sticky fingers | c.h./the ghoul
➥ pairing | cooper howard/the ghoul x f!reader
➥ word count | 4.5k
➥ warning(s) | 🔞 smut; mildly dubious consent, dirty talk, degradation kink, fingering, squirting, rough sex, size kink, standing doggystyle, overstimulation, teasing, choking, dacryphilia, cooper howard is his own warning (he nasty y'all), canon compliant - takes place around ep 7, a grab bag mix of the show and the games
➥ summary | “Lil girls should know it’s rude ta steal.”
➥ notes | i love my men like i love my beef jerky 🫠 i wrote this over 16 fevered hours after finishing the finale. hope you enjoy~
minor edits 4/22/24 | x posted to ao3 | masterlist | feedback is always appreciated ❤️
feel free to send in thots, questions, requests!
It begins, as most things in the Southwest Commonwealth do, with a fight for survival.
City life is tough to be sure, but here on the outskirts of pocket civilizations where there’s nothing but long stretches of desolate wasteland - arid, sunbaked earth and scorched shrubbery - for miles around?
Well, if the ferals, fiends, and super mutants don’t get you in the night, then the desert itself will. During the day the sun burns overhead so nuclear hot, heat glimmers on the horizon in dancing waves.
Unforgiving, relentless as blink-and-you-miss-it mirages are swallowed by ever shifting sands.
It’s easy to get lost.
Even easier to boil alive in your armor if you’re unprepared.
Far too many travelers from the Eastern Commonwealths have met their demise here, where shade is sparse, and water even moreso. The rain - if it does blow in over the mountains - brings rad sickness.
If you’re lucky enough to still be alive, the only reprieve from the heat is in the stooped bones of bombed buildings and ramshackle shacks... where you're just as likely to catch a knife in the back from a chem fried addict as you are relief.
Because here, in the Wastes, danger lurks in sand and shadow alike.
You don’t trek out into the flats half-cocked: a fact all locals know. And if you do decide to? Well, you learn one way or another.
No, only the truly ignorant - or the desperate - dare to tempt man and nature.
Consequently, as you dust off the crumbs from the last half of a Fancy Lads Snack Cake and suck a melted smear of icing from your thumb, you're of the latter half.
You tried holding off for as long as you could. But once the shakes started, you knew you couldn’t put off eating lest you pass out and wake up in a slaver camp.
Well, shit, you think as you rattle a dented canister of purified water. This fucking sucks.
Almost going cross-eyed, your tongue hovers under the rim as you watch the last lazy drop fall free. You catch it with a grimace, smacking your lips. The water tastes metal warm in your sour mouth, barely enough to wet your whistle - let alone your thirst.
You began rationing the last of your supplies days ago, and it’s been a battle against light-headedness ever since. Pretty soon you won’t have the strength to defend yourself, scavving be damned.
Come on. Think - gotta think. What can I scrap for caps?
Not only is Filly more than half a day away, Ma June isn’t one for charity cases. The fact she offered twenty extra caps last time for some burnt books and bent bobby pins was as close as you were ever going to get to a Wasteland miracle.
Sunken cheeks and pleading eyes can only get you so far; everyone’s gotta eat.
"Fuck..." The palms of your hands grind into your eye sockets until you see stars. "FUCK!"
There are two unspoken laws in this otherwise lawless land: steal or starve, live or die. A grim reminder that surrounds you in old bleached bones, empty bullet casings, and scraps of cloth fluttering in the breeze.
Someone always has to be top dog. If you’re lucky, they might be willing to share their spoils.
It’s as you’re considering what pieces of yourself you’re willing to barter that you see them. On the horizon, coming from the west, are two dark blobs.
Stark against the flat plains - a shining beacon of salvation - is a man in a ratty duster and cowboy hat. The saddlebag tossed over his shoulder bounces with his steps while a dog trots beside him, its sable coat rippling with muscle.
Pay dirt.
Making sure to keep low and distant, you stalk them. Watching, waiting for the opportune moment to strike.
When the sun dips low, the sky a swath of pale pink and gold, they make camp at a blown-out Drumlin Diner. Off in the distance, thunder rumbles and sickly clouds gather.
Dark and roiling, acid green; a Radstorm brewing.
Electricity cracks at your skin, stands your hair on end. You scrub your hands over your arms, huddling into yourself for warmth. Meanwhile, the stranger seems to luxuriate in the budding promise of rad rain.
He lounges under an awning, his back pressed against a defunct Nuka Cola fridge. He gazes in the direction of the oncoming weather while mindlessly running his fingers through the dog’s fur as it curls up against his legs.
Occasionally, its ears twitch, and its eyes crack open.
Whenever it glances in your direction, you hold your breath and squeeze your eyes shut but it never gives any other indication that it notices your presence.
A small mercy you’re thankful for.
While you’re a pretty good shot, your body is weak with hunger. Besides, you have quick hands and light feet. There’s no doubt you can stealth your way in and out before he realizes his pack is lighter than he left it.
You’ll only take what you need - not interested in causing any more trouble than is necessary. Some food, maybe something to drink if he can spare it, and something to pawn. Just enough supplies to get you sorted in Filly.
Anyway, he certainly isn’t hurting for it by the look of things.
Any guilt you felt was short-lived when he settled down after dropping his pack inside, walking out with an inhaler of Jet in one hand and a can of Cram in the other.
Watched, greedy, as he cracked it open and picked at the tin of meat with lazy fingers. Salivated as he sucked them clean in between deep pulls of chem.
Soon, you decide, licking your lips as he chews, swallows. Soon.
However when push comes to shove, the stranger proves far more keen than you give him credit for.
The world spins like a hit of Daytripper, a kaleidoscope of color as your skull bounces off the wall with a loud crack. Air rushes from your lungs as something huge - hot and heavy - slams into you from behind.
Pins you against the wall with ease as your ears ring.
Something rattles loose; your teeth too large and your tongue too thick. Warm metal floods your mouth as the side of your face throbs in time with the rabbit fast stutter of your heartbeat.
Pain sparks and your stomach rolls.
"Wha's?" you slur, thoughts dripping like wax. "Wh-at's..."
Meanwhile, a gloved hand lassos around your throat like a collar. Brute fingers squeeze the tender flesh of your jugular until you hear your pulse in your ears. Senses struggling - sluggish to adjust in the encroaching night - as tiny cavities eat at your vision, little pockets of darkness.
“Lil girls should know it’s rude ta steal," a gruff voice mocks. “Betcha thought you was real slick, huh? Tch. You ask me, you’re dumber than shit, Darlin'.”
Trying to regain your bearings, you shake your head only to groan. “I don’t - ‘m not -” It’s difficult to concentrate, a throbbing tempo taking up residence in your temples. The words come slow. “Wha’d you mean?”
He whistles, long and low-pitched, "D’ya have any idea who you're fucking with?"
“N-No…”
“How’s about I show you, then?”
Warm breath puffs over the shell of your ear, a tongue sliding out to trace along the lobe. You jolt, squirming in discomfort as he crowds closer.
“Tasty lil thing like you, wrapped up all nice and pretty just for me." He chuckles. "Why, it must be Christmas.”
What the hell is he talking about?
It’s hard to breathe with his heavy weight suffocating you; the scent of gunpowder and bitter smoke clogging your nostrils with every labored inhale. His lips - ragged - scrape over the nape of your neck.
The grip on your throat squeezes once, twice; leather sticks to your sweaty skin.
You squint your sore eyes, taking in the faint flickers of firelight that spill through the open doorway. The desert chill of night has settled in, creeping through the busted out windows to dig beneath your padded armor.
Thunder rumbles directly overhead as lightning follows in flashes of acid green. It’s only a matter of time before sheets of rain come pouring down; the air sticky with humidity, trembling with energy.
The Radstorm has finally arrived.
You’ll undoubtedly get sick if you leave the shelter of the diner - might even die from it if you can’t afford or find any RadAway. But as the stranger’s chest digs into your shoulders, and the dog curls up in the corner - uncaring of your plight as its nose tucks into the whip-thin tail - you think you’ll take your chances.
Tilting back to glance at him from over your shoulder through damp eyes, you say, “Look--”
Only his hand moves, viper quick, as it slides from the front of your neck to the nape. Strong fingers clamp down like a vice, like scuffing an unruly dog.
He grinds your face into the wall, rough metal shredding your cheek.
You cry out, a soft, pained little thing that echoes through the empty diner.
“Now why’d you gotta go an' make me do that?”
A phantom glimpse told you all you needed to know; broad jaw, thin lips, a hollow nasal ridge, creeping radiation burns and cracked skin. Ghoul.
“Let’s try this again, Sugar.”
His free hand - sans glove - creeps over the curve of your hip to splay along the swell of your belly, fingers tucking up under the hem of your shirt. You shiver at the stroke of roughened skin.
“Don’t take another peep or I might jus' have ta pluck out those pretty eyes of yours.”
Dread pools low in your gut, a leaden ball.
Everything in you screams: RUN, RUN, RUN.
Alarms blare but you freeze. Stare straight ahead at the featureless wall, eyes wide and unseeing. Through the foggy mire of your thoughts - half formed and shapeless - you have enough presence to understand the precarious nature of your position.
Heart hammering, you plead for mercy, “Please, I’m - I’m sorry.”
"Aw, ain't that real sweet?" He remains impassive, unmoved. "The little thief does got some manners after all."
Without warning, the sharp toe of his cowboy boot kicks apart your feet. In the ensuing empty space between your thighs, his leg slots into place. Spurs dig into the tender meat of your ankle, little kisses of pain, as his hips rut forward against your ass.
You choke on your spit, pulse jumping in your throat.
"H-Hey, that's..." You attempt to shove at any part of him you can reach to no avail. Built and broad with compact muscle, it's like trying to move a brick wall. "I said I was sorry, okay!"
He ignores you, burying his face into the space behind your ear. A deep inhale sounds next to your head, the expansion of his chest against your back so firm you're not sure you won't fuse together.
The whiskey rough groan he releases does wicked things, makes your mind wander to places it shouldn't. Full of grit and gravel as his cock twitches against your backside, a burning line of heat.
A shiver ricochets down your spine.
He grunts, says, "Mm, you smell good enough ta eat."
The cap of his knee nudges up against your clit with a sudden jolt, shocks of pleasure electrifying your body. Tears prick the corners of your eyes, and a sob threatens to scrape its way up from the depths of your throat.
You swallow, mouth desert dry. "Come on, let's just forget all about this, yeah?" you reason. "No harm done. I'll even give you whatever I've got left so - so..."
He makes a noise in the back of his throat, the vibration rattling through your chest. "So?" he prompts, plucking at the waistband of your trousers.
"So let me go?"
"Now why would I go an' do an asinine thing like that?" he replies. "If you think you can buy your freedom, think again, Sweetheart."
Rain pings off the metal roof, the smell of pungent ozone and rusting metal wafting in through busted windows and open doors.
“'Sides,” he pauses to turn your attention outside, “I’d hate ta have you yakin’ before the fun’s even started.”
There’s no way to misconstrue his meaning when he punctuates the statement with a teasing rut of his hips. Those rugged fingers tug open the clasp of your trousers, yank until the material goes slack and pools around your ankles.
“Hey, wait--!”
You jolt, hands scrambling for purchase as he slides his leg against your core. The friction of his pants through your thin cotton underwear makes you ache.
Ripping through your bottom lip, blood beading to the surface, you choke on a high-pitched whimper. "I..."
There's no way he can't feel your reaction.
How quickly you're getting wet as he drags you along the length of his thigh while yanking your hips back into the cradle of his pelvis. You meet him in a slow grind that boils your blood and steals the breath from your lungs.
It’s been - shit - far too long since you’ve felt anything other than hunger, thirst; the animal drive to keep pushing forward.
"You like this, don'tcha?"
You hear the dagger-sharp smile hidden in his words.
He croons, "What would your fellow smoothies think, huh? Here you are lettin’ a ghoul get you all hot n bothered - and you’re lovin’ it. Ain't you?"
You throb in response, heat stealing its way into your cheeks as you turn your head away in shame. His dark chuckle lets you know he felt the squeeze of your thighs, the rock and dip of your hips against his knee.
"I - I don't..." you stutter, struggling for a retort. “I’m not--”
A tremble works its way through your body, crushed as you are between the rad warm burn of his body and the wall. Completely at his mercy as you try to figure out where it all went wrong and what you can do to worm your way out of this one.
Terrified of what'll happen if you stay, terrified of what'll happen if you go; stuck in limbo as what was meant to be a simple grab-and-dash devolved into this confusing cluster of shame and lust.
You loathe the embers of desire kindling to life low in your belly.
"You really outta start bein' more honest, Sweetheart."
A large hand dips beneath the worn band of your underwear, and you wait with baited breath. Helpless as calloused fingertips brush over the swell of your mond.
Your inner thighs are uncomfortably sticky with slick, and your eyes burn in humiliation. Your throat trembles around all the words you want to say.
"Didn't anyone teach you lyin' was bad?" he asks rhetorically as his fingers slip down to play with the swollen bud of your clit, tapping lightly.
You keen, low and wounded.
Short nails dig into your palms as you flex your hands for want of something to grab onto.
“I am being honest,” you bite out through grit teeth. Sweat dapples your furrowed brow. “Just lemme go, please.”
"I find that hard ta believe," he replies. "Sorry to say, but you're shit at lyin'. Just look how hungry your lil cunt is for me."
It’s the only warning you get before those long digits plunge deep inside, two becoming three as they stretch you wide. Hollow you out; knuckles massaging your entrance as the tips prod along the sensitive front wall of your cunt.
You clamp down with a strangled moan. “Shit!”
This is a horrible idea - but it’s been forever and a day since you’ve felt anything other than your own touch.
Whether it be the bone-deep loneliness you’ve been shoving down for months or the sudden, inexplicable need for contact, you long for a reminder that you’re still alive.
That you’re not some wrath of the Wasteland filled with sand and blood, doing whatever it takes to survive in a place that would rather see you fail.
“I - I’m not sure.”
He snorts but offers no council or reassurances, using his free hand to yank at the back of your head in impatience. While it might’ve been a fairer fight if you weren’t in such bad shape, there’s no denying that he’s proven himself to be more adept.
Stronger, quicker.
This is going to happen either way.
And that turns you on - even though you feel like it shouldn’t.
If you give in, if he forces you to give in, it’s not really your fault then, is it? You can enjoy it because you have no choice.
Fuck it, you think, closing your eyes and tilting your head to the side in submission.
Like a doll with cut strings, all the fight drains from your body and you’re left sharing space. The ghoul is a furnace of heat behind you, barely any space to breathe he’s crowded so close.
His cock thickens where it digs into the soft fat of your ass, as large and intimidating as the man himself. “Now stay still for me.”
The or else goes unspoken.
Then he’s stepping away, a rush of cold air filling the empty space at your back.
You shiver, tempted to turn around. Maybe make a run for it. The only thing stopping you is the awareness that his threats aren’t so idle. In your experience, it’s far better to befriend the monster than to anger it.
So you comply, waiting an eternity as your senses strain to pick up on anything other than the murmuring hush of rain, the rumble of thunder, as the Radstorm continues to blow its way through.
Though just when you think he might’ve left, ready to chance moving, you hear the clink of a belt buckle clicking open. The scuff of boots across the linoleum before broad hands shove up under your shirt, scarred palms bare as they settle on your hips.
You tense before forcing yourself to relax.
“You ain’t as stupid as I thought,” he says. “Good girl.”
A test.
You breathe a sigh of relief.
“I can listen,” you mumble, keeping calm as his hands explore the plains of your stomach, pluck at the waistband of your panties. “Promise ‘m not gonna do anything else.”
Learned my lesson the first time. Got my skull cracked open for it.
“That’s what I like ta hear.”
Without warning, your panties are being ripped from you, scraps of fabric fluttering useless to the floor. You squawk in indignation but then a heavy hand settles between your shoulder blades.
He presses down, and you follow without complaint, finding yourself bent in half.
And then the fat head of his cock is right there, teasing at your entrance. He plays with your cunt, slipping the shaft between your wet folds. Dragging up the length of you to tap at your swollen clit.
Jerking in his hold, you whine and try to bear down with all your weight. “Please,” you squirm. “Please, c’mon…”
His grip remains firm, bruising as he exhales next to your ear, a pleased little grumble. “Thatta girl. Now tell me, who’s my pretty lil thief?”
Every hard ridge of his body bites into the softness of yours, your stiff nipples dragging against the rough material of your shirt. Zings of pleasure shoot through you; bursting in your bloodstream, fizzy like warm Nuka Cola.
“I-”
“Go on now, Sweetheart: say it.” Fingers dig into your hips so hard your bones ache. “Or I jus' might be tempted ta take a bite outta your pretty lil backside instead.”
He’s bluffing, you think, half delirious, … Right? He wouldn’t--
You swallow, throat clicking, and squirm against him.
Is that a chance you’re willing to take?
No, no it’s not.
“Y-Yours - I’m - I’m your little thief.”
The unexpected flare of satisfaction in his voice is almost your undoing. A hand pets down your flank, swatting the outside of your thigh playfully.
“Good girl.” He demands, “Say it again.”
Sharp hip bones kick forward against your ass as he lines himself up and starts to bully his way inside.
“I’m - YOURS!”
Your soft, gummy walls flutter, squeeze until giving in with a pop under the hard pressure of the fat head. His cock stretches you out, thick and girthy.
Ridges of scar tissue and patches of rough friction pockmark his shaft, massaging tender places as he fills you up, fucking you open.
He feeds you inch after inch… until he can’t.
“Wait!”
Accommodating his girth is a struggle, your cunt filled to the brim by the time he’s halfway inside. No amount of slick could make him fit, so he makes do with harsh little jerks of his hips. Forces himself deeper and deeper until he glides home nice and smooth, sheathing himself to the base with a sigh of satisfaction.
You clamp down hard with a hiccupy whine, walls furtively trying to push him out. “A-Ah!”
“Goddamn,” he huffs, hands kneading your ass, “You’re a tight fit.”
Tears prick your lash line, your hips shifting as you try to stop him from moving. Begging for a moment of reprieve. You’ve never taken something so big and thick, so textured before.
Coupled with the minimal foreplay, it feels like he’s punched his way through your body. Hollowed you out to make a home for himself.
Pussy aching, a low burning tightness creeps over your lower belly as tender flesh pulses uncomfortably around the unforgiving heft of his cock seated deep inside. You swear you feel him poking your belly button.
“Please,” you pant, heat settling into your cheeks. “J-Just wait a sec-ond! I can’t - oh shit.”
“Aw, look at you.” Fingers reach around to brush over your cheeks, gather the tears that’ve slipped free. “Didn’t mean ta make you cry,” he lies.
The sound of him sucking his fingers clean reaches your ears. Your stomach swoops, and your clit throbs. Dazed as you wonder what his mouth would feel like on your pussy.
"Hah - too much, you're - fuck - you're too big."
He snickers. “Can’t be helped, I guess.” Body rippling in a shrug, his hands re-settling on your hips. “But that’s all right - I like it better when they cry.”
Before you can retort, he pulls his hips back.
Your toes curl in your boots, feet squeaking across the linoleum floor as your sweaty forehead grinds into the cool metal of the wall. The texture of his shaft burns as it slides through your swollen folds, dragging against sensitive spots you didn’t even know existed.
You can’t tell if it’s the best you’ve ever felt or the worst, but you nearly sob all the same, nerves alight with liquid fire. Want him as deep inside as he can go; a frenzy of desperation that needs him to stuff you so full you choke.
“See for all your whining, you’re takin’ me so well. What did I say about bein' honest?”
You sniffle, blurry eyes creaking open to stare out the window.
Your body throbs in time with your pulse, your pussy so stretched out you can’t clench down when he thrusts in deep. The fat mushroom head teases your cervix, a faint whisper, before he’s drawing back again.
“T-Too fast,” you stutter, head rolling back to rest on his shoulder. Your thighs tremble, knees going soft. “Slow down, slow down.”
“Sh, you can take it. I know you can.”
With a grunt, he surges forward. Wasting no time in starting up a brutal pace that rattles your bones. He drives you hard into the side of the diner; tits crushed and face smashed, a disgusting mixture of tears and drool wetting your cheek.
“Just like that, Sweetheart.”
You do little more than hold on, all thoughts driven from your mind as he fucks you swollen and bruised. Cunt a sticky mess as your slick eases the way, clinging to your inner thighs and dripping down his heavy balls.
Every thrust punches little sounds from you, and he grunts. “Fuck!”
Your hands cling to the sides of his hips, focusing on the shift of muscle beneath heavy fabric. “I can’t,” you slur, eyes cloudy as you glance up into his, gazes meeting for the first time. “Please, I - ah!”
His thrusts turn punishing, even more so than they already were, hips meet your ass with enough force to leave bruises. “What did I say about sneakin' a peek?”
While the words sound threatening, his voice is heated and breathy. For all his talk, he doesn’t look away. In fact, his hips slow into languid rolls, grinding close. When your eyes slide from his, he reaches down to pinch your clit between his fingers.
“Ah, ah, ah,” he chides. “You keep those eyes on me.”
Pretty, you think, dazed.
Glinting in the slants of firelight like wet sand or a Nuka Cola bottle in the sun; bourbon warm as they peer at you from beneath a heavy brow bone.
“That’s it, there’s my good girl."
Eyes fluttering when he flexes his hips in reward, the tip massaging along your g-spot, your mouth drops open on a whine.
“O-Oh! Right there, I - fuck, please don’t stop. ‘m so close.” F-Feels s'good.
His bare hand reaches up to curl around your jaw, gnarled fingers pushing their way past the open circle of your swollen lips. They compress your tongue as they gather saliva, stroking along your tastebuds.
Gritty, rough; he tastes of dirt, blood, and gunpowder.
You sneak a kiss to his scarred knuckle when he pulls free.
“Shit, I’ll be damned. You’re just a nasty lil freak, ain't you?”
You moan in response, stretching up on your tip-toes and arching your hips to change the angle. Your palms rest beside your head, docile.
A crazed grin cracks the corners of his lips, his teeth bared like an animal. “I like that,” he husks. “Now be a peach…”
Then those soaked digits are finding their way between your thighs, ghosting over your skin to smear spit onto your abused clit. The tender bud throbs beneath his fingertips, swollen and begging for attention.
He hitches his hips forward to feel you jerk, pulsing beneath his touch as he resumes a fast, jolting pace that has you smacking into the wall.
“And cum for me.”
A deep rumble escapes his throat, the sloppy, wet sounds of him fucking you ringing loud in your ears. Your hips roll, unsure if you want to press forward into the swirl of his fingers or back into the rut of his cock.
Tears stream down your cheeks, your chest heaving with weak sobs.
“Please,” you whine, his shaft pinching your walls uncomfortably. You feel swollen, rubbed raw. “A-Almost there.”
A nip to the ear is all it takes.
“Hhaah, I’m--!”
The liquid heat that’s been pooling low in your belly - building and building - finally bursts in a gush of slick that soaks his hand. Darkens the crotch of his pants as it drips down your thighs to splash against the tile.
You sob, a full body tremor zipping through you like bottled lightening.
In the aftermath, your cunt twitches in time with your heartbeat. Hands numb and head full of cotton as cramps bloom between your hips. Sharp little stabs shoot up behind your navel.
“Shit, I’ve got myself a gusher,” he laughs, a nasty little smirk tugging at his lips. “Look at the mess you made. Now if you ask real sweet-like, maybe I’ll let you clean it up with your tongue.”
You sag, too boneless to be ashamed as electric aftershocks tingle along your nerves. All the while, his pace never falters, quickly fucking you into overstimulation.
Your clit twitches pathetically when the fat head of his cock drags along your g-spot. "No more," you mumble weakly, letting him maneuver your body how he likes. "Please."
“Heh, let’s see if you can do that again.”
You whimper, “Oh, oh, please n-no. I - I can’t. You’ll break me.”
“That’s real cute,” his lips, harsh and rasping, drag over the shell of your ear, “but I wasn’t askin’.”
The grip on your hips tightens to the point of pain, digging in and marking you up.
“Now, why don’ we have some real fun, Darlin'?”
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Skull snuggles. Just pure, unadulterated Skull snuggles. A commission courtesy of @robanilla, who knows what the people want~
---
For such a massive monster, he moved alarmingly quickly.
One minute, you were nervously calling out into what seemed like an empty house. The next, you had been lifted up like a doll, brought up much too far from the ground, and thrown over a massive shoulder all before you could make a sound.
“H-hey!” you blurted, hands braced on his back, but Skull didn’t respond. You just came over for lunch! He pushed open his bedroom door and passed through, kicked it shut behind him... Skull had never let you in his room before, what was going on? It was dark - he’d drawn the curtains and turned off all the lights.
Without warning, he shifted you off his table-like shoulder, unceremoniously dropping you. For a split second you felt fear rush through your whole body, but you landed harmlessly on your back, fall broken on his extremely plush bed. It wasn’t much of a bed anymore at this point, he had covered it with an obscene amount of pillows and blankets, shaping into more of a nest than anything else.
When you looked up, his massive teeth were in your face. His voice came out low, shaking your entire body, much closer than you thought it would be.
“no running.”
You stared blankly at his mouth, only inches from you. Those fangs were big enough to carve through your skin like paper. “H-huh?” was all you could blurt out, when he was so close you could feel his hot breath. As if pinned beneath a dragon.
Once you forced yourself to look away from his teeth, you could see he was... he was on the bed with you, over top of you, clawed hands on either side of your head. Trapping you beneath him. The only light in the room was from the bloody red of his eye, and a faint glow behind his teeth. That’s why they looked so particularly dangerous in his mouth today; you couldn’t see his regular dopey smile. Only large, hungry fangs.
His eye was wide, unreadable, filling up his socket. Staring down at you with the intensity of a sun.
... Uh. What? Your heart was starting to pound, and you couldn’t tell if it was in a good or bad way. Skull was a friend, the kind who already knew stuff about you other friends would never know. The two of you were close - but you absolutely weren’t ‘get pinned underneath him’ close. You hadn’t even properly hugged yet. You had assumed he wasn’t open to that kind of affection, and touch had been limited to comforting pats on his huge arms, especially after the stories Crooks had told you about what he and Skull had been through.
You didn’t know whether to laugh, be nervous, or genuinely afraid. You shrank under him.
“I-I... don’t know what’s happening,” you said feebly. Was he upset with you? Had you done something?
Skull elected not to respond to that particular query. Neither his eye or mouth moved.
Instead, he laid his huge head down, right on your chest.
Just like that, his full weight pressed onto you, squashing you into his nest. You let out a squeak as all the air came out of you at once, he was so heavy; it was like being pinned under a boulder, all you could do was kick your legs helplessly. If you’d been on any more solid surface you would’ve been crushed like a bug.
“Agh! H-hey, what gives!?”
Skull just chuckled. Evidently, he was pleased with himself. He started to purr.
“can’t leave now.”
You braced your hands against his shoulders, but might as well have been bracing against a brick wall. Your face and ears were burning with something sort of like embarrassment, but not quite. “G-get off!”
“cute heartbeat,” he murmured. Almost sleepily. He was acting so weird, so... well, clingy. “soft...”
He let you try to fight him for a little while. He seemed to enjoy it, from the way his deep purring was shaking your whole body, like sitting in a massage chair. But it didn’t matter how much you kicked your feet or pushed at his giant shoulders. He remained in place, content.
You gasped from the exertion of pushing, with no luck. Skull just pressed even closer, very slowly nuzzling your collarbone.
Crooks had warned you that Skull could be ‘possessive’, you had thought he meant it like Skull didn’t like his friends hanging out with other people. You didn’t think he meant Skull would grab you and pin you to his bed with his whole weight out of absolutely nowhere. Eventually, your hands had no choice but to fall to your sides.
“Okay, okay. What is it? What do you want from me?”
He let out a short, sharp exhale of breath. Quietly, he started fussing some of the pillows next to your head, rearranging and fluffing as best he could with one hand. “no leaving.”
“Ok, but why? Or what?”
“try to leave ‘n i’ll lick you.”
Huh? Your eyebrows scrunched together in mild horror. “L-lick!?”
The glow you had noticed behind Skull’s teeth got brighter and brighter, until his mouth cracked open to reveal a glimmering, glowing ultramarine tongue. You had never seen it before, you didn’t even know Skull had a tongue.
“bleeeh.”
You let out a little horrified sound, leaning back as much as you could in your trapped position. But even as you did, you could feel your entire face flooding with even more warmth, to the point where your cheeks began to prickle and tingle. If Skull noticed your furious blushing he saved you the mortification of bringing it up.
"cute," he said, simply, as he put his tongue away.
You harmlessly whacked his shoulder.
He chuckled, a handsome and sweet sound. Despite the situation, and his ‘threat’, you had to admit it felt nice to see him grin like that. You hadn’t seen him this cheerful since before...
...
Oh.
“Are you... is this all because I was sick?” you asked, hesitantly.
You’d been bedridden for a day or so with some kind of flu. Skull hadn’t taken it very well, every time you’d coughed he’d had an expression like someone had shot him. He’d taken it even worse when he found out you’d popped a bunch of painkillers and gone to work the next day, despite very much still being unwell.
Your response from him was a very unhappy grunt, and a big eye that flitted away to instead stare at your arm. The hand that had been fussing the pillows instead started playing with the top of your sleeve, the ends of his claws occasionally brushing your skin. He was acting like a needy cat.
That’s what this was about? You lost some of your tension, looking down your body in disbelief at the pouting monster crushing you.
“Skull,” you spoke softly. “I’m not sick anymore.”
He looked right back up at you. The purring became quieter. His iris, still big and warm, sharpened.
“liar.”
You flinched. “I-I am!”
“i can smell it. can't lie... just 'cus yer cute. don't work that way.”
“I’m fine. I’ll get better, humans get better quickly.”
“no.”
You stammered, flustered and confused. “N-no?”
His eye sharpened again. It was impossible to hold eye contact with a monster who never blinked. “no.”
You laid your head back fully, letting out a defeated exhale. Skull’s purring ramped up again. You had no doubt he was inescapable, he was faster than you and stronger than you, and evidently absolutely determined to keep you in one place. You weren’t going anywhere, not with this big lug around.
“If I promise not to leave, will you stop crushing me?”
For once, something you'd said to him tonight seemed to be a good idea to him. After the usual amount of time he would take to think and gather himself, he lifted his body up on his elbows, instead gradually rolling onto his side - he clearly didn’t trust you much, though, because he immediately scooped you up, an arm tucking under you and dragging you back against his huge, broad chest.
His face nuzzled into the hair at the top of your head. He just couldn’t seem to sit still, he reached out and dragged a blanket over you.
This was much better than being squashed.
“... Were you... really that worried about me?” you asked.
Just a hum, in response. That was a yes.
You patted his huge wrist. “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to worry you.”
His socket lidded. The centre of his red iris was absolutely tiny, lingering on your chest, glowing with much more intensity than usual.
“... smelled so... sour. looked so... weak.” His voice was husky, finally getting calmer now that you’d finally completely stopped attempting escape. “bad memories. bad thoughts. no - won't lose you. no.”
Skull clearly decided he was done going wherever that train of thought was leading him. He settled down, and the purring began all over again.
...
“... I need to go home eventually, though. To make dinner.”
“i’ll make dinner. a good dinner.” An extremely thinly veiled jab at your unwillingness to eat properly. “staying.”
... Jeez. You really weren’t getting out of this.
...
You sighed, your body unable to stop itself from relaxing into the bed. Skull definitely knew how to make a comfy place to sleep. With how much being ill had drained the life out of you, the softness of the bed and the warmth of the massive monster cradling you was honestly hard to resist.
...
Damnit. Your eyes were already closing. Though his methods of getting you here hadn’t exactly been... great... you had to admit that maybe this outcome wasn’t so bad after all.
Not that you'd tell him. He might make this a regular thing.
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how they react to you getting hurt on a mission
call of duty headcanons #3
hc masterlist // masterlist
anyone else feel like there's not enough alex keller fics about? if you've got recommendations, send them my way pls <3
rating: explicit
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heard it over comms while the 141 were raiding an enemy safehouse
you had confirmed intel that they were hiding out after an attack on the local town, so moved in to take them out
you were making your way through the upper sections of the building, whispering into comms as you cleared each room
but as you moved further down the corridor, one of the terrorists barged out of the last door on the left, firing all bullets in your direction
you managed to dodge out of the way for most of them, sending bullets through his skin and taking him down, but not before a bullet lodged itself in your shoulder
price was practically shouting in your ear as he heard the gunshots from above and through his earpiece
he made it to you first, checking over you with worried glances, pulling the collar of your shirt aside to assess the damage
cursed out of sheer panic, grabbing you by the waist and hoisting you up, calling in for evac and medics
did not leave your side the whole flight back to base, constantly asking if you were okay
reaching the medic tent at base, he kept a stern eye on the medics, barking orders to be careful with you
but he was scared
scared he could have lost you
his fear always turned to anger, it was an emotional side of him you'd noticed since working together
he stayed with you the whole time
angry
so fucking angry
not at you, of course
but at literally everyone else
saw you get knocked up against the wall, pinned by your throat with a knife pointing into your stomach, hearing your cry of pain
he saw red
momentarily blacked out as he shot the guy hurting you at least 6 times
a little overkill but deemed it necessary
was immediately by your side. knocked your hand out of the way when you tried to cover it, and shushed you fiercely when you tried to tell him you were okay
did not leave any room for negotiation before picking you up bridal style and hauling ass out of there
didn't trust any medic to patch you up
did everything himself
turned super super quiet as he saw the wound fully, the blood pooling out of the gash. his face turned almost white
wouldn't speak as he cleaned and stitched the wound
it was only when he finally met your eye that his gaze softened. the apologies started uncontrollably spilling out
he apologised for literally an hour; about how he could have stopped the guy, how he could have gotten there sooner
you had to calm him down the whole night
never let you lift a finger until you were fully healed, and even after that he was hesitant to let you do anything strenuous
you caught him looking at your bandages every so often, even during training
one you even caught him in the act while he thought you were sleeping. he lifted your shirt to check you hadn't pulled any stitches, and you scared the shit out of him when you asked what he was doing
the two of you were climbing to reach a higher vantage point as appointed snipers
your rope snapped and you fell to the rocks below
he damn near snapped his neck trying to repel back down to you
saw your dislocated shoulder and couldn't hide his disgust until you pointed it out
nobody was able to reach you, the two of you were alone
said it'd click back into place on its own, and you weren't sure if he was trying to reassure you or convince himself
but when you explained he needed to knock it back into its socket, he shook his head
flat out just said no
the man can deal with blood and bullets and knives. broken bones or dislocations were not his strong suit
his stomach did that weird flip thing when he saw body parts out of place
you scolded him for being a baby and he pouted at you
had to psych himself up to do it
"its just a stupid shoulder, get it together" "don't be a baby, it'll take two seconds" "god that's so disgusting, why does it look that gross"
your eyes nearly rolled out of your head and the initial pain had basically subsided by the time he actually did it
nearly threw up when he felt your shoulder pop back into its socket
was riding alongside you in the truck when it flipped over from an enemy missile
the whole vehicle launched topside and rolled upside down
his first port of call was to turn and check on you, rushing to panic when he saw the blood on your face
after pulling himself out of the vehicle, he ran around and yanked over the driver side door, unclipping your belt and pulling you onto the pavement
saw your broken leg and almost passed out
literally forgot all his medic training in that one moment and only ended up calling for an evac when you told him to
was at your every beck and call while you recovered
you had to be wheelchair bound during your recovery, and as the base trainer, you were able to do your job from your chair
made jokes about you now having to be on wheels
did anything to lift your spirits
helped you with absolutely anything you needed, and secretly kind of liked that he had to take care of you
fell into the male housewife role really quick. scarily quickly
wheels you around base, and more often than not rolls over somebody's toes when he passes them. doesn't have the best spatial awareness capacity
always there to change your bandages, check your wounds
whenever your leg hurts, he's like a professional masseuse
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