eyes, your breath is once again trapped in your lungs. It’s like you’ve transported right back to that night and you’re Jim Hopper’s answered prayer. 

“You know, the kid hit you pretty fucking hard. Are you sure you’re thinking straight?”

You roll your eyes; however, Hopper still manages to get a good laugh out of you. Even when he’s flirting, he’s still a goddamn smartass.

“Just kiss me, Jim.”

You don’t need to tell him twice. In a moment, he’s out of his seat -- towering over you once again. If you were any other person in Hawkins, you would probably perceive Jim’s presence so close to you as formidable, but, right now, you just feel safe. And you can’t help but lost in the duality of Jim Hopper. 

He moves his hands and gently cradles your face. Your eyes close as you lean into his touch. You allow yourself to just enjoy the feeling of Jim’s skin on your own, until he traces his thumb over your bottom lip. As you open your eyes, you’re met with Jim only a breath away from you. You lean into him and then his lips meet yours and it just feels right - like everything has finally fallen into place; Hawkins, Melvald’s, the Byer’s family, Jim.

Jim’s movements are gentle and slow, until you grab a fistful of his open sheriff’s uniform and pull him closer. The guttural growl that reverberates in Jim’s chest as he moves his hands down your body, sends a shiver down your spine. The sweet, lazy kiss has now turned into something more passionate and desperate. Seemingly lost in the moment, Jim nudges his nose against yours which makes you involuntarily let out a pained hiss. Jim pulls away instantly and his eyes fill with panic, until he realizes what he’s done. A soft chuckle escapes him as he leans his forehead against yours. 

“Sorry. Got a little carried away.”

His voice is low and sultry. You’ve never heard anything so heavenly before. And then you're laughing with him. Today has been overwhelming, to say the least, and it’s comical to you. Jim leans back again and meets your eyes. There’s a new fierceness in his gaze that isn’t quite so rageful. He moves his hand to gently tuck a few strands of hair behind your ear. 

He opens his mouth to say something, but is interrupted by footsteps stopping just outside your hospital room and a surprised gasp. Jim’s eyes close and he shakes his head. He should have known -- there is no such thing as privacy in this small town. He opens his eyes and you’re smiling at him. You’re fucking smiling at him and it takes everything in him to not kiss you again. 

“It’s Joyce isn’t it?”

You peek over his shoulder and spot Joyce standing in the doorway with both of her hands over her mouth. The sight makes your smile grow and you nod your head to answer Jim’s question. He lets out an annoyed sigh and finally moves away from you. Jim doesn’t go too far though, he simply sits on the edge of your hospital bed and keeps a protective hand on your thigh.

“Joyce.”

Jim’s voice is stern. The dramatic change in tone almost gives you whiplash. Joyce seems to be at a loss for words as she just moves her gaze between you both. Jim finally throws both of his hands up in front of him, exasperatedly. 

“I’m sorry, I’m sorry.”

Jim rolls his eyes at her apology, but there’s a small smile plastered on his face. He might be impatient and uncordial with almost everyone in this small town; however, Jim Hopper has always had a soft spot for Joyce Byers. And right now, Jim feels like he’s back in high school. Joyce has never been nonchalant, so every time Jim included her in his extracurricular activities, it always seemed to bite him in the ass; however, no amount of detentions ever stopped him from inviting her into his life. 

“It’s fine, Joyce. How’s Jonathan?”

Your nerves dissipate once Joyce lets you both know that Jonathan is perfectly fine -- a little bruised and battered, but ultimately okay. She attempts to make some awkward small talk with you both, before excusing herself from the conversation so that she can go check on Jonathan. 

With that, Jim’s attention is once again focused solely on you. He moves to kiss you again, but stops once his forehead meets yours.

“I swear to God, if a nurse barges in next.” 

“Shut up and kiss me, Hopper.”

A content smile spreads across his face at your words. He could get used to hearing those words -- he could get used to all of this. 

“Yes, ma’am.” 

[im-a-slut-for-an-accent]

Silk from their soul (26)

The Ghoul / Cooper Howard x f!reader [no use of y/n]

Rated: T Words: 1.2k Summary: Lotta time between now and later

Series Masterlist My Masterlist

If the facility weren’t built by Vault-Tec it’s damn close to it. Every line and door reminds him of those damn commercials he used to do. It’s even underground, although it doesn’t look like it was ever used the way the Vaults were.

“You gonna turn some lights on?”

She glares from the console she’s squatting next to. He could help, but he’s as liable to rearm the security system as he is to lend a hand. Instead, he leans a shoulder up against a rack of boxes, chewing the inside of his cheek and squinting into the dark.

This facility of hers ain’t much to look at. One of those big blast shield doors and an elevator down to just a couple of rooms. She’d ignored the first two, so he’d done the same, but if they were just gonna stand in the dark he might as well go see what was worth salvaging.

“While you’re messin’ with this shit I’ll-”

He winces at the sudden light, tipping his head down so the brim of his hat shades his face. After he blinks away the spots he glances around the room, noting that she’s working on a big computer terminal.

It’s a lab of some sort, not that he has a clue what kind. The space is large, one wall taken up by refrigerators full of strange colored liquids. There’s a few tables scattered throughout, and past them he can see the human-sized tubes that must be for making more of her.

He shifts his feet, antsy to get back above ground. This was her mission, and he was here to support it, but being down in a Vault made the soles of his feet itch. Behind him the rack creaks and he adjusts so he can see what he’s leaning against.

It’s not very big, maybe the size of a large bookcase, with drawers about a foot square. Each one has a number and he makes note of the closest ones.

#055  06/12/2267 -  #054  03/14/2262 - 

He scans the cubbyholes, frowning at the dates. Some are only days apart, but most are a few years. On his end there’s several with only a single date.

“What the hell are these?”

She glances over from the console she’s working on and frowns. “What’s left of my sisters. After he got the hang of it he only made new ones when he needed to sell us.”

He does some quick math. “These are only a couple of years apart. There some kind of nursery round here?”

“We’re made fully grown, or thereabouts.” She waves a hand at the rack of human-sized tubes. “See?”

He didn’t see but he wasn’t worried about that. There’d be plenty of time to figure all this shit out. Some of the ones to the left had two dates - presumably both birth and death - while others… well, he had to assume they were still alive out there.

“These the ones we’re going after?”

“I’d like to.”

Looked like less than a handful, shouldn’t be too bad a job. Out of curiosity he moves to the beginning of the line.

#001  07/18/2143 - 07/30/2143 #002  07/18/2143 - 09/03/2144 #003  02/05/2145 - 06/22/2146

He grunts, tracing a finger over the short dates. These must’ve been failures, clones that didn’t mature. Pausing, he scans across the fifty-odd drawers. What was it she’d said? Just missed unlucky thirteen?

#014  05/13/2153 - 

The date halts him in his tracks and his jaw drops as he looks over at her.

“This right?”

“What?”

“Twenty-one fifty-seven, that the year you were born?”

“Made,” she corrects, finally moving from the console to walk towards him. She’s gorgeous, skin unmarked and hips swaying under that scrap of dress. “And yes, I believe so. I was always Galen’s favorite, he never wanted to sell me. But… things happen.”

“But that would make you…”

“Hundred and twenty? Something like that.”

He gapes, stunned for the first time in years. She laughs and touches his chin, gently pushing it up.

“Don’t look so shocked, I get the feeling you’ve got a few more on you than that.”

“Yeah, but I look every one of mine.”

He’s not jealous. Well, he’s a little jealous. But mostly just that she got to keep her hair. He still misses his.

“You do,” she agrees, sliding her arms around his neck. “And I love it.”

He harrumphs and lets her kiss him. She tastes as sweet as always and he wracks his brain for the nearest available surface. It turns out to be a lab table and it only takes a sweep of his hand to clear it of detritus and hoist her giggling body onto it.

“So just how many gals we gotta go rescue?”

She’s nibbling on his neck and he tilts to give her better access. “Two out there, two in cryostorage in here.”

“Cryostorage?” He hums softly, pushing her dress to her waist. “So there’s two more of you in here just waiting for me to lock lips with them?” She nips and he shudders, jerking her hips forward. “A whole harem of beautiful women, begging to do what I tell them.”

He’s goading her and it works. She bites at his neck, hard enough to leave a mark, and it makes his cock go so instantly hard it hurts.

“You’re mine,” she growls, gripping the back of his head and forcing him to look in her eyes. “I’m not sharing.”

“Good,” he grunts, “I don’t think an old man like me could keep up with more than one of you anyway.”

Her warm chuckle makes his toes curl. “You planning to keep up with me Cooper?”

“Long as you’ll have me,” he tells her solemnly. Something soft enters her eyes and she wraps her fingers into the collar of his coat. He leans forward of instinct, intending to nuzzle against her, and at the last moment turns it into a soft sweep of his lips across hers instead. “I don’t know how many days I got left, but every one of ‘em’s yours.”

She kisses him and he holds her close. There’d be time later to figure out what to do with numbers fifty-four and five over there. Time to talk about his own mission and what her part would be in it. 

But there were a lotta days between now and later, and he intended to enjoy every one of ‘em.

☢ ☢ ☢

For updates follow and turn on notifications for @brandyllyn-writes

[im-a-slut-for-an-accent]

Congrats to the cast & crew on their emmy nominations!

[im-a-slut-for-an-accent]

I love how these are just two pictures of the exact same person.

[im-a-slut-for-an-accent]

Silk from their soul (25)

The Ghoul / Cooper Howard x f!reader [no use of y/n]

Rated: E (Cooper needs a primer on consent but it's all good, oral (m receiving), forced orgasms (literally)) Words: 2.4k Summary: Truths

Series Masterlist My Masterlist

Your feet hurt but you refuse to stop.

It’s been hours since you left Nero’s compound, hours of walking without interruption. Cooper’s still there, you can hear his boots on the ground, but he’s been uncharacteristically quiet. 

Good. You’ve got a lot to think about.

Your hands had been steady when you’d ended Galen’s life - but now your whole body seemed to be vibrating. Adrenalin? Shock? It was anybody’s guess, all you knew was that your heart was beating so hard you felt you might burst.

He was dead.

No more experiments. No more games. No more watching women who looked just like you being sold off to the highest bidder.

No more.

You don’t know what you’re supposed to do.

Oh, you know where you’re going. There’s unfinished business to be taken care of. But after that… well, it was complicated now.

“Hate to interrupt a snit, sweetheart, but where exactly are we headed to?”

You don’t falter your stride when you answer, “The facility.”

“The facility,” he hums thoughtfully. “The one that made you?”

“Yes.”

“We gonna find any trouble when we get there?”

You pause and he catches up, looking at you from under the brim of his hat. “Maybe? I don’t think so though. Unless Galen removed me from the security systems.”

“Robots? Lasers? Automated mech suits?”

You give him a rueful look, “Yes.”

“Sounds like a party.”

A snort of laughter bubbles up and you see his grin turn into a warm smile. “You ready to stop for the day or you gonna march that pretty ass all the way there?”

Looking around you spot a partially collapsed building in the distance, “We can stop I guess.”

“Good, ‘cause I got an inkling we need to talk.”

Well shit.

The building is concrete so most of it survived whatever happened in these parts. There’s a wall with a gaping hole, but that looks like it was a roll up door someone has stolen for scrap. Cooper crouches once you’re inside, digging in his pack and eyeing the ground for kindling.

“I’ll get some stuff for the fire,” you offer quickly.

“That’s not necessary, you’re tuckered out. Have a seat.”

“No really I-”

“Sit.”

You do immediately, legs folding under you and hitting the ground with a soft oomph. Cooper eyes you thoughtfully.

“Take your pack off.”

You shrug out of it, setting it to the side and giving him a wary look. He purses his lips and then you see a mischievous light enter his eyes.

“Come.”

The word has many meanings but his tone leaves no doubt which one he intends. Your eyes roll back as the pleasure washes over you. You barely notice when you fall backwards, hitting your head on a small rock but you don’t care. You call his name and suddenly he’s there, leaning over you, his face centimeters from your own.

“Well I’ll be,” he grins down at you, “can’t say that won’t come in handy.”

Your breaths are still shuddering pants when you manage to open your eyes fully, his face coming into focus. He flinches at the fear in them and immediately sits back on his heels.

“Don’t look at me like I’m a monster, darlin’, there’s a host of worse things I could have told you to do.”

You shift away from him, sitting up so you can look him straight on. “And will you?”

His face falls at the question and he bites off a curse. “Sit there and let me fix us some supper, we need to have a talk.” A second later he adds, “That’s not an order.”

The constriction in your chest relaxes and you watch him work, getting the fire going and spearing a couple of pieces of meat to roast. He opens a can of beans and offers it to you and you accept, still side-eyeing him.

“So I reckon you and I need to have a discussion,” he says carefully, “about what precisely is going on here between you and I.”

“I think you figured it out.” You’re sulking, and you know it shows in your tone.

“Maybe I have, but I’d like to hear it from the horse’s mouth, as it were.”

“My sisters and I, we were made to be the perfect partner. Beautiful, loyal, obedient… once we’ve imprinted that’s it.”

“And you’ve ‘imprinted’ on me?” You nod and he cocks his head, “When we kissed, I reckon?”

Another nod, “It’s not as simple as touching mouths, there has to be a… connection I guess? But it’s not hard to get someone to slip, to respond for just a moment.”

“And is that what it was?” He looks hurt. “Just a moment?”

“No, I knew… I knew I didn’t have a choice. If I didn’t want it to be Nero it had to be someone else.”

Cooper huffs a short laugh, “And you got stuck with me.” Before you can say anything he pokes a stick in the fire, glaring into it and saying, “Well I won’t make you stick around. Ain’t got no use for a hanger-on anyway.”

You know he’s lashing out but it still hurts. “I don’t have a choice, if we’re apart too long I’ll… I guess wither is the right word. Eventually I’ll die.”

His eyes shoot to yours. “Loyal, eh?”

“The perfect partner.” You stare at your hands, turning the can to avoid looking at him. “Can I ask you a question?”

“Shoot.”

“Why didn’t you take me in when you found me? You were after the bounty, why’d we go so far out of the way?”

He’s quiet now too, the only sound a distant animal howling. Eventually he sighs. “That was the plan, alright, but then… I dunno. Things changed.”

“Changed how?”

“You did, sweetheart.” With one hand he sweeps his hat off, setting it on the ground near him and pulling his gloves to lay near it. “You acted like I was a still a man and I… well I can’t say I didn’t like it.” You purse your lips, waiting, and after another long pause he continues. “What do you want me to say? I got a soft spot for ya.”

“I seem to remember being drugged and tied up not too long ago,” you point out.

“Well, that was after you ran away from me,” he returns with sardonic look. “Can’t fault a fella for getting a bug up his ass.”

You try to hide you laugh but it slips through and he gives you an answering smile. 

“So,” you say, “if I hadn’t run…”

“Wouldn’t have had to chase you down.”

He makes it sound so reasonable. “And we… I mean, would there have been a we, an us even?”

“The thought did cross my mind.”

You sigh. “Maybe I should have talked to you. I just… I saw the poster and I got so scared.”

“Don’t blame ya. Hell, felt like I was carrying a damn grenade in my pack the whole time.”

“Why didn’t you get rid of it?”

He pauses, frowning at the fire. “Didn’t occur to me.”

You let the silence settle again, feeling out your own emotions and letting him do the same. For a moment it feels like you’re back in that small bunk, the night he’d told you his real name and held you like you were precious. 

“Cooper?” He startles at the sound of his name, eyes flying to yours. “I like you. I probably shouldn’t, given everything that’s happened, but I do. And if I had to imprint on someone, I’m glad it’s you.”

“You sure about that sweetheart?” he asks, hesitation wreathing every syllable. “I can’t say I’m a good man, barely even a man anymore. And knowing you gotta do anything I say… it gives a fella ideas.”

You stare at the small fire. “Would you tell me to hurt myself?”

He seems genuinely shocked by the question. “Of course not.”

“Tell me to fuck other men?”

His face gets downright scary as he snarls, “No one else is touching you.”

“It’s terrifying,” you admit, “just knowing that you could tell me to do anything and I would have to do it. I feel it here, in my chest, I can’t not. Even… even the theoretically good things. I’m worried.”

“You worried I’ll force you to do something you don’t want?”

“I’m worried you won’t even realize.”

You refuse to lift your eyes to see his reaction. It’s silent in the small room, save the crackling of the fire. After a long pause you hear a heavy sigh. “Get over-” he trips on the words and rephrases, “Will you come over here?”

A choice.

Giving him a wide smile you slide his direction, slipping under the arm he holds up and tucking yourself into his side. He offers you a skewer and you bite into the crisp flesh while he does the same. 

“I ain’t ever made a woman do something she don’t want in bed, I ain’t about to start now.” He says after a moment. “How ‘bout this? I ever tell you to do something you don’t want you say barbed wire. That work for ya?”

It’s a safety hatch, of sorts, and requires a lot of trust. Still... you did trust him. Maybe it was idiotic but you trusted him with your life already… maybe you could trust him with your body too.

“Is that for all the time, or just… you know?”

He grins, settling his hand on your knee. “Well, I reckon you can use it just about whenever, but I gotta be honest I had some bedroom activities in mind that that little gift of your might prove useful for.” 

God you love this playful side of him. “Oh? Like what?”

The hand moves to your thigh, sliding up and under the hem of your dress. “Well I’ve been thinking a few things. Things like, can I just tell you not to gag?”

A flush rips through your body and you’re immediately so turned on you can’t see straight. You’re still wet from your orgasm and you moan when his fingers press to the outside of your panties. 

“You like that idea? I got a few more.” He pets you gently then twists the fabric away so he can press two fingers inside you. “Been wondering if I can order you to relax this pretty little ass and let me slide right in there. Maybe see how many times I can make you come in a row. Get my cock all the way down your throat and facefuck you til you got my cum dripping out of you.”

You nod, fingers gripping his wrist. “Yes.”

“Yes to which one, darling?” He’s leering down, his tongue startling pink against his rough lips. “I’m going to need you to be clear, I don’t want no repeats of a bit ago.”

“Can I-” a soft moan interrupts as he crooks his fingers inside you, “Can I suck on you?”

“Ah darlin’,” he purrs, “anytime you want.”

Hands pull at his belt, both yours and his, and he helps you maneuver between his legs. You hadn’t actually seen him before, and he’s as scarred here as he is everywhere else.

“Does it hurt?” You ask softly, running a finger down his length. He lets out a hiss between his teeth and you jerk your hand back. Just as quick his fingers grip your wrist and pull you back, encouraging you to wrap your fingers around him.

“You feel like silk, darlin’, why don’t you get that pretty mouth down here too?”

You kiss him in response, then lower your head to press a kiss to the tip of his cock. He grunts, one hand coming up to grip the back of your neck. You slide him between your lips, cradling him on your tongue as you bob your head forward. When he hits the back of your tongue you gag, pulling back slightly and blinking up at him.

“Ah darlin’.” He pets your cheek and then says sternly, “Don’t gag.”

You feel the compulsion shiver through you and you push forward once more, feeling him slip further with ease. When he hits your throat there’s a moment of discomfort but a quick, “Don’t choke neither,” from him smooths the way. Your nose presses to his stomach, your mouth full of his heat.

A rough groan rends the air and you glance up to see his head thrown back, his throat working. You suck softly and pull back, feel him slide along your tongue, then take him completely once more.

“I can see why you were worth so much to that fucker.” You let your teeth graze him and he grunts, meeting your glare with a lop-sided smile. “It was a compliment.”

You hum and pull back further, waiting until his hand catches your neck and he stops you.

“Now now, no need for that,” he chides, “why don’t you let me fuck this gorgeous mouth and when I say so we both come. That alright by you?”

A moan vibrates out of you and you lick around the head of his cock. He must take that as a yes because he interlocks his fingers behind your head and pushes forward until he’s deep in your throat once more. It feels strange, but there’s no discomfort. Just the hard length of him moving past your lips.

You love it.

You love hearing him groan and grunt. Hear his breathing speed up and his boots scrape on the floor. Feel his fingers dig into your skin.

“Can I come in your mouth?” he pants and you nod, your healing should take care of it and if not, there was always the Rad-Away. “Fuck,” he grits out, “fuck fuck-”

He’s so deep you almost don’t taste it, salty and burning hot in the back of your throat. It’s sour, but you don’t mind, you can’t get enough of how he holds you to him while he comes.

And then he remembers.

“Come for me.”

It’s instant. Relief and pleasure and sheer bliss rocketing through you. You suck on him harder and hear him curse, your own sharp cry muffled by the cock filling your mouth. He pushes you away, his hands on your shoulders and you blink up at him in a daze. With a sly grin he presses a thumb to your lower lip.

“Do it again.”

When you regain your sense of self - minutes, maybe hours later who even knows - he’s got his arms wrapped around you and a smug smile on his face.

“Now darlin’, I reckon we’re going to have a hell of a lot of fun with that.”

☢ ☢ ☢

For updates follow and turn on notifications for @brandyllyn-writes

[im-a-slut-for-an-accent]

Silk from their soul (24)

The Ghoul / Cooper Howard x f!reader [no use of y/n]

Rated: T Words: 2k Summary: A kiss

Series Masterlist My Masterlist

It’s been a hell of a long while since he had the faith of a good woman in his holster. It’s a heady feeling, putting a spring in his step. He could probably wrestle half of Vault-Tec bare handed right now if someone let him. The only problem is that they’re not letting him near her.

Oh, she’s still in sight. Walking a few steps behind that fuckwit scientist. But when he’d tried to fall in next to her those rank goons had intercepted. Instead, he’d dropped back to walk with the three bounty hunters. 

“I don’t suppose you’ve worked with our malodorous friends here before, have you?”

Sancho shakes his head, chewing on his lip. “No. And I don’t like it.” Cooper waits and the man shoots him a look. “Starting to get the feeling I won’t be getting my bounty.”

“I’d be mighty surprised if you did.”

Sancho frowns but doesn’t say another word and Cooper doesn’t press the issue. He can see a structure in the distance and he squints as it comes into view.

Nero’s palace is a piece of shit.

With as many caps as the man had put out for her, you’d think he’d be able to spare a few on his defenses. Or even a some fucking paint. But the buildings are falling down, bits of sheet metal propped haphazardly together to form other structures. As they get closer a small party comes out to meet them.

“You have the merchandise?”

Galen frowns at the man, using one hand to shield his eyes from the sun. “I have the subject, yes. Please stand aside.”

The guard exchanges a glance with Galen’s bodyguards before stepping to the side and Cooper makes a note of it. There are people peering out as they walk through the slanted doors, most of them sad and bedraggled - not a one worth half a fight. When they get closer to the central building he starts to see some real muscle, but no one who’d give him a lick of real trouble.

“Feel like the four of us could take the place out,” Sancho mutters.

Cooper doesn’t even look his way as they pass inside. “There ain’t no us.”

Nero’s younger than he expected, and about a foot shorter. Hell, his girl’s probably got at least half a foot on the bastard. He’s balding too, with a bit of paunch and lips so thin they disappear into his red face. He’s got his feet kicked up when they enter the room, a sneer on his face.

“This her?”

She steps forward, head high, and a soft smile on her lips. Cooper feels something in his jaw crack at the way she’s walking towards that asshole, hips swaying and eyes making promises - even assuming she has no intention of keeping them.

They probably should have planned things better last night. He’d had every intention to. If she wanted to go in guns blazing then he was down for that. And if she was going to play some game with the assholes he was fine with that too. He was her hired gun, paid for with the cum likely still dripping out of her.

He’d need to keep an eye on that - be sure her healing could keep up with his radioactive spunk.

But the way she’s walking, the way she’s smiling, she had some plan in mind and Cooper has no fucking idea what it is.

“You must be Nero,” she breathes, tilting her hands out in supplication. They’re still bound and she gives them a slight frown before smiling again. Her breasts are doing something bordering on obscene, heaving in her dress until every eye in the room must be stuck on them.

Too bad Cooper was going to have to blind them all for it.

“Dr. Galen told me how handsome you were,” she’s taking a step closer and her breasts are almost in the man’s face. “I thought he must be lying, no one could be…” she stops abruptly, a hitch in her breath that she lets out in a masterful piece of acting, “so lovely.”

God, the cretin is eating it up with a spoon.

“Why is my future wife tied up?” he yells, almost snarling. “If there’s so much as a scratch on her I’ll cut your damn dicks off.”

The smile she gives him is dazzling and Cooper is about to eat someone’s fucking face.

“It’s understandable, a big, powerful, strong man such as yourself,” her fingers reach out, wrists still bound together, and gently trace the buttons on his shirt, “can never be too careful. What if I was dangerous?”

Someone appears next to her and cuts the binding on her wrists and she steps even closer, leaning over him and resting a hand on his thigh..

Nero shakes his head for a moment. “They say you ran away.”

“I got lost,” she pouts, “I wanted to get here sooner and I… I did something silly. Can you forgive me?”

The man’s eyes sharpen and suddenly he’s gripping the back of her head. “Get on your knees.”

There’s only a slight hesitation before she lowers herself, tilting her head up with lips parted. Cooper had imagined the same thing a hundred times, only he was never standing across the room for it.

“You’re mine,” Nero grunts, twisting his hand and forcing her towards him. “You understand that?”

“Of course I am.”

“And you’ll never run again.”

“Never,” she breathes, leaning into his grasping hand. “I couldn’t possibly. Not after seeing you.”

“Did anyone touch you?”

“I would never,” she sounds so vehement Cooper almost believes her, even though he knows for a fact there’s a perfect impression of his handprint on her left asscheek.

“Good,” Nero grunts. He glances up at the doctor, “How does this work?”

She answers first, “You don’t need to ask him. No more questions. Just kiss me.”

He does, thin lips crushing against hers and it takes everything in Cooper to not go into a full berserker rage. They part and Nero gives her a predatory smile.

“Now suck my cock, show them all what an obedient little slut you are.”

With determined nonchalance she turns her head and spits, glaring at him with a small smirk. “I don’t think I will.”

Nero reels as if someone hit him. He glares over her head, eyes narrowing on one figure slowly backing away. “What the fuck, Galen,” Nero hisses. “You fucking said-”

“I did,” Galen holds his hands up. “It’s supposed to - she must have imprinted on someone else.”

Imprinted?

“Which one of you fucks,” Nero rounds on the bounty hunters who immediately take a step back. Cooper doesn’t, tilting his head thoughtfully as he stares at her.

“I said,” she turns slightly, meeting his eyes, “no more questions.”

No more… oh shit that was his cue. In one motion he lifts the revolver of the man next to him, putting a bullet between Nero’s eyes even as he spins to take out the next guard. The room erupts into chaos, people running every which way as shrapnel starts to fly his direction - something hitting him in the shoulder.

“Hit the deck,” he barks at her, grunting in satisfaction when she does so, covering her head with her hands. Someone bumps into his side and he whirls on them, eyes narrowing as Sancho takes a shot past him.

“Take them out and split the loot?”

Cooper doesn’t agree but he doesn’t shoot him either. That’s a problem for later. Right now there’s a host of ill-equipped idiots who think he’s an easy target just because he ain’t ducking for cover like everyone else.

Three more bullets through three more eyes put a stop to that real fast. There’s a pause while Cooper and the three bounty hunters eye each other over the bodies around them.

“Parlay?” a voice asks with a shaky tremor.

Cooper grunts, looking for the source, protectively standing over where she’s still laid out on the floor. “You even know what that word means?” he asks the air.

The frowning face of one of Nero’s men pokes out from behind a wall. “It means I don’t want you shooting my dick off.”

Tilting his head Cooper doesn’t try to hide his grin. “And why would I refrain from such a thing?”

“Cause I don’t give a shit about you, or your girl.” The man eyes him a moment before stepping out further. He’s armed, so not a complete fool, but not aiming it at anything important.

“That doesn’t exactly endear you to me.”

“Leave,” the man says quickly, “you ain’t got a reason to be here, right? Y’all leave, we can all move on with our lives.”

“What about the bounty?” Sancho asks, stepping forward with a frown. Cooper ignores him, turning to crouch next to her and holding a hand out to help her up.

“You okay?”

She shakes her hands out, a bit of someone’s brain sliding off and splattering to the floor.“I’m fine. Gross, but fine.”

He picks a piece of skull out of her hair and tosses it to the side. “You ready to go?”

“No.” Stooping she pulls the revolver from Nero’s body, checking the chambers before clicking the clip into place. “We need to find Galen.”

Cooper frowns at the room, suddenly realizing the scientist isn’t there. Sancho and the man are squabbling and he doesn’t bother to be polite when he interrupts, “Where’d the egghead go?” Both men stop to stare at him. After a moment he prompts them with a slight wave of his gun. “You know, Doctor Shit for Brains.”

“I think he went that way,” someone says, pointing back out the main door. Next to him she nods, holding the revolver loose in one hand and stepping over the blood smears. She doesn’t seem concerned with what is going on in the room so Cooper isn’t either. With a touch of his glove to his hat brim he gives them a smile, “Pleasure,” and then follows her out.

They find Galen not far away, arguing loudly with someone about supplies.

“Nero promised me enough to get back to the facility.”

“I don’t give a flying shit what-”

The trader blanches when he sees Cooper and backs away, leaving Galen gaping at thin air.

“Seems you might be having a bit of a problem.”

The scientist turns so suddenly he nearly falls over. “Oh! Ella come here, you’re not safe with that… thing. We need to get back to safety. It will all be okay.”

“I’m not going with you.”

Galen frowns, glancing at Cooper but this isn’t his fight. He stands sentinel instead, ready to defend her if need be.

“Ella I-”

“Don’t call me that. I’m not… I’m not Ella - I’m an Ella. Some woman you created.”

“Now El-” Galen flinches when he sees her gun. “My dear, you know there was no point in encouraging any individuality - it would all be moot once you…” his gaze shoots to Cooper for a moment before he finishes, “grew up.”

She’s barely listening to him. “I’m not a person to you am I? None of us were. Just another number, another ella.”

“Please, you know I loved you. That I cared for you. All of you.”

“You never even gave us names,” she tells him softly, raising the gun to his head. “Even dogs have names.”

When they leave, they both have blood on their hands.

☢ ☢ ☢

For updates follow and turn on notifications for @brandyllyn-writes

[im-a-slut-for-an-accent]

i’m addicted to ur hop stuff omg!! no one writes hop fluff like u do 🥺🥺 could u do smth like a slow morning w hop!! ft el if u feel like it xx

“Why are you still in bed?” 

You stir at the question, but are quickly settled by a hand on your back so much bigger than your own. “I don’t want to wake her up.” 

“You say sleeping the morning away is a waste of time.” 

“I let you sleep in all the time.” The big hand rubs a circle into your back. It takes you a few moments to orientate yourself without moving. Your face is in someone’s lap, your arm hugging strong thighs. “She’s still not used to staying up that late to watch Miami Vice.” 

“Twenty three hours isn’t late.” 

“Eleven o’clock is late for people who work all day, El. Can you keep the noise down until she wakes up by herself?” 

“You’re with her.” 

“I mean when she wakes herself up. No intervention.” 

“Okay. Do you want me to make breakfast?” 

Hopper’s smile is audible. “Yeah, kid, okay. You can make breakfast. Don’t burn yourself on the toaster, okay? You remember? It gets hot all over.” 

“Hot all over,” El repeats. 

Quiet is restored for a while. You sleep some more, dozing on a loving lap, likely dribbling a patch into pants. The big hand never stops moving, not once to what you can tell, scrubbing circles into your skin until you feel numb to his touch, almost ticklish. It makes you squirm.

“About time.” 

“What’s about time?” you mumble, forcing your face further into his leg. 

“You’ve been sleeping for hours.” 

Your head tips back, intent on meeting his eyes and proving you’re not the slovenly creature he seems to think you are, but your eyelids are heavy and he’s warm in your arms. “Good morning,” you say affectionately. 

Hopper can pretend to be as much of a hard ass as he likes, he hears your scratchy morning voice in tandem with your saccharine greeting and obviously melts. Even half-asleep, you can sense it, and as his arms slide under your arms and he leans back against his pillows, you force yourself to open your eyes and see his chuffed smile. 

He’s grinning like he won something, hugging you to his chest. 

“Good morning,” he says quietly. 

You press your face to his front. 

“I heard El,” you say. 

“She’s making breakfast.” 

You’d been worried about staying the night because El’s still young, and Hopper’s bedroom is just a section of the cabin’s living room; if she needs to pee at night or if she wakes up before you, she is forcefully presented with an adult relationship. Which isn’t to say you’d risk being inappropriate with Hopper somewhere she could see, it just means that intimacy comes in all shapes and sizes, and El is unfamiliar with so much of it, and, more importantly, Hopper’s her dad. She hasn’t had to share him before. 

But El’s loving, and she hasn’t minded you being here. She doesn’t falter when she comes upon you and Hop tangled together in the morning, she just asks for toast or tells Hop he needs to come and open a window for her. 

She brings breakfast for you all on a tray and sits on the end of Hopper’s bed. It’s a frankly audacious amount of undercooked waffles and toast, a maple syrup bottle sticky from abuse laying side down with the knives and forks. 

“Thanks, baby,” Hopper says quietly. “This is perfect.” 

“Why do you guys hug so much?” she asks, spearing a waffle with her fork. 

You, having pulled yourself from Hopper’s lap just long enough to come around, don’t have the wits to answer. Hopper clearly hopes you will, and deliberates for a long time before he says, “It’s comforting.”

“Like you’re upset?” she asks. 

“Nope. Just, it makes me feel better to– to make sure she feels happy.” 

You yawn. “It’s like making breakfast, honey. You made everyone breakfast and now we’re all looked after. You feel good because we appreciate you for doing it, and we feel good because somebody did something nice for us.” You yawn again, your jaw clicking formidably.

El likes this answer, eating the majority of her portion before she talks again. “Thanks for staying up to watch Miami Vice,” she says. “Mike says it’s a waste of time.” 

“Mike’s a waste of time,” Hopper says, not quite without heat. 

“I like Miami Vice,” you say, trying to bat crumbs off of the sheets before Hopper notices them. 

Hopper grabs your hand. He’s laughing already, tugging you toward him, muttering, “God, you’re so messy,” as you lean in to be kissed on the cheek. 

“Not that messy,” you say, making eye contact with El hopefully. 

“Super messy,” she says. 

[im-a-slut-for-an-accent]

honestly the ghoul is so funny the guy's like 'I can excuse mass murder and cannibalism BUT I draw a line at animal cruelty'

[im-a-slut-for-an-accent]

The Cost of Flesh

18+ 4.9k the ghoul x f!reader. gif credit. dirty talk, vaginal fingering, clothed/naked, finger sucking, grinding on a cowboy boot, cooper's busted anatomy forces him to get creative, body worship, lightly established dynamic, surprisingly sentimental. a prompt from @tearueful that got wildly out of hand. thank you, friend! 🖤

When what starts off as a purely sexual arrangement with the Waste's most notorious bounty hunter–the ghoul–gradually grows into a living, breathing love, you're both forced to confront the inevitable humanity that comes with sharing your body with another.

There’s a living myth that walks the wastes, a figure known exclusively as the ghoul. He’s enigmatic, a force of nature that declares himself to the world with his every step. If you're unaware of sharing a room with him, it’s likely because he’s hunting you, in which case it’s not a matter of if he catches you, but when.

Naturally, it was the talk of the town when he made a regular haunt out of the saloon you worked in.

He watched you serve drinks all evening, his gaze a physical thing upon you. Normally you expected a degree of harassment from clientele, raiders and the like often rolling through, but it was as though everyone else sensed his attention on you as much as you did. You could tell from the tilted angle of the wide brim of his hat when he was listening to your conversations.

It was as eerie as it was intriguing. You couldn’t fathom a bounty on your head, so what did he want?

You would soon be ensnared by him, but not for a bounty. It was for pleasure. Your pleasure.

“Come upstairs with me,” He murmured in your ear, standing close behind you, a gloved knuckle rolling up your spine. “Y’ain’t gatta do nothin’. I won’t hurt’cha none. Just wanna hear a pretty bird sing.”

You shivered, caught unaware. You never even heard his approach, even though the din of the bar had quieted in the late evening.

“I’m not for sale,” you replied, testing the water. He was close enough that you felt him, but not so close you were pinned. You could move if you wanted to.

“I ain’t buyin’,” he gave back. You could feel the heat of his breath on your neck. “But I’ll make it worth y’while.”

The gravel grit of his voice was nearly drowned out by the drumming of your own pulse in your ears. To this day, you don’t know what possessed you to agree, but you did. He took your hand in his, the leather of his glove soft with wear, and led you away from the bar. The next thing you knew, he was stripping you bare in one of the dark rooms above the bar.

The ceremony with which he undressed you had felt disconcertingly like meal prep. He tied your hands above your head, and your heart thundered with the understanding that there was nothing to stop him from devouring you alive where you lay sprawled out on the bed. 

By the time his gloved hands were dragging away your underwear, you felt dizzy with the heady mix of arousal and fear, an unquiet ache thrumming between your thighs. Your only meager assurance was that of all the legends you’d heard of the ghoul, seducing and eating barmaids wasn’t among them. 

And yet devour you he did. You were hooked from that very first wet, hot slide of his tongue against your clit. He spent hours with you that night, mapping your body with his tongue, your scars and blemishes serving as waypoints and constellations. He nipped and sucked until dark marks blossomed under his tongue, and he relished those spots more than any other.

He never took off more than his gloves, and he never let you touch him. He never fucked you. He brought you to climax with his mouth and his hands so many times you lost track of the number. All you could do was writhe and moan your pleasure. He didn’t stop until those moans turned to sobs, until you begged him to. After that, he cut your binds loose and left you a mess on the bed, aching and used. 

You laid there for a long time, thinking you would never see him again.

The ghoul returned not a week later. 

He wasn’t subtle about what he wanted from you, beckoning you from across the bar with a crook of two fingers. You felt your knees weaken with the memory of those same fingers in your mouth, your cunt, that hand pinning you by your throat to feel your cries against his palm. He stared at you from beneath the brim of his hat, cocked his head. You nodded, and his eyes flashed.

Hungry.

You didn’t learn his name until your third encounter. He whispered it in your ear.

“Now scream it for me, sweetheart.”

You did.

The two of you would meet several more times. He would stay a little longer after each session, and bit by bit, you would come to understand the man beyond the ghoul. He doesn’t talk about himself, and he doesn’t ask anything of your life in turn, but he reveals himself in pieces nonetheless. Beneath the ruthless pragmatism of his legendary persona, you find the manners of a shockingly tender gentleman lurking.

He’s always unhurried in disrobing you, devoted to the task at hand: taking you apart piece by piece. He treats each article of frayed clothing like a piece of paper that might tear if he pulls too hard. He makes the process of being undressed in and of itself feel like sex, every move intentionally sensual. 

For you, the experience ranges from thrilling to maddening depending on your mood that day. He never heeds you, always keen to take his time regardless of your impatience. He takes a particular kind of enjoyment in your body, the likes of which you’ve never known. You’re certain he knows it better than you do at this point, and yet he’s never laid himself bare to you. Never let you bring him the kind of pleasure he brings you.

He’s never kissed you.

“Please. I wanna touch you, too,” you tell breathlessly, knelt between his legs, naked as sin. His focus breaks, gaze snapping to yours. You lick your lips, relishing the rare feeling of catching him off guard. You slide your hands up his thighs, inching towards his groin. “Taste you. Make you twist. When’re you gonna let me, huh?”

He catches your wrists as quickly as a viper strikes, holding you still for a long, tense moment. You hold his gaze without any of the fear or reservation you’d felt that first day. 

Despite the warmth that’s grown between you in the time since that first night, you’re uncertain of what exactly the two of you are now. It would be romantic to think of this feeling in your chest as love. Certainly it is intimacy. Familiarity. What is love if not consistency? Perhaps it’s like masonry. Steel against stone, and the conscious choice to change something as immutable as solid rock.

For as long as he chooses to come back to you, to find his pleasure in you, is that not love? If it isn’t, it might just be the closest you’ve ever come to it.

Dumbstruck for a moment by the tenderness in your gaze, Cooper’s own drops to your hand, lifting it to his mouth. His grip is tight, but not painful. As he does with everything else, he takes his time answering.

“Won’t do much good, darlin’,” he says, folding your hands wrist over wrist. You perk up. He’s never given a proper explanation for why he seems to have no interest in your reciprocation. From his belt, he withdraws a length of rope and begins encircling your wrists. You allow it, the ritual a familiar one. “Plumbing’s long busted, but that don’t mean I don’t enjoy myself. Enjoy you.”

Like the final piece of a puzzle falling in place, understanding dawns. His initial use of you drops perfectly into context. It was like you were more an object to him than a person, a vessel for him to exact sensation upon. You understand now that that’s exactly what you were. Be it the radiation or the myriad of drugs he takes to keep the degeneration at bay, it’s likely just one more piece of him the Wasteland has stolen.

“Oh.”

“Disappointed?” He asks, fastening the rope with a sharp tug that shoots a hot throb between your thighs. If he’s apprehensive about your answer, he hides it well. If they still made movies, he’d make for a fine actor.

You pause, giving the question the thought it deserves. “Not exactly. Maybe a bit,” you say, struggling to articulate the feeling. “Kind of relieved, though. I didn’t know if you couldn’t, or just didn’t want to,” you admit, leaning into it when he brings his palm to the side of your face. Your lips part automatically for the brush of his thumb along them. “I just want to do more.”

Cooper’s gaze softens, the line of his mouth twitching in what almost looks like a smile before it’s tampered by a profound sense of sadness. However, it disappears as quickly as the smile that nearly was. His expression smooths back out into controlled focus.

“So do more,” he says in that molasses drawl, thick and sweet. It could be your imagination, but his voice sounds warmer than it did a moment ago. “Put on a show for me.” He widens the spread of your legs with the press of his boot to your inner thigh. “I got plenty ‘a things for you t’ride.”

He lifts the worn leather to the wet heat gathering between your thighs and you shudder, lashes fluttering. His boot sinks back to the ground and you follow it, grinding down against the leather with a soft sigh of pleasure. He hooks his fingers through the tether around your wrists and draws you forward by it, his knee pressing between your breasts, your bound hands resting on his thigh.

“Don’t take much t’get you moanin’, do it, sweetie?” He baits, mouth curved in a crooked smile. You roll your hips with a soft keen, shaking your head. You were already tingling all over from the slow way he’d undressed you, and now that ache is growing rapidly into thrumming need. He whistles lowly. “All that noise for a li’l friction.”

He bucks his boot against your cunt, wringing a cry out of you. You screw your eyes shut, clutching at his pant leg while you roll your hips, embarrassed by how right he is. Everything he does is electrifying, and his honied voice in your ears helps turn the curve of his boot into the most exquisite touch you’ve ever known.

With his teeth, Cooper tugs off his glove and touches your cheek with warm, rough fingers. His bare thumb hooks your bottom lip, easing it open until you taste the salt of his skin pressing down on your tongue. “Or just didn’t want to…” He echoes through a frayed laugh, sounding equal parts amused and wistful at your words on his tongue. “Y’got no idea what I’d do to this sweet mouth if I could.” He presses his thumb deeper, watching with dark eyes as you start to suck. “What I’d give t’see how pretty you cry, chokin’ on my cock.”

He paints such a pretty picture that you long for it, too. Releasing his thumb with a breathy sound, you open your mouth. “More,” you say, your breaths shallow. “I want more.”

His own chest is heaving with each breath, his tongue caught between his teeth. He slips two fingers into your mouth, pushing them all the way to the knuckle. You both moan with it, pressure creeping slowly up your spine. He rocks his fingers in and out, and you start to match his pace, grinding against his boot as fast as his fingers fuck your mouth. 

Catching on, he kicks his pace up a notch, captivated by the pull of your lips, the shimmer of your saliva on his weathered skin. You can see it in his eyes, how he loses himself in your pleasure as if it’s his own, filling in the gaps with faded memories. He pushes in a third finger, teeth raking over his bottom lip. You push your tongue between them, over them, sucking and lapping as if it really is his cock in your mouth. 

“Fuck, darlin’,” he hisses, pulling sharply on your bindings. You make a noise around his fingers, so close to the peak of release that your lungs begin to seize, throat quieting. It’s pure agony when Cooper abruptly hauls you up onto your knees, halting your ascension. “C’mere,” he growls, all grit and throaty need. His fingers slip from your mouth and he manhandles you up into his lap, bringing you into a straddle over him, your bound wrists thrown over the back of his neck.

The same fingers he had halfway down your throat now move between your thighs, pressing into your slick, yielding body with two wet fingers in one deep push. You groan, the burning ache of it so good your eyes roll back. His free hand skirts up the length of your torso to the underside of your breast, kneading soft flesh with a rough hand. Then, so quick all you can do is gasp, he pushes the weight of it upward, meeting pearl-soft skin with lips, tongue and teeth.

All the while his fingers sink deeper, moving faster. He adds a third and you strain against your binds, arching your back, pressing your chest into his hungry mouth. He scissors his fingers, determined to make you feel every inch he fills you with.

“C-Cooper…” You keen, shivering for the hot slide of his tongue over your nipple, how he sucks it into his mouth.

Pulling off with a wet pop, he drags his tongue up the line between your breasts, greedy for the taste of you. “Shh, shh,” he hushes, already teasing a fourth finger. His breath is hot on your damp skin. “Just a little more, you can take it,” he says, pressing his thumb to your clit, rubbing circles to soothe the burn of being filled so suddenly.

“I can’t, I can’t,” you protest, nails biting into your own hands, eyes screwed shut.

“Y’already there, sugar,” he rumbles, each word rougher than the last. He’s right, you’re seated in the crook between his thumb and index finger, so full of him that your thighs are trembling from the strain of it. He rocks his hand slowly, fucking you deep, crooking his fingers until a sharp jolt of pleasure makes you shudder. “Doin’ good, takin’ everything I give you. That’s it. Go on, pretty bird. Sing me a song.”

Your eyes meet, both bleary and wild. You could lose yourself in the darkness of his gaze, and given his insatiable hunger, you know he would swallow you whole. You moan for him, sing his praise with the breathlessness of your voice, with the sway of your hips as you pick up his rhythm. He nods absently, watching you with such voracious wonder, you feel beyond yourself. Half human, half embodiment of pleasure. 

The meteoric rise back to the cusp of your climax feels like flying, your stomach tightening, the velvet walls of your cunt throbbing and squeezing his fingers so tightly, you feel their every slide.

You come hard on his fingers, crying out just before the height of your pleasure seizes you. Cooper watches every second of your release, his own lids flickering, though he never blinks. He slips his arm around your body and pulls you to him, naked skin pressed snug against leather and tattered fabric. You collapse into him, held up only by his grip and the tether binding your hands around his neck.

He holds you through the aftermath, savors every last wet quiver of your cunt around his fingers. His thrusts slow, but he doesn’t stop until–in a quaking breath–you beg him to. His fingers settle in deep, lingering a moment before he slides them free. The relief of escape from overstimulation is rivaled only by the awful emptiness that his fingers leave in you. You clench your shaking thighs on either side of him so that he might understand.

Stay.

Either he understands, or he simply isn’t through with you. His gloved hand slides up and down your back, thumb brushing the back of your neck on every upward swipe. Before long you hear a decidedly wet slurp, and you lift your head from his shoulder to look at him through euphoria addled eyes.

One by one, Cooper licks every one of his slick fingers clean, purring his approval. “Not even decades of radiation poisoning can erase the taste of good pussy,” he says, voice low and lazy. “And this, darlin'? Gourmet."

You smile, heat rushing up your chest to your cheeks. “I think you have an addiction,” you say, a slight slur to your words. You roll your fingers, which tingle faintly, the rope taking its toll on your circulation.

He clicks his tongue, hands settling on your hips. His hands are warm, and his touch erupts goosebumps up your spine. “Y’say that like it’s a problem. Gonna cut me off?”

“As your dealer, it’s in my best interest to encourage said addiction,” you say, cocking your head. Up close like this, focused only on each other’s eyes, it’s easy to forget he’s anything other than a man. His eyes are beautiful, the color of sand in that fleeting hour of sunset that turns the whole world gold. Not even the hole left from the decay of his nose takes away from the beauty of them. Truth be told, you find the whole of him entirely too handsome. “Besides, I find myself similarly afflicted.”

His lips split into a slow smile. “Y’somethin’ rare, darlin’. Fine company’s scarcer than clean water these days.”

Another wave of heat washes through you, but this time it concentrates in your chest, coiling around your heart and squeezing. “You’re just not used to talking to people who know how to read,” you say, trying and failing to swallow back the sentimentality swelling in your throat.

He chuckles. It’s a rare sound, one that does nothing for the growing affection suffocating your heart. “True, true.” He already admitted that the way you spoke is what caught his attention in the first place.

“Say…” You begin, hesitant. “You remember what I said to you when we first met? Down in the bar.”

Gently, Cooper lifts your arms from around his neck, setting your hands between your bodies. He blows out a breath and starts untying your hands. “I’m old, sweetness. Refresh my memory.” 

"I told you I wasn't for sale," you remind him, blood rushing back into your hands with the removal of the rope. You rub them together.

He makes a small noise of recollection, winding the rope around his hand. “Y’did.”

“I’ve changed my mind,” you say, watching him carefully.

His gaze flickers up to yours, searches your expression. He can tell you’re guarding it, and his own sobers in response. “Dare I ask the cost?”

"Love,” you blurt out, far more graceless than you’d been in your mind. His eyes widen a fraction, caught off guard. In any other moment you’d be smug about that, but now it’s precarious. Whatever nebulous sentiment exists between the two of you, you know it’s fragile. “Love. Yours, or just… mine. The cost is love.”

“Y’don’t love me, sweetheart,” he says, but the gentleness of his words does nothing to dissuade you. It only worsens the yearning in your heart.

“You don’t get to decide that,” you say, a frown tugging at your lips. 

He’s quiet for a moment, gauging you. “Y’don’t know me.”

“You let on more than you think you do,” you counter, hands braced on his chest. “I might not know everything about your life, but I know you.”

You know he read westerns and science fiction novels written by a man named Louis L’Amour, but confessed to liking his poetry best. You know the variations in his smiles. You know the sound he makes when he gets up from sleep, stiff-limbed and weary. You know him in intimacy. You know how he craves  peace and grace in the warmth of your body. If blinded and deafened, you would know his touch.

Whether he likes it or not, you know him the way souls know each other.

His eyes drift away as if he’s leery about you seeing anything more than you have. “What you’re lookin’ for, y’not gonna get it from me. I’m burnt out, darlin’. All dried up.”

“I’m not asking for more than you’ve given,” you say, trying not to let the terrible ache in your chest color your tone. You could scream at him for how wrong he is. How much left of him there is to love. “I’m telling you that I have more to give, and I want you to have it.”

“I wouldn’t even know what t’do with it anymore,” he says, gazing somewhere distant.

You wish he’d at least look at you as you bled your heart. “Nothing you haven’t already done, if that’s what you want.”

“Then why say anything at all?” He asks, an edge creeping into his tone. He does finally look at you, the lines of his expression as guarded as they were the first day you met him. “If y’didn’t want t’change things, why say anything?”

You stiffen to keep from shrinking away. You want this too badly to let him spook you now. 

“So that you know,” you say, choosing your words carefully. Each one feels sharp on your tongue, too honest. Too vulnerable. You’re giving him too much power with each one that falls. “I’m telling you so that you know I love you. I’m telling you because if I don’t, I might explode with it,” you say, fervency climbing in your voice, spurred on by the beginning sting of rejection. “I’m telling you for me. Is it easier to accept my love if it’s selfish?”

There it is again, that flicker across his face. Whatever he expected to hear, it wasn’t that. Slowly, Cooper removes his other glove, dropping it to the wayside. With that same hand, he brings his knuckles to your face, ghosts the heat of them down your cheek.

“Y’deserve better than half measures from a broken old man,” he says so quietly, you strain to hear each word. “Most of me’s always gonna be out in the sands, lookin’ for what’s lost. That’s no life for you.”

Taking his hand in yours, you hesitate a beat before you start to place gentle kisses on his every first knuckle. “Maybe. Maybe not,” you say between kisses, not meeting his eye yet. You’ve never been quite so openly affectionate. “But it’s like you said… Fine company is scarce,” you say, kissing each second knuckle next. “Don’t deny me the best I’ve ever known.”

His smile is reticent, tugged from the corner of his mouth as if by an invisible string. There’s something wistful in his expression. He watches you kiss the pads of his fingers next, the prints of them long worn away and replaced with thick calluses. His thumb is last. You give it a playful little nip, lest the softness of your lips scare him off.

Cooper slips his hand out of yours, the wistfulness of his gaze replaced with somber resignation. “M’sorry, darlin,” he murmurs, cupping either side of your face. 

Your stomach drops, the bitter stench of a goodbye settling into the air between you. You remind yourself that you knew this might happen. You repeat the thought again and again, as if being right will make it hurt less.

His thumbs stroke over your cheeks. “If I were a better man, a stronger man,” he says, gaze dipping to your lips. “I’d walk away for good.”

Your brows furrow. “Wh–”

He kisses you with such gentleness it breaks you apart. Your hands fly to his jacket, holding him to you. It’s as if the entire world spins on its axis, your stomach flipping wildly with it. It leaves you floating, tethered only by the grips you have on each other. What begins as a chaste press quickly heats up into a gnawing hunger, his tongue slipping into your mouth, your teeth scraping his bottom lip.

“Lucky for me that I ain’t even a good man,” he says, words peppered between kisses. 

The world spins again, but this time you really are moving through the air. You let out a yelp as Cooper flips you onto the bed, kissing a trail down your naked chest. You’ve felt his tongue and his teeth, but never the reverent press of his lips. As if you’ve only just given him permission to see you as something more than a tool for vicarious pleasure, he touches your body the way a superstitious man worships–full of intent and genuine belief.

“Cooper,” you sigh, smiling. “It’s my turn to touch you,” you remind him, tugging at the shoulder of his tattered jacket. The most he’s ever taken off is that jacket and his hat, but you want more.

He looks up at you from between your breasts, hesitating a beat. “You should know that it only gets uglier ‘neath the collar, sugar.”

“You’re not ugly,” you tell him. At his skeptical expression, you continue, “I’ve seen ugly. Heard it, felt it. You’re not ugly. Not to me.”

He quirks a hairless brow and lets out an incredulous little breath, adjusting himself onto his knees between your legs, swayed. “Y’might consider glasses,” he tells you, shrugging out of his coat. 

You hook your legs over his and use them as leverage to sit up, reaching for the buttons of his vest. “That might not end well for you,” you say coyly, popping each one loose. 

“I’m used to it,” he says, leaning down for another kiss. This, too, is reverence. He takes his time, savoring the feel of your lips against his, licking the taste of you from them like you’re the sweetest thing he’s ever known. With his vest open, you work on his undershirt next, tugging them loose while sucking on his tongue.

Halfway down, he stills your hand with a firm grip on your wrist. “That’ll do,” he tells you, voice little more than a rasp. You bite back a protest and nod, understanding that this is likely more exposed than he’s been in a long, long time. You push back into the kiss and press your hand to his chest, sliding slowly down. 

The skin beneath is as gnarled as old tree bark, pitted in places and scarred in most. For as durable as ghouls are, Cooper’s skin has been shredded and torn and riddled with bullets enough times that parts of his body have taken hold of those memories forever, formed around them.

You treat them gently, tracing them with your fingertips. You feel unreasonably powerful when he shivers subtly beneath your touch. You press your hand flat to his heart to hold the beat of it in your palm. It’s slow, but each thud is strong. You break from him with a deep breath, dizzy from the way he makes your head spin with each kiss.

“Lie down,” you say breathlessly. You’re almost surprised when he does, unaccustomed to taking so much control. You cozy up against him, laying your head where your hand had been a moment ago, and close your eyes. His heartbeat sounds just as it felt. Steady, firm, slow. You imagine the radiation has scarred him inside and out, left his heart thick and misshapen as well. Alive nonetheless.

After a brief hesitation, Cooper’s arm slips around your waist. His thumb caresses your hip. “For what it’s worth,” he begins, his tone overly conversational, masking whatever true feeling lurks beneath. “I won’t hold you to none of it. Not if y’get sick of it.”

If you get sick of him, he means.

You tip your head back to look up at him. His gaze is affixed to the ceiling, but you can see apprehension in his distant expression. You drop your eyes, nuzzling your cheek against his chest. His hand cups the back of your head in response, stroking. You smile faintly, soaking in all these little affections. You wonder how long he’s been holding back from touching you like this, denying himself such simple intimacies in order to maintain a distance he didn’t feel, but deemed necessary.

“You’re wrong, Cooper.”

“‘Bout what?”

“You are a good man.”

He goes quiet at that. The two of you lie there a long while, his hands absently roaming your body like he’s committing you to memory. Your hands do the same, dipping under the hem of his shirt to explore further. He hooks his knuckle under your chin, tips your head back to kiss you languidly.

There’s a surreal domestic feel to the unhurriedness of it all, as if he won’t be gone to the winds come morning. You make a home of this moment in your mind, constructing four walls in which to imagine another life. The kind you’ve read about in tattered books and seen on fuzzy old screens.

All the while Cooper holds you, his lips never long from your skin.

You eventually find your way under the covers together, past the point of words. You drape yourself back down against him, your ear finding the chamber of his heart once more. You fall asleep listening to the beat of it, content for now to take each day you spend with him as they come.

[im-a-slut-for-an-accent]

when it’s that time of night

Jim Hopper x Reader

Warnings/Contains: swearing, dirty talk, oral sex (female receiving), unprotected sex, mentions of masturbation, fully clothed sex, implied age gap, canon-typical spookiness

Word Count: 3.4k

i finally finished stranger things and i’m just as hot for hawkins chief of police as i was when i started, so here we are x

Keep reading

[im-a-slut-for-an-accent]

fools out there saying stuff like "I don't understand how an autistic person can simultaneously have very low empathy and a very strong moral code" mate he's literally right there

[im-a-slut-for-an-accent]

Doctor Who text posts: Twelve edition – pt. 3

[im-a-slut-for-an-accent]

aint no WAYYY THEY JUST TRIED TO SAY THAT. not even "the doctor's" but doctor who's in general 💀💀 so now that they have a disney contract every single gay thing (which they've had for fucking decades) is gonna be a huge big huge first gay thing ever!!1!1!1!! event??? like yeah there's a very specific significance to it i get it but what the fuck do you mean😭 jamie pull up the files

[im-a-slut-for-an-accent]

Silk from their soul (23)

The Ghoul / Cooper Howard x f!reader [no use of y/n]

Rated: T Words: 1.3k Summary: Mad science

Series Masterlist My Masterlist

They find you the next morning with your head in Cooper’s lap. He’s lightly stroking your hair and neck while you blink sleepily at the man at the door. 

“Travis?”

The man makes a curt sign and you sit up. You don’t recognize him - an older man wearing a giant pair of headphones. 

Cooper rises first and puts a hand out to help you up. Your feet are still tied to the pillar behind you but he’s free to take a step in front of you and square up.

“Oh for fuck’s sake,” you mutter to yourself before putting a restraining hand on his shoulder. 

He glances back at you. “You wanna try that whole talking bit again first?”

“More flies with honey,” you tell him and he rolls his eyes.

“Now I already told you that ain’t true.”

You ignore the comment and smile at the new man. “Hi! I’m… well that’s not important really. And you are?”

The man ignores you and a moment later his aroma hits, making you gag. “Oh God.”

“I ain’t got much of a working sniffer but even I can tell you that fella’s just two shits short of a dung heap.”

He whispers the words to you, kinda, and you elbow him hard. “Be nice.”

“You’re barking up the wrong tree for that, sweetheart.”

“Ella!”

You freeze, mouth suddenly going dry. You never expected to hear that voice again - had hoped you never would. At least not while you were still at his mercy.

“Dr. Galen.”

“Ella, you naughty thing, how did you get into this mess?” He looks the same as he always did - bald, a foot shorter than you, and maybe a hundred pounds soaking wet. His glasses are too big for his pinched face and he waves a hand at the room before glaring at you over them. “I raised you better than this.”

Cooper glances at him before focusing his attention on you. “He from that facility you were telling me about?”

You nod, too tongue tied for a moment to speak. Finally, you ask, “What are you doing here?”

“Why, I’ve come to fetch you. Your new own- husband has been worried sick. As a favor I told him I would help look, seeing as how I know you so well.”

Which meant he’d been coerced into it. Galen never left the facility. Not in all the time you’ve known him. Bargains were made through the door, through intermediaries if possible. Had Nero invaded the facility? You’re not brave enough to ask.

“An odd choice in protector,” Galen tuts, sparing a look at Cooper, “I would have thought you’d find someone more amenable to your charms. Like the gentlemen out here.”

You’d forgotten about the three men. You rather hoped they were still alive - they weren’t terrible. Just… bounty hunters.

“Why does he think I’m not amenable to your charms?”

You could kiss him for completely ignoring Galen. It was annoying the other man to no end. Cooper is talking too low to be heard, but that doesn’t seem to matter.

“He means you’re not… not irradiated.”

“Does he think our cocks stop working just ‘cause we get a bit a sunburn?”

The comment makes you giggle and he gives you a grin. His absolute nonchalance is giving you some courage and you lift your chin as you ask Galen, “So what’s next?”

“We’ll take you to the Stateline. I believe there is some discussion of reward but you know how much I abhor talk of money.”

“Except when you were selling my sisters,” you mumble. The man with headphones and reeking of week old fish steps into the room, a gun pointed straight at you. You hold your bound hands up and elbow for Cooper to do the same. He does, begrudgingly, and even takes a step away so the man can cut the rope binding your feet.

When you head for the door Galen holds up a hand. “Just you, the necrotic can stay here.”

“The fuck I-”

It’s your turn to step between them, giving Galen your brightest smile. Your charms don’t work on him at all, he’d made sure of that, but that didn’t mean you didn’t have any tricks up your sleeve.

“Now Dr. Galen, you told me I must always be fair and kind to others. Mister…” you hesitate, unsure if Cooper would want you telling people his name, “this necrotic man has helped me get back safely to the Stateline. It wouldn’t be right to leave him here. I believe he is only looking for work.”

“Just an honest day’s wage,” Cooper drawls unconvincingly.

Galen glares for a moment before giving you a patronizing shake of his head. “You are too soft, my girl. Always were. I knew I was right to keep you for so long.”

You keep your eyes blank, your smile pasted on. Let him think whatever he wants. The only chance you have of this not being a one-way trip is if Cooper comes with you.

“Want me to kill him for you?” Cooper asks a moment later, after Galen had curtly nodded and left the doorway, his voice pitched low enough only you can hear. You try to stop the laugh that wants to burst out and dart a glance back at him.

“Think you could?”

“Simpler than taking a piss.”

“He’s got bodyguards,” you point out as you walk past them back into the other room. The three bounty hunters are standing together, looking pissed off. Galen has a group of about a half dozen with him, all of them wearing headphones and stinking to high heaven.

“Now sweetheart, I thought you had more faith in me than that.”

You turn your attention to the first bodyguard, taking a deep breath and preparing to work your charms. But the man barely spares you a glance and even as you open your mouth he turns away and makes a signal at one of the others.

Oh.

Oh shit. Galen had come prepared. These men couldn’t hear you, couldn’t be convinced by you. And your pheromones weren’t going to be worth anything either if they couldn’t smell them over their own B.O.

Suddenly you were doubly glad to have Cooper at your back.

“You still wanna go through with this?” he asks, eyes roving the room. He’s looking for weak spots, planning an escape.

“If I don’t then Galen goes back to making more people like me, more clones. It doesn’t seem right.”

He scoffs, snorting almost into your ear. “Why don’t you shit in one hand and wait for what’s right in the other - we’ll see what fills up faster.”

“I don’t think that’s how that saying goes.”

“Hey, look at me.” You turn, stopping so abruptly he nearly runs into you. The guards are clearing out the rooms and Galen is talking quietly to one in the corner. For the moment, it’s just the two of you. “You don’t owe nobody a damn thing. You want to get out of here, you just give the word.”

God, you could kiss him. But even as his words sink in you know it’s not obligation that is making you go back. “It’s what’s right.”

“And I suppose you’re going to want to talk these fellas round to that way of thinking?”

He looks so put out you have to stifle a laugh. “Oh no, Galen deserves worse than death for what he’s done. The rest of these guys… I’ll let you decide.”

The grin that covers his face is downright evil. “Me? Darlin’, you shouldn’t have.” He takes in the room, fingers twitching. “Now?”

“No, we should probably get Nero too.”

“You seem pretty damn confident I can take out a whole hive of raiders all by my lonesome.”

Batting your eyelashes you give him your most innocent look. “Can’t you?”

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