#fallout x you | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

periprose · 1 month

Text

Sweet as Nuka Cola

Cooper Howard/The Ghoul x Reader

You're an upcoming actress who has a constant flirtation with Cooper Howard. But even if things seem to be off to a good start, a nuclear bomb, a cryogenic pod, and two hundred years of carnage ruins all of it. Is there something to be salvaged from your relationship with Mr. Howard?

Genre: Mutual pining, flirting, slow-burn, angst, friends to kind-of enemies to lovers (no cheating but maybe it's a little murky?)

Word Count: 11k

“Action!”

“Hello. Yes, it’s me.” You wave at the camera, adorned in a classic-red sweetheart neckline dress. “You might know me from ‘Girls Want It All’ or ‘Next Door Babe.’”

Here, you play up your recent bombshell status. As Ed, the director of this advert, keeps reminding you, you need to sell yourself to make customers listen.

You sway in your dress, squeezing your arms and throwing your waist back to plump and push out your chest. The implication of the sex appeal in your movies keeps people watching.

But you’re still a rather new actress, so America might not know you so well. You’re glad Nuka Cola has hired you– if you want to be a star, you need more exposure.

“Do you enjoy feeling refreshed?” You cock your head to the camera, pursing your red lips. “Well, golly, what a silly question. Who doesn't?”

“That's where Nuka Cola comes in.” You lift a bottle out of the cooler next to you, all gentle in demeanour, showing off the logo of the bottle to the camera, in your perfectly manicured hands. “With triple the amount of caffeine found in competitor's bottled cola, it's sure to keep you feeling up for a long, long time.”

“And it's good for you.” Ed whispers, a last minute adlib you did not agree to, but you're a professional, so you add it on with a little wink.

“And it sure as heck is good for you.” You smile, the infamous smile that's won you notoriety to Hollywood execs for being the newest bombshell on the block, and you throw your shoulders back as you really lean into your image.

“Cut! That's a wrap, everyone!” Ed, wanting to finish early, quickly starts ushering everyone out so not a cent more gets spent.

You immediately relax out of your practised, professional smile. “Any ADR needed?”

“Don't think so, but we'll let you know.” The director is already moving onto whatever his next project is. Advertisements make more money than anything else these days.

You head over to catering, where you're craving– not a Nuka Cola, considering how much sugar is in that thing it's hardly refreshing at all– but an iced tea.

You stretch out your ankles in your kitten heels as you prepare it. If you told your Ma back in Mojave that the worst thing about fame would be the uncomfortable outfits, she'd smack you. So you keep it to yourself– you're grateful, you're humble, you'll never be an entitled asshole like those fucking execs.

“Watch out, I'm behind ya.” A man gently presses your shoulder as he walks next to you.

You know that voice. Famous movie cowboy, devilishly handsome, easy to admire. A career worth emulating.

“Mr. Howard?” You turn to look at him, and it is him. Wearing a tuxedo suit, smiling his classic, rugged grin at you.

“The one and the only.” He laughs in a self-deprecating way, as a man tired with his fame and used to mocking it. “Hey, wait, don't I know you?”

You immediately feel your face heat up. “Probably not– lots of people have mistaken me for Lucky Yates so far…”

“No, I do know you.” He points a finger at you, while pouring himself a mug of black coffee. “I told you mister, I'm not here for a long time. Just a good one, and if you can't provide it for me, I'll be inclined to look elsewhere.”

Cooper Howard does a perfect impression of your girly, haughty tone from “Girls Want It All”, and it surprises you that he even knows your dialogue that well. You're not used to this much attention, especially not from one of Hollywood's most notable movie stars.

He says your name.

“Yeah, that's me.” You say sheepishly– even though you know you have to fake that confidence, it's hard when you've been caught off guard. You're starstruck– you don't know how to operate, now realizing that even celebrities are noticing you. “Just shooting an ad for Nuka-Cola.”

“Ah, that’s smart of you.” He leans in– about to give you a bit of Hollywood advice, no doubt– and you feel yourself turning warm at the attention he’s giving you. “I wouldn’t expect any less from one of Hollywood’s upcoming stars– residuals aren’t enough to make the world go round.”

You know he’s admiring your street smarts, but you have to ask. “Upcoming, really?”

“Miss, I’m not sure many other actresses could’ve delivered that little monologue I just did without, er, pardon my language,” Cooper takes a sip of his coffee, his eyes peering down at you over the perimeter of the cup. “Fucking it up. Pantomiming too much wily, feminine shit that execs love, without that little edge of real, subtle emotion. I’m not the only one who thinks so.”

You giggle a little. “C’mon, really? I hardly got to act the way I wanted to.”

“That’s how it starts. Little moments, little subtleties where you’re letting your real character shine through– it’s noticeable to the industry. More opportunities come that way. But it’s smart to use, uh…” Cooper swallows, a tiny, imperceptible thing that reminds you of your bombshell image, that he must be thinking about it. “Smart to use such attractive imagery, if you get my drift. The public will eat you up.”

The way he drawls that latter part makes you feel excited, but you keep it down– it’s well known Cooper Howard is a married man, and you are not about to be ruined by an affair. Even if he does sound sort of flirty, this sort of complimenting is so common in Hollywood.

“What are you doing in the advertisement shooting lot?” You ask, changing the subject, and Cooper shrugs, a nonchalant ripple of a movement that tells you his general cool demeanour isn’t just acting.

“Promised my wife I’d shoot an advert for her. Vault-Tec, you know?” He admits, telling you he hasn’t forgotten about his wife, either. “Gotta head to the experimental Vault they’ve set up next door.”

“Yes, of course.” You, like anyone else, have seen the ads of Cooper in the Vault-Tec suit– it’s a rather controversial thing to be partaking in, but you think he knows what he’s doing.

“Well, Nuka-Cola.” He hands you an iced tea– one you didn’t even notice him making for you as you were talking to him. “I’ll see you around.”

The Ghoul walks around the wasteland, two hundred something years into the future.

He’s searching for a bounty– Leopold St. West– worth at least 1000 caps, and it’s terribly difficult to find him when every single person claims he’s in all these different locations, not a single one correlated to each other.

So he’s walking around a destroyed neighbourhood, where Leopold was last seen a day ago, if his fellow ghouls are to be trusted. If he had to guess, these are the remnants of China Town– the faux Asian-esque details, the cheesy red colouring, the false authenticity Hollywood loves to portray as “good as the real thing”. God, Coop does not miss some parts of the fame.

He suddenly stumbles over a piece of the broken sidewalk. Coop’s usually pretty agile, nonchalant on his feet– he knows this feeling. He’s going through withdrawal.

“Shit, I need a minute.” He mutters to himself, feeling a bit woozy.

He's only got a couple more vials of drugs, so he can't be using them all willy-nilly. No, he needs to recoup things and go through this carefully.

Shelter is necessary– the longer Coop is out in the sun, the harsher the effects of withdrawal feel. And, if he’s lucky, one of these buildings might have something for him to loot– more drugs if he’s extra, extra lucky.

Coop enters a nondescript building– where a radroach is waiting, and he immediately fires at it without even looking, killing it in one shot– and he sees the sign over the entry way, marking the lobby.

This is some Hollywood executive-owned club. It’s hard to tell– two hundredyears of wear-and-tear will do that for you– but Cooper Howard distinctly remembers this place, maybe in some conversation back then, maybe when he was networking.

Every single thing has a distinct, thick layer of grime over it. Coop thinks of sweaty strippers dancing, actors cheating on their wives– they’re all probably dead now.

He reaches into his satchel and takes a hit of one of his vials– and hopes he can replace what he uses with something here.

There’s not a single bottle behind the bar, and he jostles through, not seeing a chem or a drug left behind by anyone on the floor or behind the counter, and he’s mildly disgruntled over how every place has nearly everything picked clean by raiders, wastelanders– just other people. Coop will always loathe these other assholes.

He climbs the broken stairs with a lanky, languid stretch, making it over a fairly large hole where a corpse waits on the floor below. A raider who didn’t watch where he was stepping. That tells him there should be loot up on this upper floor– at least a bit of it.

He walks to the one closed door in a less-than-discreet hallway, gold sconces and railings marking the way.

“Ah… private office.” Coop jiggles an ostentatious handle to a mahogany door, that is surely leading to an even more pretentiously ostentatious office, and he finds that it’s locked.

A good sign. Most likely no one’s ever been in there, because it’s probably a difficult lock to pick.

It surprises him that no one’s ever just forced their way through.

Coop doesn’t waste time on this though– he just takes a teeny gun out of his bag, fires it, and admires the hole in the door where the handle used to be. The door creaks open on it’s own, and he saunters into a well furnished, dusty office room.

“Nope, nope, nope…” He pushes box after box in the shelves next to the wall, and they fall with loud clatter– loaded with panicky, nuclear-war-on-the-horizon type shit, like canned meats and beans and preserved jams and pickles. “Fuck no.”

He pushes off a toy figurine of Vault Boy down with extra gusto.

Coop looks behind the desk, where there’s a dusty placard reading Adrian Amos II. He grins– one of the worst producer bastards of all time is not someone he’d feel bad about stealing from, even if there was still some conscience left in him. No, sir, Adrian Amos the second did not deserve any sympathy, especially after the way he was known for bitching about salaries, abusing PAs, and having a predilection for going after less-than-consenting women.

Coop grits his teeth, remembering that asshole and how terrible and gaudy this club was back then. Not that it was better now– but he’s grateful for one man’s deserved death, at least.

He jostles open where the second drawer is filled with the glass clinking sound of many, many vials.

“Fucking jackpot, Jesus.” Coop stares down at how many there are– at least 40 or 50– a hell of a lot to just be left behind.

Well, based on the other supplies, Adrian Amos got fucked over and either didn’t make it to his vault in time, or forgot to run to his private club before heading in.

Coop doesn’t give a fuck, though. He starts piling the vials into his cases, and then back into his bag.

There’s a sudden whirring sound near him. “Huh?”

To his left, an imperceptible secret door has pushed itself outwards, decorated in the same dark brown wallpaper as the rest of the room.

Coop looks down and under– he’s accidentally pressed a secret button on the underside of the drawer. “Fuck.”

He doesn’t know what would be inside the secret room– assassins, raiders waiting on someone to dupe? Maybe even synths, just meant to protect Amos when he needed it.

Inside the room, it’s dark, and he can’t make out anything. Coop can only draw his gun rapidly when there’s a blue light suddenly emitting out from the inside.

He’s careful as he approaches– last thing Coop wants is an ambush– and as his vision improves, he sees it’s a cryonic pod, all frosted over so he can’t make out who’s inside.

Coop sighs, ready to leave it behind– he’s not interested in waking up Amos– and instead, the thing whirs, heating up it’s insides with extremely hot steam, and then opens up with a mechanical flourish.

Coop instinctively steps back, coughing “Holy shit!” as the air whooshes past him.

A body falls out, just looking slightly frosted– mostly thawed by whatever the cryo tank just did.

You're on set again, sitting in a free lawn chair while others get ready for their take– it's not for a Nuka-Cola ad, it's just a guest appearance on everyone's favourite sitcom, The Grady Group, where you play an overly promiscuous babysitter who has no sense for watching over kids.

It's comedic, it's an easy way to get laughs– plus it actually boosts the shows’ ratings since you've been in movies and all. You’re done filming already, you’re just sitting here watching the rest of the shoot, dragging out your return to your car, and then back home.

Something about the fictional family you wait on, Gill and Gina Grady, and their kids Gideon, Gessica, and Gwen, it makes you miss having a family of your own. In fact, you have half a mind to call your mother, despite all the bitching she’ll give you about the things you haven’t done yet.

It also doesn't help that Gill and Gina are a couple in real life– named Arthur and Bea Smith, they really, really are in love, and in between takes they're often canoodling with each other.

You're happy for them, if not a little– jealous, despite the fact that you're not interested in dating anyone right now. At least, you thought you weren't, but you find that lately, when you return back to your apartment all lonesome after a shoot, you feel like something is missing.

“Hey. Nuka-Cola.” Cooper Howard strolls over to where you're sitting, and you smile up at him, covering your eyes from the sunlight streaming through the windows.

“Mr. Howard. Shooting today?” You ask, and he shakes his head.

“Not at all. Just lounging around, waiting for my kid.” He sits in the lawn chair next to you, leaning back, crossing one leg over the other. “Janey is on a field trip at a museum next door– I thought I’d kill some time before picking her up.”

“Ah, cute.” You grin. Janey Howard is an absolutely precious kid– she shares her dad’s smile, but has a curious nature that you admire. “Is she well?”

“As well as kids can be at that age, running around all the time.” Cooper shrugs. “You know how it is.”

“Kind of. I actually did used to babysit kids, so I know– they can never sit still or mind their business.” You laugh as Cooper grins.

“So you went method for your guest appearance, huh?” He asks, and you’re mildly baffled.

“How do you know about that?” You squint at him, just being jokingly suspicious.

“Oh, I saw a few clips of your footage. While I was walking over here.” He points over at Stu, the director, standing on the living room set, watching clips on his viewfinder. “Seemed pretty natural to me.”

It almost bothers you that he seems so interested in you and your work, that he always voices support– but he’s well-known for being happily married, for being content in general, unlike you.

Still, better a friend than nothing at all, that’s what you always tell yourself.

“Thanks. But it’s not hard being around kids, is it?” You reminisce being a kid in Mojave, playing with your friends on your street– and then as a young adult, babysitting new kids that still wanted to play with you. “I still sometimes feel like I’m just a kid pretending to be an adult.”

“That never goes away, darlin’.” Cooper laughs, and you blink. “Being an actor, especially, you’re never losing that childhood sense of wonder, you get my drift?”

“Yeah, of course.” You nod. “I just don’t feel complete, I guess. I’m still waiting for the moment I’ll know I’m an adult– like maybe if I get married or something like that.”

“Being married didn’t change that for me either. Neither did being a dad.” He winces, and scratches at his stubble. “Just don’t tell anyone I said that, but I think it’s all apart of being a human person.”

Your face turns a little more glum at that, and he wonders what he said that bummed you out. It’s not his intention– he wants to cheer you up.

“What’s with the sad, forlorn, ‘I’m-a-pretty-girl-come-comfort-me’ look?” Cooper utters as he leans in, and you laugh a little but silence yourself, recognizing his compliment.

It’s dangerous to flirt with this guy, this taken man who has nothing to gain but a bit of affection he may be missing, but you see that he knows his compliment had effect anyways– and he definitely likes that.

You just choose to assume it’s entirely friendly.

“I just… I like the thought of having a family.” You suck in air,at how foolish and girly this sounds, hardly the cutthroat businesswoman you need to be out here. “This is stupid, I’m sorry.”

“No, no, it isn’t.” Cooper taps his arm rest, thinking. “You’re hurting, I can tell. You got that same pissed off look most ladies get when they ‘don’t wanna talk’ but they’re holding tons of shit inside.”

Damn this guy, you think, but you decide to be honest.

“I just didn’t think it’d be so lonely out here. In Hollywood.” You press your palms together. “Like, everywhere I go, I’m surrounded by classic Americana, the nuclear family– and I can’t believe I’m saying this, but I’m jealous.”

“As a bachelorette, don’t you got plenty of options?” Cooper grins. “I mean, are men not lining up to court Nuka-Cola girl?”

“Ah…” You hum, thinking of dates you’ve had here, settling back in your seat. “I don’t know– it’s cheesy but I want more sincerity.”

“In that case, don’t be jealous, marriage ain’t all that.” Cooper tuts, knowing that you of all people should hear about how it doesn’t complete you. “It’s not perfect, it’s not a magical fairy-tale where everything gets solved, it’s a hell of a lot more work than people let on.”

“Oh.” You knew that, deep down– but hearing it from him really solidifies that for you. It’s a silly dream.

It sounds like he’s speaking from experience, so you quiet down. But you’re not trying to get your hopes up about that or anything.

“And you’re not an idiot, Nuka-Cola. Don’t get into something you’re not a hundred fucking percent sure about.” Cooper clicks his tongue. “If you really feel the urge to suddenly go and play wife with someone, just for me, make sure he’s absolutely worth it.”

“For you?” You raise your eyebrows at that.

“I figure you won’t do it for yourself. Love is blind and all that.” He points at himself. “But if I, as your buddy Cooper, hold you to that? I’ll bet that you’ll vet every single guy.”

“Oh, really.” You smirk at him, your nose scrunching a little. “Is that for my benefit, or yours?”

“Uh…” Cooper is truly caught off guard here. He knows he didn’t intend anything by what he said, but it does feel like… he won’t enjoy the fact that if the next few times he talks to you, continuing become close to you, he’ll have to get the approval of some man.

Some man who wouldn’t even know you as long he has known you. He always likes his chats with you, and there’s an urge inside him not to let you go.

He thinks again that you’re a little too spontaneous. Not easy to dupe, no– he can’t just flirt with you for fun because you’ll always pick up on it, even if he did it by mistake.

“No comment.” He finally answers with a raspy, low tone, one that you barely hear but are satisfied by.

A few months later, you check your face in your little compact mirror before stuffing it in your purse and heading inside Sebastian Leslie’s home. Exciting, yes, because this is the first time you’ve been invited not just to network, not just because a big name has seen you in the movies and wants to flaunt that they know you tangentially.

No, this is the first time you know someone, you’re actually in with a crowd– you’re friends with the host. You don’t feel nearly as awkward walking into Sebastian’s comfortable home and seeing familiar faces that you’re close with, decor that you already recognize.

“There she is.” Sebastian greets you with a tight hug– for a massive flirt he’s actually rather protective of you sometimes. “Love the dress, by the way– is that a vintage Chanel? Black is very flattering on you, my dear.”

You get the sense he didn’t want you to be involved in this industry sometimes, but other times– he likes that you put work in.

“I saw your newest advertisement on TV yesterday.” He comments, and you giggle.

“Was it good?”

“Yeah, amazing as usual– but you gotta do more than that.” Sebastian holds your hand as he pulls you into the crowd of other low-level actors, people who could risk showing up, really, and you fix your dress, a black one with a low square neckline. “Look into Vault-Tec– I’ve been telling Cooper here about how our futures are totally going to be surrounded by their products, even though that fucker does not want to listen.”

Cooper’s lounging in a low sofa in the pit of this living room, holding a crystal glass full of amber liquid, black button up shirt half open– he looks dishevelled, hair slightly askew, jaw off-kilter as he presses his tongue into his cheek, thinking. Lost by something, but still put together as celebrities are. Geez, you really need to temper your attraction to him.

It doesn’t help how he looks at you, either– there’s something deep and reverent about his gaze, like he wants to believe whatever he sees when he’s looking at you– but you have no idea if it’s real, or if it’s just an act like with most of these celebrities.

You used to see him a lot more frequently too, over the last few months. Either at set, or at more fancy parties– most of which he’s been perfectly pleasant and kind to you.

“Of course you’d label me as some fucking chairman for them, Seabass.” Cooper slams back half a pint of whisky, and pours himself some more. “Hey, Nuka-Cola.”

“Hey, Mr. Howard.” You smile gently. You’ve heard about his divorce– everyone has, but you’re not 100% sure why it’s happened, why now when things seemed to be going so well for him.

Well is relative, though. You know loads of actors have decried him privately– no one wants to hang out with the man promoting the end of the world, apparently. It must be a tough thing to only be hired for your wife’s advertisements– and even then, you don’t exactly agree with what they’re marketing, either.

You don’t feel so strongly against Cooper, though. Maybe because you do like him– but also because you know what it’s like to have your image connected to something you don’t really promote. Nuka-Cola isn’t healthy, it’s got enough sugar to induce instant death when drank regularly. But you do it for the connections, the money– and you’re sure Cooper did too.

“Cooper is fine.” He grumbles, and you remember his last name is maybe a sore subject right now.

“Sorry.” You do your best to be delicate as you sit next to him, and Sebastian sits on the other side of you. “How’re you, Cooper?”

“Not bad. If you count being divorced as being alright.” He sighs, and you feel terrible that you even asked. “It’s like I never knew her, man– I thought Barb was different. Or they changed her, I don’t fucking know.”

“She had her eyes set on the prize. As did you, Coop.” Sebastian states, and Cooper turns, affronted.

“We’re all interested in money and glory, Seabass. Fuck you if you think otherwise.” Cooper tenses, and you feel a bit awkward listening in on this conversation.

“What did I say that negates that? I’m as money hungry as they come.” Sebastian shrugs. “I only meant that– despite it all, making money was what you had in common, evidently not the world-going-nuclear shit. Maybe you’ve got a heart of gold, a change of mind, I don’t know, Cooper. But throwing away an easy life just to pay alimony must be fucking awful, so I just don’t think you’re in it for the money anymore.”

“You’re fucking telling me.” Cooper sniggers. “I don’t think Barb cares. I’m here with no career, and she’s out there getting promoted in Vault-Tec. As for the heart of gold… any former marine would’ve been against that shit.”

You want to ask what shit, but you don’t want to overstep your boundaries. You get the general fear of nuclear war– but Cooper sounds more personally affected by it.

Cooper glances over at you. “What do you think? Better to be richer than you can spend in a lifetime, or to be out with a good conscience?”

“I don’t know if I’m that interested in money.” You say honestly, and Cooper raises his eyebrows.

“Really? Nuka-Cola’s a saint, huh.” He chuckles– he’s clearly a bit buzzed.

“No, I’m not. Of course I want to have a career.” You think about this carefully, so it doesn’t sound insincere. “Making money is nice– but I don’t think I have the right to say it should come at the cost of human lives. You know Nuka-Cola is terrible for you, right? ”

Cooper stares at you for a moment too long, and then looks away. “Yeah… addicting.”

He’s definitely not talking about Cola, but you continue on. “Yeah, so just in that way– I disagree with how much power marketing has. We’ve convinced America that they need this– just so some chairman can make an extra dollar.”

Cooper looks at you, renewed by whatever you just said. “Hell, woman after my own heart. That’s damn true.”

“Yes, yes, you two oblivious flirts– there’s no art in filmmaking anymore, just commercialism. Not like it hasn’t been the case for a century.” Sebastian chimes in, and you bite your lip, pretending not to notice how Cooper’s face is smirking bashfully. “But, babe. You’re going to want to make your money before the world fucking ends.”

“What’s that?” You startle, and Cooper laughs sardonically at your surprise, while Sebastian gets up.

“Let me get myself a drink– I hardly want to tell this story sober.” He leaves, and Cooper has half a heart to glare at him– he knows Sebastian is leaving the two of you alone so he can do the dirty work.

Not like his reputation can ever get better, especially by telling this story again with it’s lurid details, but at least it doesn't hurt that he's with you.

“What does he mean by that, Mr. Howard?” You wince at your use of that. “Sorry– I meant Cooper.”

“Ah, call me what you’d like.” Cooper takes another sip of his drink, leaning back in the couch to the point where he is practically lying down and against you. “It sounds good coming out of your mouth no matter what you pick, Nuka-Cola.”

Now that’s a suggestive, loaded line, and you feel a little more comfortable flirting with him even if it’s a bit of a rebound for him. The end of the world is approaching, right?

“The end of the world?” You prod at him, and he sighs, leaning against your shoulder.

“It’s fucking ridiculous, what it is… probably never going to happen anytime soon.” Cooper’s tone of voice is hazy as he examines his last sip of whisky in the glass. “No, no. Just something those fucking commies put in my head. I guess they’re not really commies, are they?”

“Unless you elaborate, I can’t say.” You utter back at him, and he pushes down a smile.

“Alright. Vault-Tec’s been selling this nuclear protective stuff, right?” He says, and you nod, your cheek brushing against the top of his hair. “All I can say is that a few… radicals, if you will, think that Vault-Tec might actually be more involved with it than they say. Like, they might be…”

“Not just protective, huh? More offensive? Everyone’s got that feeling, Mr. Howard. And that doesn't sound like a particularly commie-train-of-thought to me.” You hear the sorrow in his tone, even if he’s trying to make it sound like a rumour. “Did you hear this from your ex-wife?”

Cooper winces here. He still feels slightly guilty about spying on her. A part of him thinks they might’ve not divorced if he hadn’t found out– but he knows he was bound to find out eventually, and he would’ve just delayed the inevitable.

“Maybe, Cola. Maybe you’re just sharp.” He whispers, and you smile and he feels it– your skin is intoxicatingly close right now.

“So, odds are?” You ask, just curious, and he exhales.

“Bad. I have to agree with them.” He admits, and it feels exhilarating to admit this– that Vault-Tec is gonna nuke the world at some point, that the radicals are more like minded to him than he’s wanted to believe in the past. “Even if it didn’t cost my movies, I regret partaking in what they were selling.”

That’s a big thing for him to say– you know Cooper loves acting, he absolutely adores playing a hardened sheriff, the last vestige of goodness in the wild, wild west. All the times you’ve visited him on his set– probably during his last contractual movie, now that you think about it– and he was always so excited to show off the architecture and intricacies of the fictional western town they’d set up, share script details and little character quirks so you could have an insider’s viewpoint. He even donned his cowboy hat on you, saying you wore it like a natural.

He loved being the hero, really.

He lights a cigarette, and takes a puff.

“Most big-name connections refuse to talk to me because of this stuff– I’ve basically been dropped out of phonebooks all together. They think I’m still in on it, they think I’ve only stopped because of backlash–” He stops as you begin to scratch his scalp, still leaning against your shoulder, but getting progressively into your neck area.

Jesus, that feels good. He thinks. He hasn’t been intimate in a while– Barb became increasingly more cold to him over the last few months, as their marriage kept falling apart.

“Backlash, really?” You whisper.

“Yeah.” He stutters for just a moment, because your eyes are peering into his, and for a moment he thinks you could really make it as just a bombshell if you wanted to– then he takes another puff. “When really, I was just backing out of what I thought was really a massive crime against humanity.”

“Are you only telling me this to validate your poor conscience? Remedy that reputation a little?” You ask, and he presses his lips together.

“Well, I'll be honest, yeah. Of fucking course I'd tell the one woman who seems to be like me on this.” He sounds so certain of you, sounds so sure that you're on his side.

And you absolutely are.

“The world’s about to end, Mr. Howard. You're not a bad man for not wanting to support it. I'm inclined to agree.” You inhale deeply, and Cooper stares at you– something stirs inside him as he does.

“Kiss me, then. Humour me– since none of this will matter soon.” Cooper murmurs, lying on top of your chest now, the smoke from his cigarette enveloping your face.

He’s so close you barely have to move to oblige to what he’s said– you're second guessing yourself for just a moment, because it feels like a dream that he'd ask you to do this, so out of the blue, such a picture perfect fantasy that you almost don't care about the impending doom, and you press your lips gently to his in an upside-down kiss, his hair brushing against your open cleavage, but Cooper is insistent and leans upward, kissing you with such intensity that your head is spinning afterwards.

God, now that's a movie star kiss. You think.

He kisses you again as Sebastian returns, drink in hand.

“Oi! You two. Jesus Christ, can't keep your hands off each other, can you?” Sebastian pretends to vomit. “C’mon, if I want to talk to you at my party, I should have that right.”

You attempt to pull away– but Cooper, being a little mischevious, perhaps wanting to show off in a way he hasn’t been able to, sits up right and kisses you again, this time normally, just very slowly and passionately though, slithering an arm around your waist in a way that has Sebastian rolling his eyes.

“Okay, present.” He says, not pulling his arm off your waist.

“Thanks.” Sebastian shakes his head. “I was thinking we should take the mood off with some party games…”

It's about 2 AM when you've finally left the party. Cooper didn't want to let you go– he's crashing at an apartment for the time being, but you really don't want to waste yourself on being his rebound, if he really likes you.

You tell him as much, and he likes that– you really are rather sharp about things.

“Well. Gimme a call when you realize I'm not kidding around with you.” He says unabashedly, holding your hand, kissing it as you leave.

You’re absolutely sure he's drunk, and he's being a little too clingy– but you want to believe him anyways.

You walk back to your car, alone. Thinking about if Cooper is worth the damage it could have on your potential career. But then again– the end of the world is coming, right?

So maybe it won’t matter. And you find that you like this, the secret potential of this option, just hanging out with Cooper in a place that used to be America, no more expectations on you both. There’s also the chance you just both die, though.

You shudder.

You don't notice that there's a man in the backseat of your car when you get in, brandishing a chloroform stained cloth.

The Ghoul prods at the body that's just fallen out of the cryo pod.

Oh fuck.

It's starting to stir, whoever it is, and Coop knows he's ready, if this is really some synthetic android-clone thing, to make their life hell. Get some of his anger out on something that doesn’t matter.

Wait– he recognizes that cherry red fabric. That coiffed hair, frosty after being inside the pod. Oh, Jesus… even the makeup is the same as when he last saw you.

“Ah… shit.” He chuckles to himself in exasperation, because this is beyond belief. “Nuka-Cola, is that you?”

You tilt yourself to the side, eyes bleary, unable to see clearly. Everything’s dark. But you know that voice, you just heard it a couple of days ago.

“Mr. Howard?” You croak out, and he hisses inwards– nobody has called him that in centuries. Nobody knows who he is… except for you, of course.

“The one and the same, baby.” He licks the side of his gums, deciding to stick with his identity for now. “Well, maybe a little different. You wouldn't happen to know what a Ghoul is, huh?”

“What?” You don't know how long your vision is going to stay black for, but you don't like the sound of that. “What the fuck does that mean?”

“Eyes haven't been opened for… two hundred years. I'll give you some time, Cola.” He sighs; cracks his neck, while you sink back into the floor. “Just imagine the ugliest horror-picture monster you can imagine. Zombie, no nose. That paint a picture for you?”

“...”

“What was that?” Coop can't hear you when your voice is muffled into the tiles of this secret room. He grasps your hair gently, from the root, pulling your head upwards so you'll speak– clearly you don't have the strength to lift up your body.

“I said, how is that any different from before?”

“Oh, she's still a jokester.” Coop scoffs– despite himself he snorts– and he lets go of your hair so you land back on the floor with a thump.

“–Ow!” You flinch, and then turn over so you’re on your back. “Still an asshole, huh?”

“Me?” He grins maliciously. Ooh, maybe he can use some misplaced anger on you. “You're the one who didn't call back for several weeks.”

“How could I? You can see I've been trapped in a cryo thing for… however long. Did you say two hundred years?” You flatly ask, and Coop still thinks you're lying.

“Yes, and bullshit. You probably had a couple weeks since I last saw you to call me.” He states, and he doesn’t actually hold a grudge, at least not that much of it in comparison to all the other horrid shit that’s happened to him– he just thinks it's funny to push your buttons after all of that, like looking into a mirror of the past– and you groan.

“No, I didn't. I got in my car after Sebastian's party, and some goon sprayed something in my face, I passed out, and he drove me here.” You start, and you begin frowning in such a way that Coop almost feels bad.

“Why you, sweetheart?” He shakes his head. “You weren't exactly high up in popularity yet.”

“Exactly. No one would miss me.” You spit out bitterly, remember the end to that night, where you were so unaware of your surroundings, and terrified of being assaulted as you were pushed around into this room, blindfolded.

“Adrian fucking Amos, the fucking Second, thought it would be great if I just became his permanent doll during the apocalypse.” You swallow, and Coop sits down next to you, to listen more clearly. You shift towards his body heat– and to his surprise, he still likes that. “See, his daddy has shares in Vault-Tec, so he decided before nuclear fallout happened, he wanted a guaranteed sex slave from his favourite advertisements.”

“Nuka-Cola.” Coop utters with the slowest drawl, concluding your statement– and you like that.

“Yeah, Nuka fucking Cola.” You grimace. “Then he undressed me, put me in this little number, and threw me in the pod. I barely remember this shit because I was so out of it.”

“Shame. I always wondered why you never called me back.” Coop circles back to his little grudge– but he also feels bad, feels some level of guilt that neither he nor Sebastian had the sense to look out for you back then, and you were practically assaulted (maybe actually so if you didn't remember).

“Yeah, because I wanted to miss out on that piece of ass. Sure.” You joke feebly, and Coop laughs despite himself.

“Honey, you're gonna run away screaming when you finally see me. Don't worry about it.” He shakes his head. “The real world's a lot more fucking difficult than would'ves and could'ves.”

“Okay, explain. If you're willing to owe me that much.” You start, and Coop gets reminded of that fateful night a couple hundred years ago, where he was the one to clue you into the impending nuclear war.

Not even three months later, it was all over, and you were nowhere in sight– if his mind ever did drift to you, the what-ifs and who-knows that still persisted– he would always assume you were dead.

Now he thinks you're just unfinished business.

“Fine.” He taps your shoulder, and you lean a little closer towards him– you touch his hand, and instead of flinching as many people have in the past– you trace the tough, callused skin there.

He thinks there’s something wrong with you. Why do you seem drawn to him anyways? You’re completely fucking up his tough guy, lone-wolf persona by being here, and he wants you gone. He pulls away his hand, ignoring how your face falls for a moment.

Coop inhales, and then starts. “In October 2077, they nuked America, bombed it all to hell. By they, I think we both know what I’m implying.”

“It wasn’t the Chinese.” You interrupt, and he shushes you.

“Yeah, Cola.” He starts playing with his fingers, feeling like you don’t deserve to be here right now. That you should’ve just stayed dead. “Vault-Tec destroyed it all.”

It’s no good. He’s an old man, and you’re still as soft and young as ever. He’s always haunted by his past, like with Barb and Janey, and then Sebastian’s voice in every single Mr. Handy robot he comes by, and then finally, his last couple memories with you.

“The last two hundred something years have been filled with carnage, death, unspeakable horrors that your pretty little mind could never comprehend.” He grits out, pushing past the past and remembering that this is who he is now– a killer– and you stare at him vacantly, because his tone is so much more serious suddenly. “Nothing is the same. Everyone has blood on their hands, water is a fucking commodity, if you’re not watching out for humans to betray you, hideous creatures like me roam the ground, and that ground? Sands, deserts, barely a hint of green. It’s nothing worth coming back to.”

“So you’re saying I’m in hell.” You suddenly inhale harshly, and Coop ignores the urge to check on you.

The last thing he needs is an extra person to take care of– especially someone who doesn’t know the Wasteland. So it’s better now that he just weans you off and leaves you here.

“Yeah, sweetheart. And I'm the devil.” Coop sucks on his teeth again. “If you had any sense, you’d go back into that fucking freezer until some utopia is born four hundred years from–”

You flinch, and he stops.

“Oh, God, my eyes–”

The sight comes back slowly then all at once. Light everywhere, overwhelming your senses.

You blink, tears rolling down your face.

“Maybe it would’ve been better if you stayed blind, Cola.” He stares at you as you rub your eyes, taking in the state of the room.

It’s a warning, but you look up at him again anyways. And Coop waits for the utter horror, for the sign that he really has transformed into a monster, so he can hurry up and leave– this entire conversation with you is just him finishing Cooper Howard’s past with a bow. A shiny, Nuka-Cola-red bow.

“...” You swallow, and then bite your lip, tilting your head up at him. “Couldn’t let go of the cowboy identity, huh?”

Coop furrows his non-existent eyebrows, disliking how hard you’re making this, how clever you still seem to be– you also seem way too relaxed with him. He has half a mind to fire a warning shot at you. “Yeah, okay, darlin’. You’re just avoiding facing that horrific, bile-inducing sensation in your throat, aren’t you?”

You shake your head, disagreeing immediately. “You might look– a little less like how I remember you, I guess… but you’re still you. I see it, and apparently so do you.”

How dare you? Coop thinks, how dare you intertwine his two images together so easily when he could never be the same man again, when just seeing an old VHS tape of one of his movies pains him?

“Yeah, no thanks. If this is your way to get me to valet you around, I’m not that man anymore, Nuka-Cola.” He resents the way you think he could still be good– just because his western image brings him a little comfort nowadays. “Not a sheriff anymore.”

Your face drops, but you seem to take that information readily. “Yeah, I figured that based on your outfit, the little blood splatters on your pants… if that’s how the world is, then so be it.”

You’re saying things that on paper should be right– but Coop is getting more and more disgruntled with you, and you feel like you need to separate yourself from him. Yes, tough, because to you it’s been all of forty-eight hours since you kissed him– but you can see, no matter how deep the original Cooper Howard is inside this new Ghoul, you’re not going to be able to bring him out.

You stand up, on shaky, bare feet, and motion for Coop to move out of the way. Independent woman to the end, you are, and you want to get your bearings without him.

Coop internally sighs. He doesn’t believe for one second you’ll survive out there– and he really doesn’t need to spend the time seeing you die, so he turns around, and leaves you here.

He never did find Leopold St. West, much to his chagrin– you really, really messed up his day.

It happens. Sometimes he’ll see Janey in another person’s eyes and freak out, and have to boil it down by murdering random raiders.

But now Coop is just spiteful. He’s always figured that a lot of what happened to the world was just a bunch of rich people picking and choosing a destiny for themselves to the detriment of everyone else, and now he’s aware that included you, too. To casually be grabbed away by some man, just because he was rich… Coop isn’t unsympathetic to how you ended up, even if he treated you quite poorly. It’s sickening.

Two hundred years of quiet, always-dwelling agony, the first few years out of fear for being alone, and the next few years spent conspiring about what could’ve happened to his family– and then here you are as confirmation of his worst theories.

No wonder he enjoys his casket time.

Coop sighs.

Vaultie is hard to keep track of. She got away with murder this time at the organ harvesting clinic– so Coop finds it easier to stop working with her, to move when he wants to.

The Govermint (really just Booker’s shitty gang) was rather easy to dismantle. The two sheriffs that he killed required no expertise on his part.

He’s thinking about the fact that since Moldaver is still alive, and apparently that fucker Hank MacLean, then that means there’s a good chance Barb and Janey are too– perhaps he could go and find them.

It’s an odd urge, though. Everytime he thinks about it, he wonders how he’s actually supposed to connect with them again– they’ve been fractured for so long, and he’s changed, and there’s a good chance neither of them would accept him like this.

But you did, didn’t you? You were on the verge of saying yes, you’d accept him– as if nothing had changed.

Coop grumbles. The big, significant difference is that you were infatuated with him, but Barb divorced him, and Janey was too young to make that choice. He considers that it could be a pipe dream, but he still has hope– for Janey, at least.

He thinks you’re probably dead anyways. He hasn’t seen you in several months, since that day where he unceremoniously woke you up– and he hopes it stays that way.

He's chilling in another small, scrappy area of the wasteland. Nobody bothers the Ghoul, not when he's casually fiddling with his gun and and chewing on a toothpick.

A man runs past him, holding a significantly valuable piece of Brotherhood equipment. Maybe worth thousands of caps if he knows his shit, and he does. That’s a fusion core, and they’re not exactly mass producing those anymore during the apocalypse.

Coop points his gun at him, finger on the trigger, seconds away from creating a bloody mess–

A blade thwacks into the guy’s neck, blood spurting as he falls and chokes. A person– a woman– jumps on his back, her face obscured by a deep green bandana . She yanks out the knife, stabs a few more times for good measure– and Coop knows the game, he’s not surprised he’s not the only one to go after this guy.

He’s pretty good at killing casually, and he barely even moves from where he’s standing, aiming the gun at her.

No way is he letting easy money pass by him.

He’s about to pull the trigger extra-quick when she yanks the bandana down, taking a deep breath as she sweats, and Coop actually misses.

It’s you. You stare up at him from where you’re squatting over the body, and your gaze hardens, furrowed brows, dark lashes, intensely dark pupils. You purse your lips, press them together, jaw set in a stern fashion, recognizing him but refusing to hear him out– and Coop doesn’t know why he’s not firing, but he’s almost… enamoured with how you are now, almost taken aback by your new nature.

Not so taken aback that he doesn’t immediately start firing when you take the fusion core and start running.

And Coop doesn’t want to actually kill you, he just wants to incite some damage. See how far you can take it.

You interweave through random gaps in the metal scraps of this little abode, seeking shelter as you do so, and Coop’s gunfire only ricochets off them with cartoony sounding “pings!”

He manages to graze your left thigh through a small window, and you inhale sharply, stopping as you grit through the pain.

Coop grins to himself. This little cat and mouse chase is what he expected, what was predictable from you– you’re smart enough to stay on the defense, but you would probably never attack him, avoiding him because of your sad feelings of the old times, never resort to carnage unless you needed to–

You shove past the walls where you’ve been roaming, and manage one kick against his stomach and he manages to grab you and restrain you, your back against his front.

You grab his own jacket for purchase, and instead of pulling forward– you push back, landing on top of him with a thud that surely hurts him. Coop clenches his teeth, back against the ground now, but you scramble, straddling him. Hands around his throat, knife pressed against one of his tendons. Not outright strangling him, but just enough pressure that he knows you’re seriously threatening him.

Holy fuck, have you changed. Just like Vaultie, maybe you’re showing your honest self– and Coop supposes it may have been his mistake to underestimate you.

“Got a whole new outfit… I like it.” He admires your new leather jacket, cargo pants around your thighs pushing his arms down, a blouse fashioned out of your old Nuka-Cola dress. Tough combat boots dig into his thighs as you push against him. “Don’t fucking start–” You squeeze a little harder and he groans, the tip of the knife pushing in. “With your on and off, hot and cold bullshit.”

Ooh, it sounds like you have a little bit of a grudge over how you were treated.

“Get over it, Cola. It was centuries ago, whatever we had.” He spits out, and you have a glint of sadness in your eyes.

He knew you were a little too gushy for your own good– not even he adapted that quickly to the wilderness of the Wasteland. He waits for you to make the mistake, apologize, break down– and then he can take the core and get out of here.

But you’re still firm in your grasp of him, your weight pushing him down, blade against him.

You’re not angry about back then. You’ve come to terms with that.

You’re angry at the state of the world.

“You know what I fucking hate, Ghoul?” You spit in his face, and he blinks, spittle now on his chin. “You are all so selfish. I got left behind, likely for dead, right, and nobody gives a shit, whatever. But instead of me hoping that the leftover crumbs of society would at least try to be, I don’t fucking know, more hopeful and kind, or at the very least, not be so fucking greedy and transparently trying to be the new party in charge.”

“You’re living in a dream world.” Coop interrupts, and he’s rewarded with you carving a small, little cut on his cheek, a rapid movement you hardly think about, and it causes him to inhale sharply, a drop of blood smearing across his face.

“Oh, no. I’m not asking for everyone to hold hands and play family.” You laugh suddenly, and then somehow lean in closer, and Coop finds that in some fucked up way he enjoys the pressure against him. “It’s bullshit, that kind of image making– you and I both know that. But for all this supposed talk against the rich billionaires who ruined our lives, how are we not just emulating them?”

Coop is actually drawn to silence.

“Maybe you actually got fooled by self-image, Cola.” He murmurs. “Or maybe that’s just people’s true nature.”

You don’t like that answer. You don’t actually want to believe that, but the more you think about it, the more it’s probably true. People lie all the time, but the amount of outrage you’ve heard from people the last few months, bemoaning Vault-Tec and all those rich fuckers, you were inclined to believe they wouldn’t act the exact same way.

Just at a different level. Power corrupts all, you guess.

You loosen your grasp a little. “Thank you.”

It’s honest, and Coop doesn’t like how much he does like your nature of trusting him– how even as this new, terrible version of yourself, you still trust him, and you still ask for his advice.

He doesn’t know what to make of this, but he thinks maybe he can get some use out of you yet.

Coop wrangles his arm from out under your thigh, where you’ve accidentally let a gap through, and shoves you over.

You fall with a gasp, hitting the ground, and he stands up and kicks you for good measure, while you screech in pain.

Coop picks you up by your throat, and you instantly move to fighting– your blade against his stomach, teeth gritted in resolute urge to kill– but he’s got his pistol at your neck, and the way he brushes it against you is almost like a lover’s embrace.

“One thing I hate is a fucking liar, Cola.” He grumbles, and you glare at him. “You’re not some innocent– why else do you got a fusion core in your pocket?”

“I never claimed I was a good woman.” You shake your head. “I just wonder why the Brotherhood, the Enclave, hell, even some of the Raiders… everyone wants the ultimate piece of the pie.”

“Besides, you’re the one who kept saying to survive out here I’d have to be a killer.” You remind him, and he looks down at you, thinking. “The world’s grieving– I don’t blame it for that, I feel the same way.”

You’ve still got a way with words, he thinks, and he was right. He can use you for his benefit.

“Say, Nuka-Cola. Why don’t we take some of those fuckers down?” He stills. “Not randoms. The power-hungry pie-eaters, like how you so eloquently put it.”

You don’t fully trust him again, but you’re into the prospect. You don’t want power, and you know he doesn’t either, but it’s not just looting. No, no, this is something akin to revenge.

“Alright.” You whisper.

“Alright. Okay, I won’t shoot if you don’t cut me.” He speaks softly, slowly, trying to cajole you out of attacking– and you move as he does.

The threatening air of before is gone now, and the Ghoul has only a odd stare for you, something that makes you feel watched, almost reminding you of two centuries ago. It could be that he doesn’t trust you either– and so you walk onward with a gap between you two, heading to wherever a faction that needs fucking up could be.

Coop strolls inside the makeshift bar as you make conversation, staying within the shadows. It’s not on official Enclave grounds, it’s simply a nearby bar where members have been known to hang out.

He doesn’t exactly mind being the one to pick up the slack of killing people– he can tell you’re good at charming people what with your former bombshell acting techniques, your silly, soft blinks, the way how your skin still looks smooth and untouched.

Was it all a lie with him? Aw, shit, why does he care? He really doesn’t have time to wonder if he’s been manipulated by you– he won’t be manipulated by you now, when he gets rid of many the people who represents obstacles in his way to finding still-existing Vault-Tec members.

Yes, that’s all this is to him. Another step to finding Moldaver, Henry MacLean, then his family if he’s lucky. And you’ll get some rage out of it, so he doesn’t even consider this to be that bad of an evasion of his.

You laugh at something the guy next to you says. Coop catches a bit of it, of him asking how you look under that big jacket– and you mentioning you’d like to see him without that government get-up, too.

He grits his teeth. He’s not fucking in love with you, or anything stupidly juvenile like that– but he definitely felt something before when the two of you were fighting, or when you had conversations during the long, arduous talk here– you bit into a piece of his jerky when he offered it, and he laughed in surprise that you didn’t spit it out after he revealed it was feral ghoul ass jerky.

He also found that his gaze kept being drawn to you, too. You kept up with him, you were capable of hunting and searching on your own, you took lives when the need arose, and you had his back, even if he didn’t ask for it.

You made him subconsciously draw from the past, reminiscing about a time with you and a future he never thought he’d revisit. And now he can’t ignore that, so he needs to let off some steam.

There’s a splatter of blood across your face as the guy in front of you splutters, a bullet hole shot through his forehead. Little pieces of flesh hit the bar counter as he falls, and you gasp.

Coop is kind of quick with it now– he fires off, and because these “politicians” are unprepared, he’s able to kill off more than half.

You get over your shock quickly and fire your own tiny pistol at random, managing a few kills, but the Ghoul takes the last one and looks back at you, with an intrepid glance that you can’t figure out.

“What the hell was that?” You call out, and he doesn’t respond, instead beginning to pilfer the bodies, looking for shit to take. “Hey, Ghoul…”

“We came here to kill off those guys.” He answers you, but it’s not really an answer.

“Yeah, but I thought we agreed on discussing this shit as we were doing it. What happened to signalling?” You approach him, and as you get close enough, he turns around and stares unnervingly into your eyes.

“I did signal, sweetheart.” He clicks his tongue, lying through his teeth.

“Bullshit.”

“No, I did.” He points at you. “It’s not my fault that you were too busy schmoozing and flirting to notice.”

“Wow.” You laugh exasperatedly at his antics, while he tilts his head. “You’re really obtuse, you know?”

“Nah. I’m not.”

“Yes, you are. You’re gonna say you’re not jealous–” At that word, the Ghoul snarls, ready to tell you exactly how little he cares for you, and you motion for him to zip it. “But at the very instance of seeing me flirt, mind you, in the most fake way possible, you lost it. You can’t even tell the difference between my genuine flirting and the fakest, schlockiest shit?”

“...” Coop frowns, because you’re right– he did kind of let his mind go wild over nothing in particular.

Even worse, it means he’s made it apparent to you that he still harbours some feelings for your long-ago relationship. And that’s definitely a potential weakness– he does not want you to believe you can just work him around.

“Fuck you.” He spits, and instead of your face flinching in hurt, you stay neutral.

“I know you think you can come close and then shove me off every once in a while, because you’re fucking terrified of what it means that you’re not as hard as you pretended to be, that you still have a bit of human emotion inside you.” You tiptoe up to his face so he can’t avoid you. “I don’t care. That’s your problem.”

You turn to leave, to continue looting the bodies– and Coop’s hand wraps around your wrist.

He hates what you’ve said, because it’s absolutely provoking the worst issue he has– he can never just let go. Two hundred years of this has made him a different creature altogether, spiteful; evil, but Coop knows as well as anyone that his transformation doesn’t negate his original nature, buried deep down.

It was a lie on his part– people are not as evil as he made them out to be, it’s the cycle of this situation that perpetuates that shit. Violence begets violence and all that. He can’t seem to say this to you, though, because he can tell you already probably knew that.

What is this fuckery, that you’re able to generate such a sense of guilt in him?

“Show it to me again. Genuine flirting.” he says instead, and he knows it’s stupid as hell to say something like this. “It’s been hundreds of years, you can’t expect me to fuckin’ remem…”

You grasp his arm back, making him quiet.

He’s half expecting you to punch him, but you see something you like– something that finally satisfies you, and you kiss his cheek, where you cut him much earlier in the day. It’s a soft bruise, mostly healed over in the way ghouls heal– but it’s overwhelmingly, embarrassingly hot there now as you pull away.

“I won’t forget the difference next time, Nuka-Cola.” He tips his hat at you in a mockery of his acting as a dashing cowboy once upon a time.

“Won’t be a next time.” You shrug. “I would hate to have to flirt with someone again just to get you to notice me.”

This severely bothers him, like you haven’t been an annoyance in his mind this whole time. And then he wonders if you’re an idiot, like you have no idea the effect you had on him back then, and even now. Hell, even that overly-chaste kiss has him remembering how he felt at Sebastian’s party when you humoured him the first time.

Do you think the only thing he’s burying is some empathy for the human race?

He can’t just let you be this wrong about this, no fucking way. And it’s with this in mind that the Ghoul feels his reserve melt as he tightly grabs your face and kisses you. Not a soft, movie-star kiss of the past, but one more hungry, his lips swallowing yours, pressed sternly, firmly, like he’s not gonna let you go. He parts his mouth ever so slightly, trying to catch a reaction from you.

You’re caught off guard, and he’s glad. He likes that you don’t know what to do with yourself, that for once you’re floundering rather than him, and you barely remember to kiss back until a couple seconds later when your hands grasp the base of his skull. You’re tracing grooves, calluses, skin that’s been eroded by his ghoulishness. You feel like he tastes ever so acidic– perhaps from the radiation emitting from his body– but some weird part of you loves it, and you part your lips as you kiss him harder, wanting to feel his tongue.

Your lips are just as soft as he remembers– but there’s more excitement now, more of an urgency as you kiss him, so he takes your invitation and swirls his tongue around on yours, disgustingly vulgar and perversely fast, yet lingering to enjoy the sensation, and he kinda loves being a corrupting force, being the ghoul who eats up this sweet human girl, and he tightens his grip– it almost hurts you, how tightly his hands weave around your waist suddenly– and then before you know it, he pulls away.

He wipes his mouth, never taking his eyes off of you.

“So. Did I taste like Nuka-Cola?” You joke, and he laughs in your face.

“Nope. Darlin, you haven’t been the Nuka-Cola girl for hundreds of years. They replaced you not long after you vanished.” He smiles widely at how your face drops. “I can show you some of the new girl’s billboards, if you’d like.”

“That would explain the lack of revenue.” You raise your eyebrows. “Then why do you still call me Nuka-Cola, Cola, etcetera?”

“That’s how I remember you.” It sounds too sweet, too nice that he keeps your nickname on tabs, so he twists his lips in a sneer. “Plus I don’t remember your name.”

“Oh.” You bite your lip, finding his insult more funny than anything else, and turn around to take items from the bodies around you. “Okay, Mr. Howard.”

It was the optimal moment for you to joke back, calling him the Ghoul, but in classic you-fashion, you decided to extend an olive branch to him– reminding him that he’ll never just be the Ghoul to you. And even if Coop knows he’ll always remember you by Nuka-Cola, he has a fondness for you that he doesn’t neglect anymore– and he murmurs your name so softly, but just enough that you turn back and look at him, and smile with pleased recognition.

2K notes · View notes

your-averagewriter · 2 months

Text

"Only for you, darlin'"

Summary: Cooper heads into town in search for some RadAway for you when he stumbles upon a cute gift (Cooper Howard x fem!reader).

Word count: 1.0K

Warnings: needles, kissing (slightly ig)

Stalking through the desert, he heads towards the town in search of some RadAway for you, the radiation reaching too high of a level for Cooper to be comfortable with, especially in his presence.

His boots echo through the makeshift tunnel made of old tubing before sunlight peaks out of the other end, exposing the market on the other side, countless signs decorating the stalls. He pulls his hat down slightly in order to cover his irradiated face more, less because some people find it unsettling and more so people don’t recognise he’s a ghoul.

He walks along the stalls, searching for any RadAway and some other supplies that need topping up.

Signs stick out to him yet none offer what he needs until he reaches a store with various niche medical supplies as well as bandages and the like. Walking up to the store, he looks over the small bottles and pills decorating the side but doesn't see anything Stimpaks or RadAway.

“Ay,” He gets the attention of the store owner. “You got any RadAway?” He asks, looking up at the man covered in shredded clothes. He shakes his head before looking down at what looks like an old graphic novel. “You sure? I got plenty of caps.”

“How many?” He asks, accent showing he’s not from around here.

“Plenty.” He reinterrates, shaking his bag causing the rattling of the caps and the man puts the graphic novel down, heading further into the shop before returning with a pouch of liquid with a strip of duct tape on, scraggly writing on it.

“I keep it in the back, people nick this stuff the most. 50 caps.”

Cooper scoffs. “50?” He asks, confusion mixed with annoyance in his voice. “30.”

“45.” He counters. “And I’ll throw in a Stimpak.”

“Fine” Cooper counters and the seller sighs before pushing it towards him whilst Copper pushes the caps on the side. “And you got the good deal there, you should feel lucky I’m willing to pay for this.” He snatches it from the side, rolling his eyes before moving on to finding other items but glad he’s got what he came for.

Strolling through the town, he looks in the store windows, something catching his eye in a junk store. He pushes open the door, a bell ringing making him wonder if it’s a trap but why would there be a trap when someone is trying to sell junk?

“Hey darlin’, feel free to take a look around.” An old woman says, crazy hair covering most of her face making him feel uneasy that he can barely see her eyes. He nods before heading towards the window display, boots hitting the wooden planks underfoot noisily as they creak.

A toy rabbit sits in the window, no more than a foot tall with fluffy ears and a cute nose. He swipes at it, examining it and dusting it off before looking for some sort of price label.

“How much for this?” He turns to face the woman who pushes her glasses up, scrunching her nose as she squints at the item.

“8 caps, but for you 4. Who’s this for?” He pulls out another five caps and drops them on the table before carefully putting the bunny in his bag, making sure it’s tucked in and the clasp is shut properly. He pulls on the latch, checking its security. Secure.

“My girl, she loves bunnies. Thanks.” He grumbles, walking out the store and off to the base again.

He walks back through the desert, kicking the sand as he goes, mumbling to himself and even whistling slightly. He lifts his hand to keep the sun out of his face as the base appears in his field of vision. Base is a strong word for a couple of broken down buildings just by the trees that are more secure than you would think. It provides cover and hides flames when it gets cold.

He can’t help the edges of his lips quirking up at the sight of the base and his girl.

Under an hour later, he returns to the base, stepping through the ‘door’. “Sweetheart?” He yells through the base.

“Cooper, that you?” You ask, sweet voice ringing through the walls.

“‘Course it’s me.” He grins to himself, following your voice.

“I don’t know why you wouldn’t let me come with you.” You say before being interrupted by a cough. After moments of coughing, Cooper rubs your back and once you start speaking, he reaches into his bag.

“Did you get a Stim-” You start but he passes it to you with a brief kiss to the cheek. “Thanks.” You smile before looking down at the Stimpak wrapped in a cloth. Taking it out, your eyes are immediately on the needle, you take a pause and deep breath before injecting it into your thigh.

Letting out a breath, you drop the used Stimpak and look back to Cooper who wears a smirk, holding back a laugh.

“What are you laughing about?” You cock an eyebrow.

“You ain’t scared of no mutants, no raiders, nothing but needles.” He chuckles, his accent prominent. “It’s cute.” He says before remembering the bunny toy in his bag. “I got you something in town.” He says, rootling through his bag.

“More RadAway?” You ask, knowing his paranoia about you getting too much radiation when being around him.

“Yeah, but I got you something else too.” He pulls the bunny out of his bag. “Now I know it ain’t much, but I saw it and thought you’d like it…” He presents the bunny, quickly brushing off some of the sand from the journey.

“Aww.” You can help but coo at the cute bunny, taking it off of him and holding it gently, picking up one of the ears and letting it flop back down. “You didn’t spend too much on it, did you?” You look back over to him.

“Y’know it’s rude to ask about someone’s finances, sweetheart.” He teases. “Besides, the lady gave it to me for cheap, probably knew I was getting it for my girl.”

“Probably knew you were a softie.” You tease.

“Only for you, darlin’.” He picks up your hand and leans down, kissing it playfully.

AN: I can't believe I haven't posted anything for over three months… sorry I've had exams and extra and it's just been stressful so hopefully I can get a bit more on track.

I hope you enjoyed reading!

1K notes · View notes

ladybirdswritings · 18 days

Text

Pretty Thing - Cooper Howard (Ghoul) x Reader

Summary: You’re a shiny, pretty prize worth more caps than can be counted on ten hands altogether. There’s something special about you, and the Ghoul is determined to figure out just what it is.

Notes: I’ve been wanting to write for this cowboy for days now and I’ve finally come around to it. Cowboys are my specialty lately <3. Lmk if u love this and I’ll write more (feel free to leave me lots of comments and interactions, I love those!!)

A03 | masterlist | next chap

pretty thing…

“Well lookie here, seems you vaulties ain’t as perfect as you promise to be, huh?”

A furrow of chocolate brows, offense and confusion from sweet Lucy MacLean. This vault promised development in weaponry that the new world had never seen before. It was a thing of storybooks, the kind of thing her dad told her right before her head hit the pillow.

Now, here she was; and it wasn’t a caged weapon she was staring at… no, but rather a caged person.

“This violates all of our policies…” she muttered softly, worry stitched in her soft features as she looked on at the mangled cowboy beside her.

“Tsk tsk, sweetheart. You oughta be more careful with trustin’ these shit-eating freaks. Ain’t you learned your lesson first time round?”

Lucy sighed, falling to her knees and grazing a warm hand against the metal. She looked on at you with pity. Weak, hazy you.

How did you end up in this predicament? You didn’t know. You didn’t remember.

It was as if the entirety of everything you’d ever known was only stitched within your brain in jagged, disorderly flashes. This had to be one too. A flash.

A vault dweller and a ghoul, side by side.

It was most certainly a flash.

“What do we do, coop?” The brunette wondered, doe eyes gazing up at the mangled creature. He only smirked.

“We split. You find your precious tin-man you can’t stop yappin’ bout… and I’ll snatch up this dyin’ cargo. Comprende?”

Lucy had come to trust him, and maybe it was a stupid thing to do. Reality was, though, he’d kept her alive this far. Maybe she owed it to him to follow orders. With a huff, she parted— and then?

It was just you and the ghoul.

Heavy footsteps circled your metal cage, like shark to labored minnow. You were far too exhausted to pick up those pretty eyes of yours from the ground they gazed at.

Chains wrapped round your wrists and ankles, cold metal burned against your spine and cheek. There were two ghouls in your peripheral vision, and each one was the same amount of horrifying.

The footsteps halted, and suddenly the mangled, noseless blur was clear as day before you. Kneeled to your level, observant— cold.

“Well well— look at you, huh? Pretty thing. Now I understand takin’ precautions but damn, sweetie. That’s a lotta chains, hm? What’s so scary bout’ you?” He whispered the last part, thread laced finger lifting to slowly push a loose locket of hair from your dampened face through the cage.

You blinked, forcing your gaze upward so to try and meet his eyes. It was exhausting.

He observed you like you were a foreign object, a diamond in the radiated rough.

“I’d wager to say that you’re just the weapon we was lookin’ for, ain’t you?”

God, he didn’t know just how right he was.

If there was one certain thing you could remember clear as day, laced through the flashes, it was your powers. Each and every one of them, laying dormant now.

You were far too poked and prodded, too drained to even think of lifting a finger.

“Been doin’ this for centuries, pretty thing. Centuries and I ain’t ever seen this kinda experimentation on a little fawn. Hm. Guess you was just unlucky.” His breath was warm as it hit your face. Musing and eyeing your exhausted, slumped figure. Observant, taking his time. Your keepers would be coming soon— he didn’t seem worried.

“Tell you what. You look like you gon’ make me lots of money. So you’re comin’ with me. Don’t you worry, I prefer ropes stead’ of chains, sweetie. You’ll be nice n’ comfortable.”

The more he spoke, the farther away he sounded. You were aware he was a ghoul, that much was certain. Yet even so, no part of his voice, no part of his fading threats were even a little bit startling. No.

His voice was a soft yet strong southern drawl and god— it was far more comforting than the chains and cement floor you’d always known. Perhaps that’s why you let the exhaustion overtake you. Perhaps that’s why you closed your eyes.

Did it matter why? No. All that mattered was that you did.

The rest was a blur. The last thing you remember? Frayed ropes being wrapped round you tight as you were freed from your chains. Mangled, coat covered arms lifting you from the cement and golden teeth pressed against your aching ear to whisper:

“C’mon now, pretty thing…”

Then?

Slumber…

¿to be continued?

452 notes · View notes

reveluving · 23 days

Text

heartburn ; the ghoul x reader

summary: kindness gets people killed in the wasteland, and yet, cooper can't help it when it's you.

warnings: s~mut obv (minors DNI!), pre-war performer/entertainer!reader (for your creativity!); now an immortal ‘smoothskin’, soft as hell but our lovely ghoul is still a loud mouth, age gap but not really (think of him in his 40s & you in your 20s/30s but both in 200-ish years old), typical fallout violence & explicit language, loads of banter & fluff!

a/n: it’s here! based on this because the brain rot was (and is) so real. decided to call this the ‘la rouge series’, just to make it easier for tagging and when any lil’ pieces/asks come in. hope you guys enjoy & don’t forget to leave some sugar! ᐠ( ᐛ )ᐟ

» curious about my writing? come & check out my main m.list!

» smut includes: possessive soft & slightly mean dom!cooper, ‘pretty girl’ & baby as pet names, dirty talk i.e. + about exhibitionism (it doesn’t happen tho!), body appreciation, nipple play, spanking, fingering, a bit of edging/teasing, unprotected s~ex (p in v), bits of aftercare but overall, coop likes it nasty.

'It was worth holding back a witty remark during moments like these if it meant seeing you light up each time.' ;

It should’ve been uncomfortable; the sheen of perspiration building up along your body, despite the cooler night, albeit marginally as opposed to the day. Had it not been for the ceiling fan, no matter how slow it gets once in a while, you were indebted to its existence.

Especially at this exact moment, throwing your head and watching the contraption spin above you as Cooper bucked up into you.

Lucy had dozed off, you checked an hour prior, finding her asleep in the old guestroom when you stopped by. Maximus, too, snoring away on the wingback chair next to her. Whether it was because you entered with light steps or the duo were bone-tired, you had successfully spread the thin sheets over their figures before turning the table lamp off—all of which Cooper watched behind the door, feeling an overwhelming emotion brewing in him.

You barely knew them, hell, he was there when you shot Lucy a chilling look, realizing she was the daddy’s girl, but beyond that, you also saw two souls who were… lost. A set of strangers who wanted nothing more than to do the good thing, even if you didn't agree with their beliefs. And yet, the old caring nature in you couldn’t help but offer at least some form of appreciation for their humanity.

You held yourself back when Lucy babbled, even if—when you wanted nothing more than to cuss her father out. You didn’t lash out when she asked about your time in the shelters way before her mother was around. You acknowledged Maximus’s good intentions, even if they were a little gullible.

Cooper noticed it all, and fuck, if your unmoveable kindness wasn’t disgustingly the sweetest and sexiest thing he had ever seen.

It all felt like a typical romance movie after that, when you crossed paths in the living room, with you on your way to the kitchen when he stopped you. Delicately (and uncharacteristically, you might add) holding your wrist and tugging you to his chest to stare into your dreamy eyes. How a smile naturally bloomed on your face as you reached for his jaw. He indulged in your cutesy behaviour, as he always does, angling his head to kiss your palm while your eyes remained locked. It was worth holding back a witty remark during moments like these if it meant seeing you light up each time.

Not that you couldn’t handle them, if anything, putting him in his place wasn’t unheard of—you knew how to shut him up with that aura of yours from time to time.

But make no mistake; he knew how to get you tongue-tied, too.

He dipped his head, and the kiss that came was nasty. Swallowing your little gasp when he took hold of your jaw.

“Here?” You whispered incredulously between giggles when he led you to the couch. All he gave you was a grunt, falling back into the seat and pulling you with him. Your legs snugged around his as he encouraged you to sit, not hover him. The soft tune that played in the kitchen reminded you of a scene out of a cheesy porno from your old days, and when he hummed along, you knew he had the same thoughts, too.

“It's our house,” He grinned, “Means our rules.”

“Uh-huh,” You humoured, amused as you shook your head, but the use of ‘our’ did send butterflies to your stomach, “Mind elaborating, handsome?”

He explained all-too-happily, “It means y'got every right throw y'guests t’the doghouse if they start yappin’ ‘bout indecency.”

You say that now, but you knew he would shoot one in between their eyes for ogling you clothed, let alone in your glory. He has done it before.

Countless times.

But you’d kick him to the doghouse if he ever got blood on your floors. And just to piss him off further, you’d allow Dogmeat to sleep on the bed with you.

“You'd like to do that, wouldn't you?” I snorted.

His eyes lit up, taking your words as a green light, “Y'offerin’?”

You smacked his chest. “I know your games, cowboy. Room’s not far, y’know?”

“Aww, c'mon,” Calloused fingertips traced up your legs before slipping under the skirt, alternating between kneading and smacking your ass repeatedly to hear your squeaks, “When's the last time y'and I messed ‘round in the livin’ room?”

“Just last week.” You huffed, partially from the way his hips rolled against yours.

With any lack of action and the undeniably warmer weather throughout the day, you thought it was time to enjoy the night breeze with a slit skirt. The hems were slightly burnt off from past confrontations, involving a near-fatal experience with a Molotov cocktail, but besides that, it was relatively intact.

And just like you, it was Cooper’s favourite piece, too.

“Mm,” He acknowledged with a grunt, “Far too long t’me.”

He leaned back, arms spread across the backrest while looking at you expectantly

“Y’gon’ take it off f’me or…?” He asked. You rolled your eyes—as if you could ever refuse him.

But you couldn’t just give it to him, right?

You sat back, poised and coy, toying with him when you gazed up at him through your lashes. In the mood to give him a little show as it seemed like your guests were going to stay out cold for a while.

You were definitely teasing him when you popped the buttons of your shirt, only to let it droop around your elbows, just enough to get a glimpse of your cleavage and pesky black bra.

Reaching over, you dragged your index finger from his Adam’s apple, down to the collar. His overcoat long gone for your convenience, uncovering his chest without problems.

He was always intrigued, and if he was being honest, in disbelief by your fascination—by your need to have him unclothed in some form of way, despite his condition. The wariness grew over time, and he had not only relished it in but encouraged you for it, too.

Bunching up and pushing your skirt to the side, his fingers rubbed your pussy through your panties. He sighed, feeling the patch of wetness that soaked through the fabric. He was excited as you were, eager to feel you against him as he shifted under you.

He raised his fingers to his lips, sucking on his middle finger sloppily and groaning at your taste before dipping them under your panties. He straightened, pulling you forward by the back of your head as he prodded a finger into you. The position had you arching, chest to chest as he forced you to moan in his ear.

At your mewls, he was more than content to give you another, sinking his ring finger in bit by bit to feel you clench desperately.

He revelled in the warmth, the tightening of your warm walls as if fearing he'd pull out. The more you felt him curl inside you, the more useless it was to muffle your cries. The embarrassing squelch didn’t help either, but how couldn’t you, with that romantic stunt he pulled moments ago?

He tapped on your hips, silently requesting you to hold yourself up for a moment while he shoved his pants down. His cock stood with pride, twitching at the cool air and the anticipation to feel what his digits were feeling.

Pushing your panties to the side, he lined up the head of his cock to your pussy. He was practically dreaming of feeling you sink onto him at once, already bucking his hips to fill you to the hilt. Instead, you took him in ever so slowly, bit by bit before raising your hips till there was nothing more than the tip of him in you. Taking him in little by little as he teased you with his fingers.

“Y'tryin’ t’kill me?” He gritted out.

“You can handle it.” You cooed back, already losing composure as you felt up his chest.

He groaned, eyeing you dangerously only to shudder when your thighs slammed against his. You felt full, hell, you were full, needing a moment as your fingernails dug into his skin.

“Fuuuck,” He groaned, tipping his head back though forcing himself not to close his eyes to watch your tits bounce as you moved faster, “Look at y'go. Yeah, ride m’cock, pretty girl. Juuust like that.”

His praises had you pulsing around him, but so did his desperation. Slowing down once again to feel him buck under you.

But there was also something else about tonight.

Familiarity was putting his feelings lightly, unable to tear his eyes off as images of the same smile, maybe just a tad more innocent about the world, flashed before his eyes. Remembering his lucky encounters with you when you were both stars. When the two of you had dreams. When your worries at the time were nothing more than bringing joy to the people who watched you perform like you had hung the moon.

He could never forget admiring you and your artistry, similar to how you marvelled at his productions in awe, even after when they were nothing more than a man on a horseback before it all went to hell.

And to have him before you once more, albeit a bigger menace than you thought was possible, he was still your Cooper Howard.

Your cheekiness was wiped off when his hand dropped to your ass with a sharp smack, the slap drowning out the radio for a split second.

“‘Y'had your fun.” He growled. His hands held onto you so desperately, similar to the way you grappled onto his shoulders for support.

Your button-up was sticking to your skin just below your breasts, and as much as Cooper loved the little striptease, he wanted more.

He pulled the article further down by your sleeves, where you shuddered at the feeling of Cooper’s lips latching onto your skin. The sensation rough as he nipped at your rib. He surged forward, salivating as he sucked and tugged on your nipple. He let out a heady groan, tasting a hint of salt while rigorously bouncing you up and down his cock.

You were what pin-ups couldn’t emulate, what poets or authors couldn’t convey with mere words.

Anyone, surface dwellers and vaulties alike wished they could have you.

He crept one hand in between you, rubbing tight circles on your clit. He didn’t relent when you trembled, when you tightened as you came hard. Not even when you spasm, overstimulated when he continued to thrust in and out of you.

He held you down longer than you would've liked, too obsessed with the way your walls fluttered around him. Begging for some form of friction as you clamped him like a vice. The mewls that followed were music to his ears, frustrated in the cutest way when he did nothing more than flash you an infuriating smile.

A tight one, you noticed. Unable to hide his own need for long as your juices dripped down to his thighs. He was… a little sick in the head—who would’ve thought—abstaining himself from chasing the high for just a moment, just to amp up the pleasure and feel his desperation sated as if he finally deserved the ‘treat’.

“Coop…” You mewled, nearly choking on your spit as his iron-clad grip forced you to feel each and every ridge of him up to the brim, “Coop–! Please! Please move, please—fuck.”

Oh, how cruel of him to deny you. Especially when you sang for him so sweetly.

You raised your head, lips parted as his eyes bored into your teary ones. Even when you became lost in your lustful haze, only able to churn out nothing but his name as hushed moans, he couldn’t miss the small dazed smile flickering across your face.

He couldn’t resist, reaching up to brush across the pads of your plush lips. And as hooked as you were over the proximity, you placed your hand over his, keeping it on your cheek.

Your eyes screamed for him to go faster, to put you out of your misery. He pitied you to some degree when he rolled his hips.

“That too much? No, y'can take it. M'pretty girl can take what I give.”

“Gonna fuckin’ come in’ya, y’hear me?”

“Oh, you’re tearin’ up, feels really good, doesn’t it, baby?”

He slammed you down as soon as he came, thighs sticky and flushed. His grinds slowed down, chest heaving till he had his last spurts of cum in you. He traced his hands along the bruising spots he had left on your hips, then up your sides, tickling you.

The corner of his lips twitched at your tired giggle, catching your breath with your face pressed against his shoulder.

“Y’liked that?” He matched your amusement, reaching over the dry towel conveniently draped on the arm of the couch and wiping off the sweat dripping down your back.

“Mmm.” You hummed into his skin, already comfortable against him.

“Y’really liked it,” He reiterated, finding your playful eye-roll worth it, casually dragging the cloth under your chin and the area between your breasts before tossing it to the side. He let one arm outstretched on the backrest, “Y’need some water or somethin’?” You thought for a moment; you’d need a sip or two after all that, but you could hold it off for a few minutes.

“In a bit,” You returned to snuggling in his arms, much to his satisfaction, “Can't you just carry me to bed?”

“I would, but…” He trailed off. You followed his line of sight when it fell to his lap, not only reminding you of the mess but also if he stood up, well, you might as well fall with him if his pants dropped to his ankles. You knew he could clean you up and buckle his pants before carrying you to your room with no problem, he just didn’t feel like it.

And, well, you understood him.

“Fine,” You sighed, feigning resignation even though a little smile was playing on your lips. You knew each other too well, “But if I hear rushed footsteps or that girl yapping about ‘my eyes’, I blame you.”

“Not the first time you’ve ever blamed me for anythin’—m’poor ol’ heart,” He pretended to weep, placing a hand on his chest, only to catch yours when you tried to smack him for it, “See? Unloved, by m’own girl.”

You shared a laugh, and when he pulled his rest on your waist once more, you knew none of you were going anywhere.

In minutes, you were finally able to take in your surroundings, recognizing the chorus playing in the background, a classic of Dean Martin’s, one that even Cooper couldn’t help but hum to. It was soft, no more than within your hearing range, even bobbing his head to the beat. You followed, too, and to your surprise, the two of you coincidentally sang a particular line together.

♫ Your love made it well worth waiting ♫

♫ For someone like you ♫

You turned your head to head to the side before he could look at you after spotting the knowing smile he was sporting. And as the song came to an end, eyes droopy as he instinctively rubbed your back, his hat tipped down.

You couldn’t help it, craning your neck and planting one final kiss, to which he eagerly returned before your bodies melded into each other once more. Relaxed and protected from the dangers outside your safe haven, even for just a moment. So long as both of you were still breathing, you’d take the bull by its rotting horns in stride.

♫ Everybody loves somebody sometime ♫

˚ · . f i n . · ˚

a/n: fun fact! ignoring the fact that the concept of the game is inspired by the 50s and burlesques would no longer be as famous then, one of the many entertainer options I imagine for the reader (depending on the fic) is burlesque (?) dancer, which very much inspired this piece! not necessarily as her job in the old days but someone who knows a thing or two about it! but again, as the reader, you have the right to imagine whoever you or your mc however you’d like! ;; gorgeous rose divider by @firefly-graphics ♡

481 notes · View notes

leviathanleva · 1 month

Text

Daisy

Pairing: Cooper Howard/The Ghoul x Fem Reader

Description: Cooper Howard was not a kind man, he cared for nobody, but himself. Then he found you, a lost little dove, barefoot and crying, torn dress and big innocent eyes staring at him like he was a hero. He knew you’d be a burden, he knew you couldn’t survive in the wasteland, he was doing you a favor.

But he couldn’t pull the fucking trigger...

........................

⛔ DARK FIC ⛔

[MDNI, Romance, Fluff, Smut, Angst, Blood and Injury, Violence, Use of Chems, Smoking, Alcohol Use, Mention of Suicide, Toxic Relationship, Graphic Depiction of Gore, Death (not of any major character), Ghoul Trafficking, Reference to Cannibalism, 18+]

🌼🌼🌼🌼🌼🌼🌼🌼🌼🌼🌼🌼🌼🌼🌼🌼🌼🌼🌼🌼🌼🌼🌼🌼🌼

Arc |

Arc ||

Arc |||

🌼🌼🌼🌼🌼🌼🌼🌼🌼🌼🌼🌼🌼🌼🌼🌼🌼🌼🌼🌼🌼🌼🌼🌼🌼

[If you are uncomfortable with Tumblr's format, you can find this story on AO3]

#the ghoul x you #the ghoul fanfic #fallout tv series #the ghoul x reader #the ghoul fallout #x reader #cooper howard #cooper howard x you #cooper howard x reader #fallout tv show #fanfic #the ghoul #fallout fanfic #fallout fic #fallout x reader #fallout x you

691 notes · View notes

multi-fandom-imagine · 20 days

Text

─ ★Cooper Howard didn't know why he was so drawn to you, didn't understand it. Maybe it was your innocent he liked so much, your kindness. You don't see much of that in the hellish escape he lived in.

Or it could have been your smile, infectious laugh, how you batted your pretty little eyes at him. Or it was how you whispered his name. Your little mewls of pleasure escaping those plump lips as he fucked you senseless. How good it felt the way your cunt wrapped perfectly around his cock.Everything about you was perfect, his own little way of getting high

But maybe it was the way you made him feel human again, alive. He didn't feel like a freak, like a ghoul and that was thanks to you. You recoiled in fear or disgust at him. Cooper liked the feel of your skin against his, he liked to listen to your heart beat softy against his chest as you slept spent. A blissful smile on your face.

He loved you...Cooper Howard loved you but that would be something he would never admit.

#blurbs #blurb #cooper howard #cooper howard x reader #cooper howard x you #cooper howard x y/n #the ghoul #the ghoul x reader #the ghoul x you #fallout #fallout x reader #fallout x you

303 notes · View notes

bunnypeew · 1 month

Text

my sweetheart- Cooper x Fem!reader

okay so i’ve wanted to write a one shot of The Ghoul cuz he’s so funky I love him!!!! so this is an attempt to writing something that isn’t hazbin hotel heheheh :3c

the surface was something else, and for a vaultie like her it was terrible but she’ve been out and about for at least a decade now so she knew her way around. She had her fair share of partners sure, but finally after years she found the one, the perfect person for her. Coop was a ghoul, a pre war one too and for those 200 years he hadn’t found anyone after Barb, no one at all, but something about her changed his heart forever.

they met during a bounty hunt, long before the Wilzig one,, and they just so happened to bump into each other in Filly, it was definitely not normal to see a ghoul there so she got curious, she said sorry for bumping into him, tucking her hair behind her ear out of slight embarrassment

''Don't worry, I'm not gonna crumble after a slight push,,

he says smirking, lit cigarette in between his lips, takes a puff and looks back at her

''say do you by any chance know where I can find this fella here?,,

he says showing a drawing, of what seems to be a wanted poster, she looks at it carefully only to not recognise the guy and biting the top of her finger looking at the ghoul

“sadly no, but i can help you find him! i’ve had a few bounty hunts in my time,,

she says, kinda proud of herself since she hadn’t been doing that for long, and she thought she was pretty good at it

the ghoul looked her up and down, not in a rude way but it was the fact she was still wearing her vault suit, after years of not being in a vault she was still to attached to it and couldn’t take it off, of course she tweaked it a little bit with patches where holes where and some armour on top so it wasn’t in its original state

“sorry sweetheart but i don’t think a vaultie like you would ever take on of my bounties,,

she seemed a bit taken aback by his sentence but tried not to show it, she strikes a bit of a pose, hand on her hip and the other one takes the poster from his hand, gently of course

“well, try me!,,

the ghoul smirks again, taking a last puff from his cigarette then making it fall on the ground and stomping it with his boots

“sure thing,,

that was the day they met,, and since then they’ve been inseparable.

now in the present they would take bounties together all the time, but now was one of those days where they stayed home, they got a little cottage in the middle of nowhere, near enough vegetation to grow their crops

they were relaxing on their bed, she was playing on her pipboy while he was reading a book, suddenly he plops down his book and looks at her being concentrated on her game, he starts kissing the back of her head with soft little pecks making her shiver a bit but still playing the game

“hun get off your pip boy and come cuddle with me for a lil, huh?,,

he says now kissing her neck, so she decided to turn off the pipboy and give her man attention.

she turns around and gets under his arm cuddling in, then looks him in the eyes

“how lucky i am to have you Coop,,

he chuckled and looked at her kissing her nose

“I think it’s the other way around my sweetheart,,

this is a short one!! but i like it!! WE LOVE THE GHOUL RAAAAAH

#the ghoul x reader #the ghoul #fallout show #fallout #fallout x reader #x reader #fallout fanfic #fallout x you #the ghoul fallout #cooper howard #cooper howard x reader #cooper howard fallout

165 notes · View notes

mlmxreader · 4 days

Text

Fallout + pet names/terms of endearment

these are ALL m!reader - please don't be weird abt it if you aren't mlm/nblm

jncludes: MacCready, Preston, Hancock, Nick, Cooper Howard/The Ghoul & Maximus

MacCready

handsome, trouble, sugar, bad boy (playfully)

MacCready rolled over from his place on the left side of the bed, a soft groan coming from the back of his throat as he noticed the sunshine starting to trickle in through the cracks in the wall; he couldn't believe it was morning already, but when he set his eyes on you, still fast asleep next to him, he couldn't help but to smile as he gently nudged you.

"Morning, handsome," his voice was quiet and low, still thick with sleep. "C'mon, it's time to get going."

Preston

sweet, General (playfully), husband, Prince charming

It was getting late when you and Preston finally got back home after helping out a settlement in need; the stars were shining brightly, almost as if the world hadn't turned to utter shit around you. Preston couldn't help it, stealing a fond glance your way as he smiled and allowed his shoulders to drop all their tension for the first time that day.

"We're almost home," he said softly. "Not long now, sweet."

Hancock

love, beloved, sweetheart, casanova, sunshine

Hancock had been locked in his office all day, dealing with the various goings on in Goodneighbor and hardly speaking to anyone at all except to ask for the odd bit of Jet here and there to keep him going; he was completely oblivious when you sat yourself down opposite his desk, tilting your head to the side and raising your brows expectantly. You had to clear your throat to get his attention, and when you did, he looked up at you with the upmost fondness.

"Sorry, sweetheart," he almost laughed. "I'll be right there."

Nick

honey, old man, beau, darling

The music was playing loudly as you and Nick sat down at what you could only guess was a pub, although there was hardly anyone around except for a few regulars. It was nice to get away from the hustle and bustle of Diamond City, as well as the nastiness from its residents that weren't exactly kind about your relationship with Nick. A quick look around, and you hummed under your breath at the realisation that nobody actually cared or even noticed.

"Alright, beau," Nick said as he lit up a cigarette. "You sit here, and I'll go get your drinks."

Cooper

cowboy, daddy-o, hot stuff, romeo

At best, Cooper was difficult; selfish and violent, he didn't exactly care what anyone else said or thought about him. He was always the shoot first, ask questions never type - whatever brought him whatever it was he wanted at the time. But even still, as he worked on getting a fire started for the night, he did find it difficult to take his eyes from you; you were the most fucking handsome guy he had ever seen in all his years, and at night, it seemed like the stars became trapped in your eyes.

"C'mon, cowboy," he said suddenly. "Sit down an' eat somethin'."

Maximus

sweetheart, angel, pumpkin, tiger, teddy bear

Maximus grinned as he sat down beside you, thankful to have some spare time just for the two of you; a little bit giddy, he handed you the glass bottle of Nuka Cherry. Outside, the weather was hot and almost sweltering, but amongst the wooden walls of the abandoned shack, it wasn’t so bad.

"I managed to find the last one," he told you, nearly laughing. "What'd you think, angel?"

81 notes · View notes

jamiedc-they-them · 26 days

Text

Good People Part III: As you would have them do unto you. (Platonic)

Note: A summary of episode 3-4-beginning of 5. CW/ Discussions of PTSD flashbacks, trauma - mild mention of what happened in Reader's past; needles

Summary: Capture, being used as bait, having internal spirals you can't control, losing a finger, and almost having your organs harvested; something about that really bonds two people together.

Part 1 Part 2

"It's smart," you say, carrying the head, "his idea. His head, and whatever the hell is inside it, for your dad. It's a fair trade."

"It's horrible," Lucy objects.

"Most things are here."

"I hate it."

"Yeah, me too," you admit.

"How have you survived all on your own up here? I mean, no weapons or anything," she then realises how that sounds, "sorry."

You wave it off, accidentally waving the head in her direction, "you're good. And, I used to. I wasn't alone. Had some people."

"What happened with them?"

"Most of them took our stash and ran."

"'Our'?" She catches onto.

You pause at a water filled place. No way you'll get through that without something eating you.

You clench your jaw, "yeah...I was the only one left after a few days."

"I'm -" she goes to reach out, then remembers how you reacted before. She doesn't touch you, but her hand hovers near your shoulder, and she instead finishes her sentence, "sorry. I'm sorry for, whatever happened."

You shrug, "yeah, well. Guy pissing on my wound ain't the worst thing in the world, I'll say that," you leave the conversation there.

As you try and find a way through, a gulper jumps out of the water. It grabs Lucy on the leg, and knocks you away.

"Y/N!" Lucy calls out, being dragged, "Y/N, my gun!"

You put a hand to your head, it ringing. You blink to focus your vision, finding Lucy's drug gun in front of you. You crawl to it, the world moving in slow motion almost.

"Here!" Lucy says, throwing you a shot. You open the gun, and slot it in place.

You aim it up, as Lucy tries to kick the thing to get it to let go of her leg.

You fire. It hits the target. It works for a moment. Lucy gets scratched, but she isn't worried about that right now.

"Y/N! The head!" she calls out to you. You're already watching the Gulper run away with it and go into the water. You are already up and running. Lucy isn't far behind you.

"Dang it!" she says, before looking at her Pipboy, looking at the tracker for it.

She takes off her bag.

"Whoa, whoa, whoa!" You say, putting an arm out to stop her, "I'll go. I can swim better."

"You can't be serious!"

"Like you ain't just gonna jump in there yourself!"

A whistle breaks up your argument. There he is, the Ghoul from before. Lucy is on the ground the next moment, and a pistol is in your face.

"Don't move now, sunshine," he says to you, before asking Lucy about the head.

She doesn't know, she lies. Even saying "I lost it" instead of we.

So, you're both then tied up, and dragged.

To you, it's too similar to...to before.

You go silent, almost numb.

Lucy is dunked in the water. She keeps begging with the Ghoul, that doesn't help with your memories...

"Be like your friend," the Ghoul says, "and be more quiet, huh?"

You don't talk, not for a long time in your journey. You're just stuck in your head.

She's tried to talk to you time and time again, each time getting more concerned - even airing it to the Ghoul - but nothing comes of it. There's only one instance, when he talks to his Ghoul friend, you come back, sensing the atmosphere. You turn to Lucy, and look away from the scene. Lucy looks to you. It's enough to not let her see the man get shot at least. Even if the blood hits you both.

She can see that you've gone back to how you were when you first met, a mess on the edge it seemed. Desperate, and dying.

Now, more than ever, she understands what that's like.

"Y/N...drink, please," she begs. And, for a moment, you come out of your internal hell.

Slowly you approach it. And then human instinct takes over. You drink, as much as you can fit in your mouth, greedily. It isn't like when she met you. Here, you're a survivor. Not a friend.

You couldn't be that survivor right now. So, she would be in your place. She promises to.

It's why she runs, to try and buy you some time to fight back.

She gets lassoed, but rips off a finger. She loses her own.

"Now, as much as I respect you for it," the Ghoul admits, "try that again, and it's your friend who's next. And I'll give them something to stew over, ok?"

She nods, but he see's the threat in her eyes as well. A fire that's there. He looks back to you. someone who is so lost.

It reminds him of himself in the first few years of his search. He doesn't ask you, though. He tells himself he doesn't care - and, part of that is true, you're just cargo to get more of his meds - but, it's mainly because he's scared of what you'll say. And if it'll drag him back there as well. Grief, loss, pain, a hell of a motivator, but something you could also drown in as well. He drowned for a bit, for god knows how long - it's how his legend grew. But, he pulled himself together. Once you're gone, you can pull yourself together or not - that's not up to him.

So, he leaves you alone. Continues with Lucy, shooting the Vault-tech sign and all. He hated putting his thumb up for that dumb advert.

Lucy looks back to you. That gunshot has made you jump, but now your eyes are darting around. You're trying to find exits. You're, somewhat, back in the present.

You look to her, genuinley fearful - but she's just glad you're back with her. That she's not alone anymore. Selfish, she knows, but she's glad. Gets her hopes up somewhat.

You arrive at your destination, a supermarket. There, the trade goes by.

"Nice to have you back with us, sunshine," The Ghoul says to you, "shame it happened too late," he quips before shoving you forward.

You and Lucy enter the market. A Mr Handy robot greets you both.

"You will both be swell in no time," the bot says to you. Another, identical bot, approaches you, "my colleague here will have you in tip-top shape in no time."

You look to Lucy, 'fight' you say to her. She nods; 'be safe' is what she says to you.

You both go to different rooms.

"Now, my friend," the Handy says to you, "how may I help you today?"

"Uh, couple of cuts," you say, "some infection of some kind from urine."

"Oh, I do say, old chap, that does not sound sanitary at all!" you shrug, "well, not to worry. I have just the thing for you here."

You see the robot go past different cabinets. It even spins around at some point - maybe it was the urine that threw it off - but finally it finds something for you. Rad-away, and some antibiotics.

"Get those down you and let the Rad-away do its thing, and you should be good as new in no time at all!"

You inject the radaway into you, and take the antibiotic. You don't know if it's just you making it up in your own mind - fooling yourself - but you do feel stronger.

"How do you feel, old chum?"

"Better," you say, "thank you."

"Absolutely no worry, at all, my friend. Now, just sit still for this next part."

You do so, but soon regret it; as you are forced down onto the chair.

"What the fuck --"

"Now, now, no need for language like that! All will be ok soon. Just a small prick for your organs and then you're free!"

Well, when you put it like that --

A saw starts up. You struggle in the straps. Restrained, and having no choice but to wait for death, you've been here before. It was what made you be alone.

You manage to, just, loosen one of your arms, and turn just enough to make the saw hit the straps. You grab a tray, swinging it into the robot. Using the brief time you have, you undo your other strap and shove the bed into it. Adrenaline at a high. You can fight this time. You can stop it this time.

You grab a scalpel, and jam it into one of the eyes. You do it to another after dodging a swing or two. It falls to the floor, and you begin stamping on it. It won't get up, but you also can't let it live. This isn't a man pissing on you; this was something - programmed by someone - to harvest your organs. This is a threat. A raider like threat.

Still, this Mr Handy isn't to blame. It's been programmed to kill you. That, and it did heal you.

So, you crouch down, putting a hand on its head, say 'I'm sorry' to it, before driving your blade into it one more time.

It doesn't speak after that.

Removing the scalpel, you collect yourself. You did it. You set it right. The ghosts in your head can leave you alone now.

You get up, finding what sharp objects you can, before you start to leave and --

"Oh! Oh, Y/N, thank god!" you run directly into Lucy.

You both give each other a once over, nodding when you don't find any wounds.

"You have colour to your cheeks!" Lucy celebrates, "did yours --?"

"Try and kill me? Yeah. Yours --" you pause, looking at Lucy's, "...didn't?"

She looks back at it, then to you, "Oh, no, it did. I just reprogrammed it."

You put out your bottom lip and nod, impressed, "atta girl."

Lucy chuckles, "alright, what do you say we bust this place?"

You nod, and smile a genuine one, "let's do it," you say.

So, together, you do. Making them release the Ghouls. The last one...however, isn't a good call.

"Move!" you say, dragging Lucy away right as she grabs a gun. It goes off, the Ghoul goes silent. It's just you both left.

Lucy looks at her hands.

You get up, and move in front of her, crouching down, "it - it's ok," you say, not used to being the comforting type after so long...the ghost in your head of your previous time being like this play on you. Lucy isn't like that, like them, she's alive. She's had your back. So far, anyway.

She looks to you again, eyes lost like your one's once were.

"Hey..." you say, putting your hand out, letting it hover near hers. She looks to it, to you.

"How -- I --"

"I know, I know," you say, "it's ok. You had to."

It takes a moment, before she gathers herself. Her eyes go a shade of colder, "the, uh, the man who took us?" she says, seemingly out of the blue, "he traded us for those," she nods her head to something to your side; looking, you see it's vials. Orange ones.

You look back to Lucy, "no one else?" you say, knowing her line of thinking.

She nods, "no one else. Not if we can avoid it."

So, you give the Ghoul some vials, and leave him be to whatever it is that's next for him. It's not up to you.

Now it's you both again, walking side by side with some weapons to your name.

"Can I ask you something personal?" Lucy asks. her voice isn't as chirpy or in awe of everything as before. It's rougher, more serious.

You nod.

"What were you thinking about as we were dragged along?"

"Some people I let down."

She nods, "your family."

"I thought they were."

She nods again, "I lost some of mine, too. I never really knew my mother. I lost some friends to Raiders."

You nod this time, "you know what they're like then."

"Ruthless."

"Brutal."

"Animals."

"Arseholes."

"Butchers."

"You know they made me watch?" Lucy stays silent, knowing that you need this, "they took all my stuff, killed all my friends who wouldn't join them? Left me for dead. A...reminder, or something."

"How long ago was that?"

"Lost my Pip," you say, "didn't really count the days. Just sort of wandered as best I could. Guess I hoped the circles or something would be best punishment."

"You don't deserve that."

"Yeah, well, you don't deserve to be hauled around like cargo," you say, coming to a stop, "you don't deserve to drink that piss water. Or get shot at, or anything. You deserve the vault, and family and not the fucked up place that is up here with fucked up people like me!"

You hate the tears building in your eyes. Lucy hates seeing them.

"I'm not a good person, Lucy. And, to be honest, I don't fully know why you came looking for me."

"Because you're my friend -"

"Am I?" you fire back with, "I mean, jesus, I got you to Filly, got shot, then came with you for my own survival. I didn't help with the Ghoul, or any of that."

"Am I angry at you?"

"I don't know why you aren't."

"Because, and it's why I came back for you; you're my friend, when things come down to it, I know you'll help me," that smile returns, one of a genuine belief in people and her mission. You shut your eyes, your mind and ghosts of past failures telling yourself you don't deserve that look - let alone being called a friend - but you open your eyes and look at them. Not hiding from them.

You hear something, a cry out, and both turn to an abandoned tunnel.

You both go forward. Roaches are climbing over a Brotherhood of Steel suit. You and Lucy shoot the roaches.

"Look, my friend and I here, everyone we've met so far - aside from each other - have tried to kill us," Lucy tells the man in the suit. He promises he won't.

Lucy goes to say more, but instead vomit comes out.

"I have rad-away!" the man says, "I can help. Please, just let me out!"

Lucy collapses. You don't even think, you catch her and lay her down. Trying to shake her back awake.

"She doesn't have long until she's unconscious," the suit says, "I have what she needs to -"

"I know what she needs! Come on Lucy, come on!" You say, shaking her again. More vomit leaves her. You put her on her side.

"Look, just let me out and I can help her! Please! Please!"

You don't have many options. Desperation is a hell of a motivator. You go to the suit, turning the wheel and letting the man out.

"Thank you. Thank you --" he says to you.

"Thank me by saving her," you say, pointing to Lucy.

He nods, grabbing the radaway like he said. You put Lucy's head in your lap.

"You're gonna be fine, ok. You're gonna be fine," you promise her. You move some hair from her face. She coughs.

The man looks to you, and you nod. He injects the needle into Lucy. You see the transfusion start.

It takes time, but slowly the colour starts to return to Lucy's skin.

"Can --" she whispers, quietly, "can I hold your hand?" she asks.

You put your hand in hers.

"I - I knew I was a good judge of character," she wheezes, eyes opening and blinking a few times as she recovers, "I knew you were a friend."

You chuckle, half between that and a sort of sob of joy, "yeah," you say, "yeah, guess you were right."

You look to the Knight you saved, and give a nod of gratitude. He nods back, and sits back onto his hands, trying to recover himself, He's covered in sweat, likely having been put in the suit for a while.

"Thank you," you say to him, gratitude pouring through and walls being fully down.

"Thank you," he parrots back.

You nod, looking back down at your friend. She looks at you, giving you a smile.

You smile back.

She's ok. You haven't failed this time.

You've saved a friend.

Part 4

#fallout x you #lucy fallout #fallout x reader #lucy maclean x reader #lucy maclean imagine #lucy maclean #fallout imagine #fallout

77 notes · View notes

hrefna-the-raven · 1 day

Text

The hunt

Fallout masterlist - main masterlist

Cooper Howard/The Ghoul x reader

Chapter 1 - The plan - Chapter 2 - The bounty

Summary: you take a break before moving on with the plan to kill Dom Pedro 😉

(this happens before Cooper ends up in that grave)

Words: 1858

Warnings: swearing, alcohol, smut (18+)

Notes: this is less gender-neutral due to some delicious smut 😇 I had a female reader in mind while writing this

Chapter 3 - The spoils

The sun was already disappearing behind the horizon when you finally reached the shabby motel in the nearby settlement. The building was run down, plaster crumbling from the walls and the broken windows poorly fixed with a few wooden planks lazily nailed across. It wasn't the place to spend your honeymoon in but it surely was enough to get a full night's sleep and where a ghoul wouldn't draw too much attention. The owner was a sleazy man in his fifties named Dietz. Wiping the sweat from his forehead, he reluctantly rose from his small stool, grumbling under his breath as he got the keys to your room and tossed them carelessly on the counter before his greedy hands snatched the caps. Out of a misplaced politeness, you still uttered a quick thank you before making your way up the staircase, with Cooper close behind, his eyes darting from one corner to another. He didn't like this place one bit but given the circumstances, neither of you had much of a choice. Both of you let out a sigh as soon the weathered wooden door closed behind you and you had locked it tightly. The room was worn down in all aspects with the scarce and stained wallpaper peeling down from the walls, revealing countless cracks that marred its surface like veins on flesh. Cooper's gaze wandered over the sorry state of the room, from the dirty armchairs in the corner over the only bed before landing on your face, a flicker of uncertainty in his eyes. He hesitated for a moment, unsure whether he should let you comment on it first but before his body took the decision for him as he heard his own voice laced with sarcasm and a hint of playful banter.

"Looks like we'll have to share, sweetheart."

"Oh no", you tilted your head back dramatically, "sharing a grimy mattress with my favourite movie star and bounty hunter. How could I ever live through this?"

You giggled, poking your tongue out at him while reaching into the backpack and tossing a bottle in his direction. Cooper smiled to himself, his fingers brushing over the label on the bottle, reminiscing about the delightful moments he had shared while savouring this particular brand. He wondered if it would still have the same taste now that he had changed. Placing his hat on the table, he opened the bottle and took a whiff, letting out a contented sigh. As he turned around, his heart skipped a few beats at the sight of you undressing slowly. Standing there dressed only in tight pants and a tank top, the torn fabric teasingly revealing glimpses of your soft skin underneath, you wore a mischievous grin on your lips. With a playful tiptoe, you approached him, your hands gliding over his shoulders before sliding off his dusty coat. Cooper swallowed hard, his breaths growing heavier and his hands trembled. In an attempt to steady himself, he brought the bottle to his lips and took a long swig of whiskey, downing half of it in one go, earning a chuckle from you.

"What?", he smirked, thankful that his ghoulish face wouldn't blush, "didn't you say something about having some fun?"

You snatched the bottle from his hands, took a few sips as you settled down into the armchair. He undid the first buttons of his shirt and sank into the chair beside you.

Both of you lost track of time, discussing about whatever topic your minds came up with. Patiently, he answered all your questions about his life before the bombs fell and while it filled him with a certain melancholy, his heart still boomed with a blissful gratefulness of spending his time with you. The bond the two of you shared filled him with a joy he didn't think possible after those centuries. He clumsily set his second bottle down on the table, enjoying the delightful buzz of the liquor coursing through his veins. His hazy eyes found yours, a chuckle erupting from his chest at the sight of your playful expression.

"What?", he hummed.

"Well we still need to settle one problem before we can call it a day - one bed, two of us."

"Mhm. Tell me, what's on that mind of yours then?"

"First one at the bed gets it all to themselves."

There was a spark in his eyes, his muscles tense while he tried to keep his poker face, but you had this already planned out from the very beginning. Just as he leapt up, you hurled one of the empty bottles at him and while he scrambled to catch it, you made your jump to the bed, landing on the mattress with a soft thud, sprawling out, to claim every inch of space. He stood there, observing you, his thoughts racing through all the possibilities. Feeling somewhat cocky and shameless, his drunken mind couldn't resist the urge to tease as he etched closer allowing his body to fall towards you. You shrieked as you watched him hurtling towards you, but just before his body touched yours, he stopped the fall with his forearms, his face now hovering mere inches above yours. The heat rose to your cheeks at the sudden closeness and your breath hitched, unable to keep your eyes from darting between his and his lips. A strange smile tugged at the corners of his mouth, one that last graced his face while still living the simple life as a normal human in a long forgotten world. The playful remark he planned had vanished from his mind, leaving an empty feeling that was gradually consumed by the uncomfortable tightness in his pants. His gaze drifted from your lips downwards, pausing at your cleavage, observing your excited breaths. Your entire body burned under his gaze and your thighs were pressed together in a desperate attempt to ignore the heat pooling between them. Eyes fixed on his lips, you lifted your head slightly but just as you were about to finally touch them, he moved his head, looking away.

"You don't want to do this...I'm not, I'm....just look at me and what I am", he stuttered, feeling all too naked and vulnerable.

He yearned for your touch, every fibre in his mutated body screamed for the love you seemed to offer, but he was scared, afraid a monster like him would never deserve the intimacy shared by two hearts. Your legs wrapped around his waist, pulling him down on you. A dark groan escaped his lips as his growing bulge was pressed tightly against you. All his determination to resist you vanished completely when your lips clashed on his, drowning him in the softness of their touch. The chuckle that came from you as you broke away tore straight through his heart.

"There is nothing and no one I'd desire more, Coop."

He drank in your words, their meaning slowly unravelling in his mind, the corners of his mouth twitching. He wanted to whisper a thousand things yet none left his lips as he simply stared at you, eyes filled with a glow you couldn't quite identify. This time he leaned in, his kiss first tender and then it deepened, desire and desperation evident as his tongue eagerly passed your lips, teasing and coaxing with an insatiable hunger. Shamelessly, you moaned, your fingers deftly unbuttoning his shirt and sliding it off his shoulders, your hands then caressing his bare chest. Despite the scars and mutations his skin felt surprisingly soft and warm beneath the touch of your fingertips. Your hand caressed further down, sneaking around to dig your fingers into his butt, earning more of those primal groans. It ignited a wildfire in him, he grabbed your tanktop and ripped it apart. A wicked smile danced on your lips, forcing both of you to roll over and you straddled him, pinning his arms down. When you began to grind your hips against his, a low, guttural moan escaped from the back of his throat. His head tilted back and a smirk formed on his lips.

"Mmh I love those sounds, although they sound a bit...feral", you quipped, your breath coming out in uneven gasps as you felt the wetness between your folds.

"Oh Sweetie, if you keep teasing me, I will eat you", he warned with a dangerous grin.

"Hm...is that a threat or a promise?", you purred.

"Does it matter?", Cooper's gravelly voice rumbled from deep within his chest, his eyes gleaming with a mixture of desire and determination as he shifted beneath you.

His hands grasped your thighs, his fingers digging into your skin with a possessive grip as he flipped you around, almost tearing your pants while pulling them off you.

"Coop", you gasped at the sudden nakedness.

He grinned, his lustful gaze capturing yours as he unzipped his own pants, finally freeing his throbbing cock and he positioned himself between your legs. His hips bucked and his length rubbed through your slick folds.

"All this just for me", he murmured ,more to himself, as he finally entered you.

Sinful moans escaped both of you at the feeling and Cooper started to thrust, digging his fingers into the soft flesh of your hips, urging you to take more of him. He picked up the pace, pounding into you faster and faster, hitting that perfect spot over and over again. One hand let go of your hip and moved between you, rubbing your clit while he continued thrusting into you. He grunted as his climax approached, momentarily distracted by the realisation that he hadn't felt this good in a long while. The desire and want in your eyes as you looked at him, he hadn't experienced this since before the bombs fell and even back then, it had been a while since Barb had looked at him the same way. And then, against all odds, right here and now, his rotted ghoulish face glanced into the depths of a kind of affection he had yearned for all this time, even back then when his marriage was already falling apart. Whispers of your name spilled from his lips as he fell apart and you reached your own release almost at the same moment, your eyes open as you came undone, locked on his while a pleased and loving smile graced your lips. It was in this moment that Cooper knew you'd be the death of him and that he'd gladly take it because he had finally found himself exactly where he wanted to be. He pulled out and settled beside you, panting but with a wide grin etched across his face.

"Hm, no witty remark, Mr Howard?", you teased, snuggling up to him.

"You know, no one has looked at me like that in a very, very long time", he said, his eyes finding yours, "I could almost gettin' used to that."

"Well, my schedule's free after taking care of Dom Pedro", you murmured, face nestled against his skin as you crossed the edge of blissful dreams.

"What a coincidence", he chuckled, "mine too."

His eyes fell shut and Cooper drifted off to sleep.

Chapter 4

Feel free to reblog if you liked the story 😊

Tags: @dreamtofus

#fallout #fallout tv series #cooper howard #the ghoul #fallout ghoul #fallout x reader #fallout x you #cooper howard x reader #cooper howard x you #the ghoul x reader #the ghoul x you #bounty hunter #two hunters one target #ghoul x reader #ghoul x you #shady motel #smut #the ghoul longs to be loved #come and get your ghoul smut

22 notes · View notes

angel-of-the-moons · 28 days

Text

A Most Familiar Color

Charon x Fem!Lone Wanderer

TW/CW: NSFW, Periods/Menstrual Cycle, Period talk, blood, period sex, cramps, blood, violence, mentions of slavery and brainwashing

MINORS DNI I AM NOT RESPONSIBLE FOR CONTENT YOU CONSUME

A/N: This is entirely self-indulgent. I am suffering from unusually horrible cramps and boom! This came to me. You guys can't tell me Charon will shy away from this sort of thing. Enjoy this... Word vomit lmao.

(caps divider by @/saradika-graphics. Check out their work, I recommend it!)

You really missed your dad right about now.

With each stabbing pain, you remembered your time in Vault 101. You remember when Amata sat you down as preteens and helped you through your panic when you first found traces of blood in your underwear.

Amata herself had hit puberty a little young, and seeing as how you were best friends (and neither of you had your mothers) you confided in one another with everything either of you could fathom; best friends til the end. So, when the pains started and you bled more, Amata told you that you should probably go get your dad, seeing as how he was the resident doctor, and all.

The very thought had mortified you, embarrassed beyond all get-out at the thought of talking to your dad about something like this.

Amata had shrugged, "I had to talk to him about mine. He even gave me tips on how to lessen the cramping. Trust me, your dad is not going to think you're weird or gross."

You rolled in your sleeping bag, the faint memory of more pleasant times overshadowed by the pain you were feeling stabbing low in your abdomen.

You focused on the rest of your memory. As it played out behind closed eyelids.

"This is perfectly natural, sweetie." James had told you as you laid in the sterile-smelling clinic. His eyes, the same color as yours, smiled gently and with infinite patience as he explained what was exactly happening to you.

"It means you're going to be a woman now. And, when you're ready, you could have a baby, if you wanted to."

Your nose had crinkled, the worst of your cramps having died down thanks to the pain pills he'd given you. "I don't want to have a baby."

"I should hope not!" James had laughed. "Not yet, anyway. I'm not old enough to be a granddad yet."

You rolled your eyes and turned onto your side, pulling the blanket up to your chin as you peered at him while he continued to explain what would happen, what to expect, and how to take care of it.

He'd given you these weird things... pads, "sanitary napkins"... and these other cotton contraptions you didn't very much like--tampons. They looked uncomfortable, and when he explained how to use them, you did not like it. Apparently the Vault, when built, took into consideration the female residents and had mandatory cotton growing and harvesting alongside their usual crops for this very reason.

Since this was all new to you, your father suggested the pads and napkins first, and did a short demonstration on a piece of spare cloth how to apply it and wear it comfortably.

All this however, was drowned out when a horrible cramp bled past the barrier the painkillers had built up for you. James had frowned mid-way through his explanation and demonstration, his heart squeezing at seeing you--his only and beloved child--in so much pain. He reached out and gently squeezed your shoulder, "I'll get you some muscle-relaxers, sweetie. I'll have Jonah tell Mr Birch that your schoolwork will have to be done back in our suite until your cycle ends."

"Can you not say that part?" You moan, feeling shame bubble up in your chest. You weren't sure why, but you felt horrified that so many people might be aware of what was going on with you. "Just say I'm sick."

"Okay, if it makes you more comfortable." James said softly. "But I want you to know, that I've seen several of your other classmates about this very situation, honey. It's not gross, it's not strange; and it most certainly is nothing to feel ashamed of."

Your silence stretched in the room, the sound of the air system and rattling of air vents the only thing that filled the void of speech.

"You know... your mother had rather painful periods, herself." James finally spoke up.

Your eyes widened and you lifted your gaze, intrigued. Oftentimes, the only thing that he would mention about your mother was her favorite Bible verse, and her love for you, spoken in her last few moments of life.

"Yes, yes, she did." He continued, seeing your awe and curiosity. "Sometimes they would get so bad, the pains, that she would snap at anyone. She was also prone to mood swings." James chuckled fondly at a distant memory, one he did not voice aloud.

"So, I just want you to know, that I definitely understand how much this can hurt you, sweetheart. Especially when I would have to help massage her belly to ease the cramping."

"...I wish Mom was here." You mutter softly, barely audible. But James picked up on it, smiling bitterly and fixing you with a gaze of love.

"I do, too, sweetheart... God, I do, too."

Yeah, you definitely missed your dad right about now... You missed his gentle words, you missed when his hands would help ease the hot water bottle into your grasp; you missed his ever-patient and comforting presence.

"You're tossing and turning a lot." A gruff and grating voice rumbled from nearby, stoking the fire he had lit hours ago in the tiny, decrepit house the two of you had taken shelter in.

Charon. The ghoul who said few words, the man who had been a slave to the cruel man in Underworld: Ahzrukhal. Charon had been brainwashed ages ago, forced into servitude and to obey the orders of whomever held his contract.

Which, after a difficult bartering session... was now you. Mere moments after buying said contract, Charon had gunned down his malicious former-"employer" with two taps of his hefty shotgun. The second shot completely unnecessary, as the first pull of the trigger completely obliterated the man's head; brain matter and blood and bits of skull painting the dingy walls a deep red.

During your travels, you had even gone so far as to hand Charon his contract to him, telling him he was free, now. He could go where he wanted, when he wanted. You'd even tried to give him a few caps and tried ordering him to buy his own contract from you. But, he explained that, infuriatingly, it "didn't work like that".

And in the stressful months you'd traveled together, things changed. The dynamic between you two. Eventually... that changed, too. Became something personal--intimate.

Before, you would merely knock back some painkillers here and there to offset the pain, exercise to mask the cramps, and hastily wash any blood from your clothes to conceal what exactly was happening to you every four weeks; that shame your father insisted wasn't necessary, ever present in the back of your mind.

"Sorry." You mumble.

"It does not bother me." Charon mumbled, his hazy eyes slowly gliding from the glow of the fire and towards you as you rolled to your other side so your back was too him. You just couldn't take his intense gaze. Not right now.

"Were you hurt in the fight earlier?"

And yeah, the two of you got into a rather violent melee when you were ambushed by a few raiders hyped up on psycho. You'd taken a bat to your gut, which, you swore, is what made your cramps worse, today; aside from the bruise that was likely there, now.

The wind rattled the boarded up windows, whistling angrily through cracks unseen as the first heavy winter storm swept over the Capital Wasteland.

"Yeah. I'm just--just sore." You mumble, tucking deeper into your bedroll.

That's when Charon said the words you had really hoped he would utter: "Let me see. We still have the ointment from the coots back in Oasis. It'll help with the bruise."

"No--Charon, I'm fine." You blabber out nervously, fingers gripping the thin fabric wrapping around you as you wished you could sink deeper into the ruined cushions of the rather questionable old couch you laid on.

You should have known better. Aside from your budding and confusing relationship, Charon still had his driven mentality to ensure the safety of his employer. You. Even if you didn't like it at the moment.

"No. Let me see." Charon insisted.

The shuffled of dirt and trash on the old wooden floors, coupled with the soft squeak of his old leather jacket and patchwork armor soon followed.

"Charon, I'm--" Your voice is cut short when his large hands are placed on your diminutive body. Or, well. You were average. Charon was... large. He was nearly as tall as someone in a suit of power armor.

You couldn't fight him as he gently manhandled you, unzipping your warm trappings to free you from your cocoon of privacy. His hands stayed at your sides, resting softly on your hips as he looked at you expectantly, his poker face, as usual, was absolutely impossible to decipher.

But you knew. He was waiting for your consent, or for you to start.

You sighed and began unzipping your vault suit. A bit flashy in the wasteland, for sure... but in the winter it served very well to keep you warm. You felt a flush rise in your cheeks as the chilly air in the house covered your bare skin as you shimmied the top half of your suit off, revealing the threadbare tank top you wore beneath.

Charon gently guided you back down, so you were laying flat on your back as his calloused and scarred fingers gently hiked your shirt up to your ribs, to peer at the injury he suspected you had.

You had turned your head, chewing the inside of your cheek as his absurdly hot hands smoothed over your belly. Yeah, you definitely had a bruise.

"It doesn't look that bad. The ointment from Oasis might help with the soreness." He grunted, turning to rifle through his duffel bag. After a few moments, he pulled back a brown jar from the depths of his things. He unscrewed the tin lid and the acrid smell greets your nose; the pungent ointment smelled awful. But you couldn't deny that it worked great in terms of pain relief.

He scooped out a glob of the murky-white slop and gently began to smooth it down, rubbing and pressing in soothing circles to cover the blossoming purple that covered your midsection.

And, honestly... it helped. Not the bruise, but your cramps. The weight and pressure from his heavy hand massaging your abdomen eased the throb your reproductive organs wrought within you. You sighed in relief at the touch, welcoming his easing of the tightness in your belly.

But, almost as soon as the relief began to seep into your weary body, Charon slipped his hand away. Your smaller hand gripped his thick wrist, "Wait."

He tilted his head, a ruined brow quirking up ever so slightly as scraps of rusty red hair flopped over his scarred and pitted scalp.

"I... can you... keep doing that? It helps. A lot." You say vaguely, looking away from him and biting your lip.

Charon eyes you for a few more seconds, before his hand began to press and soothe once more. As you relaxed into the cushions, Charon's cloudy gaze studied you intently, the gears within his mind grinding and turning.

"You're bleeding, aren't you?" He finally said, bringing your bliss to a screeching halt.

You move to sit up, cringing, "No, no that's not it. I'm just sore, and..."

His hand slid a bit lower, pressing down over the spot that hurt the most, right between your bones poking delicately through your skin. He grunted softly, "You should have said something. Especially if it's hurting you this badly."

"I--It's nothing, Charon." You say, trying to shove his hand away; but his strength did not waver. He continued to press his fingertips down into your smooth skin, rubbing short, tight circles as if he could feel every contraction and throb through your skin.

You groan deeply in relief, unable to contain it as the pain begins to slowly bleed away. "We're out of painkillers."

Charon grumbled in acknowledgment, nodding as his eyes focus on the task his hand was undertaking, the give and slight stretch of your skin as he pulled and pushed; fighting the waves of pain that swept up your body, engaging in a sort of combat with your cramps.

"We will stay here for a few days." Charon continues as his hand smooths flat briefly, before massaging the last echoes of your aches away. "The storm will likely hang over us, and it isn't smart to go out in a blizzard, if this turns into one. We have plenty of provisions to last us until the storm passes."

You nod, your eyes slipping closed as, even though the cramps had lessened to almost nothing, Charon continued to massage your abdomen with his massive hand; the pain blooming into something... else. A fire, not unlike the one that burned in the rusted fireplace, glowed hot and low inside of you, making your body go slick with something other than the blood you knew soaked into the cotton strip in your underwear.

The heat thrummed in your chest and you swallowed, your hand squeezing his wrist once. "I... Y-You can stop, now."

Charon immediately halted, something his palm once again as he looked at you.

This sudden shyness was completely unlike you. You were loud, boisterous, giddy and able to talk down even the most hard-headed individuals; not this... shy little radrabbit.

You groaned again in frustration, gripping his wrist tight as you rode out a fresh cramp.

"There is something," Charon said slowly. "That might help."

"What is it?" You sigh, looking at him with pinched brows.

The moment your eyes fell on him, you swallowed a new lump in your throat as Charon leaned in over you, dwarfing and caging you beneath his massive body on the couch.

"There are ways to help the pains. Basic ones." He said softly, resting his forehead against yours.

You shivered, the heat rolling off of his body triggering a nervous sweat on you. Or maybe it was your body as your temp Rose ad fell--just as your father warned you would happen from time to time. Either way, the smell of him, the lingering ghosts of his touching, and now his innate closeness to you had that heat pool once more lowly in your belly.

"I... Charon, I don't think--" You began to awkwardly bumble out.

It wasn't that you were afraid of the prospect, not at all. You had had sex with each other once or twice already. But sharing your body in such an intimate matter, especially with the... mess going on with your lower half right now... let alone with someone who was, up until recently, your "employee" as he put it, had your stomach flipping with angry butterflies.

His hand that was used to massage your belly braced him up so he could stare down at you. That ever-steely gaze fixed against yours, your lip quivering a little in some sort of shame you cursed yourself for feeling.

"I can help you. It's my job." He says, his voice softer than usual; the deep grating almost missing from him altogether. This was... gentler, as if he was talking to a scared animal.

"Charon, you don't have to... this is..." You struggle out, a deep sigh heaving from you as you tried to come up with an excuse, your fingers toying blindly with his leather belts looped around his torso in an effort to calm down. "It's... gross. Messy."

Shockingly, the ever-rare smile slowly curves his lips, twisting his marred features in a humorous glow as he looked down at you further, a dry chuckle tumbling from him as though you just said the funniest joke on the planet to him.

"Doll..." He whispered to you, leaning in to press his lips on your jaw, just beneath your ear. God, that pet name sent shivers down your spine...

"I have been marred with death and grime for dozens of years. A long fucking time. I'm not afraid of a little blood."

"I..." You hitch, feeling his free hand slide down your front, his thumb sweeping over your pebbled nipple, feeling it through the thin fabric of your tank top. The ache you felt there, too, eased somewhat as he gently rolled and groped at the fat, wrenching something between a grunt and a moan from you.

"Let me help you. And it will help." He growled deeply, sucking a bruise into your throat in such a way that had your back arching and your walls fluttering at his promise.

"...Okay." You finally consent.

The moment you gave your permission, Charon reached down to grab at the edges of your suit, tugging it down your thighs enough to give him space to work while his hand worked its way past the worn elastic of your underwear.

The moment his fingers touched your aching clit, you made a shuddered sound, your hands gripping his leather jacket tight, gritting your teeth as his mouth worked at your throat; the callouses and pitted texture of his hand providing the perfect friction to your throbbing little nub.

Charon groaned against your soft skin, his crooked teeth scraping at your pulse as he spread your lips, his fingers moving to trace your leaking hole.

"You're forgetting that I've had many employers. Women included. I've done this before for them; an orgasm will help." He murmurs, sliding a thick finger inside of you, his thumb circling your clit mercilessly as you walls squeezed down around him.

His tongue traced a bead of sweat that rolled over the knot in your throat, "...you're the only one I'll enjoy doing it for."

The throb in your cunt matched the one in your chest; feeling humbled and happy that he trusted you so entirely--accepted you so fully that anything he did, that could bring you joy or relief, was his own; as though you two were the same person in separate and anything that helped soothe you did the same for him.

"Charon." You moaned weakly, your hips rolling in time with his fingers as he pushed another one inside of you, pressing and curling in the delicious pattern he already knew made you weak in the knees. He was a fast learner, figuring out all your bells and whistles after that first fleeting and awkward sexual encounter the two of you had back in your house in Megaton.

You panted and wheezed, his hand moving wonderfully slow in the best way, massaging your contracting walls as you pressed your legs wider for him; brushing against the rather intimidating bulge in his jeans that he neglected in favor of you.

Almost as soon as his fingers pressed on that spongy spot inside of you that had you seeing stars... A throb of pain overwrote it and you whimpered, your thighs squeezing tight around his wrist as your belly flexed once more.

Charon pulled his mouth free of your neck, looking down at you, his brows furrowed hard as he studied your pained expression. "Another one? How bad?"

"Hurts..." Was all you could sniffle out. "I'm sorry."

"Don't." He growled, leaning down to kiss you deeply, his tongue gently brushing your lips before pulling away again, pushing up on the couch until he stood on his knees and looked down at you.

"Don't ever. Say sorry. To me."

You looked up at him, feeling guilty as you dared spare a glance down at his hand as it withdrew from your heat, smeared with your blood. Your cheeks burned and you tried to hide your face behind your arm.

Charon wiped his hand on his pants and sighed down at you. It didn't surprise him, not really, that you felt shame regarding your monthly cycle. A lot of women had grown up being shamed; especially if any blood was visible on their clothes. Shit, even before the War, women and young girls faced a stigma if they spoke openly about their menstrual cycles.

He despised the fact that somehow, that shit survived into the apocalypse. He hated the fact you apologized for feeling that pain your body was inflicting upon you naturally; that you felt bad for being "messy".

But what irked him most in the moment, was the fact that his touches weren't enough for you right now. Charon grunted, pressing the heel of his palm into the bulge in his pants, hissing out a sigh between his teeth.

He leaned down, gently pushing your hand to the side so he could look into your watery eyes. Mood swings were common, too. That he knew obviously. His chapped and rough lips grazed yours softly in a gentle and well-rehearsed dance.

"Relax for me. Getting upset won't help you right now, doll." He whispered sweetly to you, his eyes softening as your gazes locked.

"I--I don't know why, I..."

"Hush." He says, hastily undoing his armor and jacket, lazily draping them over the back of the couch; reaching behind him to pull off his thin gray shirt over his head, revealing the twisted, marred, and damaged tissue of his body to you.

Many people were disgusted by ghouls, finding their skin (or lack thereof, in some cases) gross and unappealing. While yes, there were the scant few who found them attractive; both sexually and in general... The vast majority were uncomfortable with the prospect of having sex with one.

Your eyelashes flutter as you blink, swallowing hard; your tongue felt like all moisture in your mouth was absorbed, the muscle swollen so much that you couldn't find anymore saliva to moisten it. He had an amazingly built body. Not an inch of fat on him (but then again, very few even had fat anymore, given how scarce food could be from time to time) Charon was a solid wall of muscle and scars from past battles; both physically and mentally.

And he knew you loved every bit of him. Maybe you were naive, maybe you had just been lonely at first... but he was well aware of how intensely your attraction and affection burned for him.

His fingers slipped his belt loose, the buckle tinkling as the worn leather slipped free; before unbuttoning his jeans.

Charon looked into your eyes, his cock throbbing at the way you bit your lip, your soft eyes staring with heated want at the bulge that was so prominent in his confining clothes. But, as before, the look of doubt flickered in that little flame within you; shame.

He couldn't help but feel a small sense of smug pride, smirking down at you. "I know you might not want to do this... But--" Charon sighed as he freed his cock, holding the fat length of it in a tight grip.

As scarred as the rest of him, the sheer size and texture promised a head-spinningly good time.

"Let me help you." His other hand pinched your chin between thick fingers, making you look up at him and match his eyes. "Please."

Your heart squeezed in your chest. He was asking you, making sure above all else that this was what you wanted.

And... you did. Nodding as another new cramp slipped through your abdomen, you cringed a little. "Please..." You repeat back to him.

Charon nodded, pulling the rest of your suit off and tossing it to the floor, his thumbs hooking your bloody underwear down your legs, the coppery scent hitting his lack-of nose as he carefully set them aside. He kicked off his boots and pants before caging you against the couch once again, looking briefly at the slick of crimson that shone on your smooth thighs, the short hairs on your sex sticky with it.

He gave you another kiss, this one more heated than the last, your tongues twining and dancing as he aggressively fought to seek dominance over yours. He won, of course, you were helpless against him.

"Take deep breaths." He muttered against your lips, reaching down between you to notch his gnarled tip at your entrance.

You let out a shaky puff of air, before sucking in a tight lungfull as he pushed in, the stretch of his cock absolutely filling and oh, so pleasant. Your heels dig in to the muscles of his glutes, your nails biting into his pitted skin as he slid inch by torturous inch into your tight, clenching walls.

Charon tossed his head back with a groan, "Fuck. You need to relax as much as you can, doll... You're fucking tight."

You nod frantically, whimpering as you try to force your muscles to ease up their vice-grip on his shaft, mouth hanging open in hungry pants of air as he slowly withdraws, his cock painted a macabre red before thrusting back in.

It hurt, not just from the cramps you were feeling, but from the fact that Charon was going so slow, so gentle with you. You understood his concerns, yes, but... fuck. Your body screamed, your ovaries practically beat against your womb to just have him fuck you relentless, to pump you full of seed that would never take root.

You wheezed as his hips arch and press down against yours, rubbing your walls in a painfully erotic way, "Harder."

He stilled, then, bracing himself on his elbows to look at you, his scruffy scraps of hair hanging down like tattered curtains as your eyes locked once again. "You're sure?"

"Yes." You sob softly. "Fuck--yes. I--I need you to... to just..."

He growled, his mouth twisting into a snarl as he pushed up on the couch, leaning back as his hands reached around you, hoisting you up by your ass so his cock could angle blissfully within your cunt, wordlessly following your plea before settling into a bruising pace, rutting into you like a man possessed.

Your soft breasts bounced as he grunted, his cock stretching and fucking you so utterly it almost knocked all rational thoughts free from your brain; almost knocking your brain loose as you sob, tears prickling your vision as your eyes crossed, a wanton moan wrenched free from within you in concert with the howling winds that swept the wasteland outside.

The fire crackled and popped, dying down to lame embers, darkening the room as Charon pounded your sore and twitching cunt, the lewd sound of skin slapping on skin a constant sound going off like a gunshot in your ears.

Hell, each punch of his hips felt like a gunshot to your cervix; the pain mixing in a wondrous cocktail of euphoria as you felt your orgasm flutter from deep within you.

Your walls crushed down on his cock, your blood and slick letting him slide in and out of you with no effort as you whimpered and cried with every arch and fuck of his hips.

"Ch-Charon," You hiccup, your blood rushing so loudly in your ears it nearly drowned out the lewd sounds your bodies made as Charon gripped your hips in such a way that you were sure to have bruises in your ass cheeks tomorrow. "Charon, 'm gonna--"

"Do it." He groaned, his head hanging back and his mouth open in wet, hot pants; eyes screwed shut. "Cum for me, doll."

You arch your back, your nails digging into the frail fabric of the couch cushions, tearing the seams almost audibly as your climax rippled through your, your womb clenching finally in a way that blacked out your mind with not pain, but pleasure.

Blinding, searing, burning pleasure as your body turned to jelly in Charon's hands, letting him manhandle you through your final ebbs of nirvana as your pussy clenched around him.

He slowed his thrusts languidly, slowly easing you down onto the couch once again. Your blood would surely stain your bedding... But right now you couldn't care less; finally, blissful oblivion was granted to your cramps. Pain completely dissolved, you sighed in content as you heavy lids drew open to look up at him.

Charon let out a heavy sigh, his hand gripping your thigh softly, squeezing the fat there affectionately. "Feel better?"

"Yeah..." You sigh again, happily, your hands sliding up his shoulders to rest on the back of his neck.

But... some part of you roared to life, awareness spreading through your sex almost instincively.

"I... You didn't--"

Charon smirks at you, once again, the promise on his lips making your pussy flutter around him.

"This can last up to a week." He jerked his head towards the door he barricaded shut against the storm raging outside.

He snapped his hips into yours, grinding his cock head against your deepest reaches.

"So can this. I have plenty of time to get off. Right now... we're focusing on you."

You whimper as his teeth nip at your ear; "...And I think I feel you cramping again."

#Fallout #Fallout x Reader #Fallout x you #charon x lone wanderer #Charon x you #Charon x Reader #Fallout smut #Fallout 3

88 notes · View notes

your-averagewriter · 23 days

Text

“I’m gonna marry this woman.”

Summary: Cooper has a job to get to and (y/n) ends up looking after Janey for him when Barb isn't free leading him to realise that she's the woman for him.

Word count: 1.6K

Warnings: swearing, kissing, saying God not in the religious way (blasphemy I guess)

Cooper wraps his arm around my waist as we walk through the park, Janey holding his hand on the other side. Cooper and I have been dating for over a year and at the start he tried to keep our relationship separate from Janey as he didn’t want to make it too overwhelming for her after the divorce but now it’s been a while since we were officially introduced.

“There’s an ice cream truck over there.” I point out. “Janey, do you want some ice cream?” I ask, looking over to her.

“Yeah!” She smiles.

“Coop, do you want one?” I ask and he shakes his head.

“You girls treat yourselves.” He says and then a ringtone comes from one of his pockets. “It’s work, I’ll be right back.” He gets his phone out and looks at who it is before walking a little bit away.

“Come on, Janey.” I invite. “Let’s get some ice cream.” I say as she takes my hand, which always makes my heart warm a little. “What flavour would you like?”

She examines the board of ice cream flavours before announcing her choice. “Toffee, please.”

“Good choice.” I smile, before walking up to the ice cream stand and buying her toffee ice cream and a strawberry one for myself. “There you go. Don’t drop it.” I pass it to her gently as she takes it and we walk over to a bench, sitting down and waiting for Coop to finish his call.

“What’s daddy doing?” She asks, enjoying the ice cream.

“Oh, he just got a call from work, maybe a new acting role.” I say and she smiles. “He should be back soon.”

“Did you know I used to act with daddy sometimes in the ads he used to do?” She says proudly.

“Oh really? Wow, you’re a little superstar.” I smile, Cooper walking back over not long after.

“How was the call?” I ask, as he walks over. “Any good news?”

“Mixed. Mixed.” He repeats.

“What does that mean?”

“Well, the good news is they wanna hire me.”

“That’s great, Coop.” I interrupt, jumping to my feet and wrapping my arms around his neck, pulling him in for a hug with a bright smile.

“You haven’t heard the bad news yet.” He warns, pulling back with a slightly frown. “They need me on set in an hour to sort out some sizing and contract stuff.”

“What’s wrong with that?” I ask.

“I already called Barb and she can’t take Janey for the afternoon so I can’t go.”

“I could look after Janey for you.” I offer.

“I can’t ask you to do that.” He says.

“You’re not asking, I’m insisting. If you’re okay with it of course.” I smile as his hands find their place on my waist.

“If that’s alright…” He gives in after a few moments with a hint of a smile. “God, I love you, woman.” He says, pressing a kiss to my lips with a full grin now. “I’ll go check with Janey, if that’s alright. I’m sure she won’t have a problem with it, she adores you but I should anyway.” I nod, letting him go.

“I’ve got a job I gotta go to, sweetheart and mommy can’t look after you for the afternoon. Is it alright if I take you girls home and you stay with (y/n) for a little while?” She nods quickly with a smile, a resounding yes making Cooper chuckle.

“I think that’s a yes, (y/n).” I laugh.

“Let’s go then, we don’t want you to be late.” I say with a smile.

---

“I should be back around 5:00, 6:00 at the latest.” He reassures me.

“Babe, don’t worry about it, we’ll be fine, take as long as you need.” I press a kiss to his cheek. “Good luck. We’ll see you later.” I press a kiss to his other cheek and wave with Janey as he drives away. “Come on, sweetheart. Let’s go inside. What do you wanna do?” I ask, taking her hand as we go inside.

“I wanna show you my room and my stuff.” She drags me towards her room, picking up various toy cowboys and horses that they ride. “You have so much cowboy stuff? Does your dad buy them for you?”

“Yeah. We’ve got matching cowboy outfits.” She says before diving into her draws and pulling out two matching outfits, one clearly an adult’s size whilst the other fits Janey. She begins to put it on above her clothes and I drop the cowboy hat on her head gently. “You should put daddy’s one on so we can match!”

“Really? You don’t think he’d mind that I was stealing his clothes?” I tease with a small smile.

“Isn’t that his jumper you're wearing?” She giggles.

“I guess you're right, I’m sure he wouldn’t mind.” I say, putting the outfit on until we look like matching cowboys.

After a while of playing, I make some food for the both of us and a portion in the microwave for Cooper as it nears the time he said he would be home. Some tomato pasta that we eat while still wearing cowboy outfits. I chuckle as Janey gets some of the pasta sauce around her mouth, passing her one of the tissues to wipe her mouth with.

Cooper stands outside, about to open the door but looks through the window seeing Janey and I eating the pasta. A smile almost fills his face as he tries to cover his smile, mumbling to himself.

“I’m gonna marry this woman.” He whispers, sounding more like a stereotypical cowboy than ever before opening the door and walking in. “How’re my two favourite girls doing?” He grins as Janey runs towards him as he opens his arms to hug her.

He mimes the tipping of a cowboy hat at me with a small smirk and I shake my head, silently saying ‘don’t ask’ but smiling softly.

“How did the job go?” I ask, walking over to him by the door, pressing a kiss to his cheek.

“Good, first role I’ve got in a while.” He mumbles. “Just an ad but everything counts.”

“I’m so proud of you.” I smile, hugging him tightly, Janey doing the same despite not entirely understanding the context.

---

Cooper pours two glasses of wine, expensive wine, a celebration if you will after Janey’s gone to bed. Janey went to sleep in the cowboy outfit and made me promise not to take mine off so, being a loyal woman, I happily keep it on.

“Cheers to you, baby.” I smile, lifting my glass into the air as he does the same, clinking the glasses.

“Cheers.” He laughs, taking a sip before putting his glass back down on the coffee table. “I wanna ask you something and you gotta promise not to freak out.”

I’m intrigued, sitting on the edge of my seat already smiling slightly but nervous. “Is it bad?” I ask, the anticipation now killing me.

“Nah, nothing bad, sweetheart, I promise.”

“Okay. I can’t promise I won’t freak out but I’ll try not to.” I say, watching him intently as he leans before kneeling on the ground in front of me. “Cooper, what are you doing?” I laugh with a smile. “Get up, you’ll spill the wine!”

He kneels with one leg up, the other against the floor.

“(y/n) (l/n).” He starts and I’m still confused by what he’s doing. “I don’t have a ring but I thought this was the perfect moment to ask, will you marry me?”

I stand up, hand over my mouth, entirely shocked as I look down at him smiling up at me.

“Cooper, this better not be a fucking joke.” I warn, tears collecting in my eyes as I look down at his serious yet smiling face.

“It’s not, darlin’ I promise. After seeing you with Janey today, dressed up as cowboys making her pasta I just knew you were the one for me. I only regret not getting you a ring and asking you sooner.” He grins.

I stand absolutely frozen, standing up in front of him as a tear goes down my cheek.

“Why would you propose to me while I’m dressed like a cowboy?” Is the first thing I say, slightly muffled by my hand and he just laughs.

“I had to.” He kneels before me, without a ring but with all the right words. “Will you marry me?”

“Yeah, yeah, Coop, of course.” I say, overwhelmed with emotions, happiness being the dominant one but tears still in my eyes. “Oh my god.” I say as he rises to his feet wrapping his arms around me as I wrap my arms around his neck, as close as we could possibly get. “I can’t believe you.” I mumble into his shoulder.

“I love you so so much and so does Janey, you’re just so perfect for me.” He says and I could swear I hear a voice crack.

“I love you too. I can’t believe you though. What am I gonna say when people ask what the proposal was like? That I was dressed like a cowboy?”

“I think you’re worrying about the wrong things right now, sweetheart.” He chuckles.

“I know. I can’t even begin to process the fact we’re getting married.” I press a kiss to the side of his neck. “Oh my god, I love you. I love you. I love you.” I place a kiss for everytime I say ‘I love you’ and he just smiles, taking the kisses.

“I must be the happiest man in the world right now.” He says with a grin as wide as his face.

AN: I hope people aren't getting bored of Fallout fics because I am not.

174 notes · View notes

ladybirdswritings · 17 days

Text

Pretty Thing - Cooper Howard (Ghoul) x Reader

Summary: You're a shiny, pretty prize worth more caps than can be counted on ten hands altogether. There's something special about you, and the Ghoul is determined to figure out just what it is.

Notes: I caved, so here is part 2 <3! Lmk if u love this and I'll write more (feel free to leave me lots of comments and interactions, they motivate me!!)

pt. 1 | A03 | masterlist

pretty thing | 2…

“Please kindly rectify that you did not kidnap this innocent lady and you’re just— borrowing her.”

Their voices were a muffled, incoherent sound. Like ocean waves, rising and falling into pocketed parts of your brain.

“Well sweetie, I could go on n’ lie to you if it helps ya’ sleep better. Then again, I don’t much care how good you sleep.”

The sound of hissing air being breathed in with a moan, and exhaled with a grunt followed those words. The voice was familiar. Sudden, hazy flashes of the Ghoul circling you like a shark reentered your hectic mind. The other voice… it belonged to the doe-eyed brunette.

“Coop, kidnapping is wrong. Besides, what use do we have for another responsibility? What’s left of the NCR would have gladly taken her in as one of their own. Another vault, even, a good one! You’re robbing her of that choice!”

A gruff, deep hum left the Ghoul’s lips.

“Doll, I don’t give a rat’s ass bout’ the NCR. I ain’t no saint, vaultie. Rough economy these days n’ she looks like a useful lil’ thing, don’t she? Besides— she’s in a far better place than the one those underground skillet boys you like to fuck had her holed up in.“

Warmth was encasing your wounded skin, prickling at your senses. It was the most alive you’d felt… the closest you’d been to consciousness in months. Yet, you couldn’t quite pry your gaze apart.

“It’s just wrong…” the brunette whispered after a long moment’s pass.

No matter how wrong it was, well, the Ghoul didn’t much care. He knew well that Lucy would be on her way soon and he couldn’t do much to stop her. Now, he had been a lone wolf for centuries but— there was something about company that made him feel less ghoulish and more— human.

Silently, he liked that.

“You find that tin-lover of yours?” The Ghoul asked, hoping to steer Lucy’s mind away from her moral dilemmas. It worked, because her gaze lit up once more.

“Nope! But I did find some leads. Once we make our way to the city where we were headed, I’ll detour for approximately four days and then if all goes well, I’ll find you again! But with Maximus… doesn’t it sound amazing?”

The city?

“Hm. Guess so. Only thing is, tin-man could be dead by time we get to the city. Now— if I was you, I’d get gone and find him fore’ those roaches start to pick him apart.” There was a mischievous kind of joy at the idea of it, and it was laced proudly in his voice.

Silence again, warmth prickling stronger. Closer.

“But what about you, Coop?”

His laugh was a hoarse, aged and cold sound. As if to say everything his words could not. Lucy understood it immediately. She knew well that the Ghoul could hold his own. He’d done it for 200 and some years, after all. Perhaps she’d grown comfortable working as a team. Perhaps…

But Maximus…

“You’re right. Better to get a head start… what about the girl? She’s high profile. You know those keepers are gonna come right after you and they won’t stop. Us vault-dwellers can be incredibly persistent about the things we are passionate for.”

You couldn’t see it— not while you slumbered, but the Ghoul could only smirk at sweet Lucy’s words. Proud and mangled.

“Oh I know, sweetie. N’ don’t you worry bout’ pretty thing over there. She’s gon’ be well taken care of.”

A threat? A promise? An idea? Perhaps all three— perhaps all at once.

“…right. Look, I grabbed this on my way out. It’s a file— her file. Maybe you’ll figure out what you should do after you read it.”

As if the Ghoul hadn’t figured it out entirely already.

Pretty thing was worth something.

You were worth something. So? He’d do whatever he needed to so to get whatever the fuck made you so special out of you, and he’d drown in caps for it. Enough caps to buy him another century worth of yellow vials. Another century to find his family.

“Mm. Get goin’, MacLean.”

With a nod, she did— bidding farewell to dogmeat and sparing her partner another cautious glance before the sandy dunes engulfed her. Off to the city.

For the second time since you’d met him, you found yourself all alone with the mangled Ghoul. Only, you weren’t strong enough to truly see him just yet…

Pity. Cause he? Well…

He was looking right through you…

🏷️’s @isabellekenway

314 notes · View notes

reveluving · 1 month

Text

angel in hell ; the ghoul x reader

summary: hell on earth is more tolerable with his light by his side.

warnings: allusions to s~mut (minors DNI!), very brief mentions of attempted su~icide, reader as an 'entertainer' is used loosely (for your creativity!), cocky (softer) hard-ass x beautiful badass darling trope mmm, reader was born before the war, age gap but not really (think him in his 40s & you in your 20s/30s but in 200-ish years old), strong language, bits of angst and more fluff overall!

a/n: just a little tester because I could not help it HAHAHA had this in my mind for a few days, and now that I've started the show, I have an excuse to post it 💅🏼 please enjoy & don’t forget to leave some sugar! ᐠ( ᐛ )ᐟ

» curious about my writing? come & check out my main m.list!

'You wondered how your dead father would react to your relationship with a deadly and smitten cowpoke.' ;

You were an entertainer before it all. The best of the best. A real knockout of the century and the kindest of them all.

If only you knew it had its downsides.

Your admirer (read: obsessor) being none other than the Overseer of 33 himself, forcing you into the vault lifestyle with him to be his beloved.

But your mental strength, your humanity, your free will was unbudgeable.

Not even the experiments could budge you.

Not until that one fucking serum.

You tried everything. Before and after your escape.

But the afterlife, or whatever the hell that existed outside of this godforsaken world, just wouldn't take you.

Your mama always said that by living a good, long life, the universe gets to show you what they had to offer.

Thank the heavens she didn't live long enough to take her words back, if she knew the hell her only daughter was put into.

And though the Vault taught you how to survive better than the poor souls on the surface, sometimes you wished you didn't remember how to. Yearning for the ignorance and the near-zombified state they were in over the pristine lifestyle that would jump out of you every once in a while.

At least whatever the underground snakes injected you with kept your youth intact.

Though, you weren't the only one reminiscing your old days, remembering the smiles that immediately bloomed from your presence.

Howard, The Ghoul remembers you.

Nobody at his great age could ever forget a sweet face like yours. Standing out from all the yuppies, despite being well-off yourself at the time, much like you were now. You knew your rights from your wrongs, and they were never for show. Regardless of the bags under your eyes on sleepless nights, or the scars that would decorate your skin after a rough-up, just until your curse magically wooshes it away.

Despite your scoffs, your wave-offs over your old life, that the present had no need for an entertainer, he would say otherwise.

All. The. Time.

Always countering your modesty with the highest praises, albeit sometimes lewdly.

But… not always.

He knew that you knew you were one of a kind if he was able to tell you his life before the bombs dropped. That he was able to tell you stories of his late family. That he was able to tell you that you were 'somethin' special t'him'.

You wondered how your dead father would react to your relationship with a deadly and smitten cowpoke.

But you were on your own now.

Always been for over two hundred fucking years.

At least, that was the way it was before.

Not anymore. Not with the foul-mouthed gunslinger and his pooch, who, to the chagrin of your man, adored you more than him.

Which, really, how couldn't you talk Howard's ear off for harming the sweetheart at first?

Disbelief was something he had lived with from the day he stumbled upon you in the badlands one fine night. The pretty little lady who didn't look like she could hurt a fly back then now aimed her trusty rifle at him with an unlit ciggy in between your lips. Not a tremor in sight as you looked through your scope.

He was half-tempted to be shot.

And well, you did, taking the shot. It did as good as a chocolate teapot, and as you quickly tried to reload, he took a good look at you.

You were a sight for sore eyes before, but today, gorgeous wasn't even cutting it, and if he wasn't daydreaming about your messy hair and sorry clothing article for a sleepwear, then he definitely was about that one night—your first night.

How you teasingly pulled the wide collar of your top down, revealing more and more of your velvety skin. How gentle your kisses were, brushing your lips along his neck like he'd finally break after a lifespan of wandering. How you looked up at him, lips parted and eyes dazed with lust and dare he say, affection.

He knew he was a goner.

But like all the time, he wanted to be greedy.

And for once in his life, after an eternity, the future was finally shedding him some light of hope.

˚ · . f i n . · ˚

a/n: if something ain't right, no it isn't ❤️ don't worry about it, still hope you enjoy! ;; gorgeous rose divider by @firefly-graphics ♡

384 notes · View notes

leviathanleva · 21 days

Text

Daisy

Pairing: Cooper Howard/The Ghoul x Fem Reader [DARK FIC]

But he couldn’t pull the fucking trigger...

........................

[Blood and Injury, Ghoul Trafficking, Minor Character Death]

[5.8k words]

🌼🌼🌼🌼🌼🌼🌼🌼🌼🌼🌼🌼🌼🌼🌼🌼🌼🌼🌼🌼🌼🌼🌼🌼🌼

Chapter 7 "The Road"

“She asked you a question.” the tip of his gun bumps against the skull of the poor man in angry sovereignty. “Not nice t’ keep a lady waitin’.”

The man in question is a scrawny fellow with yellowish, vein-ridden eyes and greasy black hair just shy of his shoulders. A sunbaked, chewed-out lab coat adorns his shriveled form, hiding a multitude of self-inflicted scabs and prickles, but you’d caught a glimpse during his scuffle with Cooper. A self-proclaimed doctor who’d used his own flesh and blood in the name of science and study, he looked nothing short of deranged, but he’d survived until the ripe age of sixty-two and that was enough solid ground for you to trust his expertise.

You sat opposite of him, occupying a wide, crummy slab of concrete that had once been the roof of his laboratory. The entire building was waning, descended to a few walls surrounded by a rusting fence, but it offered enough shelter for most wastelanders to deem habitable. That’s why you’d stopped by, having endured your second month of surface exploration during what you’d learned was the middle of summer, you’d built higher tolerance for the hostile environment, but still couldn’t compare to Cooper. You’d needed respite, to catch your breath under a shade while greedily gulping down lukewarm spring water.

The doctor had heard your intrusion upon his sanctuary and had been more than hospitable, shoving grimy bottles full of murky substances of different consistencies in your face to get you to buy something. When he’d announced that he was a representative of the medicinal sphere another idea had popped into your head, one that required more talking and less buying diluted piss in a corked test tube labeled “Acne Remover”.

He could teach you medicine. The basics, at least, ways to patch up a wound using primitive things you had on hand, and you’d read such books before, but none of them touched on radioactivity nor explained what RadAway or stimpaks were.

The ghoul had been surprisingly agreeable, however, before you could discuss a plan, he’d taken to his ways and was already rasping threats while cracking his knuckles. You’d thrown your hands in the air with a displeased eye-roll as their tussle heated the dust off the floor.

It’s always violence with him…

“A stimpak? I can. Of course, I can.” the doc hacks and spits a mixture of blood and saliva to the side, then turns back to you with a wet snort. “It’s easy. Anyone can make a stimpak. Anyone. Who can’t? It’s so easy.”

“Great.” you nod, gripping your pencil with such force it’s shy from snapping. This was not what you’d had in mind by exchanging information – no guns or violence and absolutely no blood. But your fiendish companion had other ideas and beggars weren’t choosers. You lick your thumb and turn your notebook to a fresh page. “Please explain then. Slowly.”

The owlish look you receive has you eyeing Cooper with a lost frown, a plea for guidance because this man was clearly out of it with no intent on returning to normalcy.

He’s the heavy hand to your soft words as always.

“Talk.” he snarls and digs his boot in the doctor’s ribs, kicking him off his knees and onto his side. There’s no discussion, no bargaining, just a built-in cruelty and lack of patience.

“Jeez, you didn’t have to – ” you scrunch back in abhorrence, reaching for your face as if you were the one taking the beating.

“ – My notes.” a gargled sputter comes from the wheezing man. He laughs, rotting teeth proud on display as he knocks on the side of his head with such force you heard it from where you sat. “Head’s not good. Can’t remember anything. Gotta see my notes. It’s in the notes.” his spastic gaze is bouncing between you and the ghoul. “I can get 'em. Right there.” he’s jutting a finger up at his workstation where a gnawed-out leather bag rests. “Gonna get 'em. Tell you how. Okay? Gonna get up, gonna get 'em.”

He’s motioning for peace with palms spread wide as he slowly rises. The pistol follows him with cold-blooded precision as he wobbles to his desk. You turn halfway to watch as the notepad rests on your thigh, then tuck a wild strand of hair behind your ear.

He sifts through his belongings and it’s not much, but he’s sustained himself so far with the scarce scraps he’d managed to find. Meanwhile, your backpack was still brimming two months later because you had the trinkets to trade for food and water. You had a bodyguard for free and the luxury to indulge in hygienic habits most commoners didn’t see even on their deathbeds.

Bearing a soft heart, you wanted to leave him at least a granola bar, a guaranteed meal with no strings attached so the upcoming night wouldn’t leave him convulsing in a corner from hunger. He was skin and bones at best, a walking skeleton with cracking, aged skin, and protuberant wild eyes, the kind that have seen too much.

But you knew better, rather he starve and struggle than you ending up facing the ghoul’s wrath for acting stupid again. There was no room for kindness here, there would be no praises, just you naively reaching out a helping hand and ultimately having it bitten.

God, you hated this mess of a world…

“Here! Here, here.” he exclaims through a scratchy throat and shows you a torn, brown folder stuffed with sheets of paper. He digs his nose into it, stubby, arthritis-ridden fingers roughly handling the pages like a manic man searching for the meaning of life between the words. “It’s here. Has to be. I wrote it, y’know. All by myself.”

A sharp whistle rings in your ears and your head snaps back to Cooper. He nudges his pistol toward the folder and cocks his head with a scowl.

“Take em.”

You’re taken aback. Your face falls and you glance at the madman behind you with a slack jaw – he’s pressed into his workstation, the folder held snugly to his chest and encased in his frail arms. His hair sways as he stiffly shakes his head with disbelief.

“No.” you breathe out, a voiced thought, then repeat with more authority. “No! I can’t take his notes, how will he work without them?” you’re gesturing towards him with pencil in hand and direness to your voice. “Look at him! He can’t even remember his own name. We can’t just – ”

“ – I ain’t sittin’ here all day just cuz you wanna play Broken Telephone with a con bastard.” he’s a harsh mentor, doesn’t bat an eye at the implication or the devastation his order might cause. The rim of his hat dips, painting menacing shadows over his already monstrous features. “Take the damn notes.”

There’s no equal ground for arguing and the doctor stands there, forced to watch as his life is put on an uneven scale. Either shot or left to wither away without his only source of income, he couldn’t even choose, he was left to be toiled between your hands and the ghoul’s.

You’re bubbling with righteousness, but that won’t do. There are many things your companion dislikes and for unexplained reasons, standing up to him while trying to do the right thing is one of them.

“Please.” the plea leaves your lips as a hiss. Your face is wrinkled with exertion as you attempt to stare Cooper down to a more agreeable state.

You’re grasping at straws, fighting not to drown in the reality of your actions being the cause of another person’s death. This was no raider, or cannibal, not a warped beast hunting you for supper. This was a fellow survivor, a struggling soul the wasteland hadn’t been as lenient towards. Beneath the delirium and madness, the jumbled words and soup of senseless thoughts, he was still human.

You couldn’t. You couldn’t.

“Was your idea, Sweetheart.” a derogatory coo, a sentence that rips up your act of chivalry. He’s almost smirking as he puts you down with just his gaze. “Gotta finish what you started. Now take the fuckin’ notes.”

Impatience nips at his command, only amplified when he sees you refuse to move. His weapon lowers and he takes a few strides with a searing grunt and bared fangs. He’s no gentleman; picks you up roughly by the arm and forces you to your feet as disapproval of your disobedience brings forth his crow’s feet. There is no grace when you’re non-consensually pushed toward your victim, no elegance guides your step to ease the mourning of the man you’re about to strip from any chance of long-term survival.

But you’re also meek with your gestures, approaching him delicately once your footing is set in stone, hesitantly until there is only a thin gap separating you.

His leg juts to the side with barely contained need to run and he once again winds up at gunpoint.

“Don’ be fuckin’ stupid now.” the ghoul spits as his chin dips, he’s peeking beneath his hat with eyes that could boil flesh off bone.

Regret drains the strength from your fingers when you pinch the bottom of the folder, left to weakly tug it out of his grip as he begrudgingly relents. Your vision is set low, trained on your feet, scorned by actions you couldn’t back away from. You take his prized possession and look away until not a blip of him poisons your vision, then after swallowing nothingness down a dry gullet you manage to mumble:

“I’m sorry.”

You skitter back to Cooper, each step hastening your pace until you’re in the sanctity of his proximity. You don’t falter to see his nod of approval, instead hiding behind him, the side of your head leaned between his shoulder blades. Pathetic, powerless, and made cruel, your brows twitch, pulling down the skin of your sweaty forehead as you clutch at the folder with a distant mind and quivering bottom lip.

You leap a thousand miles away, condemned to weigh the doctor's odds and spare your sanity the burden of his demise. There were always radroaches scuttling about, he could live off them. They weren’t your cup of tea but they were edible. If he was smart enough he could gather sand and pebbles, make a filter and cleanse his urine to a drinkable consistency. It wasn’t that hard, he could survive if he wanted to. Maybe he could…

Maybe –

The familiar click of a pistol rattles you out of the dreamlike state.

You tense.

“Wait.” your hand shoots out to lay over his wrist, applying a minute amount of pressure to stray the firearm. “We got what we needed, right? You don’t need to…Please?” your voice cracks and your beseeched eyes lift to face his. “Please.”

The doctor hasn’t moved, frozen solid and silent aside from the low, bizarre hums and attempts to cough out the gunk tickling his lungs. He was sick and mad, defenseless against a loaded gun, compliant with your inhumane deeds, hadn’t said a peep of protest. The least you could do was leave him be after ripping away the little dignity he’d had.

Your way is brutal though, leaving a helpless old man to be overcome by a death worse than a bullet to the head. But you weren’t one to make a tough decision in a dire situation, you didn’t have the guts to do what would be considered a mercy. His chances were null and shooting him now would save him a great amount of suffering. You could walk out and wait for the shot to ring out, turn a deaf ear to the shriek of oblivion.

But you weren’t doing what was best for him, you were doing what was least painful for you.

Masking your selfish spinelessness as a courageous act of standing up to your dominant half to spare a soul. This was no heroism, it was torture. You’d seen firsthand how sadistic fate was in this dystopian world you now called home, but what could you do when the sight of him had you near tears?

Cooper lowers his pistol with a disgruntled scoff and you release a shaky breath.

“Whatever you say…” he clasps his weapon back in place and flings both his bandolier and tato sack over his shoulder.

It was suspiciously easy, but you didn’t question his change of heart, instead keeping close to him after shooting the deranged doctor a last apologetic frown.

He’d been with you since you’d left the vault, acting as the spear to your shield, the one to take action while you sat back and prayed for the best. You were still as friendly and ready to lend a helping hand as when you’d met and if it hadn’t been for him you would have been long gone by now. The wasteland was working on remolding your antics, but it was a slow process in your case and until then it spelled hardships and disaster for both of you.

Actions have consequences, bad ones, good ones, all of them. He’s tried and failed to teach you so he decides a harsher lesson is in order, one that will stick. That’s why he ignores the shuffling behind him and keeps a heavy-lidded neutral expression.

Actions have consequences and yours is being swung straight towards your head.

The bits of gravel crunching beneath your boots keep your hearing busy enough to miss the vigorous grunts and noises being regurgitated some feet away from you. It’s inconceivable that the person to whom you showed mercy would do anything to cause you harm. His uncoordinated, rushed steps don’t even register until they’re thumping right behind you.

You’re a second too late to react before the empty glass bottle is shattered against the side of your head.

All you muster out is a choked gasp as the ground beneath you slips and you’re falling. The world spins with sickening speed yet your fall is delayed, like a swaying feather.

You don’t feel. You feel nothing below your neck.

Your stomach churns as everything is flipped upside down. The folder is snatched from the safety of your armpit. You’re numb when you collide with the dusty concrete, feel only a cushioned resistance from an impact that’s supposed to hurt.

The air is knocked out of your chest, you’re suffocating on dust. Cooper’s boots are doubled and swaying in your vision as they move. You squint to try and focus, but can’t manage much except to roll on your back and twitch when a shot is fired. A guttural scream, then silence.

The scarce clouds visible from beyond the hole in the ceiling are swimming. You want to reach out and touch them.

The sky always leaves you speechless.

“Why…? Why couldn’t you just let it go…?”

You sit up slowly, hunching over as your legs cross to keep you steady. The dull pulse blossoms into pain and you press a trembling palm against your head only to find it dampened by scarlet red. What you thought was snot tickling your cupid’s bow turns out to be blood once you wipe it off with your wrist to see.

Your breathing accelerates and you look to the ghoul before you succumb to a full-blown panic attack.

He’s bending down to retrieve the folder from a man now dead before approaching you with leisurely steps and placing it in your lap once he’s knelt in front of you.

You didn’t feel like crying before you were face to face, but now your eyes are brimming.

“Next time, you don’ fuckin’ stop me.” he speaks in a low tone, letting you weep. His image shakes and you try your hardest to focus, wiping at your eyes and blinking rapidly, all in vain. “When I speak, you listen. No talkin' back, no attitude. You wanna live, you do as I say when I say.” he checks you over carelessly, sees no glass stuck to your skin, only cuts, and deduces a potential concussion from your uncoordinated movements. “Hope you learned your fuckin’ lesson.”

Your downfall, your savior, your opposite, your everything.

He’s up and walking, and you’re given no time to tend to your wounds, not even to rip off some gauze and stuff it in your nose. You replace the notebook and pencil with a water bottle, cup a hand under it, and spare some water to then splash over your face and wash away a part of the bloody smears. A sip is forced down after a short struggle because your stomach refuses to welcome anything. With jelly legs, you rise, flail briefly because the act makes the world whirl and your brain feels like it’s pressing against the inside of your skull, a sickening sensation, seething and pulsing.

Your shoulder grinds against the walls to offer support for your off-course balance as you make your way out of the rundown building. There are no thoughts in your head, for once everything is still, a dark, blank canvas swallowing any image before it can even surface. There’s only a dull ache deep within your chest, mourning, partly for you, partly for the doctor.

Cooper is waiting for you outside with a cigarette pinched between his lips and kicking at the cracked soil.

High-pitched screeching deafens you as the sun’s rays nearly blind you on the spot. Your sensitive eyes are filling with more than tears of sadness, you’re snarling instinctively with a hand shielding your vision. It’s almost nauseating and leaves your knees weak.

Was it really always this bright?

The sun has no sympathy, it blasts scorching heat as if it knows exactly where your head is exposed and oozing, it targets you with viciousness because you’re battered and broken. You lift the stained folder, let it rest against your crown and give off enough shade to keep you from fainting.

With a pained expression, you follow after the ghoul once he takes a particularly long drag from his cigarette and turns on his heel.

A trail is left in your wake, blood, tears, sweat, all marking your path as you struggle not to trip over your feet. Each step is heavy and rattles both your teeth and your brain. It’s an alien sensation, not truly pain, it’s closer to pressure and it’s agony when combined with the rest of your unpleasant symptoms.

Your breaths echo in your ears, drowning out your footsteps because you’re heaving for air like a woman drowning. The world still swims albeit less so and sometimes it’s unbearable and you’re forced to cling to Cooper’s arm and squeeze your eyes shut as he guides you. All you want is to lie down somewhere soft and sleep, but there’s no building in sight, no trees, nothing.

You walk an endless road, hours of silent torment.

With enough distance and suffering, the day is finally coming to an end and everything is bathed in deep oranges and blaring pinks. The sunset is behind you, your shadow faces you and is as decrepit and tortured as you, you’re heading east, not that it matters. You can finally open your eyes fully without wincing and that’s one less discomfort to sulk over, but then another takes its place instantaneously.

Your backpack feels heavier than ever, it digs into your armpits and it would have been worse if you hadn’t sewn the ripped strap back in place, but it made no difference now. It weighed on your back, further ruined your posture.

You readjust it multiple times with a handful of irritated grunts.

“Ain’t nobody told you t’ stuff the whole fuckin’ vault in that thing.” finally he speaks after an eternity of wordless wandering. He’s eyeing you judgmentally while mouthing another cigarette. “Said to bring essentials.”

More fuel to the fire, more salt in the wound. He’s a relentless bastard when he wants to be.

You stop to rest your hands on your knees and catch your breath and you’re a pitiful sight, but that doesn’t stop you from glaring death at him. Too far gone, in too much pain and fear from failing to understand how much damage the blow to your head had caused, you’re a hair away from losing it completely.

“Nobody told you to bring that nasty attitude either, but here I am.” you snap back through gritted teeth. “Dealing with both.”

He pauses.

“Wha’d you say?” he’s tossing away the smoke and storming towards you, but you’re not your usual self – you don’t back down or shrink away or try to run. You’re staring him dead in the eyes with a nasty look. “Care t’ repeat, Missy? My hearin’s not what it used t’ be.” he’s taunting you while holding your face with one large hand, squishing your cheeks until your lips pucker.

“You’re an asshole.” you snarl with hatred; his roughness causes your nose to fill with blood again, a fresh batch that follows the edge of your curled back upper lip and dribbles down his glove. You look almost feral, you almost fit in with your environment, but your eyes are still soft despite everything.

“Only reason why you ain’t getting’ a beatin’s cuz you already got a concussion.” he jostles you harshly, always does when you’re stepping out of line, but he’s too late to deal punishments this time.

You’re past his demeaning attitude, you’re fed up with being flung like a ragdoll and tied up and blamed for existing because you attract bad attention and he has to waste bullets. You’re bleeding and bruised and hungry and out of patience for his teachings. It might be the concussion, might be something else, but you’re writhing.

You’ve had enough.

He was no hero. He was a fucking pest.

When he shakes you for the second time and pain stabs up your neck like a knife to the spine you shudder. The sound that leaves you is worse than your visage, a carnal bellow, a menacing reverberation that could rival that of a cornered animal.

You bite him.

You sink your teeth into the plush between his thumb and forefinger with enough force for your jaw to burn. You’re clinging to his wrist and when he forces you back your nails leave angry red lines over his skin, even through his coat. You take a wide stance to retain some balance and glare at him from behind a curtain of wild, sweat-drenched hair. Your nostrils flare wide and you spit out the grime you’d bitten off.

“Well I’ll be…” he sighs while tipping his hand slowly and looks over the blunt teeth marks adorning his glove. They glisten with a thick coat of saliva. A fowl grin cracks his somber features. “If you wanned t’ swap saliva, Darlin’, should’a just said so.”

He glides his tongue over the bitemark, then licks the blood clean off his fingers. He’s tasting you, he’s savoring you and your façade falls in repulsion.

That disgusting smile never leaves his chapped lips.

You’re on the verge of insanity, pushed to the brink from everything that’s happened in the past two months and today spelled your breaking point. You’re at your wit’s end and all he does is laugh at your misfortune without a drop of empathy. How can he enjoy your misery? What kind of sick man finds pleasure in another’s pain?

“What is wrong with you?!” you shriek as your hands ball, the folder you’d forgotten you still held, creases under the pressure. You land a fist against his chest, then another, and, of course, he doesn’t even flinch. “Why are you like this?!”

He holds your arms while stifling his cackles, softens your blows while you fuss, lost in your tantrum and throwing conniving insults his way while somehow avoiding any vulgarities. It would have been a comedic performance if your condition potentially worsening didn’t make him fret. He didn’t need you passing out in the middle of nowhere because you couldn’t control your frustration.

“Who did this to you?”

Who hadn’t? His darling wife had dug a knife in his back, taken his daughter away and left him to rot. He’d known the taste of betrayal and disloyalty before the bombs and now it was a free-for-all massacre. He’d not just lost everything, it had been ripped away from him. Every single person he’d known had either tried to kill him or left him stranded.

“Who hurt you so bad…”

But who were you to ask him such questions? Who were you to sink your claws so deep and stir him awake from his bitter slumber spanning over two centuries? Who were you to question his ways and fight to find better solutions? Who were you to mend wounds you’d not caused?

You were nothing.

You were everything.

“Easy.” he warns, paying no heed to your desperate laments, then releases one of your hands to snake an arm around your waist when your knees give out. “Easy now…Easy…”

You’re bawling into his collarbone, sobbing an ugly song, and staining his vest with heavy tears. Your fists uncurl once you’re done drumming at his chest and your fingers sink into the warmth beneath his coat. He’s a solemn golem, doesn’t react to your advances, he doesn’t see you as a threat.

“Why didn’t you just shoot me in the start…”

His heartbeat never changes, but you hear him swallow a lump. He watches over the top of your head as you succumb to periodic trembles and tire yourself out completely. A dainty and ethereal creature compared to him and even in your rage and unquenchable sorrow, both caused by him, you still cling to him.

You were similar in that regard. He had shown you the same mercy you’d shown to the doctor. Selfish spinelessness, lack of courage, weakness, twisted empathy. He was no hero, but you sure made him feel like one. A part of him was addicted to the goodness you carried and didn’t want to let you go. And he cared little for how fake or real it was, he just needed to have a taste once in a while, get a reminder that softer things yet thrive in the dark crooks of the apocalypse.

“Should’a stayed in Tillburry.” a rasp so low you could have mistaken it for a rustle in the wind.

He’s already locked eyes with you when you finally unfurl your face from his vest and look up. Newfound anger spells doom on your lips. It doesn’t suit you to be angry.

“I didn’t want to stay in Tillburry.” there’s spitfire in your voice as you talk down his feeble statement. A last soft punch to his chest to solidify your words as you continue. “I want to stay with you…”

“Y’ dunno what’d fuck you’re talkin’ about.” he gravels out a tender scold, his eyes dip to your frown, his mouth waters.

He inches closer, earning an inquisitive noise from you, but you don’t back away. You grip onto his coat and for once his heart is heavy as he lowers his head until the rim of his hat is brushing against your forehead. His breath hits you and it’s rich with the smell of cigarettes.

Your inhales are forced, brash and vocal, sucked in through parted lips as you take him in for the first time. Contrary to your beliefs, he had eyelashes, thick and dark and you wonder if he was brunette before he became a ghoul. His eyes were molten gold in the dying sunlight, prettier than yours would ever be, his cheekbones were high, accentuated by the lack of fat in his cheeks.

Once upon a time, he was a handsome man.

He’s pawing at your waist to keep you close, a precaution for the slim chance that your brain kicked back into function and you pulled away like you should. He had no right taking your first kiss, he had no right to anything of yours, but there was nobody present to stop him. A small guilty pleasure, a moment of indulgence, that’s all he wanted and he’d set you free.

You’re sweating, you’re shaking.

Were you really that scared of him?

“Coop – ”

“ – ‘S okay, Pumpkin. ‘S okay…” he coos in a hushed tone, tender and sugary. “I got you…Sweet thing…I’m here.”

A queer affection coming from a man who was anything but, your mind was hazy, you’d faint any second. Your stomach is bursting with fluttering butterflies as you give in to the needy hands kneading your sides.

What was this…

“ ‘M a bad man, I know…I know. Don’t deserve this.” he sees you searching for words, gives you a good squish and you’re so pliant under his fingers it makes him weak. “Is okay…Close those pretty eyes o’ yours.”

He’s so close he can feel the heat radiating off your skin, your nose is brushing against his cheek and his lips are ghosting over yours.

“Helloooo!”

You nearly jump out of your skin.

A caravan approaches, pulled by a pair of well-fed brahmin. A man is vigorously waving a hand your way, bearing a wide smile with mostly missing teeth.

You rush to straighten your dress once you’re abruptly released and pushed away. There’s danger dancing in Cooper’s stance as he mumbles an inaudible slew, his hand is at his holster and his shoulders become ridged. There’s a heat to your cheeks that you hope the sun masks and the medical folder is tucked in front of your chest as a barrier.

Judging by the ghoul’s reaction, this man, whoever he is, is trouble and you’re not mentally prepared to withstand another bloodbath.

He flings the reins, urging the brahmin to pick up the pace and the distance between your parties grows too short too quickly. You can only pray for a peaceful exchange. His cargo is large, rectangular and covered by a dark sheet bolted to the carriage on either side.

Once he’s close enough a distressful symphony reaches your ears and you step closer to Cooper out of habit. There’s the rattling of metal, a cacophony of pained moans and haggard groans, animalistic noises from a beast you’d yet to encounter.

Was he from a circus? What kind of animal made such sounds?

“Shut the hell up back there!” he slams his fist against the cargo, you guess it’s a cage of some sort, and the mystery animals fall silent. Then he stills the brahmin and flashes you a polite smile. “Evening, Miss.”

“Hello, Sir.” you nod and the firm hand on your hip tells you to be very careful with your next words.

He doesn’t even address Cooper despite him standing in front of you, just gives him a good full-body scan and averts his attention back to you. It’s strange, for once you’re not in his shadow, your gut warns of a dirty truth hidden behind that dark curtain, one which you didn’t want to delve into.

“Sorry to bother you this late an hour.” he plants an elbow against the backrest of his seat and turns to face you properly. “I was just wondering if you were selling.”

The wind picks up your hair, for a moment the world is still.

“Selling?” you cup a hand over your eyes to block out the dying red sun falling behind the distant horizon. Your brows lock in confusion because he certainly didn’t look like a merchant. “Selling what?”

“The ghoul.” he answers as if it’s the most obvious thing, then when you don’t answer immediately he decides to add a bit more honey to the mix. “Would pay good caps for that one.”

“The…WHAT?!”

Your blood runs cold. The moans you’d previously heard turn hauntingly grim and you try to look everywhere but the covered cage. The grip on your hip is bruising in strength; the only way to ease Cooper before he snaps is to step on his boot.

The bent stop sign a few feet down the road looks weak enough. You wonder if you can tear it out and bludgeon the man to death, then shake your head. He’s not a man, can’t be if your suspicions are true.

Because who would do such a thing…

“Stop.”

It was impossible to entertain such thoughts. There exist so many words to describe the evil and grotesque and none of them come close to encompass such inhumane deeds.

“Sorry, Sir, not selling this one.” you muster out, shake off your horror and mask your malice with an awkward smile. You pat the ghoul’s shoulder like he’s a pet. “He’s a good mule, can’t imagine traveling without em.”

The words nearly make you gag while the man howls a throaty laugh.

“Sure looks like it. Real shame.” he sits back and grips the reins once more with a serene look as he stares into the sunset.

He doesn’t deserve to see such a sight, he doesn’t deserve to be so relaxed, he doesn’t deserve to live –

“ – Weeellp! If you change your mind, my establishment’s stationed in Pitfalls Valley. Big building, can’t miss it.” he gives you a playful wink and a click of his tongue before tugging at the reins “Have a good evening, Miss.”

The disturbance awakens the cage once more and the voices come back to life, despicable and anguished.

You can’t even process what had happened before you’re made to move.

“We gotta go.”

The gentle tug on your dress leads you away as you stare back unblinking. There’s a myriad of bony hands reaching from beneath the curtain, scraping at the bottom of the caravan, pulling at the metal bars, some of them are tiny.

Hate in its most primal state is an emotion you had never felt, not until today. You had never dreamed of killing someone until today. For once, you’re ready to watch a shootout, but it’s also one of those rare moments where Cooper prefers to walk away. You’re looking at him with pleading eyes and all he can offer is a bitter:

“It ain’t our problem.”

You’re no Mary Sue, you can’t charge into a battle and win, armed or not. You can’t be the hero those locked up ghouls need. You can’t do shit because this isn’t a fairytale. It’s life – cruel and cold, real and so unbelievably merciless, sick and twisted. There is no happy ending for anyone, there are no miracles.

All you can do is move along, stuff the memories in the depths of your subconscious and get over it because at least you’re still alive and free. It’s either wallow in despair or swallow it and survive. There is no joy, there is no love, no compassion, no humanity. Kill or be killed, eat or be eaten.

You link your fingers with Cooper’s and squeeze.

“What kind of fucked up piece of shit sells ghouls…”

That cracks a smile from him. He closes his fingers over your hand until it disappears behind an aegis of leather.

“Well look at you startin’ t’ swear proper.”

🌼🌼🌼🌼🌼🌼🌼🌼🌼🌼🌼🌼🌼🌼🌼🌼🌼🌼🌼🌼🌼🌼🌼🌼🌼

Chapter 8 >>>

🌼 Daisy Masterlist 🌼

Tag list: @bountydroid @windierhades @ultimatreality @gruffle1 @v3lv3tf0x

@fallout-girl219 @one-of-thewalkingdead @robin-the-enby @savanahc @whatthefuckkrichard

@rockst4rkitty @lisnamavka @lomlbillieeilish @itsyellow @cloudroomblog

@skykaykay @i-just-like-to-read @landlockedmermaid77 @enaelyork @maeplaysbass

@sgt-barnesveins

#cooper howard #fallout tv series #the ghoul fallout #cooper howard x reader #cooper howard x you #the ghoul fanfic #the ghoul x reader #the ghoul x you #x reader #fallout fanfic #fallout fic #fallout x you #fallout x reader

226 notes · View notes