#fallout x you

[periprose]

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. 

[your-averagewriter]

"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)

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-

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!

[mayasaurusss]

transfem! Lucy Maclean on her and reader’s wedding night…🤭🤭

Rocket 69

-Contains: arranged marriage, very heavily plot driven, switch! transfem Lucy MacLean, smut (big time), switch! afab reader, possible grammar mistakes or foreign idioms (saying, phrases). -Word count: 8k, 16 pages.

-Guide: Fallout in-game lore, Fallout show lore, objects and characters found in the Fallout games and show, original bestfriend character.

-A/N: Hello anon! I am very sorry to having delayed this for so long, but your request gave me so many ideas, so like the insane person I am, I had to pour every single one of them into this -hence the 16 pages long oneshot-. The 'guide' section contains a series of things that will be mentioned in the oneshot. I have been hurrying up so that I could publish this before the Easter holidays, as a kind of gift for you all for making me reach 500 followers. Thank you all so much😊❤️. Enjoy!

‘Wake up, work, eat, sleep. Wake up, work, eat, sleep. Repeat.

Were you born in any other time period, you wouldn't have minded this cyclic routine too much. Wake up, work, eat, sleep. It's what humankind has been doing since the dawn of time, without breaking a sweat. But, unlike the other billions of people who lived before you, your life is an especially strange one. Ever since the bombs dropped on October 23, 2077, life as it was known on earth ended. Fire melted the world's cities, radiation chipped away at human's lives and the fallout rained from the sky, coating the soil in a heavy dust. Only a selected lucky few managed to escape the bombs devastating consequences, accessing what would be known as one of America's most important successes: the vaults. Shelters lodged deep inside the earth, safe from radiation from the outside world. Life there is a continuous cycle: Wake up, work, eat, sleep. Wake up, work, eat, sleep. Repeat.

But today is different, today is special.

You sit on your bed for the last time, fingers tightening in your locks, finding solace in curling the strands of hair and knotting them. The white dress is tight on your body, constricting your chest and making you breathe with fatigue.

You try to calm down, breathing slowly and thinking that in the end, it’s not that big of a change, right? You will simply move to another vault and life will continue; of course, you will not know anyone and you will lose all the affections and ties you had before, but life will be the same, no? You’ll just have to be brave, get out there and try to make friends. Everyone will be nice to you, right? It’s all the same. You will have a husband to give children to, you will spend your life underground with him and the others, you will make friends…right?

A knock echoes hear from the other side of the door. "Can I come in?" she asks, and you heave a sigh and let her in, falling back on the mattress.

Jen falls back with you on the bed, placing her hand atop yours, "So, how's the bride?" she asks with a sly smile, but you can see sadness behind it. "I think I am alright. Just a bit... stressed, you know?" she nods in understanding, already having known what you were going through. "I remember when I got married" she says, remembering the way the white dress tightened on her curves. "I was so scared! But I got through it..." her hands curl on the naked skin of your shoulders, her warmth dispersing in the cold of your own body.

"And you will too" Jen's smile had always put an end to your worries. Among everyone, she always was the one person who you could count on. "I just got married off so the Overseer would have one mouth less to feed" you say bitterly, tasting the bile that man gives you in your tongue

"Not counting the one that I would have to raise..." the thought of leaving a place you learned to call home, simply for the fact that the higher ups decided to hand you over to a group of strangers makes your blood boil and your heart ache. It doesn't help that your only role will be that of a caregiver, likely to be forgotten or hated by your husband and left to raise a child on your own.

"Oh come on, you seem to view marriage simply as a commodity" Jen has always been a romantic, ever since you have known her. She viewed everything in a beautiful, unrealistic way. "Isn't it? In these times..." at the end of the day, this was just a way to drive a mouth less away from the shelter and into the arms of someone else.

"... Don't be so dramatic" Jen's eyes scan yours, veiled annoyance swimming in them. "Come on, let's go" you feel your heart close itself the moment the last syllable is spoken, a lump nudging inside your throat. How can you leave?

"...Yes".

You let Jen guide you through the silent halls of Vault 32, two sets of steps echoing inside the hollow chambers. You find solace in the warmth of your best friend's hands, trying to calm yourself by counting each one of your heartbeats. You stop in front of a metal door, the one that will lead you to the last room, where everyone is waiting for you to step inside. This is the first and last time you'll ever walk through this door.

"Are you ready"?

Are you?

"Yes" you try to swallow your fears, but they manage to be far more powerful than you, lodged deep inside your throath. Just before you enter, Jen turns to you, takes your cheeks in her hands and kisses them with tender sadness. "This is the last time I'll have you all to myself" she says, placing a final kiss atop your nose. "I am so proud of you" smiling to her proves difficult, and you only manage to do so after calming your breath several times. "Dry your tears" you only manage to smudge your makeup a bit, reshaped thanks to Jenny's quick hand.

"Come on, let's welcome you in your new life".

The chamber is barely illuminated by a flickering light above you. Everyone that you've known during your life is here. Hank, Gina, Honey, even little Timmy. Some look at you with hope in their eyes, others with a barely veiled disdain. Waiting by the vault door is the overseer, Ian Jackson: a dumb old man who you could not stand. And it seemed the feeling was mutual. "Overseer Jackson" the man mumbles something under his lips, before turning to you and squaring you up from head to toe. He didn't even bother to call you by your first name, "I am happy to introduce you to your new life. This marriage will serve both vault 32 and 33 well". Of course it would. For this exchange, vault 33 promised 32 maize and crops lasting up to six months. And, underlined deep inside the marriage contract, lifting the weight of one more mouth to feed off of Ian's back.

"Of course, overseer", it's no use begin bitchy to him right now. In just a few hours, you're never going to see him again. "I trust you will behave correctly. I wouldn't want overseer MacLean to regret his decision. It was kind of him to allow this marriage".

He's talking to you like you're livestock. "I will" it's your simple response, hate and anger dripping from every letter. The tension is palpable, and someone tries to fill it with chitter chatter. Jenny takes your hand, winks at you and steps back as Jackson throws one of his famous snares in her direction. Ian is a hated man inside the vault. His greed will be the one to consume him whole. It's only a matter of time before someone throws the first rock at him.

Your thoughts are put to silence when a loud, booming sound echoes from behind the door. Slowly, the gears move the heavy metal door and unpeeles a lit room. You can't see behind all the figures in front of you, and try to tip toe to see your new spouse.

"Welcome neighbors from vault 32. I am Hank MacLean, overseer of vault 33". Heavy steps bounce across the walls, Ian Jackson steps outside and greets the man in front of him. "It's a pleasure to see you again, Hank" he says, disregarding the overseers' greetings and approaching Hank like an old friend would.

"How's life been treating you?" you can hear Ian sucking air in between his teeth, resilience in his voice. "Same as always" he turns to look at the whole lot of dwellers behind him. His disdain is met with equal passion. "Insubordination spreads throughout them like mushrooms after a rainstorm".

Hank seems to be a little uncomfortable, from the tone of his voice, and quickly tries to change the subject: "We give you maize, cucumbers and beans rations, enough to be consumed in six months" he gestures towards countless linen bags slumped against the wall.

"We give you wheat and a... breeder" so you are livestock.

"Soooo, who am I marrying?" what? Was that a woman's voice?

Slowly, you're peeled back from the wall of people, exposed to the light from the other side of the room. Your eyes take a moment to adjust to the brightness, burning at your sclera.

Everyone's eyes are on you. You hear their reaction before you see it: stunned silence is broken by whispers, most of them directed at you and your new spouse. When, finally, you can see again, you're met with a puzzling image: in front of you stand a crowd of new faces, all obscured by the woman in front of you.

She wears a dress that's the same shade of white as yours. A veil covers her long, dark hair, free from any tie, falling just beneath her shoulders. Big, brown eyes bore into yours, looking somewhere deep inside your heart. She then offers you a small, shy smile, which quickly gets erased by your next question.

"This is who I am marrying? But...she's a-" the burning look Ian gives you is enough to shut you up before saying anything more. Her eyes widen and pain flashes through them, now searching anything to look at but you. "I know that this might seem...odd, to most of you" overseer Hank explains, a protective hand draped over the woman's shoulder. "But we have reasons to allow this marriage. Reasons only we, and the new spouses, know" you'd want to argue with Hank that you don't know a damn thing; hell, you've been left in the dark about the details of this relationship since it was first stipulated by overseer Jackson. He simply walked in on you and Jen working in the water depuration centre one day and announced "You will be soon married off to one of vault's 33 residents. Please, pack your bags accordingly". How were you supposed to not act surprised?

"We will now proceed on with the ceremony" Hank had a way with words, quickly shutting all whispers and chit chat down. He gestured to everyone in the room with a big swoop of his hand in the air, then, with a less than pleased look, walks in the direction of vault's 33 hallways. Everyone followed suit, and in the midst of it, you feel a strong hand clamping down painfully at your wrist. Ian's famous hateful scowl paints his face. "I told you to behave. Can't you do that one fucking time?" he whisper-yells at you, drawing eyes to the both of you. "I...I am sorry, I-" his grip on your wrist tightens, bruising at your skin, damaging the blood vessels underneath it.

"Don't make me look bad" as if he hasn't done that himself already.

"Hey!" you crane your neck just enough to see the woman who would become your wife stomp into your direction, heels echoing loudly.

"This isn't how we were taught here in the vault. You can't treat people like this!" you can't help but think that she looks comically cute with that frown on her face and her hands on her hips. Ian doesn't answer, simply stares at her with disdain and the look of someone who knows has screwed up. It's only a matter of time until somebody tells in on him to Hank MacLean.

"Do unto others as you would have done unto you. That's the Golden Rule" at those words, Ian rolls his eyes and pushes your arm away, grunting as he enters the tunnels of the vault, leaving you alone with your new to-be bride.

"Wow, he can be a real jerk huh?" she hops next to you, watching Ian disappear behind the corner. "Yeah, he can. Nobody ever liked him" you join in on mocking him, momentarily forgetting who the woman beside you is. "Yeah, I can see why" an uncomfortable silence falls between the two of you, but lasts only a second, before it's filled again by her voice.

"I am Lucy, by the way".

The venue is filled to the brim with people, some talking, some silent, all watching as you and your new spouse exchange your vows. "By the authority invested in me, I pronounce that you are joined together, under the love of God. You may now kiss".

The kiss you exchange with Lucy, while people around you are cheering, is brief and chaste, but in that moment it feels like a dream; simple and serene.

Placed all over the tables sits plates full of as much food as you can possibly imagine: yumyum deviled eggs, mac&cheese, cram and a giant wedding cake. You could lose yourself in all of this food, and probably feed at least a small village on the surface. You stay clear of the deviled eggs, wanting to at least make yourself presentable to your new bride. Speaking of, Miss MacLean has been watching you eat for the entirety of dinner; you don't dislike it, of course, but you'd be more at ease if she didn't look at you while you were stuffing yourself with cram and mashed potatoes.

Jen sits next to you, directly mimicking Lucy and her blonde-lady-friend. Despite how loud the dinner party is, in your little corner there's tension, desperately wanting to be filled. Beneath the table, Jen nudges at your foot, getting your attention. You rise from the plate, watching her with confusion, before her lips spread in that little smug smirk that she always does before throwing you under the bus, in one way or the other. "Soooo Lucy" there she goes. "How fertile are you?" you choke on the mashed potatoes, feeling some traces of it traveling to your nose, before you pinch it between your fingers. Lucy seems a bit confused, but without too much thought, answers as if it was a normal question. "Oh, uhm, the exams suggest that I am more than fertile. The doctors were actually quite surprised" oh great. That's... good news, right? "I see, I see" Jen simply smiles, nudging the tip of her thumb in the corner of her lips, restraining herself to laugh at your embarrassment. That little devil! Blonde-lady-friend similarly has some problems containing a laugh in, skewering a pickle on her fork before eating it with a pleased face. Lucy doesn't seem to pick up on the hidden context of the situation, rolling her shoulders before resuming her dinner, looking at you with curiosity from time to time.

"Good evening and welcome!" oh thank God. Overseer Hank MacLean, who you now know to be your soon to be father in law, draws the attention of all the dwellers. "We are bonded, not just as neighbors, but by a shared duty: to keep the candle of civilzation's lit, while the rest of the world has been cast into darkness" sure, if you count as civilized the way here everyone is a ticking time bomb.

"Soon, if our calculations are correct, radiation's level on the surface fast enough, that the next generation, their children-" he says, pointing his finger at you, "-will be able to recolonize!" Did he really have to say that? Your blushing bride smiles, laughing while taking your hands in hers. She seems so enthusiastic to see what the future will hold for her.

"After two hundred years, we don't know much about what's out there: desperation, violence, lawlessness. These survivors will need to be shown a better way". Hank seems sure of himself, when he talks about the surface's world like that. During your life in vault 32, you had always been taught history as the books wrote it. But growing up, seeing the occasional merchant from the outside world enter, you can't help but ask yourself if all that you had been taught was a lie. Lucy at least seems pretty sure of herself.

"I'll admit, I am sometimes afraid, that mean old world will change us instead; but then I look at my daughter, such a beautiful bride, and her spouse, and I am not afraid: I feel hope. To Lucy MacLean, and to this marriage, and to hope!" from the venue arises a wave of cheers, followed by the turning of the projector's gears and the southern afternoon's lights dimming to a summer's night deep blue hues.

Lucy, ever so gracious and sweet, leaves your table, but before going off to the first dance, she halts, as if suddenly remembering something. She turns, a smile as warm as a summer day, before placing a kiss on your nose. A choir of woos and cheers leaves the tables, earning a strangled sound from your throat as a response. You can feel your face heating up from the simple act. "Don't worry" Lucy says, whispering while looking directly in your eyes, "I'll be back with you as soon as possible". You could melt only from her words, so sweet and soft you can't help but slowly fall in love head over heels with the woman. Taking her father's hands, the two of them start to dance. Together, they form the portrait of the perfect family. It's selfish, but watching them dance together, so happily only makes you wish you were able to do the same tonight. "Hey" you look up from the table to see Jen eyeing you with a hint of sadness in her voice. "Hey" talking has never been your strongest suit, especially when feeling down or lost, and Jen has learnt that throughout the years. "So...how are you feeling?" comes her question, one that you dreaded for the entire night. "I am... alright, I think" underneath the notes of a serene song, people dance without a thought in the world.

"I am scared" you admit to Jen, your pride crumbling away. Life has always been a cyclic routine for you: wake up, work, eat, sleep. You never thought that something new would be presented to you, and when it came, it scared you.

The artificial sound of crickets hums underneath songs and chatter, so faint you could miss it; but, if you focus on it enough, you can hear the skipping of the record and the many sounds they had made two hundred years ago, on a summer night like this could have been. You sigh, craning your neck onto Jen's shoulder; "I am gonna miss you", you say, a layer of tears on your eyes. Her hand sneaks on your shoulder, keeping you close to her. She had never been this sad, too used to be the upbeat one between you two; but as the realization that this will be the last time she'll spend with her best friend, "I will miss you too".

You're taken by surprise by Lucy's sudden entrance. "Hi! May I borrow her for a moment?" your body jolts up a bit, startled by her presence. You barely miss the way Lucy's hand tightens in a closed fist, irrational jealousy showing itself in the way her knuckles turn white. You feel like you have been caught doing something wrong and hide your face, turning it away from your bride. "Sure!" sensing the opportunity to make your wedding night less grimm, Jen wastes no time in pushing you up into the waiting arms of your wife.

Lucy, on the other hand, has no problems catching your weight, transforming your messy movement into the flow of your first dance. Not even a minute has passed since you began dancing, yet she already has questions for you. "How are you feeling? You look sad" she asks while you try to follow her, barely able to keep yourself on your feet. You didn't expect her to understand you so fast. "Huh? How did you-" someone bumps into you from behind, faltering the dance for a moment. Lucy leans closer to you, her eyes focused on your face, making you feel studied under her gaze. "You haven't danced at all," her arms, draped over your shoulders, tightening briefly, pressing you against her. "And you've been spending time with your friend over here" she gestures towards Jen, who now seems to be hitting it off with Lucy's lady-friend, with a motion of her chin.

She seems to consider something, and pauses, before she looks up at you. "Are you scared of me?" she asks, and there's almost a taste of fear behind her eyes. Your throath tightens, your tongue unable to articulate words properly. "N-No!" but your stammering betrays you, and Lucy isn't an idiot.

Are you afraid of her? "…A little". There is a flicker of something behind her eyes, as if your words have hurt her more than they should have, but she quickly slips back her charming persona on. "Well, don't be. I don't bite" she tells you, before she inches just a little closer "Unless you'll want me to".

Oh. Wow.

Her gaze skims to your lips, a flirty look in her eyes suggests that she's thinking of more than what she lets out. The way she seems to be so enamoured with your features makes your heart lose a beat. Wow. Ok. 

"Ok uhm, thank you Lucy!" the brunette doesn't have the time to react before you wrench your hands out of hers, shake invisible dust off of your dress and run off, leaving her puzzled behind you. Oh God, you are such a loser. 

It's evening now. An old 50's song buzzes from the radio, covered by chatter. You are busy chatting your head off with Jen, when you are interrupted by Lucy. You feel her presence before you hear her. "Want me to show you to your new room?" she asks you, a sly smile that you know hides a -very- specific meaning behind it. You look away to see Jen shooting you with a knowing look in her eyes. You are about to make up a ridiculous excuse in your mind, when Jen gives you a smack on the shoulder “Oh come on, just go!”. And this is where you find yourself: walking down the hallways of vault 33, hand in hand with your blushing bride. The walls and floor all look the same -all vaults do-, like a never ending maze. You get so used to walking that the stop to your new room’s door is abrupt and wakes you from your alcohol induced coma. “This is it” Lucy turns around to scan at your face and finds interest and hesitance. But the way she smiles at you warms your heart enough to follow her into the room. You’re met with bluish hues on the wall and furniture: on your left a small living room, directly connected to the kitchen and on your right, a bedroom overlooking a patio, where the fake sky glimmers above. Lucy is the first to talk, eagerness oozing from her like a fountain. “Isn’t it great? Every big moment of our lives is gonna happen right here” she seems to be enamoured at the prospect of spending her life here. Meanwhile, while she talks, you start to get undressed: you peel away at the layers of clothes, until your skin meets the air. And Lucy doesn’t seem to notice right away. “Just picture the Christmas mornings around the tree…” when she turns back to search for your face, she instead is greeted by the sight of your naked self, standing in the room with your arms behind your back. You’ve always been taught that spouses expect sex the night of the wedding. Was this…weird? Should you have done something else? 

Oh, you are a certified creep now. How are you gonna look her in the eyes when she-. The only thing you hear before begin shoved on the wall by a -actually pretty strong- eager Lucy is an ‘okey-dokey’, her hands already all over you. She kisses you like she has been craving it for the past twenty years, nipping at your bottom lip with her teeth. Lucy pushes you against the wall by her crotch, without taking too much into account the growing mass beneath her dress. But you notice that, and it weirds you out. What is it? She opens her eyes just enough to see yours, confusingly looking at where your bodies touch: then, as if stung by a wasp, she remembers, and you feel her pull back from you, your body left cold. You watch, a little dumbfounded, as Lucy paces around the room, in clear distress. She mumbles something under her breath, and you can only make so many words, before she interrupts you when you ask her what’s wrong. “There…” she swallows “There is something you should know”. There are traces of tears in her eyes, and she seems to be having to accept a harsh, terrible reality. “I used to be a boy, once” she tells you, not daring to look you in the eyes. “What?” you ask her, a little confused by her words at first, until it hits you. Oh! “I used to look different, talk different” her body feels as if it’s being charged with electricity and is digging a pit where her stomach is. “The whole reason my father agreed to arrange this marriage was because there was a woman who was ready to be married: you”. You don’t like what this implies. No matter how much she tries, she can’t physically stop herself from talking, before it’s too late. “He wouldn’t have allowed this if there wasn’t someone to procreate with” Ouch. 

"Oh... wow," you murmur, taken aback. Lucy spins around, her eyes wide with regret and panic as she realizes what has just revealed. “No, I didn’t mean-” but the damage is done: she has hurt someone, comparing her to nothing more than a breeding machine, and made herself look like a monster. “I am sorry” she steps away from you, making her way to the door with her head hung in shame. “I-I’ll go. I will tell my father that you won’t-” you don’t know what she would have said next, because you kiss her worries away, words dying in her throath. “You’re not going anywhere”.

You kiss her again, and again and again, until your lips are sore, until her breath is heavy on your skin. You don’t have a lot of time to react, before she pushes you until your naked back is pressed against a cold surface. Oh come on, on the table?!

Her fingers tail up from their place on your stomach to your chest, taking a hold of your flesh and pinching your nipple. Actually, you quite like this. Lucy pushes you flat against the table with her crotch pressed right where yours is: you can feel her getting harder by the second beneath the wedding dress. You sneak your hand right where she needs it the most and palm her through the fabric: she’s warm and big in your hand, not too hard nor too soft. You feel her heavy sighs on your face as you slowly shake her to life. Shivers run down her spine when she feels your breath on her ear, urging her to “Take it off”, which she immediately does. It’s funny how fast she lets the dress fall to the floor and undoes her bra, letting her chest free. She’s back on you in an instant, her arms sneaking under your body and breasts pushed against yours. You don’t miss the way her hips subtly grind against the table’s edge. Sneaking a glance below, you have to physically stop yourself from clenching your thighs against her sides: here, between her legs and under white lace fabric, sits Lucy’s length, big and hot and so inviting. You could take it in your hands, right? After all, by the looks of it, it seems as if she desperately needs it. So your fingers stop just where she needs them the most, placed against her growing erection. Both of you moan, each from a different sensation: you from feeling her grow beneath your touch, and she from the overwhelming pleasure washing over her. She begins to grind on your hand, helping you get her off and preparing her for you; you feel her slowly hardening under the fabric, growing larger by the second. Your fingers catch on the edge of something, and when they do, you hear Lucy’s hitched breath in your ear. Next thing you know, she’s stripping herself off of her panties, revealing herself in all her nude glory. You can’t help but think of how beautiful she is in this moment: skin reddened by the blood flowing beneath it, goosebumps traveling along her body and messy hair falling at either side of her neck. You don’t pay too much mind on what lies between her legs, only acknowledging to yourself that it looks painfully red, desperate to be pleased by someone. And that someone happens to be you.

Lucy just can’t help herself. You look so good beneath her, warm and inviting. Just how is she supposed to contain herself? And before you know it, she’s pressing her body against yours again, her length nestled between your legs.

Well, you expected more foreplay, but this is good too. Only she starts to grind herself on your entrance, gradually wetting herself with your own arousal. Oh. Wow. This…isn’t what you though she’d do, but damn, it’s so fucking hot. 

“L-Lucy, wait…” your voice is small and trembles in your throat, and she pauses, eyes hazy with need, barely processing your words. Gently, you guide her back, turning her so she rests against the edge of the table. She blinks at you, confused, until you slowly sink to your knees.

Something shifts in her expression. Seeing you like this, looking up at her… Well, she was never truly sure what she liked, having spent most of her sex life with strange partners, to say the least, but damn it, it does things to her. She can only focus on those lips of yours, so, so close to her, just a couple of inches away. 

But nothing can prepare her for when she first feels them on her, kissing away at the goosebumps that shake her length. Oh, how could she have known it would’ve felt so good? You kiss her eagerly, lavishing every inch of her, trailing up, up until you stop at her tip, crimson with pleasure and need. You can’t just leave her there wanting, can you?

When you finally take her inside of your mouth, Lucy is sure she’s about to pass out and reach the heavens. Each movement, each inching of her cock into your mouth sends waves of electricity to Lucy’s brain. Is this how sex was supposed to feel like, all along? If only she had met you before… You stop only when you reach around her base, unable to get more of her in you without gagging. That’s when you start to travel up on her length and fall back down again. Over and over and over…

 Every kiss, every lick of yours builds her towards that edge that she has been desperately craving ever since you stripped down for her. She can feel herself losing it, her blood warming her from head to toe, preparing her to cum by your lips’ work. She’s so, so close… Her fingers tangle in your hair, tugging and catching your attention. You look up at her, and the moment you do, you taste a drop of cum falling on your tongue. You can only imagine what seeing you like this does to her. Her lip trembles, her eyes are unfocused and teary, her skin as red as beetroots. “Wait, wait” she tugs you up by your hair, prompting you to follow her and let her cock fall from your lips. Lucy is quick to catch your lips between hers, kissing you so hard that her lipstick smudges, spreading colour all over you and her. And all the while, she presses herself right between your legs, sliding in and out, right below your… She seems to read your mind, and sighs “I need more”, now pushing you until your back meets the soft mattress of your new bed. She’s on you again, pushing her tongue between your lips, straddling your body so that she can have more space to move. 

She seems to read your mind. Her nails imprint half shaped moons into the flesh of your cheeks, her breath heavy and hot on your skin, and she sighs “I need more, I need you”, pushes you until your back meets the soft mattress of your new bed. Her legs push your body close together, so that you are nicely trapped under her, free to watch how her cock bounces every time she watches your chest, or when you kiss her a little too good. It’s hypnotizing: Lucy must be very, very into you, otherwise you can’t explain the continuous trusts she makes in the air, her tip so red you think all her blood flowed to it. It looks painful and you want to help, but instead you stop when Lucy’s fingers hook beneath your crotch, right on top of your pussy. Her middle and ring finger dance around, playing with your clit and lips, delving just deep enough for the tip to tease you open. It’s embarrassing how quickly you give into pleasure, already aided thanks to sucking Lucy off. You can still taste her on your tongue, feel the empty space she left in your throath. To have the flavour of her skin and sweat swirling inside of your mouth and her fingers deep inside you is as transcendental as it is sinful. It doesn’t take you long at all to fall apart, all pleasure zapping electricity into your brain, giving you goosebumps and coming in waves, right then and there on your new bed, in your new sheets. You’re barely responsive after that, feeling as if you’ve melted. After what felt like an eternity, but were really only a few seconds, you hear your spouse's worried voice come from somewhere in the room. “Hey, hey? Are you good there?” she pats your thigh repeatedly, waking you up from your pleasure induced coma. “Ugh… yeah” you’re not really sure if you’re okay; after all, you feel as if you’ve lost all the strength in your bones and your brain has become mush. But God, even in this state, you need her to touch you again, immediatley. You want her all over you, to feel her skin on yours, to feel her cock-.

“Good! Because, uh-” Lucy really, really doesn’t want to sound selfish, but she really, really needs to be inside of you. Her dick is rock hard and red as a tomato, stinging each second it’s not nestled in its rightful place: you. “I would hate it if you passed out. I’d have to go and search for help, and people would see you-, and you know…”; it’s true, she really would prefer to have your naked image all to herself, to cherish it when she’s alone. But now she’s with you, and God only knows how much she needs you. A couple of minutes pass, and the more you start to ‘come back’ from your trance, the more Lucy squirms, her dick pressing between her legs and the mattress. You can see the pain she feels in her face, hardened, the bridge of her nose scrunched and her forehead’s skin drawing furrows on it. Just as you’re about to move, to reach for Lucy, she does it first, taking your elbow in her hand and begging you, “I need- I need inside. Can I, please?”.

Oh you’re so getting fucked tonight. 

You do the first thing that you can think of, and move so that you rest on your elbows and your spine forms an arch, leaving you open and ready to be taken. Lucy’s breath hitches behind your back, and you know you must have done something nice, but rather than feeling her crotch pressed down on yours, or even better, her length nestled between your legs, Lucy’s hands are the ones that guide you until you’re face to face with her. “As much as I’d love to have sex with you like that” she says, “and believe me, I really do, I’d rather watch you. Is that okay?”. It’s okay, oh God yes, it’s so, so okay. You are ready for everything that she’ll give to you. But as her fingers come down to tease your opening once again, you realize you’re not wet enough, not to let her slide in at least. That’s when an idea comes to mind: living in a vault, you were thankfully teached the basics of having sex, but in post nuclear war America, it was treated as simple procreation, without the pleasures that come with it. But the rumors run fast in the vaults, and as soon as you begun to grow into adulthood, you heard more and more about the different sides of sex. It was Jen and the others who told you about all the different positions one and their spouse can take, and one did strike you as interesting. Maybe it could have helped with your little problem. 

You watch as Lucy scrunches her nose and teases your clit, hoping to wetten you further but to no avail. The devilish sparkle in your eyes should scare her, but it does nothing other than make her harder than she already is. “I have an idea” you say, and command her with a flick of your finger to get next to you, closer to your face. “Sit on my face, facing the end of the bed” and Lucy does, admittedly a bit confused. “What are you-” but her voice dies in her throath, once you guide her back into your mouth. It’s hard taking her like this, because she’s pressing hard against your chest and gives you no space to suck her properly. And most of all, you’re not getting any wetter.

“You shouldn’t keep a girl waiting, you know?” at first, she can’t quite make out what you mean, but as you press your legs together, skin rubbing against skin, she reaches beneath, allowing the air to fill the space between your face and her crotch. You can finally take her in your mouth again, lavishing her, preparing her to enter you; and her, to lick and suck and tease every part of you, to eat you out like you’re her last meal. 

It really helps your cause when Lucy, who’s so deep into pleasure she can’t think clearly, absentmindedly moves and feels a jolt of pleasure spark from her cock to her brain, and so she starts to trust into your mouth from above, pressing her dick farther than your mouth could before. There’s something about Lucy using you like this that makes your eyes roll to the back of your head. She presses and presses and presses until you can feel your world shake with her thrusts and your pleasure. “Fuck, fuck, shit!” your lover repeats in a mantra, her mouth a mess of juices and spit, exhaling heavily against your cunt everytime she comes back for air. She seems to forget that you too are supposed to breathe, until you choke on her dick and gag loudly. Her cock leaves your throath as soon as she hears you struggling. “I’m so sorry!” her hands are on your neck and face, checking to see if everything is alright. “Are you okay?!”. For God’s sake! Before she can even react, you place your hand on her shoulder, fingers squeezing her soft skin hard. If she doesn’t take your right here and now, you’re gonna become insane. “Please, just…” you barely whisper, your voice strained with want, “Just take me”. Now it’s your turn to be surprised. Throughout the past few hours, you’ve learnt that Lucy, despite begin a frail woman, is really fucking strong, and despite that, you’re still surprised when she just takes you, pushes you flat against the bed and takes you by the hips, raising you until you’re met with her cock. With the way she’s watching where your sexes join, you’d think she was in contemplation of the divine. 

She presses her cock between your folds, sliding her red tip up and down. A nice appetizer for a long night. 

She’s right there, right there, you just need to… A whine escapes you when Lucy finally enters you. The intrusion feels alien, hurts and draws a trickle of blood from your cunt, pooling at the base of her cock. You see panic on Lucy’s face, tears of sweat falling from her temple, both fueled by pleasure and fear. “Shit! Are you-” she’s about to exit you, far too fast and harsh after just having penetrated you, but you keep her close, placing wet kisses on her neck to reassure her. “I am fine, just need… a couple of minutes” her features rest serene now, the small creases of age and worry fading. A couple of minutes go by, your body tired and focusing all its strength on adjusting to Lucy's girth. You test the waters, moving with her cock nestled deep inside of you. All your nerves catch aflame the moment her tip nudges against your walls, so deep and big and hot-. “Can I?” your spouse’s voice comes from above, full of want and expectation. And how can you deny her that? “Yes-” the very second you say that, Lucy’s hips start to move, drawing half circles in the air. The motion comes natural to her, as if she had been fucking you for her whole life. “Fuck… Oh God” she grunts, her voice sounding raspy for a second, making her somehow even hotter than she already is. She’s panting heavily above you, drops of sweat falling down her skin, making her abs look delicious. You’d do anything to touch and lick those muscles right now. Opposite to you, focused on piercing into your tight wet opening, it takes all of Lucy’s self restraint to not take you hard and fast. She sighs into the air “You’re so tight…”, while being so gentle and sweet that it makes you mad. You know that this gentle persona she put on is just a facade, that she yearns to feel you tightening up on her cock and scream; so why doesn’t she just fuck you properly? But you have your ways of getting what you want: you trap Lucy by locking your legs behind her, hug her close to your body and angle your back and hips so that you can meet her trusts, fucking yourself on her now that she is too stunned to move. 

“Take me, fuck me. I know you want to” you sigh into her ear, sending goosebumps traveling down her spine. And how can she resist you? You are her siren and she’s just a poor, helpless sailor. 

You only get a couple of seconds before she starts to absolutely ravish you. As if you’ve put her under a spell, Lucy fucks you at a speed that has your toes curling and your eyes rolling to the back of your head. She fucks you in so deep and hard that you think for a moment you’re gonna break apart on her length. “Oh you are just perfect” she almost whispers, her voice cracking as you clench around her. She throws her head back, a delirious look in her eyes, laced with pleasure and an almost undetectable need for possession. Looking at you crying beneath her, your skin wetted by sweat, your breath short and hot, it suddenly dawns on her: she’s doing this to you. She’s the one who is making you scream to go deeper, faster, harder. She’s the one who you beg. She’s the one whose cock is breaking you. The realization only makes her fuck you faster, her lips drawning back into a smile. “Thank God it was you, you’re just so, so perfect and beautiful” her fingers stroke the skin of your cheek, a harsh contrast with the way her crotch meets your ass. How can she says such pretty words when she’s fucking you so wildly? “And you’ve got a pretty tight pussy too”. Ah, there it is. Her attempt at joking quickly fades when you push your legs, shutting her up, that cocky look of hers replaced by unfocused, glazed eyes. “Shit!” you can tell by the way she picked up her pace and by the tension in her jaw, that she’s about to cum. Every thrust into your core builds her up, pushing her incredibly close to the edge. “I- I think I am about to-” her crotch burns with desire and pleasure, a fire begging to be put out by your grip. And you can’t help it too, the strength and passion that she puts into every movement has you tightening your fist on the sheets and your pussy on her cock, your throath desperately holding screams and moans of pleasure. “What do you say, huh, love? Can I, please?”; that’s when you finally lose it, your orgasm so close you can practically already taste the way your body will quiver under Lucy’s lovely touches. “Please, please do it, please Lucy, come in me” you sigh into her ear, no amount of shame holding you back from stating what you want anymore. For a brief second, before her world shatters from bliss, Lucy sees the artificial starlight that shines outside dancing in your eyes, making you more beautiful than anything she has ever seen. She’s glad it was you. Maybe, stars only look pretty in your eyes. 

Lucy comes with a long, high whine, her hips stuttering for the final time, hot cum filling you until there’s no more left for her to stuff you with. The feeling of her warmth inside is enough for you to finally come with her, a moan so loud that it bounces on the room’s walls, and you’re sure whoever might be walking outside knows that you’re getting your world absolutely rocked by your lovely spouse. When the last spurts of cum flow inside of your cunt, Lucy can finally let herself fall on top of you, her body shivering as if electricity is streaming down her veins. You stay there for what feels like an eternity, cuddled together in a mess of limbs and sweat and pants and heartbeats. Enough strength now fuels Lucy, giving her the energy to get up, partially at least, and to heave a sigh.

“Holy moly…”. Lucy is shocked when you let out a maniacal laugh, throwing your head back, with your lips facing the ceiling. “W-what’s so funny?!” you really don’t want to laugh, but you can’t help it; how could you not? It comes off of you in waves, shaking your body so much that for a moment, Lucy thinks you are having a seizure. “Tell me… do you always say things like that?” you ask her, her eyes furrowed in a confused expression, a nervous smile spreading on her lips. “Y-yeah?”. Your smile gives her butterflies. Funny, considering she has just finished fucking like a wild animal. “It’s funny”. She is silent for a moment, blinking repeatedly as if her brain is processing your words; then her skin grows from its pale colour to a red tomato and she hides her face in her hands. “No no, I liked it!” but Lucy is already too deep into her shame, now pushing a pillow onto her face and kicking her legs. Your only answer is a string of babbles and muffled curses coming from a very embarrassed Lucy. Resting next to her on the bed while giggling when she’s so shy and silent only manages to make heat rise into her face further. But it’s all in good humor, when she gets to smile with you. 

She might be the luckiest girl in this world. 

A few minutes pass by, sweat now cooled by the coolness of the room. “Come on, we have to go: the party is still going on” you say, and it takes all of your will power to stir from your position and move out of the bed. “Mhm, but I don’t wanna…” says your spouse, her mouth pressed against the soft fabric of the pillowcase. Just as you’re about to walk to the door to reach your discarded wedding dress, you’re pulled back by your arms, a flurry of sheets and pillows and white filling your vision, until you’re face to face with Lucy again. “Let them party if they want to,” she whispers, reaching down next to your ear. “The night is still young”.

[leviathanleva]

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 |

Chapter 1 | Chapter 2 | Chapter 3 | Chapter 4 | Chapter 5 | Chapter 6 | Chapter 7 | Chapter 8 | Chapter 9 | Chapter 10

Arc ||

Chapter 11 | Chapter 12 | Chapter 13 | Chapter 14 | Chapter 15 | Chapter 16 | Chapter 17 | Chapter 18 | Chapter 19 | Chapter 20

Arc |||

Chapter 21 | Chapter 22 | Chapter 23 | Chapter 24 | Chapter 25 | Chapter 26 | Chapter 27 | Chapter 28 | Chapter 29 | Chapter 30

🌼🌼🌼🌼🌼🌼🌼🌼🌼🌼🌼🌼🌼🌼🌼🌼🌼🌼🌼🌼🌼🌼🌼🌼🌼

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

Masterlist

[ladybirdswritings]

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?

[multi-fandom-imagine]

Heatwave || Cooper Howard ||

A/n: no one asked for this but I am wrote it anways

Fic includes a made-up aphrodisiac chem (called “Heatwave”) that intensifies sensitivity, arousal, and mutual need

The motel room was sweltering—desert heat clinging to every surface—but it wasn’t the broken fan or the dying fire making you sweat.

It was the Heatwave.

He’d found it earlier in the day—an unmarked vial stashed in the back of an old chem dealer’s fridge. You’d been curious, nervous, but Cooper had grinned, holding the glimmering red liquid up to the sun.

“Used to see this shit in Hollywood back before the bombs,” he’d said, voice low with dark amusement. “Synthetic stimulant. Heightened nerve sensitivity, massive endorphin spike, and, uh…” He leaned in, the rasp in his voice dropping to a growl. “A fuckin’ need to be touched.”

You’d split the dose with him. Half each. And now?

Now you were burning.

You were on your back, legs spread wide, fingers clutching the torn sheets beneath you as his tongue dragged up your inner thigh, your body twitching with every touch. He hadn’t even fucked you yet, and you’d already come twice—once from his mouth, once from his fingers. And you were still aching.

“Sensitive, huh?” he chuckled, lips slick from your release, voice thick with arousal. “That little chem’s workin’ real good.”

“C-Cooper,” you whimpered, thighs trembling around his shoulders. “I can’t— I need—”

“I know what you need,” he growled.

He rose up over you, every inch of him wild and hungry. His cock was thick and flushed dark, glistening at the tip with precum—already aching from holding back. He pressed the head against your dripping entrance and slid in slow, grunting as your tight heat sucked him in inch by inch.

You cried out. It was too much, not enough, perfect.

Your walls clenched hard, already fluttering around him as he bottomed out with a low, primal groan. The chem made everything sharper. The feel of his ridged skin, the stretch, the heat—every thrust dragged a wave of pleasure so intense it felt like your soul was leaving your body.

“Fuck, you feel like fire,” he snarled, slamming into you harder now. “So goddamn tight—grippin’ me like you own me.”

You couldn’t even answer. Your mouth hung open, eyes rolling back as he fucked you with reckless, desperate need. Every thrust sent another shiver through you, your pussy so soaked now you could hear the wet slap every time his hips met yours.

Then you felt it—again—your third orgasm already cresting.

“I—I’m gonna—” you gasped, your whole body locking up.

“Yeah you are. Cum for me, baby. Let it fuckin’ happen.”

You screamed his name as the climax ripped through you, legs kicking, tears leaking from the corners of your eyes. Your pussy clamped down so tight around his cock he cursed under his breath—and then he was following, growling through clenched teeth as he emptied inside you with hard, jerking thrusts.

“Take it—fuck—take all of it,” he hissed, hips twitching as ropes of cum flooded you. “I’m not stoppin’. Not ‘til that little pussy’s full.”

And he didn’t.He didn’t pull out. Couldn't....now when you felt like a fucking dream

You were still trembling when he started moving again, the overstimulation turning your next moan into a desperate sob. You were soaked—his cum dripping out around his cock, mixing with your own slick, making everything filthy and perfect.

“Look at you,” he murmured, leaning down to kiss the corner of your lips, your jaw, your throat. “All messy and cockdrunk already. We’re just gettin’ started, sweetheart.”

You lost count of how many times he made you cum after that.

Heatwave had you both insatiable—his stamina fueled by ghoul resilience, yours by sheer chemical lust. He fucked you against the wall, bent over the dresser, on your knees, riding him until you collapsed. He’d pull out just to cum on your stomach, your chest, your face—only to get hard again minutes later and push back into you with a snarl.

By the time dawn broke, you were wrecked—soaked, twitching, filled with his cum, your voice raw from screaming his name.

And even then… his fingers were trailing down again.

“Still sensitive, darlin’?” he rasped against your ear. “Let’s find out.”

[reveluving]

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 ♡

[vaulthistorian]

With You Nearby.

Summary: Spending a nice evening by the fire with Joshua, and things get a little out of hand.

CW: Really none, readers gender/identity is not specified. No NSFW, but alluded to.

~~~

The stars in the sky reminded you of the path you were on. The glimmering light that freckled the dark blanket of the vast expanse beyond made you feel less alone on these colder nights. The Mojave rarely got cold, but the odd times you'd hit a dead zone in radiation the temperature would drop.

You were glad for your cloak and armor, it weighed you down and added some warmth to your body.

Of course you'd not come alone, as was evident by the shuffling on the rock across from you. But oftentimes the warmth of another couldn't stop you from feeling singled out by the horrors of the world that persist to taunt you. They exist for no other reason than to cause you pain.

"Falling asleep on me?" The near baritone voice of your favorite Mormon survivalist. His tone was scratchy, the lack of water from Zion left him quieter than usual, as he had less strength to cast his voice.

You tilted your head, catching him in your view as you lay on the cool rock ground, a hint of a smile gracing your lips.

"Thinking."

He hummed in response, gripping two stones between his hands and striking them together. The crashing rocks sending sparks toward a small pile of sticks and grass that you'd accumulated over the course of your journey.

He exhaled shortly when the sparks caught on some dried patches of grass, little flickers of warmth rising up from the heart and catching on.

"We'll be warm tonight." He said as he sat, his eyes looking across the fire at you. In the darkness you couldn't see his eye color, on the flames that rose and danced within the snare of his intense gaze.

Although you still liked to think of the sea blue gaze that you'd catch along the dusty roads back to a place you'd dared to call home.

Joshua was alright to follow you, he didn't protest when you brought him from Zion, and when you saw to it that his people made a sayve journey back to their refuge. Then he decided he'd follow, wherever you led he would not hesitate. Not like he used to. He was no coward.

"Get closer." Joshua broke the silence again when he noticed your shivers in the warm glow the fire cast over the pale light.

You couldn't help thinking if he meant for you to get closer to the fire or him. In any sense, he meant the fire.

You shuffled a bit closer, bringing your feet toward the lapping flames and they selflessly warmed your flesh.

"It should only be a little longer, then we can get off our feet and rest in proper beds." You said to Joshua, your hands locking around your knees in a curled position.

"As long as we make pace." Joshua relaxed with the fire going, taking out his bible from the rucksack he'd come to carry for you. Despite it having gone through a lot, it held on, allowing Joshua to hold the leather in his hands once more.

He was peaceful when he read, the atmosphere was not too tough, but not too loose. You were content with him.

The sounds of critters rummaging in the night had you shifting, crawling to the right of Joshua, the other side of the rucksack. His gaze flicked from his book to you as you drew closer. He didn't say anything, but opened an arm invitingly so that you may come closer.

"What are you reading?" You asked him softly. You didn't always care, and yet you knew he enjoyed sharing from time to time.

"Job 1:20 forward." He replied simply, feeling you press into his side, your body seeking out his warmth. Joshua wrapped his arm around your shoulder, keeping his hand curled loosely so it did not touch you.

"Would you like me to read it to you?" He asked softly, tilting his head a bit and showing you the passage.

You shuffled and brought your hand to his chest. "Mm, no thanks, I'd rather just watch you." You teased, your finger lightly guiding his head toward you.

"Oh, would you? Don't want a late night bible story?" He asked back as your fingers came up to his jaw, running the pad of your thumb over the warm bandages.

"You could... Say some other things to me, but I don't know if the bible is the right thing." You teased and stroked his chin, and he discarded the book gently down onto the Mojave dune. His arms wrapped around you, dipping you down against the ground and leaning against your ear.

"You know how I'd love to do that..." He pressed his mouth right beside your ear, situating himself between your hips.

You situated yourself and pulled your duster off, teasing your fingers under his vest, against his bandages. "Who else is gonna sleep with you out here? I'm sure the big man upstairs wouldn't mind." You teased, feeling his hands drag you a smidge closer to his hips.

Joshua bristled with a sense of excitement, and he willed himself to believe you were right. He kissed your cheek, then your mouth, and brought your hips into his lap to undo your belt.

"Let's hope you're right..."

[gay-dorito-dust]

Lucy: is there anyone who’s caught your eye? There has to be someone who’s got your attention.

You: yeah I do!

Lucy: who is it maybe I can help-

You: them *points to Hancock and The ghoul*

Hancock: you ever gonna quit that ‘shoot first’ mentality of yours or you too damn addicted with the feel of a gun in your hand.

Ghoul: *shrugs* it hasn’t failed me yet, so I suppose not mr Goodneighbour, though your neck do the woods ain’t no utopia either.

You: thoughts?

Lucy: …I’d rather not-

[angel-of-the-moons]

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."

[call-me-kermit]

So Long Reputation

Word Count: 2611 Read Time: 10min Warnings: Swearing, Insinuated Smexy Time, Canon Violence, Cooper is a Cutie-pa-Tootie Summary: The Ghoul's reputation is slipping, all because of his lady. Rating: PG-13 Notes: Just a little lighthearted blurb. Not Proofread

≫ ────── ≪•◦ ❈ ◦•≫ ────── ≪

The saloon door creaked open like it hated being disturbed. Every head inside took a turn turning to look as the pair walked in—him first, boots thudding slow and heavy, her just a step behind, smiling like she didn’t notice the silence that followed them.

The ghoul cut a grim figure: long coat dusted in ash, mottled skin tight over sharp bone, lips dry and cracked from too many days in the sun. His eyes—bright, cold, calculating—scanned over the drums and brutes littering the place. A few patrons shifted uncomfortably, not too welcoming to ghouls in these parts. One reached for a weapon and thought better of it.

She didn’t notice or pretended not to. Just nudged him toward the bar with a hand on his back like she was steering a mule.

They slid into their seats. The bartender—a kid, who couldn’t have been more than twenty—stared a second too long before trying to play it cool.

“What’ll it be?” He hesitated. 

She leaned in, smiling. “Two whiskeys for me and my Snugglebones here.”

The bartender blinked. Looked at the ghoul. Blinked again.

“Your… what?”

The ghoul didn’t move, but his jaw clenched tight enough to creak. “She’s drunk,” he said flatly.

“I’m not,” she added helpfully.

The kid behind the bar looked from one to the other, clearly recalibrating everything he thought he understood about the world. “Right. Okay. Snugglebones. Got it.”

He poured the glasses with slightly shaking hands.

She clinked her glass against the ghouls with a grin. “To dying  men that our bills.”

“Woman,” he growled, “I swear on my damn boots—”

She downed her glass before he could finish, face scrunching at the burn. He followed suit, less for the drink than for the excuse to stop talking. Around them, the bar began to relax—slightly. People still stole glances. A ghoul wasn’t rare in the wasteland, but one being flirted with like a prize hog at the state fair? That was new.

Cooper leaned in close, voice low and dangerous. “Call me that again in front of strangers and I’ll start callin’ you names. See how you like bein’ Sweetmeat.”

She grinned at him over the rim of her glass. “You got yourself a deal, Coop.”

He didn’t smile—but the look in his eyes said he wasn’t quite as mad as he claimed.

≫ ────────────────── ≪

They didn’t need anything.

The ghoul had made that clear half a dozen times between the gates and the stall-lined road that called itself a market. “We’ve got food. We’ve got ammo. You just like touching junk we don’t need.”

She’d just smiled and said, “So?”

Now they strolled side by side down the dusty aisle, past traders hawking dented cans, scorched clothing, old tech, and broken dreams with a fresh coat of polish. Cooper’s coat flapped behind him like a threat. He radiated ‘don’t talk to me’ energy and most folks listened.

She, on the other hand, made herself welcome wherever she went. Even in a place like this.

“Oh wow,” she said, stopping at a stall stacked with twisted old circuit boards, scorched vacuum tubes, and a toaster modified into a makeshift radio. “You’ve got some good stuff here.”

The vendor was an older woman with weather-beaten skin and sharp eyes. She eyed Cooper warily, then flicked her gaze to the woman. “Ain’t good, but it’s better than the garbage three stalls down. You know what you’re looking at?”

“Not really,” she admitted cheerfully. “I just like to see what the world used to look like before it turned into a bone pile.”

The woman grunted. “That toaster still plays jazz if you kick it.”

She laughed. “I love that. Hey, baby—Cuudle-bug, come look at this!”

Cooper froze mid-step. He turned his head slow, deliberate, like a predator deciding whether the noise behind it was prey or just something to ignore. “You call me that again,” he said, “and I’ll put that toaster where the sun doesn’t shine.”

The vendor blinked. “Cuddle-bug?”

“He’s shy,” she said, still smiling, ignoring his vulgar yet empty threat. 

“Pretty sure I’ve heard about you,” the vendor said, squinting at Cooper. “You the ghoul who shot up Filly?”

Cooper looked irritated by the reminder. “Wasn’t the first time, probably won’t be the last.”

“Thought you’d be taller,” the vendor muttered.

He sighed and rubbed the bridge of his nose—what was left of it. He grabbed his lady's arm and pulled her along despite her protest, “But the toaster.” 

“Screw the damn toaster.” He muttered through a tight jaw. “I got a reputation to uphold, darlin’.” Cooper gave her a look that said she was both exhausting and irreplaceable. She just frowned in response letting him drag her away. 

She wanted that toaster. He was gonna pay. 

≫ ────────────────── ≪

They’d made camp in a hollow out of the wind, the fire crackling low and mean beside them. The stars overhead looked bruised—clouded by fallout, maybe, or just the way the world worked now. Cooper didn’t much care.

He had her in his lap, one hand tangled in her hair, the other resting on her thigh like it was always meant to be there. The air was warm from fire and whiskey breath. Her smile was lazy, languid—something rare in the wasteland. She sighed feeling the hum of his kiss on her neck. She teased him with a rock of her hips and he sighed in approval. 

Then came the sound of boots. Not one pair. Several. Too loud to be animals, too casual to be soldiers.

Cooper stiffened. “You gotta be kidding me.”

She sighed, head dropping to his shoulder. “Every time we’re about to get naked…”

“Apparently, I’m not allowed to be happy.” He grumbled, easing her off his lap, and stood, brushing dirt from his coat like he wasn’t about to kill someone.

Five of them. Raiders, by the look. Wore spikes and bone, shouted too much and smelled like they’d bathed in rot and blood. The lead one stepped forward, rifle slung over his shoulder like it was a fashion accessory.

“Well, well,” he said with a grin full of crooked teeth. “Ain’t you two cozy.”

Cooper didn’t bother answering. He just rolled his neck until something popped.

“You look like you crawled outta a grave, man,” another said, snickering. “That your girl or your caretaker?”

The woman leaned back against a log, lounging in wait, checking the dirt under her nails like they were an inconvenience. “If you boys are here for our gear, I’d reconsider.”

“And if you're here for a show,” Cooper added, Pulling back the hammer of his revolver. “you’re interruptin’ the wrong damn performance.” 

That got a laugh from the Raiders. They circled closer, half-serious now.

Then she said, “Snookums, be a dear and shoot the loud one first?”

The laughter doubled. One of them nearly dropped his machete.

“Snookums?” the leader gasped, cackling. “Is that what you call him? What the hell kind of ghoul love story is this?”

Cooper didn’t smile. Didn’t blink. Just drew his revolver and shot the loud one straight through the teeth.

Silence fell. Then the leader screamed. A couple of others dove for cover.

“Thank you, sweetheart,” she called, casually ducking behind a rock as bullets started flying.

“You’re welcome!” he shouted back.

It wasn’t a long fight. Raiders had numbers, but not tactics. Cooper moved like a ghost with a grudge, and she flanked them with the precision of someone who’d learned survival was just a faster kind of kindness.

When it was over, smoke curled off hot shell casings. Blood stained the dirt. One raider crawled away on a shattered leg, but neither of them chased him.

She dusted ash off her pants and walked back to the fire, where Cooper stood reloading.

“You okay, Snookums?”

He gave her a flat look. “I’m beggin’ you.”

She kissed his cheekbone, warm and unapologetic. “You’ll live.”

He holstered his gun, sat back down, and patted his lap.

“Now, where were we before the circus showed up?”

She smiled and curled against him again. Finding her place back in his lap she wasted no time kissing him silly, rocking against him until he was breathless, his hands holding tight on the plump curves of his hip.

She pulled away enough to say, “Just admit it.”

“Admit what?”

“You’re a little fond of Snookums.”

“I will feed you to a deathclaw.”

She just laughed. And Cooper—though he’d never admit it—almost smiled. He just pulled her back in.

This time, no interruptions.

≫ ────────────────── ≪

The old rail stop was half-collapsed and mostly forgotten, baking under the sun like everything else in the wasteland. The rusted sign overhead read “YIELD” in peeling letters, though what you were supposed to yield to out here was anybody’s guess.

They stopped for water.

Or rather, she stopped for water.

Cooper leaned against a twisted steel beam, arms crossed, watching her barter with the wiry trader who’d set up shop in the shadow of the station’s skeletal roof. He didn’t trust the guy. Slick smile. Clean hands. Too many teeth still in his head for someone who lived out here.

But she was already smiling, all warmth and friendly curiosity, hands on her hips, head tilted like she was listening to the most fascinating man alive.

“Your filters actually work?” she asked, nodding toward the battered water purifier on the table.

“Guaranteed clean,” the man said, patting it like a loyal dog. “You won’t grow any extra fingers. Unless you want to.”

She laughed—actually laughed—and Cooper’s jaw tightened. She did that with people. Drew them in. Made them forget what the world was really like.

“Tempting,” she said. “But I’ve already got ten fingers and a Sugarfangs over there who might get jealous.”

The trader’s eyes went wide. “Your what?”

She jerked her thumb toward Cooper without looking. “Tall, broody, looks like a mummified outlaw. Big softie when you scratch behind his ears.”

Cooper didn’t move. Didn’t blink. Just stared.

The trader followed her gesture, mouth half-open. “Him?”

She turned and gave Cooper a wink. “Come on, sweetie. Show the nice man your smile.”

“I will skin and eat you for breakfast,” Cooper scowled. 

The trader took an actual step back. “Alright. Okay. Didn’t mean anything by it.”

She handed over some scrap, grabbed the bottle of water, and strolled back to Cooper like she hadn’t just detonated a social minefield in the middle of the transaction.

“I hate you,” he said, taking the bottle.

“No, you don’t.”

“I could leave. Right now. Disappear into the dust.” He threatened, she pouted in response. 

“You wouldn’t last a week without me. Your interpersonal skills are a war crime.”

He scowled, unscrewing the bottle and taking a long drink. “Stop giving me names. I had a reputation before you.”She just smiled innocently.

Pecking his lips, “Poor baby.” She mocked. 

≫ ────────────────── ≪

Cooper kicked the saloon door open hard enough to shake splinters loose.

Inside, five men froze mid-drink. The one he was after—Tanner Crow, a twitchy bastard with a crooked jaw and a bounty poster thicker than a Bible—stood from the table in the back, hand going for the revolver at his side.

“What the fuck is this,” Tanner spat. “Ugly, irradiated bastard.”

“Aw, I’m flattered.” Cooper mocked.

The room went quiet. No one moved. Just the whisper of wind through broken shutters and the slow creak of the saloon’s swinging doors behind him. The dust settled like tension in the air.

Tanner’s hand hovered over his gun.

So did Cooper’s.

“Don’t make this messier than it needs to be,” The ghoul said. “I only need your head. What happens to the rest is your choice.”

Tanner sneered. “Big words for a half-rotted sack of meat.”

Cooper’s eyes narrowed. “Draw.”

Tanner went for it.

Cooper’s gun cleared leather first, his arm a blur. The bullet caught Tanner’s weapon mid-draw, shattering it in his hand. He screamed, and staggered, blood spraying the floor. The room held its breath.

Cooper stepped forward, boot grinding on glass.

He pointed the barrel at Tanner’s forehead, calm, final.

Then, “Oh my god.” The voice was unmistakable. He didn’t turn. Didn’t have to. “Look at you!” she said from the doorway, breathless and utterly delighted. “All murdery and broody—I could just eat you up.”

The room blinked. Cooper blinked.

Tanner, still clutching his mangled hand, looked from Cooper to her like he’d stepped into the wrong damn universe.

“I swear,” she continued, stepping inside like this was a casual brunch, “you’re cuter when you’re threatening someone’s life. It’s the little wrinkle right here—” She reached up, traced the deep scowl line above his brow. “—so cute, doom muffin.”

Cooper said nothing. His gun was still pointed at the bounty.

Tanner tried not to laugh—and failed. Cooper just shot him. Not for the bounty.

“I hate you,” he muttered out the side of his mouth.

“You say that a lot,” she replied, planting a kiss on his cheek. “I translate it as: please keep talking, you make my life better.”

“I am going to bury myself alive.”

“You’d miss me.” She shook her head. “Plus, you said you got bored the last time.” 

He said nothing, just grumbled. But he let her kiss him before she got her hands dirty removing the bounty’s head. 

≫ ────────────────── ≪

Cooper wasn’t a happy camper. She’d ruined his reputation after her stunt in the saloon.  The whole bar had been laughing behind their hands while she cooed at him like he was some adorable blood-streaked stray. So today, he was going to get her back.

While I’ll tell you something if you can keep it secret; he doesn't actually mind. If someone pisses him off he just kills them and makes them into jerky. In fact, if you think tactically people underestimating him just makes it easier for him. 

Plus, she's adorable when he looks up at him with those lovesick puppy eyes. Not to mention the sex is great.

But if she gets to have fun fucking with him, he should have a turn. It’s only fair.

As they walked through the market of whatever this settlement was called—he forgot the name—he waited for the right crowd to form. Vendors, wanderers, bounty hunters. Good. Plenty of ears. Plenty of eyes.

She was walking ahead, humming, looking so damn pleased with the world. Perfect.

He stepped up behind her, looped an arm around her waist, and pulled her in close—dramatically—like some pre-war romance poster. He was Hollywood’s poster boy after all. 

Then, loud enough for everyone nearby to hear, “There she is, my little killer. My dusty darlin’. My sweet pile of radiated sugar.”

Heads turned. The blacksmith actually stopped hammering. Somewhere, a gecko made a confused chirping noise.

She blinked, paused— Then beamed.

“Oh, are we doing nicknames now?” she said, grabbing his duster lapels and practically melting against him. “God, I love when you get romantic in public. Say it again, but with feeling.”

Cooper froze. “Wait—what?”

“You’re so sweet when you’re trying to be mean to me,” she said, cupping his face. “My big angry pumpkin. My leather-wrapped chainsaw. My little apocalypse cuddle bug.”

There was laughing now. Real laughing. From every direction.

“Cuddle bug,” someone snorted behind them.

Cooper’s jaw twitched. “I will end you.”

She just kissed his cheek. “No, you won’t. You started this.”

“I was trying to humiliate you.”

“And I loved it,” she whispered, practically glowing.

A young scavenger nearby clapped like it was a stage show.

Cooper stared into the sky like he was praying for a meteor.

He turned and started walking away while she hung from him,  “I hate you.”

“You love me.”

“…Unfortunately.”

≫ ────── ≪•◦ ❈ ◦•≫ ────── ≪

 •Kermit’s Masterlist•

[bunnypeew]

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

[your-averagewriter]

"Thinking I don’t love you, ‘course I do, sweetheart.”

Summary: (y/n) storms off after an argument with Cooper thinking he doesn't care about her but she soon realises that someone is trailing her.

Word count: 0.8K

Warnings: Swearing

-

-

“Fuck you, Cooper.” I grab my rucksack

“I’d happily oblige.” He teases despite me being frustrated.

“I’m not joking, Cooper, leave me alone.” I say storming off.

“If that’s what you want, sugar.” His refusal to react with any emotion only makes me more annoyed as I walk off into the desert. 

“I’m serious, I’m leaving and you can’t stop me.” I yell, turning back to look at him briefly before heading off into the desert, despite it nearly being night time.

The temperature drops quickly as the sun disappears from the sky but I keep my eyes set on some ruins not too far on the horizon to stay for the night, just to be away from Cooper no matter how cold I’ll be without him.

Getting there, I stay the night on the cold, hard floor, regretting not taking the makeshift bedding from Cooper’s bag when I left so I prepare for an uncomfortable night.

Unsurprisingly, I wake up early in the morning, just as the sun comes up, waking me up as I pack all my stuff up and leave, deciding arbitrarily that I’m heading into town to top up on supplies that I forgot to take from Cooper before leaving.

I stop from lunch, sitting down at the top of a sand dune and pulling a small amount of food that barely equals lunch but it’s the best I’ve got to eat. Ripping open a pack of overly dry crackers, I bite into one of them, regretting not taking more water from Cooper.

I keep watch on the horizon before seeing someone walk over one of the dunes, I take my sniper off my back, using the scope to check out the threat before seeing someone dressed exactly like Cooper. I sigh when he gets closer, his face identifiable.

“You’ve got to be fucking kidding me.” I mumble, watching as Cooper walks through the desert, the same path as I was walking.

I throw my backpack on, opting to eat the dry crackers on the move to get away from him. Checking back every now and then, he trails me throughout the desert but stays far enough away that I can’t talk to him, barely able to identify him without my scope.

I turn around and stop walking and watch as he gets a pair of binoculars I bought for us out of his bag to look at me and I put my middle finger on both hands up at him, hoping he’ll get the hint but I imagine he just laughs, dismissing me.

He follows me until I reach the treeline where he’s unable to see me anymore, waiting for him to take the bait. Waiting, I use my sniper scope to see how close he gets and as soon as he breaches the treeline I stand up.

“Can you stop fucking following me? I told you I was done.” I huff.

“You ain’t done. You ain’t never gonna be done with me ‘cause you couldn’t handle it.” He smirks.

“You seem to be the one who couldn’t handle it - following me around.”

“Oh, don’t get me wrong, I need you as much as you need me so why are you messing around?” He asks.

“Because you’re a dickhead.” I point out.

“That’s true but I’m a lotta things and if that’s the only one you have a problem with then I’d say you’re dealing with me pretty well.”

“I have more problems with you.” I cross my arms, stubborn.

“Please, go ahead, feel free to list ‘em.”

“You’re mean, you’re rude, you never admit when you’re wrong, you, you, you never wear socks with your shoes.” He chuckles at the last one. “And you never tell me you love me and it feels like I’m just following you around like some lost puppy that you found on the street and felt bad for.” 

“You done?” I take a breath that he takes as a yes. “You’re one silly woman, you. Thinking I don’t love you, ‘course I do, sweetheart.” He scoffs, wrapping his arm affectionately around my neck and pulling me closer to press a kiss to my forehead. “Now stop running away and come back with me.”

I pretend like I’m even gonna make the choice not to go with him, I didn’t take all the supplies I would’ve needed and I can’t even lie about the fact that I love him and probably wouldn’t last that long without him. “Fine.” I sigh. “But you’ve got some making up to do.”

“‘Course, ‘course. If I didn’t make you feel loved then I’ve definitely got some making up to do.” He says. “Now, get your bag, let’s go.” He says and I grab my rucksack, throwing over my back before he takes it off of me carrying it for me. “Least I could do.” He says, when he sees my slight confusion but I don’t complain. “Now come on, sweetheart.”

-

AN: I hope you enjoyed reading!

Thank you for reading!

[mayasaurusss]

Transfem Lucy nsfw blurbs.

What if the wasteland's craze got to Lucy's head?

Contains: gender neutral reader who is described at one point to have a 'slit' (is a slit a hole? Is a hole a slit?), transfem Lucy, description of blood, heavy smut.

A/N: everytime I had to write the word "cock" or "cum" I felt unwhorthy of entering God's heaven.

Lucy who has started to go mad, the influence of the wasteland taking a toll on her mental health. She is hungry, tired and the blood loss is certainly not helping her. She first sees you when she's resting, and you begin chased down by a group of radroaches. She first sees you when she's resting near a bonfire, running away from a group of radroaches. She brutally kills them, letting her anger and frustration out on the poor beasts, stomping on their skulls and huffing as the blood colors her boots. She looks back to see you terrified of her, shaking. Despite how much she wants to be left alone, she can't help but ask you if you're okay. And you only stick to her side from then on.

Lucy who is weary of you; anyone who she tried to help turned their back on her, so of course she doesn't trust you at all. She reluctantly lets you venture out with her, sighing as you fall in the sand or get scared by a mutant. She can kill them no problem, so why can't you fend for yourself? Your behaviors only make her angrier: you are too sweet, too caring, trailing behind her like a lost puppy. You seem exactly how she was, but hope hasn't died yet in you, and that makes her anger grow.

Lucy who, as time goes on, finds it harder and harder to contain herself near you. You are the first person who hasn't tried to kill her. You are kind, gentle, and most of all, totally her type.

Lucy who starts to get hard when she's around you. She feels her blood run down from her head to her dick, pooling and warming her cum for you.

Lucy who has to grip her cock in order to contain herself. You are snoozing off near a bonfire and she's grabbing herself hard, so hard that her knuckles turn white. She breathes slowly, eyes heavy with desire. How she wishes she could take you right here, fucking you under the night sky, to hear your moans as you beg her to go faster, harder.

Lucy who feels so ashamed to stroke herself when you're sleeping. She'll buck upwards into her hands, tugging harshly at her cock while trying to contain her moans. When cum dribbles out of her cock, she feels guilty, but the idea that you might wake up and find her stroking herself is thrilling to say the least. She imagines you hearing her grunts, finding her hands tight on her cock, slowly straddling her hips, gently teasing her... "Lucy? What's going on?" you ask her groggily, finding her flat against the desert soil, feigning her sleep. A fantasy should remain a fantasy.

Lucy who has a hard time traveling with you. She just can't stop thinking about you under her, moaning her name. It has become so hard for her that it's affecting your travels. You wonder why Lucy so often calls for a trip to the bathroom -you just have to wait for her to come back from some abandoned house- and stays there for minutes at a time.

Lucy who, when she finally can't take it anymore, gets on her knees and begs you to take her cock in any way you want.

Lucy who's kisses are rough, hungry for you to give yourself to her. The wasteland's cold night wind hits against her naked chest, but she couldn't care less about it now. She just wants, no, needs to have you. She takes your hand and rubs it on her, feeling it press on her length in ways that make her go mad. You slip her free of pants and boxers, watching how her dick slaps against her stomach, a drop of precum falling down from the slit. She just looks...delicious.

Lucy who grabs you by the hips, presses and rubs her length on you and spits on it, feeling how wet her skin becomes. She'll be a tease, not fucking you immediatley; rather, she will rut against you, forcing your ass to grind back on her. She will continue to grind back against you until she can't take it anymore. She rubs her cock on your slit then, sighing as she finally claims her prize. Who when she's finally inside of you, goes mad with pleasure. She will mount you, press you against the dusty soil and driving her cock into you harshly while biting your neck. She fucks you like an animal. Her balls hitting you as she drives in deeper, sinking herself into you.

Lucy who eats you out like a starved woman. She's licking and biting and kissing your slit, hypnotized by the view of goosebumps traveling on your naked skin. Who keeps herself only for your touch. She's a firm believer that your touch on dick is far better than hers could ever be. She moans as you grind against her tongue, cock red and leaking and hurting; but the wait is so much better than just stroking herself.

Lucy who, if anyone dares to interrupt your shared time together, be it beast or ghoul, will draw her gun from her clothes and shoot them without even looking, never leaving your heat. Who will gladly continue to eat you out after the bodies fall to the ground and their blood splatters across your stomach, too focused on bringing you the pleasure you deserve.Lucy who, when you finally come across another vault, has the time of her life by giving you the best sex you could ever ask for. The moment you two walk inside one of the vault's bedroom, she has already stripped free of her clothes and kisses you, inching her hand towards your crotch. There is not a moment that isn't spent without her dick in your mouth, without you riding her to death. Minutes pass with her dick begin perfectly nestled between your thighs, the sound of skin against skin acts as a background for your lovemaking. Lucy's own moans almost rivals your own, high and euphoric as she chases pleasure, pulling you down flat against her and pummeling up in you. Lucy who, when she cums deep inside, sees stars blossoming beneath her eyelids, feels the hot remains of her cum flow from your slit, wettening and resting in the space between your bodies.

[leviathanleva]

Daisy

Pairing: Cooper Howard/The Ghoul x Fem Reader [DARK FIC]

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...

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

[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.”

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<<< Chapter 6

Chapter 8 >>>

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[ladybirdswritings]

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