#charon x oc

[sebesun]

chaarroonn plz save me plz grumble at me

[samrubio]

Once I GET that mod is over MF

The way Charon loves to fight gives me life

[kidotm]

2278 (fanfic)

Rating: Teen And Up Audiences Archive Warning: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings Fandoms: FO3 Fandom Relationships: Charon x OC Word count: 2,720+

Chapter 1: A Couple of Angels

Hands tied behind her back. Rope. Cuts on her arms and face. Tape over her mouth. She is dark-haired. Long-legged. She is suntanned almost brown like she spends a lot of time outside. Maybe a farmer? Maybe a raider. 

She is unconscious, propped against a wall and slouching over to the side. Blood is caked on the side of her head. It’s in her hair and all over the side of her face. Matted. Dried. She’s a mess of body fluid and grime and mud. It looks like she fought and even may even have fought hard. There’s bruises forming on her face and arms and the all skin visible to my eyes. Which is a fair amount, she’s not very well dressed. She wears no armor, only jeans and a short sleeved shirt that looks too small for her.

I observe as Vian, my contract holder, and someone she has brought back with her from her outing, a ghoul in a suit, go up and down the stairs. They go about their business hastily, snapping at one another here and there.

The man is not someone I’ve ever seen her with. Not before now. I already don’t care for him. Not at all. He hasn’t shut his mouth once since he walked through the door and doesn’t seem to be planning on doing so any time soon. His griping and bitching is getting on my nerves but he’s clearly no threat to her. They seem to know each other fairly well. They’re arguing like they do. 

I sit on the couch with my gun across my lap. I’m not sure where she found the man and I’m not sure why he’s here. The same goes for the woman slouched unconscious in the corner. I try to act like I don’t care. I try to act like I’m minding my own business. ‘You’re staying home this time,’ she had said. ‘I won’t be gone long, I won’t get into any trouble, don’t worry’ she had told me. ‘Just keep your ass on the couch unless something goes wrong.’

And that’s what I had done. My ass on the couch, eyes glued to the door. Five hours she had been gone. On the sixth hour mark she had returned. Upon her opening the door to the house I had quickly raised my shotgun to fire at the intruder, but it had only been her. And the man in the suit. And the unconscious woman being dragged behind him. 

No explanation was offered. They both ignored me. It’s dark outside, pitch black. The dead of night. It’s unlikely anyone even saw them, so there’s no one to be suspicious. 

At once I had noticed the bomb collar on her neck. Seeing it surprised me. These days, the only time I saw one was on the occasion I looked into a mirror, or a puddle. Something I normally avoided. But now, here one was, on the neck of an unconscious stranger. A very unlucky unconscious stranger. Memories flash through my head as I eyed the device. None of them are good. 

My contract holder has done a lot of nasty things to a lot of nasty people. She has done a lot of unfriendly things to a lot of friendly people. I kick myself, for just a moment, for thinking she wouldn’t take it any further. Not any further than me. Not this far. This doesn’t look good, none of it.

The two of them leave again and I am ordered to watch the woman and make sure she doesn’t go anywhere. While they’re gone, she stirs. I sit on the couch, eyeing her warily.

When she wakes, her in-question raider status goes from possible to very unlikely. She’s perturbed and afraid, but has none of the dope-addled cocky attitude that I’ve come to expect from them. Rain or shine, in their element or not, raiders talked shit 24/7. There was no rest, they took no breaks. Not if they had knife to their throat or a gun to their head. This woman doesn't really hit any of those marks. Just a wastelander?

When the two of them come back- he’s not sure what they had been doing outside- they force the woman up the stairs. I follow them this time. Having any sort of prisoner was relevant to me, like it or not. They’ve already got her tied to the workbench on the far end of the room when I catch up to them. She glares hotly at all of us but doesn’t have much to say to us or for herself. 

Later, I hear Vian and the ghoul in the suit arguing from her room. The man is insisting he doesn’t owe her anymore, insisting that they’re square now. I have no idea what he could mean by that. She had never gone about slaver business, beside myself, while I had been with her. And I had been with her for a while. When had she had time to meet this man and gain a reputation with him? One that made him not question her abducting people?

The man leaves not long after their argument. He's odd. His suit is clean save for the same dust that covers everything. He carries only a pistol, nothing else. He has a full head of dark hair, as well as facial hair, which I've never seen on a ghoul before in my life. He brushes past me angrily, not paying me any mind. He doesn't look back before slamming the door behind him.

Chapter 2: Washing Off the Blood

Come morning, the woman looks ten times worse. Her bruises are now dark and the level of damage is clearer. The morning light coming through the cracks of the walls shines light on what has happened to her.

 The man in the suit is nowhere to be seen. He never came back after he left last night.

I’ve been watching her all night, as Vian ordered. The bound woman has been nodding on and off throughout the night but she never slept for long. Although she's said "piss off, ghoul" multiple times throughout the night, she hasn't really lashed out at him or tried to escape. 

“I don’t suppose you’d let me outta here,” the woman says. I can’t tell if she’s been drugged or if it’s just exhaustion making her slur her words. 

She groans when I don’t respond. 

“Can I have water?” she asks. 

I look at her. Her voice is hoarse. Who knows what Vian would permit her to have, though. It’s best to just not risk it.

“Do you even speak English, motherfucker?” she slurs again, her head falling to the side of her shoulder. She sighs loudly, “whatever.”

The blood that’s dried on her face, hair, and.. well, everywhere, is starting to flake off with her movements. Her hair is a molerat’s nest and she reeks of iron. The ventilation in this house being what it is, the whole room smells of it.

Later that morning, Vian emerges from her room. She unties the woman from the workbench, then re-ties her hands together in front of her. She drags her from the metal floor she had sat on all night to bring her in front of us.

“You smell like hell,” Vian says to the woman.

The woman just looks back at her. 

I back off and little, taking a few steps away without turning my back on them. I don’t like this. I don’t like where this is going and I don’t want to be a part of it. I can’t imagine what Vian has planned for this woman and I don’t want to imagine. What is she going to do, sell her? That was if Vian had captured her herself, which it seemed to me like she had.. That didn’t rule out the possibility that she had went out and bought the woman from a slaver. And in that case-

“Charon.” Vian says.

“Yes.” I reply. 

“You take her to the bathroom and you wash her off. She’s too dangerous to be untied. I don’t need her trying to stab us while she’s loose. Just cut those off her and I’ll find her something else to wear.”

I freeze. Seconds go by, no one says anything. I struggle to swallow. The woman and I meet eyes from across the room and her face goes from totally blank to enraged in less than a second.

“You have to be kidding me!” the woman shouts into Vian’s face.

“Now. Charon.” Vian says.

I mutter profanities under my breath, taking the woman by the arm. The order is already itching in my brain, demanding to be adhered to, urging me on. I drag the woman one handed to the bathroom. Vian wanders off to find clothes, unbothered as the woman shouts and thrashes against my arm. 

We get to the tub. It’ll take several minutes to fill. The pipes make an awful din but the water flows at a heavy trickle. 

I take deep breaths to steady myself. Deep breaths. In and out. We’re not going to harm her, it’s just a bath. I have my back to her as she sits slumped at the bathroom door. I wasn’t dumb enough to leave it open, lest she try to make a run for it and I have to chase her down.

I sigh heavily, willing the ache in my head to go away while the order sizzling in my brain sits idle. I turn to face her. She flinches. 

“Let’s go,” I say. 

She shakes her head side to side vigorously, curling away. 

“Come on. I have to do this,” I insist. “Let’s just get it over with.”

She shakes her head again. “No,” she says.

“Alright,” I say. Her shoulders drop for just a millisecond before she realizes I’m actually leaning in to grab her, not giving up.

If her hands weren’t tied behind her back she would absolutely be clawing the hell out of me. Small mercies. Her legs are free, though. She kicks and tries to bite at me, thrashing against me as she yells stormy words into my ear.

“Charon.” I hear through the door.

“Yes.” I say, gruff. The woman takes the opportunity to stomp on my foot. Hard. I don’t feel it through my boots. I turn to look at her. She looks back up at me, her glare ablaze. Her eyes are narrow. Dark. Her face is covered in speckles and spots. Not unlike mine used to be. 

“You shut her up,” Vian hisses through the door. “I don’t want to hear another peep from this bathroom. We’ll have the whole town eavesdropping at this rate.”

“Yes.” I say again. 

“Good.”

“Get the hell off me,” the woman says.

Suddenly my knife is between us, only inches from her face. “Any more shouting and I won’t just be cutting your clothes,” I tell her. 

The defiant look in her eye wavers at this. If the additional order wasn’t blazing in my mind on top of the first, I would have felt a little bad.

Her shirt is thin and cuts off very easily. She stands quiet and still, seeming ashamed. Or just scared. I don’t know. Her back is turned to me and I can’t see her face. Thankfully. I’m glad she can’t see mine. She doesn’t wear anything underneath her shirt. I take it off of her and toss it aside. 

“Undo the button of your pants,” I tell her. She hesitates and her shoulders shake but she does it. The jeans fall to the floor. 

“Can I leave my underwear on?” she whispers. Her voice trembles.

“Yes.” I say.

She exhales a shaky breath. 

A steaming mist floats up from the tub and into the cool air. The water is lukewarm. She dips her feet in it carefully, then squats down and works into a sitting position.

There’s an assortment of plain, non-scented soap bars on the shelf in this room. Normally a box of shredded soap sits next to the tub but today it’s nowhere to be seen. That would have been too convenient, I suppose. Sprinkle some flakes in for her and let her figure it out? No, that would have been too easy. It must have run out. I don’t even see the empty box anywhere.

I select one of the bars from the shelf. A sleeve from a old shirt from a box full of rags. The rope around her wrists has rubbed her skin raw. It will probably burn once the soap hits it. I dunk the bar into the water at her feet. It suds slightly against the cloth. 

“So what the hell are you, her maid?” she spits at me.

I don’t respond. 

She cringes away from my touch as the soapy cloth hits her back but she doesn’t yell anymore. She has prominent tan lines all over her body, try as I might not to stare. She hunches in on herself, drawing her shoulders forward. She’s a long-limbed person. Lanky, almost. Malnourished, for sure. A lot of people are. Maybe the majority of wastelanders, even. While her face is full-cheeked, I can see her ribs on her back and her knees are even somewhat knobby.

I wipe the cloth along her back, scrubbing at her lightly. This would be a lot easier if she wasn’t so filthy. If she wasn’t covered in grime I could just let her dunk herself in the water really quick and call it good. Unfortunately, that’s not going to cut it. On this thought, I eye her matted hair.

“You’re going to have to put your head in the water,” I say.

She looks at me from the corner of her eye. Now that she’s turned towards me I can see the tears rolling down her face. 

“You’re covered in blood,” I insist. “She won’t be happy if you come out dirty.”

She looks away from me, down at the water. Then she slowly unfurls herself, shaky breath loud in the quiet room. She does her best to rinse the gore from her hair but struggles with her hands tied. I end up doing it for her. The soap doesn’t do much for the grease in her hair but it takes the blood out. The bath water is tinged pink, little bubbles of soap forming alongside the edges of the tub. 

The persistent force in my head is starting to calm now that I’m following through. The ache is subsiding, and with it, my blind desire to obey. As the blinders begin to fade, I begin to actually feel the awkwardness and pain of this situation. Her hair is soft in my hands and I try not to pull at all of the tangles in it. The last time I was doing this, it was with my own hair. It seems like forever ago.

The door opens. The woman in the tub flinches. It’s Vian.

“Okay, good?” she asks. “Here’s some clothes for her,” she sets them on the chair next to the door and is gone again.

I stand from my kneeling position on the floor, my knees crackling and popping on my way back up. She’s already slipping her way out of the tub. She lets me wrap a towel around her. I leave. It’s over. 

I retreat to the couch, grumbling about my sleeves and my front getting wet. The two of them stay upstairs for most of the day, Vian only coming down to fetch food. She has the woman doing something on the computer upstairs but I don’t rejoin them to look. 

Many hours later I’m assigned to watch over the woman as she sleeps again. That night my head is spinning and my stomach turns. The image of a knife tearing at cloth cuts through my mind over and over again. It goes on all throughout the night. The sound of tearing fabric plays sing-songy and mocking in my ears, though the house is dead silent. 

I don’t so much as doze that night. Flashes of today’s events. Flashes of the past. I don’t move as I guard her. I barely blink as I watch the door from above. For the first time in a while, I’m tired. 

[radiumgirl1]

my lone wanderer :0

[khiita]

congrats to @chrysanthemumgames on foa's launch !! i first played the game ( and doodled these ) when i was having a really hard time irl, and this sweet story was exactly what i needed 💗 i hope everyone that plays it for the first time now enjoys it as much as i did then !!

[feyroon]

no grave can hold my body down, i’ll crawl home to her

[its-sixxers]

finally home

[mildlymortified]

[hancocksleftnut]

Some Charon Head Cannons I Finally have the Balls to Share:

He was a US Green Beret captured in Anchorage by Chinese and Russian Special Forces in 2076, 11 months before the Great War and had many experiments done on him while a POW.

He was deployed at 28, one of the youngest in his squad. Charon was born in Pennsylvania and came from a military background, later joining the US Army at 19, soon after the USA announced war against the Republic of China.

In the end, he would be the only survivor from his squad, all others having been executed or dying from the Dachau-Level experiments.

As tensions around the world heightened, the US government burned all records of him and his squadron, considering them casualties of war.

As a POW (Prisoner of War) his physical stature, mental fortitude, and expert combat training made him a candidate for a “Reprograming Operation” by the Russian KGB where he was the only successful test subject.

After months of brainwashing he was finally assigned to a KGB Spy who was planted in the US government, where he was designed to assassinate and perform other reconnaissance operations.

However, the Great War broke out mere months after he was “assigned” and his contract made many unfortunate passes before reaching the Lone Wanderers.

Charon’s previous employers all had dark, ulterior motives that mainly used him as a deviant errand boy. When he becomes employed by the LW, he almost feels at peace. Though he will forever live with PTSD, he is able to put his guard down in certain circumstances, giving him small glimpses of joy and happiness again.

Until he becomes to care too much, and becomes over protective. The LW unknowingly reminds him of his pre-war life. When there was still hope and a dream of change. He doesn’t know why, but he clings to their selflessness. He watches people abuse the LW’s kindness, and then get stuck in a cycle of people pleasing because they are the Wastelands Last Hope.

[cupsoupenjoyer003]

[My OC x Charon shenanigans]

[thatdamnmutt-exe]

Too Sweet • Charon (Fallout 3)

Plot:

Charon accidentally gets too horny after constantly watching his boss all day. After trying to ignore it, it becomes too much to bare for him.

Pairing:

Charon x Masc!OC (Name: Ren)

Warnings:

Pre Bottom Surgery Masc, Size Kink, Choking, Thigh Riding, Needy!Charon, Hickeys, Blow Job/Face Fucking, Praise, Spitting, and Gay Shit.

Extras:

Maybe I’m a gay lil homo boy for a big ghoul man.

Song:

Too Sweet • Hozier

“I’d rather take my whiskey neat.”

————————————————————————

“Charon, what do you think of this look? These road leathers fit better with my armor.” Ren asked his ghoul bodyguard who was looking around the store, watching others gather what they needed.

Charon grumbled, “Looks good boss.” He avoided looking at Ren. Today was just an off day for him- he felt overly… horny as the humans would say. He didn't understand why, he never feels this way.

Ever since last night when he accidently walked in on his boss changing from his shirt and into one of his own, something in him just clicked. Seeing his boss in his very clearly oversized shirts- god the memory made his pants even more tight. He was so thankful that he had armor on to cover it.

"You didn't even look. Charon, you've been weird all day? Are you doing okay?" Ren asked, concerned for his body guard. Charon grumbled out a 'I'm fine' before moving away to leave the store.

Ren watched, confusion clear on his face as he watched Charon leave. He made his way to pay for the outfit and quickly left the store. He looked around for Charon, calling his name a few times.

"Where did he go?" He moved over to the back of the building, only to be grabbed and pushed up against a wall. "Char-" Ren was cut off by rough lips against his while the other's hips ground against his own. A small moan fell between their lips, making Charon's pants to grow tighter. That small sound drove him mad.

"Ren... last night... fuck you looked so good in my clothes." Charon's hand moved to pin Ren's above his head, his other hand snaking under his shirt. Charon has never been more happy that Ren forgot to put his armor back on.

Charon's thigh moved to open Ren's legs as he moved his leg to grind against Ren's clothed pussy. "Get off on my leg." Charon commanded, his voice deep and raspy. Ren's body shivered as he felt himself pulse at Charon's voice.

"Yes, Charon." Ren breathed out before matching Charon's rhythm, his legs nearly going weak from the sudden spike of pleasure. Charon kept Ren up, absolutely loving how much bigger he was. He loved that he could hold Ren up and in place.

Ren's arms moved to wrap around Charon's neck, his face buried in the Ghoul's chest to muffle is whimpers and moans. He angled his hips a bit, hitting his clit better, sending his legs to shake. His climax slowly climbing as he moved a bit faster.

"C-Charon- can I cum?" His voice comes out muffled against Charon's chest. The words make Charon's eyes roll back, the fact that he could get Ren off by just his thigh, it made him feel so powerful for the first time in forever.

Charon grabbed Ren's neck, squeezing slightly as he tilt his head back before spitting in his mouth. Ren was caught off guard at first, but ended up swallowing. “Cum for me- Show me how good my thigh feels.”

Ren’s head spun as he felt his legs nearly give out as he came hard against Charon’s thigh. His grip on the ghoul tightened as his breath was shaky. “Charon!” He moaned against the ghoul’s chest, the sound muffled by the chest.

Charon held onto Ren until the smaller composed himself and moved himself to lean against the building. It had been awhile since Ren had done anything like that and it hit him hard.

He looked up at Charon, lust still in his eyes as he moved down to his knees. His hands moved to rest on Charon’s buckle, his eyes trained up at the ghoul, waiting for permission. Ren earned a grunt as a response, giving him all the permission he needed.

His fingers worked fast to undo the belt and throwing it to the side. He moved the pants low enough to reveal Charon’s decently sized dick. He takes it into his hands and slowly starts pumping, making the ghoul groan and move to rest his arm against the wall, leaning against it for support. “Just like that.” He huffed out while his eyes closed.

Ren moved his face closer before doing small licks against the tip, licking up all the precum. Within a second, Ren took most of the ghoul’s length into his mouth. He hallowed his cheeks and sucked a bit while his tongue focused on the tip. His hand pumping the rest of the shaft while his other hand massaged the balls.

Charon, who was unaware of just how skilled Ren was with his mouth, became a grunting mess at this new sensation. His free hand moved to grasp a handful of Ren’s hair to hold him in place before rocking his hips, face fucking his boss.

Ren gagged a bit and struggled to gain breath from Charon’s sudden harsh movements. As sudden as the actions were, they couldn’t help but turn Ren on more from how Charon manhandled him.

“Keep doing that- I’m going to-“ Before Charon could finish, he came down Ren’s throat, forcing the smaller to swallow it all. It was bitter, as to be expected. Ren didn’t pay attention to that, he was too focused on making sure he sucked out the last drop.

Charon slowly started to let Ren out of his grasp, allowing him to breathe. Ren moved to stand and lean against the wall, his head spinning from the lack of oxygen.

Before Ren could say anything more, an arm wrapped around his waist and held him close. Ren looked up and was met with Charon’s eyes. They were full of need, lust, love, confusion, and desire. The ghoul was very unfamiliar with this territory, but what he did know was that he wanted to explore it more with Ren.

“Charon?” Ren’s voice broke the silence, his voice scratchy and hoarse. Charon didn’t answer, he instead pulled Ren closer, kissing him deeply as he did.

Ren understood what Charon was trying to tell- show- him what he was feeling and thinking. He smiled in the kiss as his heart fluttered. He loved the Ghoul with his whole heart.

————————————————————————

“My coffee black in my bed at 3,

you’re too sweet for me.”

[sebesun]

just a smattering of FO3 Darren Core(tm) because hes my favorite boy to put in situations

[kharonion]

some hearts understand each other even in silence.

[ash-arts-a-thing]

I wanted to draw him being vulnerable for once, I guess. I’m sure if he could purr he would… hmm…

[radiumgirl1]

Some older art of my Lone Wanderer, Vivica :)

[tanlotts]

Charon and Billie 🖤

Billie is my mall goth style lone wanderer and I need to make more content with her!