#vaultie oc

[cannibalcreeps]

Jeremy Rollin' up to his first victim!

[vnynv]

You're a hero... and you have to leave.

celebrating finishing fallout 1 with my vault dweller! every time a companion would die in battle, the game would run out of memory and thus crash which i like to think is quite representative of his mental stability.

[worms-for-brains]

Bestie run.

[metallinemenace]

Nuclear Family

[werestorm]

Twink in a dress for @somber-starz , og image under cut.

Her shirt is SEE THROUGH so I had to hide it I apologize.

[alias-b]

"and die with a smile"

Cooper Howard x my Vaultie OC Cora by @pumpkinpowder

[mahiiimahiiii]

fuck it, guess we both aint' shit

a/n: sorry this fic took so long y'all i am so slow when i write. for context, i solely write before i go to bed and pass out with my phone attached to my head this was a request a while back when i was still active in bg3 circles lol so its been going for MONTHS at this point. i dunno how folks crank this shit out that's like a super power. anyways im playing skyrim now!!!!! im working on two fics, one skyrim and the other f:nv, because i love love loveeeee beatrix russell and also want my ttrpg character to have several enjoyable moments in her sad life. stay tuned! it may be a while for those to come out, so i appreciate y'all being patient. coops accent in this story is based on my own, im from the Appalachian region of virgina!! just to note we tend not to say the first letter of words. at least that was my accent and my experience each southern person will be different :)) please enjoy and let me know if you have any ideas, i'm always grateful for those.

ps. sorry for the long a/n lmao

(my doc says this is 19 pages!! my longest to date lmaooooo.)

general notes: named insert (fo1 character!!), doc is brown :))), i tried to stay pretty neutral with gendered language but doc has a pussy and boobs (sorry for being vulgar. it helps to specify their parts so you know what you're getting into) as always its a smut, and ooc cooper, i'm getting my feel for him, drugged sex, cannibalisim as a metaphor, barely disguised breeding fetish, restraints and rope play.

During the warmest months of a farming season you often asked yourself, why. 

Why did you decide to choose NCR sharecropping in the first place, and what made you so god damn lucky to leave Nevada alive. 

You had started off a trek from the high walled dunes of the new republic’s deserts for a more opportunistic place in Colorado. High walled mountains kept off raiders, but kept in heat and snow. So you worked tirelessly on the outskirts of a small settlement, modeled after a historic town out of a western film. 

Recently you received Brahmin from a trade deal which made planting significantly easier to do.

Brahmin dung was also good for another thing as well. 

Jet. 

Your tidy lab always stunk of fertilizer and smoked out herbs, this was a small production thing so the allowance to vary was there. You sun-dried the patties first, stacking the briquettes between bushels of dry and wild herbs, this would be burnt out and condensed into pressurized containers, if not mixed with a bit of water for easier spray abilities. 

This is where your actual money came from; compared to that farming was a hobby. You had a regular client coming in for a shipment. This one-a favorite of yours for a bit. Perhaps not for his “aesthetic appeal” though his sallow and gaunt skin holds echoes of the handsome man he was previously. 

No.. 

You liked his voice (though faux it was), and his bright teeth(stained with a yellow, making them seem more manilla if anything), the way his hat held over his brow (you could never see his eyes), the perch of his thumbs tucked into his belt (an odd position at that.), and the corners of his smile lines. With each step you took towards him, the professional in you took five steps back. You had half a shock at one point to care for him when he randomly appeared piss drunk at your step. The way he curled into you as his speech slurred, or the odd way he made himself comfortable on the couch. 

He told you you smelt nice that day. You sent him along with a packet of sober up pills and hangover meds.

You pressed down on the seed bed with a glove tugging at the carrot rooted in the Rocky soil. 

“Sonofabitch!” You cussed out as you tugged. You took a couple more stabs at the dirt again, loosening the ground around it. 

Your breathed in the deep blue sky surrounded by miles of mountains, the plains you resided in like the bottom of a welded goblet. 

You wiped the sweat off your brow, the chunky glove absorbing most of it. You tugged up the loosened carrot and tossed it into a small bin filled with produce. You stood up brushing off your overalls of excess soil. 

You carried the bin off, jumped by a hoarse whistle from the pasture. 

“There you are sweetheart!” He held a hand over his head, in greeting. 

“Hey you!” the ghoul gave you no name, so you referred to him in vague suggestions.

 “You certainly arrived early! What's the occasion? Could you help me with one of the baskets, Hun’?” 

He trotted over, the click and jingle of his spurs followed behind him. He hoisted one over his shoulder with ease. “Am I not allowed to see my favorite doctor? I found myself wandering about the area, supposed I'd drop by…I do know when I'm not welcome though.” 

“It would be awful rude of me to not accept your company.” You teased in return. He rolled his eyes, lugging the bins of produce to be sorted and sold up your porch steps. 

“Need a place to stay?” You didn't look up, as this generally came as a routine question. 

“Same as always.” He confirmed, stomping off the dirt from his boots. 

“Mind me changing then, hun?” your words didn't reflect affection, but showed shallow familiarity in them. 

He shrugged, “‘pose not, m’ gonna have a smoke on the porch.” 

“Take your time” you nod, trudging up the creaking and faded wood stairs. 

You weren't sure how to approach him, he had shown signs of interest previously, walking in on your out of the way showers, leaving things for him to come back and collect them, paying more caps for his shipment than usual. To be fair, you definitely indulged him- at one point you had complained about your water resource being devoid of warmed water. As you padded around with soaking skin and a fluffy towel, and a grumpy expression cemented on your lips. 

All this teasing didn't help those dreams, they started when he left an extra shirt from his pack. This one was dark and ragged, a change from his gray stained cowboy shirt with tassels. It smelt like him, and deeply so. You were ashamed to admit that you used it to pleasure yourself for a period of time. Eventually your breath stained the shirt and it no longer smelt like him; that was a depressing day indeed. 

You had handed the item back to him, he took it with a thin smile. I'm glad you took care of it. 

Weeks after an item of yours went missing, then returned in odd places. Socks, a camisole or two, most egregious was from your hamper, two pairs of bloomers you intended to clean. It was an unspoken agreement, an item exchange of sorts, perhaps he sought companionship on the heat stained road. 

To admit your affections weren't returned was a vague understatement, he had propositioned you on several occasions often asking to meet late at the barn, he was quick to release offering a thank you by allowing you to squeeze and grind down on his fingers as he cleaned the spent cum with a tossed aside shirt. It was always one of yours. 

Those moments were short, maybe if you offered a comfortable environment he'd be willing to play pretend. 

You tugged off the flannel that stuck to your sides, unclipping the overalls and tugging them over your shins. Your bones popped as you stretched, peeling off the soaked undergarments in exchange for one less distracting. The air was cool against your skin, you took a wetted rag from your ceramic basin and cleaned down your sweaty skin. You tossed the dirt stained clothes into your hamper: sucking in air between your teeth. The outfit you decided on was a loose button down, soft cotton slacks with a silver button, and some leather sandals. 

It wasn't your most dashing look, but it was an easy one, something to throw on as the sun began its track down.

+

You ate in silence, spoons clicking against cracked porcelain bowls. The stew was filling as per usual, but you kept your head down. 

He looked much more red with the checkered table cloth in front of him, his jaw working as he pulverized the food in front of him. 

The ghoul in front of you quirked a brow “you ain't becoming feral are ya? The rate you're scoffing supper down. I'm fraid to be your next meal!” 

“No m' just thinkin’. Tend to eat fast when I have lots to ponder.” you held the spoon to your lips tilting it and passing the savory broth over your tongue. 

The older man set down his spoon, a bit of confusion racking his brow. “yaint got much to think about. What a chemist n all. You're just plugged into all them formulas ,ain't you sweet pea?”

You grunt in somewhat acknowledgement “I guess”

The lower rooms in the evening became sticky hot without the curtains drawn, bright sun flames the sides of the buildings and glinted off the tarnished metal buckles and beads on the cowboys outfit. 

“Well.” You rose holding your empty bowl, the click of metal under porcelain still droning on at the other side of the table. “I'm pooped, I think it's time to retire to my room. Do some unwinding, the works. Goodnight, sir. “

You turned to leave, setting your bowl in the open kitchen sink, the ghouls voice interrupting your thoughts.

“Hey doc- I got an odd request.” The cowboy began. “Have you ever tried  jet?”

Cooper hesitated for once, feeling your warm skin beneath his palm, the way your pulse sang when he touched you. 

“You sure?” 

“Yeah.”

His thumb traced the corner of your mouth, lips parted delicately to taste. He had you pinned as you sunk into his figure, one hand flattened on his breast the other hanging limply at your side. You cupped it around the side of him, allowing him to move in close. 

He watched your eyes wide and dilate, your already oh so large pupils eclipsing your iris’s. 

This must've felt like light years away for someone not as attuned. 

Your breath washed against him, his nasal cavity picking the strong sickly scent of jet on your tongue, he could taste you in the back of his throat. 

“Tell me if anything is too much, as much as I seem gruff, I do desire the lady folk having an equal amount of fun.” 

You hiccup and nod, “yeah I understand - yessir.” 

“You don't try your own stock, doc?” He tilted his head, carefully leading your jelly body to the bed. 

“Jet ain't my choice- I usually go for day tripper. Slows you down a lot more, so I do it during sunny days. Things change and you can enjoy a lot more “ you talked with your hands he often noticed, but here they flew without meaning, like a puppet with cut strings. 

“Mmm.” He mused, a sound of recognition. He shut the bedroom door, the low light of the sun spilling in dappled puddles through your window. He kicked off his boots, placed them in a corner and set his heavy overcoat and hat on a chair. 

“Once again, are you sure? Is this what you want?” 

He was hesitant to approach, leaning over you with one knee on the soft mattress. The springs creaked under the shift in weight. 

“You certainly know how to make a girl beg for it.” You joke, cracking a half grin. 

“Being a tease comes with the territory, sugar.” he tucked a curl behind your ear, cupping your cheek with the rough palm of his hand. He listened to your breath flutter; that hit of jet has fucked you up. 

The rusted iron bed frame creaked under his shifting weight, mindful of your soft limbs as he coaxed your legs apart to hang on his hips- Your hair bloomed outward on the pile of cotton and straw pillows. eyes laden with a hazy glow that reflected the golden light. 

Your breath fanned over his face- sweet, tangy and rich. Your tongue swiped in-between your cracked lips coating them with a coating of spit, they glistened in the low golden sun. 

Your hand, weathered from soil, caressed his cheek with all the gentleness of a rose petal. He crooned and leaned into you, you were much more inviting of his touch, a satisfied “hmph” as what remained if his lips landed on yours. 

Your hands found the back of his neck pulling I'm into you. 

You felt soft, curling around his jagged edges like water droplets on a sky light. His fingertips tingle with electricity.

 You huffed tilting your head slightly, grabbing onto the collar of his shirt. Your skin pooled with heat, his thumbs finding the underside of your breast. He cradled your tap dancing heart between two palms. Your lips found a clumsy rhythm; one that he found nostalgic. It was easy to imagine being young with you, you made it look effortless. 

You pushed him away- cheeks stained a bright rosy pink as you gulped down air like an odd looking fish. Curls laid on your cheeks sticking up on odd and random places, if he was a much kinder man he would've tucked a strand behind your ear, issuing kisses that traced to your nose. You cracked a warm, half-smile; your hand finding a place under his cheekbone. 

You wheeze out quickly, coughing up fumes of jet; sputtering like a broken down car. “Your name-” you finally got out, “I never got your name.” 

There was sincerity in your eyes, innocence even- perhaps a hope that this wouldn't be another one-night stand. 

Perhaps today… he would allow himself to fly too close to the sun. For once- to bathe in the bright warm of comfort, the wholeness of companionship; the milk of human kindness. 

“Cooper.” 

“Cooper.” The sound rang off your cherry pink lips held by ivory teeth and a fleshy velvet tongue. “Cooper.” 

“And yours?” He asked quietly. 

“Just doc is fine.” You purse your lips, the joy that rang off your tongue snapped close like a heavy lid of a jewelry box - hiding the treasures from sight. You formed a slight business-like manner to your tone. 

He nodded curtly, shifting on his elbows to drape himself over you once more. 

He worked the buttons of your shirt off. helping you out of the loose cotton shirt- he licked his lips intently. It was truly an oasis of flesh to his gaze. 

He whistled low, his fingers twitching and buzzing- aching even, just to get a feel of the soft warm skin beneath him. “Arnt you the prettiest thing I ever did see” his voice was a lowered rasp.

The warm sun pooled below your sternum and held your face dearly. The lace frame around your pillow held up your portrait. 

The bounty hunter listened to your heart beat away in its cage. He then sat back on his haunches and dragged his fingers down your sternum. 

“Such pretty, soft skin “  he cooed. The nail in his finger digging into the surface leaving a trail of raised skin behind it. You wiggle at the prickling sensation on your skin. What game was he playing? 

He took an inhale as his palms cupped your shoulders and scooted down your sides, repeating in an almost massage like motion. He repeated the same kneading motion with your chest, a low sigh coming from his lips. 

He was used to an exchange or dance of sorts when it came to these circumstances. A relief of hand, or the jingle of caps in some woman's back pocket. The road has taken a toll on his aspect of companionship, for once he found himself slightly stupefied except for the notion to touch you. 

You melted into his warm palms; your eyes fluttering shut into relaxation. 

“Are you comfortable Cooper?” You broached the awkward silence of sighs with unease. 

“Doing just fine sweetheart, you relax now.” the vaquero chides; flicking your nipple as a slight retort. You tense at the sensation though unpleasant as it is enjoyable. 

The ghoul unbuttoned his vest, tossing it aside and leaving him in that faded vault tec cowboy shirt and pinstripe trousers. He loosened the top few buttons of his shirt, a bit self conscious of his form without all these layers. You blink slowly, re-assembling to settle your thighs around his hips. His kisses smudged your lipstick, cupping your jaw in one hand- the other cradling the pillow behind your head. you lean into his egging, lifting your neck for his teeth to graze. 

His tongue was the first sensation. licking a stripe up your collar broke you out into simple goosebumps. You close your eyes against the sensation of him latching onto your skin. One of his hands caressed your chest, the other held your hip- squeezing it gently. He left indents and bruises to litter your skin, a mauve flush of patchwork on your neck. As His bites ran below the collar- he shifted position. He kissed down your chest, marking a spot right above a mole. Dipping his head lower His tongue swirled around a nipple taking it into his mouth. 

The other was treated to the same palming while his other hand busied itself by burying into his boxers. 

A bittersweet image flooded his mind. As a younger man himself, he would take many lovers. Holed up in some trailer room on a daybed, lips puffed and tight pencil skirt tossed to the wayside, it left you cloaked in a mussed bone white blouse with a bow at the neck. Dark black heels dug into the velvet beneath your ass. The tight stifled moans- the ferocity of your grip- the way you offered to not ruin his set costume. 

Your glasses would slide down your nose as he coos would split you wide open like a piece of log. 

These dalliances were savory before married life, a taste he'd like to try again. 

He found himself switching, adjusting hands, welcome to an exasperated sigh of frustration from your lips. 

“Cooper” sounded off like a prayer, the rock of an ocean wave as he navigated down your sternum. 

He hooked a finger under your waistband- you burned brighter than any field of irradiated waste. “Now's your chance miss.” he hummed, stroking the sides of the scrunched fabric. 

Much to his chagrin, you nodded. A warm sickly sweet feeling of familiar warmth crept up the walls of his stomach. Was it pride? Longing? 

Whatever it was, he stared down the barrel of his would be nose. He wet his lips like a wolf about to blow down a stick building- and certainly, most certainly, he would make a meal of the javelina inside. 

Carefully he unwrapped you, laid bare before him your skin bristled underneath the heat of his hand. He sighed again for emphasis, the flashes of you in that scenario warmed the back of his mind. 

Another indulgent idea as his fingers skimmed against your hip line. His brow furrowed as he watched your eyes flutter shut again. 

Chaps pushed to under his knee, boxers and Levi's still clung to his thigh. In this he was a bit older, the sleepy dream holding an air of youth from the way you bit down on his hand and hesitated to fully sheath yourself onto him. In quick staccato motions that angled for just the right spot sent your teeth sinking into his hand. Your legs shook slightly as the tip of your heel curved around his calf. A careful balancing act 

His hands traced patterns onto your clit absentmindedly- bowing down to steal a slow kiss every once in a while. He was careful, he wanted something decadent. 

He kneeled at the altar between your hips, for he was but a man. 

He bit down on the flesh of your thigh, prodding your entrance with a finger- he sucked at the indented wound. Lifting up your thigh he left marks underneath the skin of your butt. He worked on opening you up- sliding a finger into you easily. You held eye contact, rolling your hips against his thumb and hand, figured in a pinching motion. Just one tug of the thread and he had you spiraled out. 

The air was laden with the heavy silence that wasn't the crackle of an obscure motown album. He added a second, your body rippling out like a Newton's cradle at the sensation.

“Coop’ shit-” were the first words you said in a bit. 

“Talk to me babygirl, can only do so much while my hands are busy.” He curled his fingers massaging the spongy tissue beneath their tips. 

“Coop-!” you whine again, leaning into the hand that cupped your face. 

Your brow was furrowed in concentration- moving your toes to avoid the muscles of your leg locking in place. 

“Are we just fond of sayin’ my name, hm? C'mon pretty girl, tell me whatcha like me to do.'' He growled, kissing the corner of your mouth, the side of your nose, up to your furrowed brow.

He kissed back down your chest, kissing the flesh of your thighs. 

He began his game of chicken- cupping your back one thumb drawing circles into your sides. 

“Tell me.” He urged.

his lips drew near your throbbing clit heat pulsing in waves from your legs. 

“God, you're really having me do this?”  you puff up a bit, embarrassment settling into your skin. 

“Ain't no shame in being polite, sweetheart.” He chides “your parents teach you manners? Now am I gonna spell it out for you or what?” His tongue dipped between your folds; tracing light circles around the bundle of nerves. 

You hissed like a tea kettle, bending the knee for better access. “Please sir.” Your tone was condensed as you struggled to keep composure, or lest you break in your bed partner's nose a bit more. 

“Please what, be specific sweetheart.”  

 your warm palm squeezing the back of his head felt just right 

You swore under your breath, mustering the courage from the depths of your stomach, sacrificing your bruised pride in return. “please I'd like to- like you to eat me out.” 

“What a sweet girl, perhaps I'll reward her for being so polite, hm? What do you think doc.” He grinned, flashing the aged and manilla teeth in his maw. 

You deflate, nodding your head in almost defeat. 

The ghoul hummed in approval- his fingers once stilled began to tap dance happily against your inner walls. He wove himself into you, mouth latched firmly onto your clit- his dark blown eyes flashing up to your reddened face every once in a while. 

Your thighs framed his head. He had lifted one over his shoulder for better access to your core. Your legs hooked around his neck, trapping him closer. 

The sound of slurps made your stomach twist into hard knots. Contented and pleasured groans fell around you- sending small vibrations to your clit. You held onto his bicep, after a while he offered his other hand. 

To be eaten alive by another man was only discussed in the late hours of the evening. Cigarette smoke drawn from his teeth hissing away like a steam engine as you talked. You felt consented like one humming giant beast.

The cartilage of his nose bumped against your clit as he went to taste you. Squeezing the delicate fingers of yours pink, he pressed his hips into the mattress trying to relieve some pressure. 

“Coop’! holy shit-!” He felt your walls contract around his hand, clamping down in them. He was quick to remove himself leaving you sullen and empty 

Partially to stave off an orgasm from how nimble his fingers could be. Years worth of repairs means one getting good at tasks like sewing.

“Tsk tsk tsk. Can't have my baby spoiled yet.” Cooper tutted stealing a peck from your lips.

Your lips formed a whine as he sat back licking his fingers clean. “Ain't right if I can't have some fun too, hm? Ain't that right, sugar.” His lips twitched into a smirk as he unclasped his unruly belt wiggling down the rough denim over his ass and thighs. He splayed his legs and sat back on his haunches, eyes flicking back up. He wasn't bigger than average, but he was certainly thicker. A pert and red head with pulsing green veins that ran down the side. his legs and hips were surprisingly less marred than the rest of his body, resulting in just a light texture on his cock. 

“You're awfully quiet now sweetheart, see something you like?” He teased, prowling his way back up your form, his lips mapping the thin and light scars on your smooth skin. 

He slid his member along your folds bumping his head against your clit. “Ain't you just hot n’ bothered, hm sweetheart?” 

He could feel you trying to squeeze down around nothing desperately looking for something to work on your arousal with. 

“Roll over for me, pup.” This came out as a snarl, a harsh command from the sweetness he usually treated you with. He spat into his hand. Rubbing it along his shaft as a makeshift lube. 

You laid there ass exposed to the warm light. Your knees pressed into the mattress below.

The cowboy readied his condition to be that of a sour patch kid, enticed to show vulnerability but apprehensive enough to snap. A high emotional state for him.

He watched your ass bounce as you turned, your head cushioned by your pillows. You stared at him from behind. Those big eyes of yours would be the inevitable death of him. He filled a palm with your flesh squeezing it gently before quickly smacking it. 

The force made it jiggle again, the sounds of the slaps sounding sharp and sour. His warm hands palmed the fullness of your reddened ass rutting himself between your cheeks. 

“God I could just cum just like this, all over this gorgeous ass of yours.” Cooper sighed, bending forward for a better angle. 

“‘s your choice” your voice slurred- giving away the concentrated effort not to beg like a bitch in heat. 

His hand was quick, the slap left your skin tingling. “I don't take backtalk well miss. If there's something you want, we ask for it- politely. The ncr hadn't brought back the old worlds manners with it as well I see. I’ll make a respectable woman out of you yet.” 

You snorted, “ain't no manners when you were raised with a gun in your hand. I'm not a common whore from the strip. I'm an educated whore.”

“Damn right.” He growled with a swift serving of pain to your ass. He pinched it and jiggled it slightly. He stopped for a moment in a split decision, bowing his head and kissing the skin under his hand, “sorry.” heaving a sigh from the bottom of his chest. “ It's a shame this gotta end so soon.” 

“You don't have to go just yet coop’” you attempted to reassure the older man “you can stay at my place if you'd like. Didn't know you were having this much fun tossin’ the sack. Seemed…casual to me.” 

“I'm only human, ain't we supposed to be social creatures doc?”  his hands smoothed over your back. The gesture was meant to be reassuring, a peace offering beforehand. 

“ ‘pose so. Alright then, I don't get how this relates to you fucking me raw soon.” you teased, turning your head to the side of a pillow to gaze back at him, a slight coyness to your lowered lashes. 

“It ain't.”  his mouth fused mostly together into a wide and glistening smile, seemed a bit wider- cheeky almost. “Since you asked so nicely…” he trailed off, the head of his member rubbing against the folds of your entrance. “What was it you wanted? Gee I don't remember- maybe the radiation is getting to me after all- you're gonna have to remind me.” 

You shoved your hips back in a retort- trying to capture all of him just from the sensation of his members head prodding your entrance. 

“Oho!” He chuckled softly “getting feisty aren't we.”  You felt the warmth behind you fade. You looked back in confusion. The vaquero bowed, kissing a splotch of red on your ass. “Eyes forward, doc.” He commanded, and so his will, will be.  Behind you he rustled, searching for something, he hummed quietly once he found it, his lasso.  The ghoul fastened a hangman's knot at the end of the rope tying it between your ankles and knees. Another loop and knot at your hip then over a shoulder and under an arm. So when he pulled back he would pull all of you. He went back to rummaging, pulling a pair of stockings out of your sock drawer, loosely tying them around your wrists, an odd touch of care considering that the rope already bit at your skin. “Now are you gonna behave? Or must I do this the hard way. 

“I'll certainly try my best” you tilted your hips up, popping your back. “Can't promise much from one so ornery as myself.”

“Well then if you act up I'll just cum on your ass. Fair deal?” he spread your lips apart, broaching your entrance. His other hand dipped in front of you pressing down on your stomach to avoid initial cramping. 

You gasped and grit your teeth. “fair deal.” 

“Ain't you a gentleman then coop, your hands quite a nice temperature” 

“Thank you” he purred, adjusting his hips as he sank into you, “just the polite thing to do when you don't have lube.” 

His hand shifted to your clit, pinching gently at the sensitive nub. Heat bloomed like hot house poinsettias at your core. He grunted at your walls clasping down and memorizing everything about him. 

“Ain't you nice and tight.” The cowboy hummed, wiping at his brow. “This is gonna take forever if you don't relax.”

And oh God did you feel wonderful. Tight to the center with just a bit of friction enough to cling onto him. 

“Ain't much relaxing to do when you're pumped up on jet.” You lowered the floor of your stomach trying to accommodate his length.

“Ain't that so? Just looks like we’ll have to do some forcin’ huh?” He shifted his hips out ever so slightly and eased his way back in. Slow and comfortably, he manually stretches you out. You moaned out into the pillow beneath you, leisurely thrusts scraping against your walls. You clung to him like a glove, his balls merely tapped against your vulva. A warm soreness hit the back of your core as he tugged the rope down onto him.the fibers bit your sides, neck, and hips, searing their marks of claim onto you. He leaned forward, the sink slow but hitting the back of your cervix, your sex made a soft squishy sound as he hit hilt, panting like a feral mongrel dog. 

“God I hope this is what heaven feels like-” he sighed, rolling his hips. 

The cowboys sunburnt peach skin flushed a blotchy red around his cheeks. “m gonna come to visit more often- just to cum in this pretty hole of yours.” 

“You've got an awfully dirty mouth coop’” you teased, sneaking a smile behind the round of your ass. This wasn't the first time the older ghoul had asked for favors, but always always always he cried like it had. 

“not true, I followed my momma's instructions to brush my teeth every night” his grin peaked to the side. Hand quick as a flash landing itself on your rump, you let out a little oof. 

“your momma did a piss poor job then..”  You retort, lowering your chest to hit a more connected angle. 

His knees settled down in-between your thighs. Spread apart with the rough indented and textured skin of his bare skin. 

  He settled back in his calves, his hand lazily finding its way back to your clit massaging it in small pulses, pinched beneath his thumb and forefinger. 

With his hips settled back, the top of his head slid against one of your sweet spots, sending pulses like a fiddle string down your spine.

You burrowed deeper into the pillow, stifling the moans that threatened to spill from your lips. 

He held a hand to your side that was surprisingly gentle. He bowed his head and curled inward- kissing the small on your back. 

“This ok with you? May I get a little faster?” the ghoul has asked. 

You let out a grunt of approval, backing your hips fully on his member. At this pace you became playful lifting your hips at the last second, eeking soft whines of content through his teeth. He tipped his head back, coopers warm hands snuck under the rope to brace your hip.

“Agh, fuck.” The rasps he made ached in your throat. “Darlin I can't do this, flip over.” 

and so you did. 

Between his ribs there settles a faint green glow, like some sort of demented lightning bug. 

Cooper worked at getting the lower ropes off your legs allowing some freedom, but kept the ones that framed your chest. Your hand tied up to the bedpost like a malfunctioning bungee cord.

“There you are.” The ghoul cupped your cheek, his thumb drew small circles into its hollow. You laced your legs behind his calves as he entered again, precoating your walls with pre-come.the cowboys eyes became half lidded and fluttered, he was going insane just being inside you.  His hips were an attempt at a measured pace, speeding up every once in a while to keep you on your toes. 

The older man leaned down to kiss you, his lips and hands clung to you with a sense of rushed intimacy. The smell of your sweat clung to his rope and to his skin promising domesticated life of sorts, if he just stayed. 

You hitched your knees up above his hips, the edge of the bed thumping into the wall behind you. Cooper leveraged himself a bit more sinking in quickly making your thighs sting. 

 He quickly rutted his hips, the ghouls hands cupping your contorted face as clicks of irradiated sweat fizzed around you. 

You felt light headed, a dull throbbing pulsed through your mind. You could barely keep your eyes open to hold contact without them shutting or rolling back in their sockets. 

“Coop-” you whispered, “holy shit I'm close- you're gonna break me sweetheart -”

“Ain't that so? That's a shame hm? That you have to wait?” 

“No-” you whined, clenching your jaw “no please- coop- don't-” your mind ran like a panicked rabbit instinctively rocking your hips back down. Sticky sweat clung to you, droplets sidling down your hips like a rain shower. You sounded exhausted, covering up your eyes with an arm as you continued to mindlessly back into him

 His hand drew circles on your hip, moving up to your lower belly and pressing down. Cooper raised his arm up to wipe the sweat off his brow. 

“Want you to feel every little sensation.” His tone was staccato and clipped. “God you're so tight- enjoying yourself huh?” his smile grew as he watched you melt into a puddle before him.

“Coop-” something ripped out of the bottom of your chest, vicious and animalistic, you barred your teeth, squeezing around him taut as wire. 

The cowboy was relentless, teeth sinking down into the alcove of your neck monitoring the fogginess of your pupils 

The light flooding the windows with gold sunk down to a murky violet, a bright orange sun sitting center on the smoky horizon like an unfried egg.

“I'm so close, baby.” he pleaded in a soft tone “just a bit more.” 

Your grip tightens on him. “Coop I can't-” your sentences slur, your mind cramping from a quick release. Your walls pulse repeatedly. Your lips pull back, framing yellowed gritted teeth. 

He leans back, Pawing at your chest on his haunches. His hips patterned like a bumpy ride on a caravan, a two tap system as he stretched through the tighter ring near your cervix. Everything in his mind screamed to knock you up, a sham of the biological drive to have children and settle down. He would hope the call of domesticism would be satisfied by orgasm. A measly offering at best

He leans down, licking up the side of your chin and gathering a drop of sweat. He groaned softly, his hips jutting and staying there for a second. Your walls cramped down around him begging for another release. His hips slowed to an easy trot, keeping the pace steady and easy on your walls. His head curled into your neck, wheezing quietly like a ghoul on the verge of ferality. Cooper throbbed and pulsed, knotting his limbs into yours. You could feel every ridge and crease of him inside you, memorizing it like a map.the sides of your walls stung with arousal and numbness from overstimulation, it was a very fantastic and overwhelming sensation.The older man groaned into your ear as you squeezed down again on him. Completely entranced by the way you felt around him. His lower lip jutted out as he chewed at the side of it. His eyes were soft round and watery, bright white sclera seeped with yellow and red in their inner corners. The bed creaked softly underneath the relatively gentle rocking. The ghoul kissed up your neck, keening out into the crest of your ear. “God I think I may come sooner than expected” he grunted nibbling on the outer shell of your ear. He felt like he left orbit, and his skin set aflame. He set his body flush against yours, the lower half of his belly pressed against your clit. You flinched at the sensation, shooting lightning bolts down your thighs and heating up the already soggy air around you. Your legs peddled and extended down intending the sheets, flexing around his hips to tugging at the mix of stockings that held your arms back. Cooper's movements became a lot more quick and erratic, slamming himself down to sheathe his length fully, crying into the alcove of your neck, he shook as he wheezed our breaths of submission to the will of domesticity. He pushed his hips forward, the ropes of cum painted your walls. He pinched his lower base and jerked off into you, pressing everything into your folds. The ghoul then lowered his head and kissed you, the hiccuping sensation of rocking his hips back into yours due to a stimulant that was so salivating to him. 

“God, doc. What a trip, and what a treat you are.” 

“Have I made you a changed man, cooper?” you could barely keep your eyes open a fucked out sort of exhaustion taking hold 

The older man shrugged, “I'll sleep on it and consider.” 

He sighed, reaching over for a towel that lay on the ground and pulling out, and cleaning you up. He tossed the towel again, and landed himself next to you. “c'mere’ I'm not evil enough to leave you short handed.” He curled around you, his hand fitting in the crease of your hip. And that's where he stayed until dawn.

[menacingmetal]

daddy issues but make it everyone else’s problem

[fischerfrey]

the vaulties, day 03:

blorbo-est oc

an event by @hphmmatthewluther

and the vaultie goes to... roe malinda!

i have many blorbos (olyvar, verna, and henry to mention a few runner-ups) but this one was a no-brainer. i love my cursed child so much!

declan rovere belongs to @potionboy3

A Brief History;

Roe was born in 1996 to unknown parents. She was rescued and adopted by Verna Malinda during the Second Wizarding War, and Verna took to calling them Rowan after her friend Rowan Khanna, since she didn’t know what the baby’s name was.

After the war, Verna and Merula raised Roe together, despite finding out that the child was cursed and accidentally caused the death of his grandmother. The exact nature of the curse was unclear, but it bestowed the child with uncontrollable powers. Verna took it upon herself to break one last curse, and started to research ways of freeing Roe from whatever afflicted her as a baby.

In Hogwarts, Roe was sorted into Slytherin. They learned to control the curse enough to be able to attend normally. He also wore an amulet that kept the curse at bay, to an extent. They made friends with Ivy Warrington and Daniel Page, having many adventures together. During his sixth year, Roe begun to date Declan Rovere, though the relationship was a bit of a rollercoaster all through school, not least because Declan’s father lead a coup to capture power in the Wizarding World, becoming the Minister of Magic in 2014.

[endlessly-cursed]

the vaulties; the blorbo-est oc(s)

primrose gray; my second oc and the most popular, she has taken over my life and i've fallen for her and her story completely. She's my ultimate blorbo and she'll always be in my heart 🥰

lucie cromwell; the time-traveller, i love exploring both of her sides: the rennaisance one and the victorian one. She also adapts quickly and her story is tole by the best writer! She's that iconic

adonis demiurgos; my first gryffindor boy, He's a Greek immigrant and someone who acts cocky and nonchalant, but is someone who's afraid of love and ends up finding love in the last person he expected. He's amazing and I love him

jude dubois; a single mother, a judge and lawyer, an erudite and highly intellectual woman, she ends up finding herself and bettering herself and overcoming everything. I love her 🥹

elodie dubois; the first of her line to actually go places in the medicine world, despite her heartbreak and single motherhood, she ends up being important in voldemort's downfall and making one interesting dynasty.

diana somerset; she grew up with everything she wanted, yet she grew up lonely and feeling like she didn't truly belonged wherever she was. Her storyline is a TBD but I love where she's going! Can't wait to see how else she surprises me 💙

nesta ymir; she's a TBD but her tragic storyline is amazing and I can't wait to get to her story with her twin sister melinöe 🤭

Hosted by @hphmmatthewluther

[unfortunate-arrow]

The Vaulties | Day 4: Angst

William Devlin’s story is riddled with angst and it’s all tied to his illegitimacy. He’s hyperaware of the fact that, according to the social niceties, he should not exist. He’s almost always left feeling like he wants the floor to open up and swallow him, none more so than his arranged engagement which also causes him a ton of angst.

The Lynch twins and the canon timeline are one of my original angst moments. Tadhg’s murder has only become more complicated and in many ways, more tragic over the past year or so. Cillian has gone from being the murderer to being wrongfully imprisoned because of a chaotic duel. It’s also a moment that goes on to affect Cillian’s great-great-grandchildren, Cian, Ryan, Cara, Sara, and Conor.

As the eldest son, Edmund Kennedy took on a lot after his father was murdered. It didn’t help that he was there when Ferdia Kennedy died and was the last one to talk him. This moment affected Ed a lot more than it did his twin sister, Minerva. He’s the one who tried to take on everything and just sorta shut down. He also has the ability to see thestrals.

There might be 120 years and three generations between them, but Max Pembroke and his great-great-granddaughter, Sophie, have a lot in common when it comes their family structure. They’re both the eldest of three and forced to become a sort of surrogate parent due to their single parent having a shitty boss. They both lost a parent before the age of 10. Max’s little sister, Aoife, goes deaf after suffering from the measles when Max was twelve and home alone. Sophie’s father has a stroke when she’s 16 and away at Hogwarts.

Luke Battersea is the sole survivor of the dark wizard attack that ended with the deaths of his family. He was six. He spent the next two years bouncing between relatives, with most not knowing how to handle the young, grieving boy and passing him off to the next one like a hot potato… or the Baudelaire orphans. He was eventually taken in by a second cousin once removed (or something like that...) and this boy is testing them so hard.

Rory O’Neill is my only kiddo to have two ships. He’s got a lot of other angst, what with being a street kid and not knowing what has become of his sisters. But, it’s the loss of his first wife, Francesca, that’s his greatest angst. He loses her at a time that is supposed to be joyous. They’re celebrating the birth of their first child, a son. And Rory is so heartbroken by her death. He doesn’t take off his wedding ring until his son is nine and even then, he always has it close to him.

Honorable Mention: The O’Donnell quadruplets. This might be cheating a bit, but these four have so much angst and much of it is heaped onto poor Conor. But there’s also an overarching angst from the loss of their parents and grandparents to living with the uncle they’ve never met to the Vaults.

→ Hosted by @hphmmatthewluther

[cannibalcreeps]

Wait we can request fallout stuff… can we see Jeremy and Edward Deegan interact? :) honk honk

Absolutely welcome to send in requests, my inbox is open <3

Once again Jeremy has struck fear into the commonwealths hearts! Whilst Deegan is confused why of all creatures, that is still around.

[wrr000]

"like a shadow"

Summary: The ghoul you hired for protection liked you more than both of you would expect.

Warnings: english isn't my first language; really short; it's from my Cooper x oc fic, but idk if I should post chapters here; pure soft; inner thoughts; reader is similiar to Lucy

»»————-　♡　————-««

You finally made it to town. Walking thru the wasteland felt like an endless journey while burning sun was always watching every step of foolish humans, who dared to cross these lands. And it wasn't the only threat waiting for your mistep. You earned that stop to rest and gather strength. He deserved it as well.

This place was pretty civilian. By the standards of the wasteland, of course. People were trying to live a "normal" life and some constantly pretended like The Great War never happened. You didn't mind it as long as they didn't act suspicious towards you. Besides, he was here and that made you feel... safe. Kinda. Weird nonetheless.

He was the one who announced parting ways in town and you kindly agreed (like you had a choice).

"I'm goin' to check what chems they got here, think you can handle things on your own, Vaultie" - usual smirk appeared on his fucked up face.

That ghoul was driving you insane. Even after paying him for escort and protection he was still threatening you and bitching around that he actually doesn't care about you and if something big is going to happened - his life goes first, not you. But the sad truth was - you couldn't really blame him.

Ironically, someone like him turned out to be the kindest thing you met since reaching the surface. He was terriyfing, cruel and nothing alike anyone from the Vault. But as time passed, you saw something more in him, under that hard shell and feeling of fear passed. His action were still shocking to you, but wasteland has it's own rules and you started to understand that.

It wasn't a suprise that Cooper didn't want to walk around the town. You felt like he couldn't stand you. But it was fine, you kinda enjoyed exploring and discovering the town alone. Just like the good old times as a child in the Vault.

Little you knew that you had a shadow. Unaware of a pair of penetrating eyes watching your every graceful move. Your smile was the brightest on the whole planet and every small gesture was full of passion. Analizing you very carefuly. You didn't saw him, but he saw you perfectly.

It was hard for the ghoul to admit it to himself that he grew fond of you during your journey together. Very hard. Worst, poor bounty hunter realized that he had a soft spot for a stupid naive Vaultie. Thankfully, you didn't notice anything and he could suffer in silence.

You reminded him of a long gone humanity. Always kind and polite, naive as hell, delusional and annoying. You even never judged him for being a ghoul! Ohhh, how he hated you, but loved at the same time. You were like his human half, a long lost part. He knew you wouldn't last long out there, people like you never lasted long.

Cooper took this job for money of course. You offered a good amount of caps and it was equal with massive stock of chems. But now, he thougth to himself, it would be a shame if something happened to you, right? That's why he was doing an "extra" job. Always watching, even if he didn't had to, always protecting you, even if you didn't noticed it.

In a long long long time the ghoul felt like a human again. It was pissing him off, but he missed that feeling. Well, he missed his whole previous life actually, more than he would like, but you kinda started to filling that void inside his ghoulish heart. Slowly.

[littlewriters-posts]

My Experiment 2 - Cooper Howard/Ghoul x OC

Part one here

Plot: Cooper meets a strange sweet girl from his past, wondering how someone that kind has managed to survive the place like this. He tried to forget her, but she keeps coming back.

Warning: None

It had been 30 years. 30 years since Cooper last saw Addy. He didn't think anything of her of course, after being stuck in a coffin for 30 years, he felt no reason to think of the past.

Things like that only brought pain.

After leaving Addy's shop behind, Cooper realised he had never actually told her his name. But did it matter? The likelihood of him seeing her again was very limited. She was probably dead and buried, 30 years was a lot longer than the average life expectancy.

Or so he thought.

The second time he met Addy, he was exhausted.

After letting the dog trail after him, he was on the hunt for yet another Valutie that had ventured out into the open, and had this time taken a head of a very important scientist.

But he had acquired a dog, who was following the scent.

All of a sudden, the dog gave a harsh bark, before scampering harshly to the right.

Cooper frowned "What is it boy? Picked up a scent?"

The dog carried on sniffing, walking with its nose buried in the path.

"goddamn it," The ghoul muttered, realising he was going to have to follow that damn dog whether he liked it or not.

What surprised him, however, was that after a while the dog barked again, this time at a shop.

A rather long shop, with a pink sign. It hadn't changed a bit in the last 30 years.

"Well I'll be darned," Cooper muttered, pushing the door.

He was met with the same calming smile, and cheeky eyes that he was all those years ago.

"Well I live and breath," Addy smiled, her hands on her hips "Ain't you a sight for sore eyes,"

Cooper raised his eyebrows "You weren't kidding about the no aging then hey," he said. He wasn't wrong, Addy seemed not to have aged a single day since he last saw her.

She shrugged "If 200 years is the equivalent to my body clock aging 10, I'd say I got a fair few left in me,"

"You haven't seen a girl walk through here have you? A vaultie?" he asked.

Addy shook her head "No Vaultie here Mr Howard, I think I'd know,"

Cooper eyed her suspiciously "Dogmeat here was tracking the scent ya see, dragged me to here,"

Addy nodded "Ah, yeah erm..." she paused, looking at the dog with adoration "I'm like a magnet to a compass for dogs I'm afraid. They seem to really like my scent,"

Cooper blinked at her and she sighed.

"I'm part wolf Mr Howard. That's the animal they chopped me up with?"

Cooper rolled his eyes, is temper flaring as he glared at the dog. "Stupid," he muttered angrily.

Addy shrugged "Well, you're here now sugar, so what do you need?"

"To get going, I gotta track that damn kid," Cooper said gruffly. He thought about mentioning that she was related to Addy, but decided better of it.

Addy set down a vial of Radway and a mug of steaming hot cocoa in-front of him. "Suns gone down sugar, I'd stay here if I were you,"

Cooper looked outside with a sigh, she was right of course.

"How many favours do I owe for this?" he asked in a teasing nature.

Addy winked at him "On the house honey,"

Cooper watched as she sauntered to the front door, looking outside, before shutting it, and starting on the many locks.

"I never gave you my name you know," he said "So how did ya get it?" he couldn't help but wonder if she really knew who he was, if she'd even remember one of the many people she brought coffee too all those years ago - or if she'd even recognise him in the state he was in now.

She looked back at him, a sad smile playing on her lips "You may have changed your face a bit honey, but the eyes never changed,"

Cooper stared at her, shocked. Did she really recognise him?

"Couldn't break from the cowboy costume could ya?" she laughed. Cooper chuckled slightly.

"If there's one thing I learnt it's you gotta look the part," he said "How you been holding up the past 30 years then?"

Addy shrugged "Same old really. Couple people tried to raid me, didn't work,"

She reached up by the window and started pulling a steel meta curtain down.

"Had to up security a bit," she said.

Cooper watched as she set about locking yet another set of locks.

"Set up a shower in the back if you need it, it's not hot but I managed to get it lukewarm if you wait for a bit," she said.

Cooper raised an eyebrow "I thought you were a runner, not an inventor," he said.

She shrugged "Surprisingly I had time to kill in-between days they were picking me apart. One of the scientists actually took pity on me and started teaching me how things worked,"

"How kind," Cooper said sarcastically.

It was almost uncanny, the two of them speaking. Both thought they'd never see anyone from their past ever again and yet here they were, chatting like old friends.

"Come on, " Addy said "I'll show you to ya room,"

"You got a room for me?" he asked "How sweet,"

She rolled her eyes "Not just for you asshat, it's my room too. But you can't stay out here, it's not as safe - bring your dog too,"

Cooper eyed her "With all the locks you got on this place I'd say it's as safe as you're gonna get,"

Addy grinned "Well unlike some I like to let me guard down sometime, and it's easier to do that in a smaller space,"

Cooper tipped his hat to her, following her into the smaller room.

He didn't quite remember this room from last time, or if he did it was a lot smaller. There were two single beds, each on the opposite side of the room. In the middle a small chest of draws sat, with an old TV sat on top. Old tapes lay scattered around, some with writing on, some without.

Canned food, a dog bed, and bottles of water sat in a tidy pile in the corner of the room, along with what looked like to be extra blankets and covers as well as a first aid kit.

"Nicely stocked in here as well I see," Cooper said looking around "You expecting me?" he asked, gesturing to the dog bed and the other single bed.

Addy rolled her eyes "You that full of yourself?" she asked with a laugh "If you must know, I took in a guy for about 20 years. Him and his damn dog," she said bitterly.

"What happened?" Cooper asked carefully, sensing a sticky end to the story.

Addy shrugged "Dog died of old age, he died of an overdose," she said "Bought 5 years ago now," she added as an afterthought. "Stopped taking in strays after that,"

"I'm sorry," Cooper said sincerely. He was clever enough to not get close to people in the wasteland, but that was a lesson Addy clearly hadn't yet learned.

She waved him off "It happens. Listen I'm off in the shower. There's spare clothes and shit if you wanna get comfy in that wardrobe. Take what you need,"

Cooper watched as she left, before turning back to her little table where the TV was and rifling through the tapes.

Some made him snort, a lot of them were tapes from his good old days. Mainly ones she'd been a runner on, so they included all the behind the scenes footage.

Watching them he knew would probably make his heart break, so he neglected to put them in.

One of the tapes, seemed much newer than the rest however, a white case enclosing it.

Experiment 007 it read.

This was from her vault.

Was she Experiment 007?

He checked that the shower was still running, before putting it into the TV player.

The black screen lit up white, as a man stepped away from the camera. He was short, with glasses and a stout expression.

"Experiment 007, changing human DNA," he read "If we can get this right, it's be a big discovery, and would enable us to make more soldiers when we go atop the surface," he said confidently before stepping back.

As he stepped back, Cooper let out a low growl. For in the middle of the room was a chair, and a young lady strapped too it, her wrists, ankle and forehead strapped to the seat so she couldn't move a muscle.

He recognized her instantly, for she was still seventeen in the video, as she was when he last saw her. She was dressed in a white hospital gown, and on her lap sat a brown teddy.

She was sobbing, her eyes were red and every limb she had was shaking.

"Please no," she moaned "It hurts,"

But the man didn't care, as he leant behind a glass screen.

"Please keep still Amy, It'll be a lot easier," he commanded.

Before Cooper could even realise what was going on, a big red stream of light echoed pieced right through Addy's skull, making the back of her eyes glow.

She let out a scream of pain, the teddy falling from her lap as she cried and writhered.

Cooper took the tape out quickly, breathing heavily. He'd seen some horrible things in his lifetime, it's how he learnt that killing was a mercy, but seeing that brought back pain he didn't realise he could still feel.

"I see you found the tape," Addy said, padding out of her makeshift shower room.

"I did," Cooper said lowly "Have you-"

"Watched it?" Addy asked "Don't need to, I remember everything those fuckers did. The irony? I spent six weeks, 4 hours a day under that laser and it didn't even work. They ended up cutting my head open," she shuddered "Course didn't want to use pain relief on me, that would have been a waste,"

Cooper looked at her sadly. But Addy threw a blanket at him.

"You'll need this, it gets cold at night round here. This room is enclosed with steel - hard but cold,"

"How did you manage all this Amy?" Cooper gestured to the house "Where did you even start,"

"Don't call me that," Addy shuddered "That's not my name anymore." she sighed slightly, looking round the room. "I told ya didn't I? Favours pay a lot more than caps. Got these steel sheets from a welder I helped escape some thieves. The locks installed by some guy I gave water too when he almost died. You rule people out of fear Coop, but you'll find it's crazy what people will give you out of gratitude," she said

Cooper nodded slightly, petting Dogmeats head as he lay on his new found bed.

"You did pretty well for yourself Addy," he said.

"You didn't do too badly yourself Mr Howard," she retorted with a kind smile.

He scoffed "No-ones called me that in years, you don't need to either,"

She shrugged "Can't help it. I had posters of you on my wall when I was a kid. It's like meeting a celebrity,"

Coop snorted "Well I'll give you this, you sure have a way to make a man feel special."

Addy winked at him "I'll still be your runner girl if you need one,"

There was a brief silence as Cooper took off his jacket and boots, collapsing onto the bed with a sigh of relief. He couldn't remember the last time he had laid on an actual mattress.

"When was the last time someone looked after you doll?" he asked, looking over to Addy.

She yawned, stretching up. She was dressed in a battered T-shirt and shorts which were soon covered by the many layers of blankets she put over herself.

"Dunno Coop, not since I was five I don't think," she said "Now you get a good night sleep mister. Sleeping when you know you're safe hits different, trust me,"

Coo[ felt his heart, which hadn't felt anything for such a long time, tug slightly. He silently cursed himself. Hardening his heart to the world wasn't easy, but once everyone you loved was dead it became easier not to love again.

Unfortunately, the past is never that easy to forget, no matter how hard he tried.

He let his eyes shut, drifting off into a dreamless sleep.

He was awoken to a piecing scream. His first instinct was to grab his gun, which he had hidden under the pillow, and point it as the noise.

His second instinct was to open his eyes.

But there was no intruder, no threat. Just Addy, eyes tightly shut, screaming at the top of her lungs.

He quickly grabbed her, putting a hand over her mouth, and drawing her up to him so her back was leant against his chest.

"Shhh doll," he whispered urgently "You'll wake the fucking dead,"

Addy opened her eyes as she stopped screaming, her breathing erratic.

"I - I'm so sorry," she gasped, wiping the furiously forming tears from her face.

Cooper rocked her gently, his arms still wrapped around her shoulders.

"I take it you remember that vault a little too well," he said and she nodded.

"Every night I dream of it," she said bitterly "Been a while since I woke up screaming though. I'm so so so sorry," she pouted slightly "I wanted you to get a good nights sleep,"

Cooper shook his head, letting her lean her head back onto his shoulder as she yawned.

"Don't be sorry, I slept great," he said lowly. "Now scooch over,"

Addy frowned, but did as she was told, moving to the far left of the bed, her back pressed against the wall as she watched Cooper get comfy.

"What are you doing?" she asked. Cooper rolled his eyes, opening his arms and gesturing for her too come to him. Addy's eyes widened considerably, she knew that Cooper Howard the actor probably had a soft side, but from what she heard of Cooper Howard the Ghoul, he was more likely to kill her than comfort her.

"I might be a ghoul but I was human once," he said dryly. "So shut it and let me comfort you,"

Addy paused for a second, before shrugging. She scooted down, turning onto her side so she was cuddled up to cooper's side. It was nice, she admitted, to have such a dominate presence. It was like an extra security blanket.

"No-one would believe me if I told them The Goul had gone soft," she giggled.

"You tell em and I'll have to kill you," Cooper muttered sleepily "So keep that pretty mouth shut,"

[severedfromthesource]

The Ghoul and the Lone Wanderer

His bounty succumbs to the bottle in the night. Features F resus, M rescuer, aspirating on vomit (not described in too much detail), chest compressions, mouth to mouth, some aftercare.

( could have done this with Lucy but I feel better doing this to my own ocs lol)

The Vaultie was supposed to be some big shot from the Capitol Wastes. The Lone Wanderer. It was a title taken straight from one of his Pre-War pictures. Hell, they probably got it from some movie he no longer remembered filming and was stuffed down into a Vault during his brief tenure as their spokesman. A title kept eluding him: was it ‘The Man Who Wandered Alone’ or had it been ‘A Man Wanders Lone’? The memories were getting fuzzy.

Either way, she hadn’t been a lot of trouble. Only, she was fucking miserable company. She laid in a heap in the corner of a rusty shack they’d sheltered in for the night, her hands tied in front of herself. He’d done her one kindness which he knew would bite him, and allowed her to drink from one of the bottles in her rucksack. She had drank, and drank, and drank, until the bottle was gone and she was presently singing slurred renditions of whatever was on her PipBoy. The Ghoul huffed, dragging a hand down his face.

“Can you turn that shit off?” he said, elbows propped on his knees. “Just a plain and simple chapel,” she sang out, her voice warbling as tears slid lazily down from the corner of her eye and her temple into her hair. “Where humble people go to prayyy… mmm mh mh mhhhhmm-“ An empty bottle clattered off the wall near her head and she ducked into herself, raising her bound hands to shield her face. “I ain’t asking you again,” he snarled.

“What’ll you do if I don’t,” she mumbled, eyes fixed on him across the room. “Put a few new holes in you, for a start.” She twisted her wrists to click off the radio and curled back onto her side. But it seemed less like she was acquiescing to his demand and more like she just tired of listening to the song. She nestled into her suit, pulling the neckline to her chin. “Be doing me a favor,” she muttered, her lashes fluttering as her eyes drifted.

“I don’t know how in the goddamn I got stuck with a bounty for some drunk bluey, but I’m telling you now, cut that shit out.” The Vaultie stared at him with red rimmed eyes. He shifted awkwardly and leaned back against the wall, trying to find a comfortable position. “Go to sleep already. Shouldn’t have let you drink, s’my own damn fault.” He tipped his hat over his eyes, stretching out his legs and crossing them at the ankle. “We’re moving out in the morning and I don’t care if you’re hungover or dead. So knock it off.”

Lone sniffled softly and rolled onto her opposite side, hugging her arms to herself as much as she was able. “I wanna go home,” he heard her murmur in a quiet, broken voice. He made no reply. What reply was there to say? He wanted to go home too. Truth be told, he might’ve let her keep on caterwauling if she had been singing a different tune. But that one tugged at something, and he didn’t like the empty hole it had burrowed somewhere in his chest. I’ve searched and searched but couldn’t find- No way on earth to gain peace of mind.

He tipped his hat down over his eyes and let out a breath, crossing his arms over his chest. Lone’s breaths across the way evened out into intermittent snoring, and he ventured one last peek at her from under the brim of his hat. Tears still stood out on her cheeks, her mouth hanging loose. She was young, which meant she was probably even younger when she left the Vault and got stuck in this hellhole of a place. Poor kid. Tough break.

He settled back against the wall and closed his eyes, drifting into a dozing sort of half sleep. He never slept fully, didn’t need to except to reset his system really, so he was aware enough to snap awake if Lone tried anything. He doubted she would. She’d drank a hell of a lot. The desert air cooled as night came on and the Ghoul listened vaguely to her breathing, sort of coming in and out. He didn’t sleep deep enough to dream, yet the song echoed and there were snatches like dreams when he sank deep enough into slumber. You saw me crying in the chapel- The tears I shed were tears of joy-

The remnants of his lips pulled back in a soft snarl and he tore himself from sleep before those memories had time to sink their claws in him. Shoving his hat off, he smacked it against his knee and scrubbed at his face, trying to shake off the dust of an old life. He’d molted out of it a long, long time ago. He sat up against the wall, elbows resting on his knees, and looked over at his bounty. A few slices of moonlight slanted in through holes in the corrugated roof, and one framed her face as she slept. Her head was tipped slightly to the side, her hand by her face resting with her fingers half curled into her palm. The shack was quiet around them.

The shack was quiet around them. The Ghoul frowned. “Vaultie?” he called out to her. Her eyes were open to slits, but she hadn’t blinked. Was she still asleep? He whistled and tried again, “Hey, Vaultie.” Again, he got no reply. Ice dribbled down his back as he realized what the oppressive silence was missing; he couldn’t hear her breathing anymore. Her chest didn’t rise and fall. He pushed himself up and crossed the room in a few strides, crashing back down to his knees at her side. “Hey, hey! The fuck are you doing?”

He lightly tapped her cheek and her head tilted loosely on her neck, a dribble of clear vomit oozing out of the corner of her mouth. He realized there was a shallow puddle of stomach juices and bits of undigested food by her cheek, a dried, whitish trail by the side of her lips. The idiot bluey had vomited in her sleep, and he knew as he looked down into her slack face that she must have aspirated some. “Son a bitch,” he growled, maneuvering over her and grabbing her shoulder. He hauled her onto her side, tilting her head against the floor as more liquid expelled from her slack mouth. He slapped at her back, and when that won him nothing, he thrust his hand in against her stomach, shoving up under her ribs.

A few more gluts of foulness spilled over, but she didn’t take a breath. He hooked a finger between her teeth and swiped any remainders from her mouth and off her tongue, probing a little deeper down her throat to see if he could find any obstruction. When he came up with nothing, he rolled her onto her back again. “Cmon, blue,” he growled, tapping her cheek again, “Take a breath. This is a goddamn undignified way to die. Take a breath, kid!”

Half lidded eyes stared past him to the spots of moonlight in the ceiling. The Ghoul shucked his leather gloves and tossed them aside. He held her jaw still in one hand, probing into the soft underside of her throat with the other. He felt nothing. Her body still radiated heat, so it had to have just happened. His eyes took in her face, and he debated just leaving her here. His contractors wouldn’t like the idea he left their bounty dead in a pool of her own throw up, but they’d pay him anyway. It had been dead or alive, after all.

Now I’m happy with the Lord…

He growled and snapped her nose shut between two fingers, leaning over her to make a seal of his lips against hers. He blew a hot breath into her mouth and her cheeks rounded, throat bulging slightly as it shot down into her lungs. He tilted his head to lean his ear over and watched her chest deflate, satisfied it had gone in. Recycled air sighed out against his cheek and he turned before it had fully left her to force another breath into her. He wiped a bit at the dried streaks at the corners of her mouth, her pale lips brushing his knuckles.

Only good thing about the goofy Vault suits Tec made them wear, it at least made this next part easier. He grabbed the zipper and tore it down to below her belly button, but froze. Normally folks wore a simple shirt underneath so the material didn’t stick to their skin; at the very least, women in these suits wore bras. He saw the ghastly white stripe of her body underneath, and he paused as he saw her round breasts were exposed. The Ghoul shook himself out of it. When had he ever been the type to ogle an unconscious woman? A dead woman, no less. She needed help. He parted the suit and rolled it a bit down her shoulders, over her bloodless breasts. He pressed his ear against her sternum and confirmed she had no pulse. Her skin pressed soft against his ruined cheek, and she smelled like soap, instead of the sour body odor and sweat of most wastelanders. He grit his teeth and growled in frustration before sitting back up.

He laced his fingers together and planted them between her breasts, and he pushed back the momentary, fleeting thought that noticed his fingers folded over one of her nipples. He shoved forcefully against her ribcage and her shoulders shrugged inward, her body rocking under his hands with each thrust. One, two, three, four. He was transported briefly to the set of ‘A Learned Man’, when he had played Dr Henry Dogood. Stupid fucking name he’d always hated. The flaxen haired ingénue had suffered from a broken heart and died in his arms. They must have done a dozen takes: she kept fluttering her eyelashes during CPR, they wanted more emotion from Cooper, she kept needing breaks. The shoot had lasted nearly all day. This was different. It felt worse.

Mimi Roan wasn’t actually dead. She’d get up after every take, usually for a cigarette break that would make the shoot last even longer. He could feel her chest rise as she tried to take little breaths. The compressions had mostly consisted of him throwing his body against her upper chest and crying into camera. But Lone… She was dead. It was impossible to ignore. Her head bobbed in time, the hand by her face tapping gingerly against her cheek as the blows shifted her body. Her body. Fuck, it was a body he was pounding on, not Mimi Roan waiting for the director to say cut. She could die. He could kill her. Or be the reason she didn’t come back, at least.

He reached fifteen and hesitated. He couldn’t remember the protocol. He’d done so much research to play Dr Dogood, but most of it had been thrown out in the final script to make room for their overdramatized plot devices. He knew the rules were different if you had a partner or you were alone. Thirty if you have someone to give breaths. Fifteen if you’re alone. Whether or not that was the case he made the decision it was and bent over her, pulling her jaw open to give her another breath. Air hissed out of the corners of her mouth and her cheeks popped with a little huff whenever he finished giving her oxygen, and he felt the cool, stale air ghost against his cheek. Her chest remained still.

“Useless fucking Vaultie,” he grunted as he returned to her chest. He dug the heel of his palm a bit against her ribs as he settled back into position. “You’re no Mimi Roan, I’ll tell you that much. Mimi Roan wouldn’t go out choking on her own puke. Pathetic.” He shoved especially hard, one rough thrust into her heart that made her whole body jump. “You’re goddamn pathetic! Whining and carrying on like you done. I should leave your ass here.”

He paused, both because he felt a lick of guilt at yelling at a dead woman and because he was losing breath yelling and compressing at the same time. For a while the only sounds in the shack were the rhythmic thumps of her body against the concrete and his soft noises of exertion. Twelve, thirteen, fourteen, fifteen. Two breaths.

He glanced down at the watch on her PipBoy as he knelt there, drawing in shallow gulps of air for himself. He hadn’t noted the exact time he found her, but if he had to guess, it had been about twenty minutes since he started pumping her heart for her. The Ghoul dragged his hand over his face. The learned gentleman himself Dr Dogood echoed somewhere in his mind: “Brain death usually occurs after fifteen minutes without oxygen. Poor Rochelle never stood a chance out here on her own. This world... Poor, poor Rochelle.”

He gripped her by the jaw, squashing her cheeks up towards her eyes, still hanging half mast. “Vaultie,” he grit between his teeth, “Get up. Wake up right now. Right now. Otherwise I… I’ll…” He pursed his lips. Not much could be worse than this. Regardless, he swung his arm back and slapped her hard across the face. Her head jerked to the side and stayed there. The crack of skin on skin reverberated and lingered in the air of the old shack, like it got caught between the concrete and the metal roof and didn’t know how to dispel. Her cheek didn’t redden. He assumed, somewhere distantly, that you needed circulation in order to redden after a strike. He backhanded her the other way anyway. Her head dutifully snapped that way, and his hand stung numbly.

“Get up,” he insisted, clenching a fistful of her Vault suit and dragging her chest up. The rest of her hung limp. “Blue… Lone, goddamnit, wake up!” He crashed his hands back into her chest, her ribs bowing under each strike against her heart and snapping back up in recoil. Her forced exhalations huffed against a strand of hair that had fallen across her face as he squeezed every last bit of oxygen she had left in her lungs out. Something gave way and her sternum softened with every pump.

He roughly snatched at her face once more and took in a lungful of air, forcing it into her starving lungs. He took another, shallower sip of air and gave her that too, not allowing her lungs to fully empty before he did it again. The quick round of hyperventilating breaths left him short on air himself and he sat there a moment, holding her face, his forehead pressed to the cool concrete near her head. “Come on, blue,” he whispered against the shell of her ear.

It was then he heard the shaky intake of air. The Ghoul jolted slightly and lifted his head to look down at her. Her eyes were closed, brow pinched in pain or exhaustion or both, as she breathed shallowly. He pressed his palm flat between her breasts and felt her sluggish heartbeat thudding. He rubbed his knuckles against the line there, over the colorful bruise that had developed from his hands crushing her organ back to life. She moaned, head lolling to the side.

“Hey,” he said, urgency creeping into his voice. “Good, that’s it. Good girl. Easy… take it easy…” He brought his hand up to lay against her throat and feel the pulse he had won back. A performance that put Dr Dogood to shame. He’d lost his patient in the end. A delirious sort of adrenaline fueled vindication rose in him and he sat up on his heels to whoop, “Hoo! Hot damn!” and bubble over with laughter. He fell back on his ass, only now registering how out of breath he felt, how weak his arms felt. His shoulders and back were screaming, and he was sure his abdomen was going to be tight as a drum tomorrow. He looked down at his bounty as she lay there, and started a bit to see she was looking up at him blearily.

“I wanna go home,” she whispered with a broken, cracked little voice. The Ghoul laughed again. “Darlin’ you almost went home to meet your maker.” But he looked down into her shining, almost fevered gaze. It was hard to be cruel with her in this state. He reached over and zipped her suit back up, covering the mark he’d made in the center of her chest. He shifted to roll her onto her side, a pack under her head. Then he took her wrist in his lap and flicked through her PipBoy back to the holotape player. He hit play, and sat with his scarred fingers slid in between hers.

You saw me crying in the chapel…

[brimbrimbrimbrim]

The Seed of Human Kindness (The Ghoul/F!OC)

CHAPTER ONE/TWO/THREE/FOUR/FIVE/SIX

Summary: The Ghoul stumbles upon a piece of walkin' talkin' meat out in the Boneyard. Instead of eating her, he takes her on as his personal traveling chef. Only this chef is a smoothskin vaultie looking for the seed of human kindness, which is exactly what it sounds like, though comin' from a Vault of all women, she's gonna take some convincing on where to find it.Tags: Cannibalism, Sadism, Body Horror, Misandry, Dehumanization, Vault Experiments, Vault Dweller, Cunnilingus, Cum Play, Rough Sex, Power Dynamics, Breeding Kink, Explicit Sexual Content, Voyeurism, Non-consensual Exhibitionism, Sexual Awakening, Canon-Typical Violence, POV Male Character

A/N: This is nasty. Please heed all the tags for your fair warning before reading.

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The Los Angeles Census Bureau looks about as inviting as it did in the seventies: a delightful courtyard of bones and failed dreams bordered by brutalist cement beds spilling with dead flowers. As he and his spurs jingle-jangle up the pavilion, a decayed hand staked between two dead bushes catches his eye. A blooming stalk of bleached bone, phalanges bent into a middle finger like some 'fuck you' posey straight out of the afterlife. Call him a presentist, but just the fuckin' sight of it makes his lip curl. 

'Fuck the establishment, indeed.'

The Ghoul's been following this endless trail for a while now; turning over these little slices of American bureaucracy is just another dot on the map, but a barbeque on the wind has urged his heels into a proper trot. Hungry as he is. Savory, smokey… mouthwatering, bringing to mind Saturday cook-outs with Barb and Janey, that ol' good boy Roosevelt at his heels, waiting for burnt hotdog tails and the stray charred burger as the martinis pile up. Those good times were lived by another man playing a good old American boy role. Those bygone memories come like a miasma: toxic. It's delicious in its own right, and he's just lucky the aroma seems to be coming from this building right here. A 'kill two birds with one stone' scenario, it would seem. 

He can hear the muffled commotion of chaos inside and the clatter of something heavy. Judging by the reverb, a bullet snaps concrete. It must've hit wiring too because the sign above those broken doors flickers—time-yellowed plastic covering a photon tubing of loops and flourishes. 

'The American dream…'

A broken, clipped shriek presses out the thin crack of busted glass and splinted wood ahead of him. 

'Oh, if life ain't grand.' 

What once were crying mothers standing in the breadline are mothers on the breadline, he thinks, some of that ol' Cooper Howard making a show again. He pushes that moralistic nuisance down and surveys the exterior once more, and… judging by the crude bullseye bloodstains on a single Brahmin skull, used creatively to keep the doors ajar (not to mention the smell)… they're cookin' folks on a spit inside. Fiends, most like…

Still, two hundred years later, the LACB is where folks get eaten alive every day.

Quiet-like, The Ghoul enters Feind territory, The Gun heavy front and center.

The aroma of fatty meat, both freshly shorn and sour, curls under his nasal ridge, drawing him through the decayed lobby. He steps carefully, spurs quite over toppled queue barriers, avoiding broken glass and crunchy piles of clothes. There's a burnt stroller with tiny bones and floral blankets he chooses to ignore, giving them and its mother's remnants a wide berth, focusing intently on the triangle of flickering firelight cutting from the ajar breakroom door. 

Silent as a corpse, The Ghoul leans into the doorway, The Gun raised, and takes in the gruesome scene he's seen a hundred times, both worse and better but never benign. Eventually, someday, he won't feel sick at the sight of such horrors. Who's to say whether that'll be a good day or not?

There's five of them, counting a naked woman hanging from a crude bleeding rail, 'cept she ain't being bled out, just cut down slow and sweet, as if the fear and pain is the finest marinade. Her body jolts, and another wail rattles his eardrums as a rail-thin Fiend saws off another strip of thigh meat from her bucking body, tits bouncing with delicate pockets of curvy fat jiggling deliciously. 

The Ghoul's stomach growls, and something else further south twitches, but his empty belly is more worried about being without food for much longer. Nothing but vials and rainwater means he's more inclined to find human flesh aromatic. Thankfully, the pretty rotisserie's screams are so fucking loud it makes his unceremonious entrance nigh fuckin' soundless. There's no reason to announce himself anyway—no reason to keep any of 'em alive for questioning since he's sure none of these boneheads have worked a computer system before, let alone know how to read logs.

The first slug blasts a hole into the back-head of the closest one: a suit-wearing twitchy son of a bitch sitting by the fire. Their brains spray across their friend's face, who yips as some chunky bits catch with a hiss in the fire. With the second one blinded by brain matter, The Ghoul turns at the hip and blows off the arm of a ratty-headed man still beating his own meat to dinner being sliced and spitted. A shot from his rotating revolver beneath the jawline into the brain puts that one down, even though chems seemed to have ruined it already. 

That leaves two left. 

The blind bastard's still swiping grey slop, blood, and skull chips from his eyes as his buddy rushes on The Ghoul's left with a sticky knife, leaving the girl to sway on her ropes, panting and cursing the Lord's name. This one's mean, sadistic… having enjoyed eating that smoothie alive. He's got janky teeth bared like an ape, poised and ready to take The Ghoul to his grave… again. 'Course, a quick backhand of The Gun stock puts him to the ground with a yelp, and two .357s to the chest keep him there. 

'Three down. One to go,' he muses, cracking his neck with a grunt as the last one curses and snarls. Still blind but jet-fueled, his eyes open and swimming in red offal, the remnants of his hit still smoking out his mouth. He stands like some western cowboy at a sunset showdown. The man even looks the part with two bandoliers and some sweet cowboy boots. Cooper Howard smiles with his straight white chompers as the Fiend tries to unholster a gun that ain't there, spewing nonsense through his teeth, but Coop's dead and gone. 

"Ugghh—fuggin'ghoul, ruin'dinna!"

The Ghoul's grin turns ugly and strong. He's the gunslinger—the outlaw—death personified by time and decay—somethin' outta Hollywood again, just not the good guy. 

With a snap, aim, and trigger pull, the last little Fiend's no more than maggot-meal slumped over The Ghoul's first empty-headed victim. Their dinner has been officially ruined, well… more like taken over. With the barrel still hot, The Ghoul turns to the naked smoothie with a careful eyeful of flesh, ignoring the way her gaze squints in fear before surveying his efforts with frenzied understanding. She's either gonna die or she ain't, and it's clear which one she thinks is 'bout to happen.

"P-please… please. I-I can… I can-"

"Hush those tears now, sweetheart," The Ghoul cuts her off, wetting his lips for a dry whistle before holstering The Gun, "I ain't here to eat ya." Though he turns to the fire, drawn in by the smell of cooked meat and sustenance—the promise of a full belly and a level head for a time… it'd just take a half-pound of juicy, tender-

'No… not yet.' 

It takes a heaping spoonful of willpower to turn away, to look back at her without seeing a hanging steak, begging him to sink his fangs in, tear apart, and swallow hole. But The Ghoul manages, somehow. With a Cheshire grin, he thumbs his hat up, brim lifted to show off his radiated smile—proof he means no harm. And when her breath slows and her eyes shine over his chops, he's only slightly surprised to find her more curious than afraid.

"Welp, it seems your dinner guest's got a little too careless, leavin' the door open like that an' all. Could be anyone come walking through those doors."

He takes a step closer, daring her to scrunch her nose in disgust, though she just blinks… some old tears falling off her lashes. Minus some missing meat, a bloodied face, one shiner, and… maybe two weeks of constant immune system shock, she's too healthy lookin' to be anything but a Vaultie. A pretty little thing that only good food, shelter, and generational-bred naivety could create. The Ghoul already don't care much for her.

"You from one of those Vaults." He doesn't ask, all ambivalence and peckish know-how. His survival instincts lure him from her to the spit over the fire again, where it looks like some of her thigh meat is slow roasting. She's lookin' real fuckin' tender over the licking flames…

"S-seven," she pants, shock and pain makin' her sound small, "V-v-vault seven…"

The Ghoul makes a sound of understanding, though he couldn't give two shits these days about which of the Big Four's Vaults she came from, even less which fucked up experiment they ran down there. For some reason, her being a Vaultie makes him even hungrier…

He glances back at her over his shoulder and smirks, all crude oil and a lil' starvation there, too, no doubt. It's been weeks since he's eaten, and before that, it was expired cram and a soggy snack cake, and she seems to know it. The smoothie can see it—notes the look in his eyes and deduces quickly what he's thinking. At first, she yanks on the rope, choosing to struggle against her bonds, though that works as well for her as before he showed up… 'cept it gives him another free show of the goods usually hidden from his eyes. Her tits are perfect.

That southbound lurch kicks up his belly, threatening to confuse his ache for food for something else, so The Ghoul snaps his teeth and points a leather-bound finger her way.

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