#fallout drabbles

[dorkofclanlavellan]

Cooper Howard Masterlist

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Sweet Doesn't Mean Naive Giggly Sleepyhead

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[darkmasterlistyouneveraskedfor]

Mob Drabbles

A collection of various mob AUs

Thor

Take a Seat | Take It Slow | Take Your Time

August Walker

The Vow | 2 | 3 | 4 | 5 | 6

Loki

A Touch of Sweetness | 2 | 3 | 4 | 5 | 6 | 7

Bucky Barnes

Death Wish | 2 | 3 | 4 | 5 | 6 | 7 | 8 | 9 | 10 | 11 | 12 | 13 | 14 | 15

Steve Rogers

Sum of All | 2 | 3 | 4 | 5 | 6 | 7 | 8 | 9 | 10 | 11 | 12 | 13 | 14 | 15

Nick Fowler

Hush | 2

Captain Syverson

The Olde Bakery | 2

Peter Parker

Sense and Sensibility

Frank Castle

In a Place Like This 

[darkficsyouneveraskedfor]

The Vow 2

Warnings: non/dubcon, arranged marriage, and other dark elements. My username actually says you never asked for any of this.

My warnings are not exhaustive but be aware this is a dark fic and may include potentially triggering topics. Please use your common sense when consuming content. I am not responsible for your decisions.

Character: mob!August Walker

Summary: your father’s murder leaves you in the hands of a dangerous man.

As usual, I would appreciate any and all feedback. I’m happy to once more go on this adventure with all of you! Thank you in advance for your comments and for reblogging ❤️

The man is quiet. The villain. The boss. The groom. Your... husband. 

The vows were what you would find in a script. Nothing special. Just standard. Just going through the motions. And when he lifted the veil, his kiss was just as prescribed. That’s it. Your life is over and his is just beginning. 

Your hand is in his as he guides you from the hall. He takes you between the pews and out the tall doors. A shower of petals rain down on you as you come out into the sunlight. There’s a car waiting. The people around you are like actors on a screen. It’s all fake. This isn’t a happy day, this is business. 

The car door shuts on the other side of him and you’re closed in with this stranger. The stranger you’ll spend the rest of your life with. You know his name and his bad deeds, but nothing else. 

You fold your hands over the layers of the full skirt. He shifts as he pulls a fold of tulle from beneath him. You watch his large hand and tremble. 

“Sorry,” you breath and snatch the skirt so that it can’t overflow onto his lap. 

He catches your hand and you freeze. You lock up, bones aching, muscles clenched. He tugs on you. You let him draw you closer as you stare at his steely grip. He brings his other hand over to pet your knuckles. The softness of his touch makes you tingle. 

“You’re scared,” he states. It isn’t a question. He knows. “If you are loyal, you don’t need to be.” 

You nod, “yes, sir.” 

He huffs through his nose, “I am your husband.” 

You close your eyes and tempo your heartbeat, “what should I call you?” 

“You know my name.” 

“Walker.” 

“August,” he insists upon his first name. “Maybe one day, you will have something softer to call me.” 

“Maybe,” you shiver and he squeezes your hand. 

“Your father wrote his own fate, you will write yours,” he raises your hand and lays a kiss on the back of it. “It doesn’t need to be the same.” 

You stare ahead. You can’t let yourself feel or you will feel everything. The fear, the grief, and even, the anger. Once they boil over, you will be lost. 

“I understand, August.” 

Another heavy exhale. 

“You will not act so cold in front of my men.” He takes your hand and forces your fingers open. “You will touch me with kindness.” He puts your palm to his cheek and leads you to cradle his face. His stubble pokes at your delicate gloves. “You will do so without my order. You will behave as a wife, so far as they are concerned. Let your father’s defiance die with him.” 

“I will not resist,” you tell him as much as yourself. 

“Goddamnit, look at me,” he says. 

You turn to look him in the face. The anger you expect is absent. He watches you placidly. Your fingers twitch and he leans into your touch. He takes your other hand and forces you to twist toward him. He leans in and before you can think, his lips are on yours. 

It is different than at the altar. Not just a peck, more. His lips part and his tongue flicks out along yours. He hums and you open your mouth. His hand creeps up the back of your neck and he locks you against him. His tongue invades your mouth and you squeak. 

He draws away and his eyes narrow, “better.” You’re unsure if he means it was better than before or that you need to do better.  

He lets you go and sits back against the seat. He closes his eyes as he pushes his shoulders wide. His feet are planted as he lingers in unspoken thought. You look at the driver then out the window. You turn back to him. 

You touch his sleeve and shimmy closer. He hums again. The tone assures you that you aren’t unwelcome. Play your part, fulfill your vow. That is all that needs to be done.  

This is more than you, there is your mother, and others beyond that. Those that were once loyal to your father. Those you called friends and family. Those who now walk the same tightrope. Those that have already fallen. 

The car stops. A flicker of panic strikes in your chest. The door opens from outside and he pulls you out with him. You keep one hand on your skirt and the other on his arm. He marches ahead. 

You enter the large building and wait in some room. He remains silent, pensive. You’re summoned and after a time. He fixes your arm to hook through his as you stand before the large doors. 

“Head up,” he girds before you enter. 

They watch you, just as before. You can hear them this time, whispering. You don’t look anywhere but ahead of you. He nods at the more notable guests. You will not doubt be met again with those faces through the night. 

He puts you ahead of him to climb onto the platform where the bride and groom’s table stands. He follows closely. He pulls a chair out but puts his hand to your back so you cannot sit. He sidles behind you. Instead, he sits with you, lifting you into his lap. 

You quiver again. Humiliation surges through you. This is his show of victory. He boasting. No, you will not just be beside him, you are his.  

[teastainedprose]

🔞Gash (Cooper Howard / The Ghoul x Reader)

You've been stabbed and The Ghoul means to patch you up, save for the problem of a metal shard lost in the wound. 1,435 words | This is smut if wound fingering counts. All about pain and looking at Cooper's stupid pretty face and PAIN and Cooper's finger in an open wound, pet names, wound cleaning, blood, more pain. No proofreading, take it raw bb. I blame @ghoulphile for egging me on. [A03]

Luck was with the man who managed to sheath his knife into your gut. Luck protected you as he missed puncturing anything important, only slicing meat and fat. Luck would have Cooper right there moments later putting a bullet through the bastard's brains as his luck promptly ran out. Lucky to have the old ghoul catch you before you crumpled to the ground.

Lady Luck was having a fucking field day. That bitch.

Your thoughts swirl, snagging on the present. You're trying to keep your mind set off to the side, away from your body. Away from the burning wet pain of your seeping wound, but it tugs you right back. Your body demands that you feel this, the gaping wound in your gut a wrongness your breakable mortal form insists you can't ignore.

Blood leaks down your hip as you groan from the press of Cooper's fingers around the gaping flesh of the gash in your side to take proper stock of it. Beside you on the table rests the knife you'd been stabbed with, save for the tip. That's currently buried in your guts. The blade is a rusty thing, old and brittle. The thought of that extra bit of metal swimming about inside you sits ill. Your vision blurs, a queasiness rolling over as your head rolls to the side.

Cooper notices your far away gaze, pausing in his inspection to clasp your chin in his glove covered fingers. The ones that are thankfully not covered in your blood. The other hand prodding at your flesh has bare fingers, calloused texture a distant pleasantry. He'd yanked that glove off with his teeth. Skin to bloody skin now. How intimate. 

"Now, dove." The words are a soft puff of breath against your cheek as you refocus. "Keep them pretty eyes open for me now." His attention shifts back to your wound while do as commanded.

"Stuck you real good, girlie." Cooper murmurs, eyes hooded from your inspection at this angle. He continues to mind your wound, bare fingers tracing your abdomen as if to feel from the outside where the rusty intrusion is. "Gonna hav'ta clean it proper. Needin' to dig the tip out."

All you can do is nod absently, drinking in every detail of his face. His black-as-night lashes are clearly visible this close, looking as pretty as can be. They add extra shadow to the sunken hollow about his eyes. He glances up, the swirling deep forest green and brown of his gaze catching you. You suck in a breath as Cooper's nail catches on the cut.

Teeth snap shut with a click as you bare them at Cooper. He smirks right back at you. He knows it hurts, but there's no helping it. All you can do is grimace and bear it while trying to divert your attention from the throbbing in your abdomen.

Your study of him is your current distraction. It's working well enough, mind content to catalogue the sharp lines of his face as you sit there panting quietly. There's the detached burn of alcohol as he dabs your wound with a soaked cloth, pulling a shiver across your skin in response.

Focus. Focus on the face of The Ghoul intently working. How there's the rough texture of his ravaged skin before your eyes. His skin is rusty in color, an earthy shade. It reminds you of the red clay from your long-abandoned home. His skin is just as baked and cracked as that dirt was. A delicious contrast to the richer red of his lips. Funny how he looks all sorts of dried up, but you know those lips to be softer than expected. Soft and pliant when pressed against your own with the wet press of his tongue darting out and-

You curse as your thoughts shatter into sharp glass, body instinctively lurching away from what hurts you. Cooper snatches your thigh, fingers digging in as he holds you steady.

"Now, now. Easy there, dove." His eyes flick to your face again. He's got a finger crooked into the gash. It feels wrong. "Told you I need to get that piece out. Breath, nice and easy."

You inhale. His head cants to the side as he waits. You exhale. Cooper nods as his finger digs deeper into the wound, feeling about. You swear he just brushed viscera with a fingertip.

It makes you dizzy, feeling his finger rooting around in the open wound as he tries to nudge out the knife bit. Forceps would have been a good idea, maybe some pliers? Something thinner than Cooper's gnarled fingers. You've memorized those digits intimately, but never expected to know them here. In your fucking guts.

It hurts. Of course it fucking does, but it's a wrong sort of pain. The sensation keeps flipping your stomach over and over. You want to empty the contents of it, but know that'll hurt worse with the state you're in.  Your eyes lose focus as Cooper clicks his tongue. 

"Focus. Eyes on me like I said, darlin'." He waits a beat as you blink, refocus. "Attagirl," his tone is even and coaxing, trying to keep you calm as if you're a startled brahmin. His finger continues to root around in your open wound, feeling for that stray bit of metal.

There's a twisted sort of intimacy in having Cooper's fingers delving into the wound, a sick parody of what else he's buried in you on better days.

You moan, a low sound pulled deep from within you involuntarily. It hurts.

"Now dove... That ain't the sort of cooing you should be makin' right now,'' amusement laces his words as he studies your face. His finger goes still to let you settle. It takes a moment, adjusting to the intrusion because his finger has sunk deeper. Your body is trying to reject the invasion, nerves flaring up with clear alarm.

You huff in response, shooting Cooper a sour look as a tremor runs through your strained body. It's not your fault your pain sounds are similar to the ones you make when he's rutting into you. He shakes his head, smiling to himself as Cooper gets back to work.

"Can feel it at my fingertip, jus' let me-" The digging is a burning invasion now as he presses deeper, finger crooking. You can feel the tug of something else scraping your insides as you suck in a sudden breath. He catches that bit of rusty metal, tugs and then it's over.

Cooper holds up the metal shard in front of your face with a yellow grin. "Got it."

You promptly drop your forehead against his shoulder with a whine. Blood leaks sluggishly from the wound now.

"There, there. I gotcha, dove. Now, you let me clean you up proper." His gloved hand rubs your back briefly before he gently sets you upright. Cooper is quicker to clean out the wound, caring little for how the alcohol he pours directly on it burns as he flushes it out. It's almost a welcomed sensation after the nausea induced fingering he'd just been up to.

He pauses, considering a moment before Cooper pops the same bloody finger he'd just had inside of you into his mouth. You can only watch in a detached way, pain keeping you pacified as Cooper makes sure to lick his hand clean of your blood.

"Disgusting," you sigh. It's half-hearted. You've seen him ingest far worse. 

"What? I'm a ghoul, sweetheart," he smirks. "Figure only way I'm gonna get a taste of that."

"Can you please fucking get me that Stimpak already?"

He tuts while wiping his hand clean of your blood on a spare rag before obliging. Cooper smoothly jabs the needle directly above your wound without warning, earning a hiss from you but your resentment instantly melts away.

This time you moan in pleasure, soothed as the endorphins rush your system in a cooling wave of comfort. A detached floaty feeling settles over you instantly as you relax, eyes drifting shut. A content smile settles on your lips while Cooper busies himself properly bandaging up your wound and wiping away the excess blood. His fingers linger, the bare ones ghosting up your side as a tremor runs through you for a wholly different reason now.

Slowly, you open your eyes again as you once more slump into his warmth. The scent of leather, gunpowder and something uniquely him fill your nostrils as you inhale.

"Better, dove?"

"Mhhm," You hum in contentment.

"That's my girl," He purrs as he hooks an arm about your waist and gently tugs you closer. "Now how's about we see about thankin' me proper for saving your sorry ass?"

[spadeinasuit]

Fallout 4 but every time you see Hancock he has a different pride flag around his waist

[theewritingroomm]

A Wasteland Reunion

Summary: It's been more than 200 years since you've last seen your cowboy. Pairing: Cooper Howard x Reader Word Count: 1,070 (a drabble? what's that?) Warnings: mentions of violence, swearing, A/N: Part of The Cowboy & The Movie Star series, a part 2 if you will. Let me know what y'all would like to see from this series. What snapshots would y'all like to see?

I do NOT consent to my work being translated or published onto third party sites - including AO3 and Wattpad.

A layer of dirt and grime covered every surface of the Red Rocket Gas Station. Outside the sun blazed down, covering the Wasteland in a blazing heat. The wind gave an occasional whistle as it blew more dirt into the gas station’s broken windows. Though you were paying attention to none of that, you were focused on the sound that should not be there. 

The thumping of heavy footsteps on broken concrete. 

So with your back against the checkout counter you reload your gun and cussed Ma June. If this ‘simple favor’ didn’t kill you, you were going to ring the older lady’s neck. 

As the heavy steps get closer your finger tightens around the trigger of your gun. The old bell chimes above the door and heavy footfalls turn into light steps as the newest customer to the Red Rocket navigates around the debris littering the floor. The footsteps grow quieter as the person heads towards the other end of the gas station. 

Taking the opportunity, you slowly crawl towards the open door a few feet to your right. The manager’s office was threadbare, a simple desk and chair sat in the middle of the room with a few filing cabinets sitting behind the desk. It did not offer many hiding places, however you had no interest in hiding. You were interested in getting the piece of tech Ma June was searching for and getting the hell out of the Red Rocket. 

After waiting a moment, with bated breath for the sound of footsteps to draw closer. You were surprised when they never did, coming to the conclusion that the person must have left. Likely abandoning their search when they came up empty handed. Not that you minded, The less people here, the less bullets you would have to use to make it back to Filly. 

Pushing the other person from your mind, you began going through the drawers of the desk. Where you found a handful of plastic forks, a loose cigarette and four caps. With another glance to the open door and a pause to listen for steps, you turned your attention to the filing cabinets behind you. 

The first cabinet was a bust, holding nothing but trash. You had moved onto the second cabinet, only starting to pull the first drawer out when the hairs on the back of your neck rose and a pit of dread opened in your stomach. Before you could turn to inspect, the hammer of a pistol was pulled back. The click echoed off the walls of the dusty gas station. 

“My, my,” A low voice drawled out behind you. “What’s a pretty little thing like you doin’ all alone out here?” 

The voice was low, gravely, distinctly a man’s voice. It trickled down your spine like ice water, setting off every nerve ending within you. But deep down, there was a familiarity in the voice. A familiarity that had your heart tightening in your chest. 

“Just surviving,” you replied., hand tightening around your own pistol. “Wasteland’s a rough place.” 

You tried to keep your voice level, not wanting to give away any of your intentions or give the stranger a reason to pull his trigger. At this point you were ready to call this mission a bust, sure that the tech Ma June was after was not worth your life. 

“Stand up, leave your gun on the ground” the man demanded, leaving no room for arguments. 

Complying with the man, you left your gun in the dirt and stood. Muscles aching and protesting from being squatted for so long. Once fully stood you began to turn around. Wanting to see the man who was likely going to shoot you down. 

The man, no, the ghoul in front of you was menacing from looks alone. A long, leather trench coat covered the rest of his outfit, an ammo belt stretched across his chest, and a weathered cowboy hat was pulled low on his head. A sneer stretched his lips across yellowing teeth and fire burned in deep brown eyes. 

As you locked eyes with the Ghoul a weight of emotions crashed into your chest. If silence hadn’t consumed the gas station you would have thought he shot you.

“Cooper?” The name fell from your lips before you could stop it. 

The sound bubbled in the space between the two of you. Growing with the tension in the room before popping with a deep growl from the man. 

Quicker than you could realize, he was on you. A heavy arm pushing against your throat as he slammed you against the hard metal cabinets behind you. A handle dug harshly into your hip, surly going to leave a bruise. However, you could not find it in you to care. Not when Cooper Howard was standing before you two hundred years after you had seen him last. Two hundred years after you were sure he had died.  

“How do you fuckin; know that name?” He growled, pushing his forearm harder against your throat.

“Coop, please,” You coughed out, struggling to breath past the pressure Cooper was putting on your neck. “It’s me.”

His eyes darkened, a predator staring down at you. “Bullshit.” 

The arm not holding you to the cabinets began to raise, The metal of his gun was cold as he placed it to your temple. 

“I’m only gonna ask one more time.” He pulled the hammer back with a sickening click. “How do you know that name and why are you wearing her fuckin’ face?” 

He was nearly shouting at the end of his question. Fury beginning to take over his composure. 

Knowing you only had one more chance to prove to Cooper that you were standing in front of him, you dug into your memories with Cooper. Going back to a place you had long wished to go back to.

“I told you I loved you for the first time the day the bombs dropped,” you choked around the words, “I had a meeting at the studio and you were getting ready for a birthday party. We were standing in the driveway and you were wearing that damn cowboy getup, but I couldn’t wait anymore so I blurted it out.” 

The fire in his eyes diminished as another emotion took over. With a small sigh, your name escaped his lips in a whisper. Like a prayer he had long since forgotten.

[losersiren]

Yandere! Vault Dweller

N: I just finished the Fallout show, went on YouTube and fell down a rabbit hole of lore about the game. I decided Vault 11 shall be sacrificed (hehe). Everything I put in this fic is from the videos I've watched and the fan wiki, so it's like semi-accurate… Cw: talks about suicide, suicide (not the reader), violence, yandere tendencies, gore(?), death, manipulation, coercion, talks of death, should be gn! reader safe.... if not, put me in the chamber WC: 2.2k

Quiet. It was quiet. The silence is deafening, yet the ringing in your ear grows louder and louder, each second feeling as if eons had passed. The automated computer voice repeats in your head like a catchy song you’ll hear on those dusty records, the ones Mama used to play and dance to.

“Congratulations, citizens of Vault 11! You have made the decision not to sacrifice one of your own. You can walk with your head held high, knowing that your commitment to human life is a shining example to us all. And to make that feeling of pride even sweeter, I have some exciting news. Despite what you were led to believe, the population of Vault 11 is not going to be exterminated for its disobedience. Instead, the mechanism to open the main vault door has now been enabled, and you can come and go at your leisure. But not so fast! Be sure to check with your overseer to find out if it's safe to leave. Here at Vault-Tec, your safety is our number one priority.”

You were young when your parents escaped the bombs to the vault you're situated in right now; you grew up believing that damned computer about sacrifices and watched your fellow vault mates get killed one by one. You waited for the time it would be you in that same chamber. Now, with this information surfaced…they died for what? An experiment? What would have happened if you had been voted overseer…

The lump in your throat grows heavier, and the arguments and yelling in the background become more and more apparent that you can't ignore them anymore. Your eyes drift to the man standing tall and proud beside you, Charli, his hair still somehow slick back; he still looks perfect even after the maddening chaos of events that transpired these past few days. His blue jumpsuit was as crisp as an ironed suit that the actors would wear from the moving pictures on television before the vault. His expression is as vacant as his blue eyes, his soft lips decorated with a barely visible smile. As he watches the other three vault survivors argue, Your brows furrow. 

Why isn’t he affected by the news like everyone else? This information is soul-crushing and life-changing!

Then again, you reason with yourself that maybe this is his way of coping; who are you to judge and microanalysis him like some psycho? Perhaps it’s the lack of sleep or the sense of safety ripped out of your hand like candy stolen from a baby. Heavens, you might nearly flip your lid entirely if something else happens. You sigh. To believe you almost were insinuating that Charli would even be a drop suspicious, and of what, exactly? He saved and shielded you from the massacre that only left the five of you remaining; he was your childhood best friend..how could you? You reprimand yourself.

His eyes finally meet yours, and the sympathy and worry you sought appeared when the blonde saw how distressed you were. “Are you alright?” his soft voice fills your head–drowning out the talks of whether the group should commit suicide in honour of your dead vault men or venture into the outside world to educate others on how your vault was misled. You were somewhat dissociated from the whole conversation. Reasonably so.

His hands, soft yet calloused, turn your head side to side to check for any visible injuries he might’ve missed, which he shouldn’t have—knitted eyebrows and razor-sharp eyes search frantically for anything. 

Charles or… As you’ll call him later in your relationship, Charlie, has always been like this. When you met him, he was a reserved kid, a trait that would carry on from his pubescent to adolescent years. 

When other kids grew out of their shyness and worrisome attitude and eventually adapted to the vault, he was pushed aside. Well, that wouldn’t be the only reason. His father was the first overseer of Vault 11, the same overseer who thought the best course of action was not to tell the vault residents about the sacrificial system they were now to live with. That same choice he made was the reason for his death, and he was the first to test the new system. He wasn’t a good man. He was greedy, a neglectful father and husband, and so on. A family now ruined by one man’s ill-considered decision; Charles's mom wasn’t much better, the textbook definition of a hypocrite. Bad-mouthing her dead husband, the same one she defended when said husband would push his son away.

Most would fear having no one at the end of the world, but it became Charles's life; while everyone adapted to vault life, Charles adapted to the misfortune of the consequences of his old man’s actions. You decided one day to talk to him while others stood clear. It was a simple conversation; others would just brush it off…which he did initially. But after that day, you would constantly seek him out, and with that, you wore a genuine smile and interest every time you talked to him. His walls crumbled into dust for you and only you. You were like a shooting star he wished for. His reputation grew because of you and, with that, his feelings for you sored. You became his way of life. In his teen years, he decided to become the best match for you– He would participate in every extracurricular activity the vault would provide to make him an unstoppable force of a man. The perfect golden boy was made..for you.

He had the “perfect body,” perfect sperm count, unmatched intelligence, and charisma—he perfected them (even if you were the only one he talked to for long periods)—strength, agility, endurance—all of it. He will be everything you need and more. With that, he made sure no one would vote you as overseer…

He was so soft on you that it would rival feathers. Do you need help lifting that? He's already there. Do you need help with your pre-war history? He’ll just sit you down and study with you for hours. Are you bleeding from an accidental cut? Don’t worry he just finished his first aid training. He already had a plan for you both for everything that would happen.

Everything

“I’m fine…” You grab both of his hands gently. “...Well, not fine, fine, but I'm not hurt.” You smile weakly up at him. “It’s okay. You and I will get through this,” He coos, pushing strands of your hair away from your face and behind your ear. His touch is warm and tender, yet the words you hear next aren’t.

“Fuck..I..I can’t do this I’m sorry.” A man, short in stature, starts backing away, gun in hand, clearly distressed. Your eyes move away from Charli’s to your fellow survivor; unknowingly to you, Charli rolls his eyes at the man's “dramatics.”  “We don’t deserve to leave...That thing called us a shiny example..f..f.fucked! Thats fucked! I..I can’t live with that!” Another man says, “Anyone would’ve done what we did.” A woman comments, “You ask me? That's exactly the problem. Now, let’s get on with this.”

“Wait,” you say, stunned, as if he had predicted this would happen. Charles moves his hands to cover your eyes. The short man is first, putting his gun on the roof of his mouth and pulling the trigger, not sparing any more time; the woman is next, the second gunshot. Then, with a sigh and short prayer, the last man repeats the action done by the others. Each lifeless body hits the floor one by one, and then there is silence.

What the hell.

You try to understand the situation, but your brain has yet to catch up…it’s all too much. Charli whispers calming phrases while he shields your eyes with one hand and rubs patterns along your back with the other. Tears start rolling down your face…and you sob. Hard. His hand moves to pet your hair, soothing you while you let it all out of your system.

He moves his body to shield you from the gruesome events that have just taken place; he moves both of his hands and cradles your face. You try looking behind him out of curiosity, but he stops you before you can.”Hey! Look at me with those gorgeous eyes,” He mummers, and of course, you comply. “There we go. You listen to me so well,” he whispers lovingly. “Here’s what we’re going to do. We’ll both go back to my vault room. I have enough supplies for the both of us to survive outside for a while, okay?” He asks you, and you nod, agreeing to whatever he says. 

“I need to hear you say it..” 

“…yes, of course, whatever you think is best.” He smiles at you, thumb caressing your cheek. “Keep your eyes on me, okay?” He takes your hand and leads you through the halls. It's quiet… you don't like it. Your eyes are trained on his back, Charli…he’s your lifebuoy in the angry sea, the only thing keeping you afloat; if it wasn’t for him…you might’ve met your end with the others. As if sensing your inner turmoil, he squeezes your hand, comforting you…and you squeeze back. Your world just fell apart, yet…it doesn’t seem entirely gone with Charli by your side. 

It's only a short time till you reach his vault. You’ve been here so many times it's basically your room by now. The tall blonde turns to look at you. “I’m going to let you go, just for a second, okay..? I just need to get the supplies.” He holds your one hand with both of his– you reply with a soft okay, and with your permission, he starts to move. He moves towards his small desk to grab a small, flat-headed screwdriver, walks to a particular spot, and pops the floor title beneath him, revealing a hidden compartment. It's filled with two modular military backpacks, filled to the bream with necessities for outside the vault.

He was prepared for all of this…

Then he starts talking about what he has in mind for the two of you, settling on the surface of living together and everything. Charles gets lost when talking to you; he can speak his mind about almost anything, and rambling is second nature with you. The hermit turned a social butterfly in your presence.

“You know that computer may have been our downfall, but god did bless me with more information than I could handle…good thing, huh, glad I went through all that code…Vault-tec tried to make it secure, but I found a way...We could go somewhere called New Vegas…” He keeps talking. 

But you stand there, still, as a statue, looking down at him as he gathers everything…What did he just say? 

You think back to the start when killing between the blocs started..he was right there, ready to protect you, when you and the other surviving tested out if the chamber would kill all of you…he almost seemed to be too assured nothing bad would happen to any of you, almost like…no…no. You’re overthinking, right? But the more you listen…

“You knew…” you shakingly exclaim out loud, cutting him off. “Hmm?” He looks up at you as he puts the tile back…” You knew we didn’t need sacrifices…you knew it would play out like this…” you say louder and more confidently. Those once-homey blue eyes become cold and distant… analyzing you.  

You both stare at each other.

You turn and run.

 But your efforts are in vain; you don’t even leave the room before two muscular arms wrap around behind you, overtaking you, holding your arms down around your waist, dragging you back. You scream and kick with no success. You end up with his arms around you while he sits down, his back against the wall, and you in front of him with his head in your neck while you let it all out. “When?” you croak out, “When we were fifteen, I didn’t want you to become overseer…I didn’t want you to die..so I wondered if it was the computer that sent signals to kill whoever was sent in that chamber and wondered if I could stop it from killing you specifically; that's when I found out .” He answers swiftly and truthfully, “Why didn’t you tell anyone?” You question, “I didn’t care, honestly, the only thing that matters is you…If everyone died in the process, it would be less work for me…I wanted it to be us from the beginning, anyway. I want you to need me as much as I need you…and now you finally do.”  

You feel weak and sick to your stomach… All your peers would’ve ended up dead either way. “I want to leave.” he hums, not mocking you but in acknowledgment. “And do what? You don’t know how to defend yourself; you have no supplies prepared, barely any survival instincts, and you don’t even know any information on the surface above. You can leave, but you’ll die…I can’t let that happen, sorry.” Charles buries himself more into you. 

“I hate you,” You whisper.

“That’s okay…all that matters is that you're here…with me and only me… I’ll keep you safe and sound.”

N: This was a long one, whew! I had to think about how I could make a Yandere fic with Fallout, and I had tons of concepts, but this one stood out the most. I hope my execution was good enough....Anyway, my next fic will most likely be a jealous fic about my Yandere lord, so stay tuned! Till then! see you soon my little guppies (´꒳`)♡ extra note: Throughout writing this, I thought "My Way of Life by Frank Sinatra" would fit Charli perfectly.

[circetaliadraws]

Paladin Danse Post Blind-Betrayal Headcanons

I have a few headcanons for Danse on how his life would be after Blind Betrayal. Before I get into them though, I'd like to say I believe Blind Betrayal would happen during both the Minuteman and Brotherhood of Steel routes. This is told where you are the SoSu, but can be interpreted if the reader were not!

✧ Danse, when being spared, would live in either Red Rocket or Sanctuary. He knows that the Brotherhood wouldn't look for him there or show near there. This is partly because you had suggested it, but also because when you tell him you were from Sanctuary/Vault 111, he mentioned that there was nothing of value for the Brotherhood up there.

✧ No matter where he's staying, he'd be great friends with Sturges. His love for power armor plus Sturges love for tinkering would make for a great duo. Plus, if the Minuteman were the ones who dealt with the Institute, the data that you give to Sturges might contain the details that he himself is also a synth (or the data that the BoS has on Danse being a synth may have Sturges data as well, so Danse sought him out).

✧ He'd run or operate a power armor shop. If he were in Sanctuary, Sturges might also help him. He'd offer to sell parts, fix up people's armor, as well as selling people armor. With his BoS knowledge, he'd be able to make sure that the people have the protection they need for the settlement.

✧ The power armor shop would be located in the garage of Red Rocket, or the garage of your old home in Sanctuary would be worked on to make a make-shift shop.

✧ If he lives in Red Rocket, he'd go back and forth between Red Rocket and Sanctuary to trade and sell parts and salvage. Also to talk and hang out to Sturges. They would talk about the shops, what they're working on, etc. Hell, maybe they'd invite each other to help work on a project together.

✧ Danse would also offer his services to help with the protection of the settlements. He would help guard the settlements from attacks and train others on how to do so efficiently.

✧ Scribe Haylen would probably visit him often too. She'd let him know of anything of note happening in the BoS, help give him any extra salvage for his shop, and possible warn him if the BoS planned on taking an expedition up to the area (Especially if Red Rocket, Sanctuary, or Abernathy Farms was one of the settlements the BoS wanted food from).

✧ Depending on if Danse is romanced or not, Haylen would either eventually open up to Danse or be in a relationship with Rhys. Either way, they would stay close friends.

✧ Danse would also become buddies with Nick. Sure, he may distrust and dislike him before, but after he himself learns he's a synth, he'd open up. Albeit slowly. Don't expect this man to change his opinions overnight, he did dedicate himself to the Brotherhood after all.

✧ He might not become friends with Hancock, but I can see him also just 'accepting he exists' at this point. Again, don't expect this man to change his views overnight. Since Hancock is a ghoul, he's in the same predicament as Danse. But, since he's a ghoul and not a synth, Danse most likely would stay his distance.

[rollingsins]

just sweet soft Vada with her obsession with boobs😭😭😳 we just need her😭

Filled, thanks bby!

“Vada,” You murmur as Vada’s hands circle the bottom of your t-shirt, “We’re watching a movie.” 

The movie in question is Die Hard. You’ve seen it a thousand times. So has Vada. You’re starting to think that’s why she picked it. 

Vada looks up at you, brown eyes wide. 

“I know,” She says. She’s tucked into your side, her legs entwined with yours. Her fingers brush the rim of bare skin between your shirt and your jeans, “Maybe we could just… watch it with our shirts off.” 

She looks up at you, a familiar not-so-innocence in her eyes. 

“Watch a movie with our shirts off?” You ask, voice incredulous. 

“Yeah,” Vada says. Her hand slips a bit further up your belly, brushing the warm skin underneath your top. Your stomach flips, “It’s a thing they do in France, I saw it on Tiktok.” 

“Bullshit.” You snort, eyebrow raised. 

“Well, maybe they should do it in France,” Vada mumbles, “Maybe we should all do it.” 

She rubs her legs against yours, hand drifting a little further up your shirt. 

“We’re not having sex, your Mom is downstairs.” You tell her, voice final. 

The last time you’d let her talk you into fooling around with her parents downstairs, Mrs Cavell had all but burst into the room before you could even get your hands down Vada’s pants. You weren’t keen for a repeat. 

Vada pouts. 

“Not sex,” She mumbles, “Can you just… Can I just-” 

Her eyes drop from your eyes to your chest and suddenly you know exactly what she wants. 

You stir under her, ignoring the way it makes your belly coil. 

“Again?” You groan, pretending like Vada���s obsession with your boobs is some kind of inconvenience. It would be harder to pretend, if not for the fact it made you want to flip her over and press her against the bed. 

Perfect. Now she’s horny and you’re horny and the fact her Mom comes up every ten minutes to ‘check on the two of you’ meant you could do nothing about it. 

“Mom came up three minutes ago,” Vada says, sparkle in her eyes as if she’s reading your mind, “Give me seven minutes with those puppies, you won’t regret it.” 

That does it. 

Her choice of words has quelled your arousal. 

You laugh. 

“You’re such a fifteen year old boy, sometimes.” You tease her, pressing a kiss to her lips. Vada deflates with a whine. 

“Babe-” She protests, but you reach for her wandering hand and press a kiss to the back of it. 

“Another time,” You promise, “Let’s watch the movie.” 

“Mom has to pick Amelia up from tap practice at five,” Vada says hopefully, ever the optimist, “Maybe we could take our shirts off then.” 

You swallow. The arousal is back. 

You brush coil your hand around the back of her neck, scratching lightly at the base of her scalp. 

“I-” You say, and the thought isn’t unappealing, “Maybe.” 

And Vada grins, victorious.

[periprose]

i kno its not everyones cup of tea but would u ever do tasm!peter parker as a baby girl dad?? like reader and him are parents to a baby girl 🥹🥹 maybe even pregnant reader!! ajfdhjfd i have many thoughts but i kno again not everyone likes pregnancy/baby stuff

yeah maybe!! honestly I had a dream about this once. It was pretty cute and I can see myself writing something about it lolol. I love babies and pregnancy stuff tbh. If it was feasible financially I'd love to be a mom too!! Baby fever goes hard lol

and I just know tasm Peter would be so good at being a dad... he would love that lil baby to pieces.

Like just imagine him balancing his work and little baby Mayday (just abusing the canon baby name here lol sorry MJ) on his knee. She's full of giggles and wandering hands constantly touching whatever tech he's working on.

And Peter's all gentle so he pulls her away with soft hands, not wanting to dissuade her, just for her safety, but he secretly loves that his daughter clearly takes after him.

"Who's gonna be a cute little inventor, huh? Is May-May gonna take after her papa Peter Parker?" He jostles her around and she shrieks with laughter.

Eventually he'd set up a LEGO block corner for her so her hands can stay busy. And Mayday loves building things, so eventually Peter looks over to see just the top of her red hair, as she's mostly obscured by the giant LEGO wall she built.

And he's be so proud, the first thing he would do is show you when you get back home from work:

"Look at what May made!" He would hold her up and she'd grin really proud as they both motion towards the big wall she made in the corner of your bedroom.

"Aw, you wanna be an architect like Mommy?" Because of course you'd be an architect in this scenario, and it would be a hilarious, small-fake-beef between you and Peter. And Mayday, not really processing your sentence, nods, adding to your shit-eating grin.

"Uh, no, just wait until she gets into software. Mayday's gonna be a coder like her Papa." Peter fixes his glasses and side-eyes you. Mostly jokingly.

"Well, I don't see any tech embedded inside the LEGO wall." You coo at Mayday, who's reaching towards you from Peter's hands. "You want to build beautiful, artsy buildings in the heart of the city like Mommy, right?"

"Nuh-uh." Peter puts on a silly, girly voice mimicking Mayday, placing his face behind her as if his voice is really coming out of her. She bites her thumb, laughing. "I wanna be like Papa because coding actually does something."

"Hey!" You pull Mayday out of his hands, with a falsely offended gasp at his audacity to use Mayday in his propaganda. "Housing important things is something, you jerk."

"Yeah, but it's not an action executed by a program, is it?" Peter prods your shoulder. "Architecture is cool and all, but it just... is."

"Wow." You blink. "Why did I marry you?"

"Papa?" Mayday tilts her head at you and you burst out laughing, rubbing your face against hers.

"Yeah, May."

"Cool." She points to him, and you roll your eyes, as Peter takes this with some nerd-afflicted ego.

"Yup. Papa cool, May."

"You so told her to say that." You shake your head at him, and he shrugs, pulling the two of you into a hug.

Whatever Mayday does, you know you'll both be proud of her.

(NGL I could write this into a whole actual fic if we want it, instead of a blurb lol)

[fallout-drabbles-n-stuff]

“I got it from here..” Paladin Danse X Reader

______

(This was the winner and lemme tell y’all, stormy is happy)

Whoever first warned you that expeditions into the wastes would be difficult, seriously understated just how bad it was. Of course, in hindsight it was a stupid thing to be asked for the everyday dweller who had been born in the rotting, broken world around them. A world that was not your own. This was a world that demanded you to be strong, be vigilant, be fearless..but you were so very afraid.

Every ghosting of shadows over your campsite, every slight breeze rustling debris somewhere in the distance filled your body with cold dread- especially at night.

Tonight was no different, naturally. Even strapped in armor, loaded down with enough ballistics to turn a person into something resembling a macabre slice of Swiss cheese, and a stomach that wasn’t rumbling as a horrible reminder of just how famished the wastes left you..you were still scared. However the man in front of you, just mere feet away and leaned up against a post..he was scared too. Perhaps there was some comfort to be found in the mutual fear considering as far as you were concerned, he was the bravest man you knew.

For a brief, decent moment you were able to appreciate the man you found to be a constant companion of your’s. He watched your back when you went scavenging in the remains of the old harbor, meticulously clearing out whatever building you thought looked promising, then when night fell far too fast to retreat back to a settlement, it was he who secured an acceptable shelter to sleep for the night and fortified it with his beloved power armour serving as blockade from any intruding assailants. Even so, he just wouldn’t rest.

Those familiar deep, amber eyes systematically swept the surrounding area with his vantage point out the window. It was a pattern, up for a while..down..sweep from side to side and repeat again and again. It was his training after all, keep those under his command safe in shifts as the darkness of night cloaked whatever hostiles there might’ve been.

There was something different about your beloved friend tonight, or perhaps it was more the fact you finally took to noticing it for the first time. His sharp eyes faltered in their pattern, his body was heavy against where he rested, his head even rested against the wooden post in such a manner that if you couldn’t see his eyes you’d probably assume him to have fixed off. As silly as it sounded, it was then you finally noticed the speckling of silvery grey dappling his rich black hair right above his ears and randomly in his stubble. Danse was getting old..a silly thought in itself but sure enough he was, age wasn’t something he had the luxury of escaping.

That was something only ghouls and you seemed to be able to evade. Alas, Danse was human as far as you knew. He was flesh and blood and aged as was befitting of someone of his higher rank anyways..

“Danse..?” Your voice cut the comfortable silence residing between the two of you, amazingly drawing his attention with a blink that lasted a bit too long.

He didn’t say anything to acknowledge you, he didn’t really have to anyways considering you knew he was giving you his attention by the way those sweet puppy dog eyes locked with your’s, albeit in a tired haze. Exhaustion was no stranger to you, that was even before all the abominations that had befallen your life. So it was no hard task to elucidate the mysterious shrouding of his construction.

“I…” You began to speak up, words cut short when the man in front of you stretched his neck and furrowed his brows- yawning for what had to have been the first time you had ever seen him do so in the many nights you spent alongside him.

“My apologies..” He grumbled, his voice a gentle grumble from the back of his throat- a tone that you maybe liked to imagine was what he sounded like first thing in the morning. Maybe that’s what he would sound like….no such things weren’t appropriate to entertain, Danse didn’t deserve such thoughts even if he had no way of knowing of their existence. “You were saying?” He asked, trying to be nonchalant in the way he desperately attempted to rouse his mind back to full acuity.

You couldn’t help the right press of your lips when you took in his exhausted state. He was always the one to protect, maybe now it was time for him to be protected- if only for a moment.

With an abrupt clear of your throat, you gathered your bearings and rose to your knees from your sleeping bag. After the initial jolt of feeling your blood pressure drop out from the sudden shift to an upright position, you were quick to grab your gun and meet him which thankfully didn’t require much movement in part of the less than spacious shelter you found yourself in. Of course, seeing you stumble even that small bit made your beloved companion scoff under his breath, the tiniest curl of his lips just barely breaking his helplessly tired expression.

“Let me take watch, just for a bit.” You offered, your gun slung over your shoulder and a smile on your equally weary face. Naturally, the stubborn Paladin had every intention of dismissing the offer..however your free hand clasping over his bicep in a gentle grip that shocked the both of you extinguished whatever fire he had about him. “Go rest, I got it from here..” You certainly didn’t..but you’d try for him.

He sighed, looking outside the window then to the sleeping bag. The exchange of glances allowed you to see how the light flickered from the lantern across his features, illuminating not only his freckles but also his newly acquired purple bags under his eyes.

Strange, you didn’t know someone could look like they were kissed by both the moon and the sun.

Deciding his exhaustion would only be more dangerous in the long haul, he buckled with little additional persuasion. “Thank you…I appreciate it. If anything goes wrong, I mean anything..wake me up. I don’t care if you believe it’s just the wind, I mean it.” He instructed, a worried chew of the inside of his cheek enough to signal to you that the apprehension may be for more than just fear for your lives..he knew how afraid you were of the wastes even after proving to be a capable fighter. Perhaps there was more though..

Once you nodded he was quick to finally go lay down, a joint or two of his popping on the way down which only made you chuckle as quietly as you possibly could as not to embarrass him. After that, it didn’t take long for him to fall into a light slumber- leaving you to gaze up out the window and into the vastness of the dark night.

You were afraid..but tonight you’d put your fears aside if it meant he could get some rest.

[vaultie-and-theghoul]

So, You Comin'?

Cooper watched the coward, Henry, jet away into the wasteland. Of course, he had noticed his Vaultie right away, gun held tightly in her hand. The barrel shook as she stubbornly aimed the gun at her father. Taking the shot for her was the least he could do.

Now the Ghoul stared out over the wasteland, mind running a million miles an hour. He noted how Lucy kneeled over the young man below her. A painful, angry heat rose in his chest. Jealousy. Cooper started monologing, something from his acting days he did to time to clear his mind. While the words left poetically from his lips, a spark of hope flickered in his mind. Maybe, just maybe, his Vaultie would join him on this journey. This time willingly.

"So, you comin'?"

The silence that followed stretched on forever, but the feeling that accompanied the distinct sound of a pistol being drawn was significantly worse. Cooper steadied himself, preparing to take the bullet. The shot itself was unlikely to kill him, but the pain of rejection felt enough like death. The Ghoul found himself feeling a sort of pride as well. His little Vaultie not only pulled a gun on her father but now has her finger on the trigger ready to shoot.

There's my little killer. Cooper took a deep breath and waited for the shock of pain.

*Bang*

Cooper slowly turned his head, searching for what exactly his Vaultie shot. The now-dead feral ghoul had escaped his attention earlier, but now he was all too aware. A question pulled at the Ghoul's lips, but now was not the time for questions. From the look of the feral, that was undoubtedly a mercy killing. It reminded Coop of that poor ghoul he turned into ass jerky. That had been a mercy killing too, even if his vaultie hadn't seen it that way.

Dogmeat trotted up to him, and Cooper knew it was time to head out. This battle was coming to an end and the last thing he wanted was to get caught up with the damn brotherhood of steel. The Ghoul decided to walk on without looking back. He wasn't going to beg or ask again. It was up to Lucy if she wanted to accompany him or stay with her new little boyfriend.

When Coop was about to give up hope, he heard his Vaultie rushing to catch up. The same smug smirk lifted his lips, and a voice that sounded a lot like the old him whispered Good Girl.

"Let's get the fuck out of here sweetheart," Cooper turned to face his Vaultie. She had just found out that her father had been lying all these years and had most likely killed her first living creature. Despite this, Lucy pulled herself together, nodded, and followed him into the desert. She'll talk when she's ready. Until then, the Ghoul would simply enjoy the company of his Vaultie.

AO3

[darkmasterlistyouneveraskedfor]

Black Light Masterlist

ONGOING

Part 1 ✧ Part 2 ✧ Part 3 ✧ Part 4 ✧ Part 5 ✧ Part 6 ✧ Part 7 ✧ Part 8 ✧ Part 9 ✧ Part 10 ✧ Part 11 ✧ Part 12  ✧ Part 13 ✧ Part 14 ✧ Part 15

AU MASTERLIST

[darkficsyouneveraskedfor]

The Vow 1

Warnings: non/dubcon, arranged marriage, and other dark elements. My username actually says you never asked for any of this.

My warnings are not exhaustive but be aware this is a dark fic and may include potentially triggering topics. Please use your common sense when consuming content. I am not responsible for your decisions.

Character: mob!August Walker

Summary: your father's murder leaves you in the hands of a dangerous man.

As usual, I would appreciate any and all feedback. I’m happy to once more go on this adventure with all of you! Thank you in advance for your comments and for reblogging ❤️

"This is how we stay safe," your mother tugs the laces so your lurch. 

Your eyes widen at your reflection. The gown is tight yet too big. The bodice pinches as your mother yanks and yanks. The skirt is full and fluffy. Layers and layers of tulle.  

You can't breathe but you don't think its the boning. You touch the front of the gown, feeling the delicate embroidery, and shudder as you exhale. Strange how days before you wore black and cried, now you're in white in what many deem the happiest day if your life. 

"Hasn't he taken enough--" 

"Shh!" She whips her finger up. "He can always take more. Your father didn't think so but he can, god rest. There's always something to lose." 

"Mom," you croak. You've never seen her afraid. She's always been pompous, always unfazed, but now her eyes are like sparklers, flickering and frantic. "I'm scared." 

"Be scared but be obedient. And smile," she moves around you and frames your face, "smile. Please. He can always change his mind. Don't let him. If he does, we are lost." 

"How do you know? Daddy's gone. We can leave--" 

"The vultures are waiting," she snarls. "Don't you understand? It's only the wolf that keeps them at bay." 

"Why... why would he want me? If daddy--" 

"Hush, I won't tell you again. Do not speak of your father. Especially in front of him." She dabs your lip with her thumb as she fixes your make up, "from this day forth, he is the only man in your life. Understand?" 

You pout. That night comes back. The echoing bang the woke you, your mother's scream, and the barrels that pointed through your doorway. Quick, clean, horrifying. As if your father never was. 

"Yes." 

"You better. You know this man is cruel. Do you want to test him?" 

You shake your head and she lets you go. You back away and heave. You won't mess up the hours of work put into your hair and face. If you look in the mirror again, you will. 

You stare at your skirts as your mother pins the veil on your head. She pulls on it, arranging it around you. It drapes almost to your feet. 

A knock at the door. She goes to it. Whispers. The door stays open. Your mother calls your name. Your soles stick before you can make yourself move. 

As you get to her, your mother takes you by your wrist. You feel her warmth through the lacy gloves. She guides you behind a party of women. Some you recognise, some you don't. Their makeup is thickly caked on and their hair teased. 

"Look up," your mother snaps under her breath and lets you go. "You will not shame your family by hiding." 

You raise your head. Your head is light and bobbly. You march down the hallway behind the train of solemn women. 

You’ve never met the man who killed your father. The very same you are about to face. The one you are to marry. It’s the sort of irony that hurts. 

You’re stopped as the other women keep going. They leave you, one by one, until it is only your mother. She gives your hand a final squeeze and goes. You wait alone, uncertain. 

The music changes and you flinch. You know you have to go but you don’t want to. You don’t want to die either. And you don’t want to lose your mom. She’s all you have left. 

You can picture the house. Ransacked, bullet-riddled, crowded with strange men. You push away the memories and step forward. One foot in front of the other. Keep going. That’s what this life will be. Do what has to be done, not what you want. 

You enter the large hall. Peaked ceilings, music echoing off the walls, full pews, and a man waiting. You look ahead to the figure at the altar. Two, but the shorter one fades into the background. The priest is a blue as your eyes fixate on the man in the white suit. 

As you get closer, his features come into focus. Dark curls, a shadow of a beard and a thick line of hair over his lip. The cleft in his chin adds to the chisel of his jaw and he’s tall. Very tall and broad. His blue eyes meet yours. 

You trip as you try to step up beside him. He’s quick to catch you. His grip is iron on your arm. He helps you up and stands you across from his. Your eyes cling to him. You can’t look away. You’re terrified. He can’t look away from you either. 

You stand facing each other; you trapped him shock, him in triumph. This day is the first day of the rest of your life. The end of the empire and the birth of another. A vow to seal your fate and those of all watching. 

[justghoulythingz]

i want you in all the ways you’ll let me have you…

a drabble for anonymous taken from this prompt list.

pairing : ghoul/lucy maclean

word count : 846

warnings : some good old fashioned self-loathing, rope to restrain, mentions of sex. 18+, mdni

divider credit

It’s been centuries since Cooper Howard has gotten this involved with anyone.

He’s a bit like a stunted foal: clumsy yet reluctant to admit it; so used to being somewhere dark and grisly and detached that when the sun hitched to Lucy MacLean shines, it burns his irreversibly damaged skin. Gives it a kind of glow that he has to kill every time it threatens to bloom.

Self-inflicted wounds are easier to nurse. What’s the point of watering the dead garden his innards are overgrown with?

He winces when she touches him. That’s why her wrists need to be kept bound when he explores her. So she can’t feel how much she affects him. So she doesn’t get the wrong idea.

This ain’t love. Not that she has much experience with the romantic variety. He’s got plenty to keep close to the chest.

He gave himself to his Barb and she trampled him so far into the dirt that he might has well have been buried that fateful day.

The consequential marks don’t seem to bother Lucy. She’s a curious sort. One of the things Cooper admires about her. In the same breath, however, he doesn’t mind if for once she’d give it a proper fucking rest.

She moves too fast for him. He’s not entirely certain he wanted to budge in the first place.

Here she is with his face entombed in her neck, kissing and licking and nibbling as she opens herself to him. Thinking about how he would drag his nose along the slopes and valleys that comprise her if he could. How she deserves a man who’s whole and not whatever husk was violently spat out.

He can plainly see she yearns to reciprocate. Restless energy makes her grit her teeth and clench her thighs, squirming about as he gets to roam free. A low, long-winded hiss manages to escape between the soft, swollen lips he’s already branded.

“Tell me what y’want, angel wings. Use your big girl words. Y’had no trouble up t’this point.” He smiles against her throat, keeping her body caged. His voice cuts through like a saw hacking down a tree. Chop chop chop. Devastation as it crashes to the ground.

She sighs heavily and attempts to fix her posture. He’s very skilled at distracting. It’s not lost on her that he does so on purpose.

“Can you look at me first, Cooper?” she asks, chest heaving. He wonders how their hearts would feel galloping together. He doesn’t take his clothes off for her.

Some days, he wants to.

“Alright,” he begins, angling himself backward and resting one palm on the wall above her head. He can humor her. “I’m lookin’.”

And boy does he look. How can one not, with those doe eyes, large and all-encompassing like a lush forest of green and brown and gold?

His expression takes on that of a predator’s honing in on its prey. Except she’s taken hold of his hide and shredded it until it’s all mangled and indistinguishable. He feigns he has the upper hand. He feigns many things.

Lucy utilizes a few more moments to compose herself. Logic has been replaced with emotion. That requires a different type of effort to navigate.

Normally he would hurry her along, he don’t got all day. But really, he does. Why not spend it admiring a work of unabashed art that spawned from, according to him, the depths of hell?

“As much as I enjoy you getting your excess of me, I feel…” She exhales, shaky. “I feel like that excess has snatched away my enjoyment of you. I, I feel incomplete. It’s not as satisfactory as I know it could be.”

The old, tattered cowboy doesn’t answer. It’s difficult to swallow. She is expectant, but she’s also learned to lower said expectations when it comes to him. So she carries on of her own accord.

“What I want, Cooper, is you. All of you. I’m not satisfied with this half-baked sex we’ve been having. I want to pleasure you. Have you gasping for air and unable to think clearly.”

If she only knew.

“I want you to orgasm in my vagina and mouth and hand and, and wherever else, I don’t care! Except that’s really not true. I do care. I want you in all the ways you’ll let me have you. And I want you in all the ways you haven’t let me have you. That’s what I want.”

She’s so technical sometimes that it usually makes him roll his eyes or laugh. Now, he doesn’t do either.

Instead, he grasps her chin and tilts it upward. He shoots her one last isolated once-over and seals their fate with a fervent kiss. The hand once above her travels below and deftly releases her from her binds. The rope falls to the dusty floor with a resounding thud.

“Best get t’work then,” Cooper murmurs against her cushioned mouth. Like a warm, forgiving blanket waiting to surround him, even after being away from home for months, years.

“‘Fore I change my mind.”

[fallout-fucker]

Honestly Fallout 4 should have just had a room with a bed and two skeletons surrounded by dildos and other sex stuff for the pure fact that you should be able to go there with Danse and have to explain everything.

He'd walk in and be like 'Wow look at all these Pre-War ornaments! My guess is that by the handcuffs, one of these people was an officer. The other perhaps a surgeon, assuming these are medical instruments...We should return these to the Prydwen immediately for examination'.

And Sole just stands there like. How do I give graphic sex education to a late 20s-mid 30s year old man. A man who considers touching another person's shoulder as too intimate. So Sole just has to dance around it and use long explanations and professional terms like 'They're not medical instruments...They're uh...For personal entertainment' because they can't just look at Danse and be like. 'Those are anal beads, my guy. They go in your ass purely for fun'.

And Danse still doesn't get it. So Sole has to be like. 'Specifically pleasure related entertainment.'

The beliwdered look still doesn't leave so Sole pushes some more. '...Sexual pleasure'.

When it clocks, Sole doesn't even think the nuclear explosions were as red as Danse's face is. Sole's also sure they didn't fall anywhere close to the speed that Danse exhibits when he all but sprints out of the room. They don't know whether to laugh or not but for the sake of Danse's sanity, and what's left of his dignity, holds back as much as possible.