redroomwidows - Tumblr blog

[redroomwidows]

|| this man is an exposed live wire in my brain ok

|| notes: uhh prequel to [this] and [this], semi Canon compliant, pre-s1 but mentions of pre-war Cooper, I love the dynamic 😔👌✨️

|| warnings: hopefully IC Cooper, asshole x asshole dynamic we love to see it, weapons/supply dealer!reader, Canon typical violence, mention of blood/reader is injured kinda, spoilers? Abt Cooper's backstory, kinda enemies to friends/lovers

He doesn't know why he's here.

No, that's a lie ㅡ he does know why he's here, he just doesn't want to admit it. To himself, or to anyone else, for that matter. That he needs help.

Those fancy little bullets for his gun are hard to come by, few and far between when he can't get them by looting and places like Ma June's enjoy extorting as much as they can for so very little.

There's a difference between business transactions and highway robbery, even now. Which is why he's here ㅡ he'd gotten talk about a place that sold weapons and weapon-related supplies at a fair rate, and necessity had made him swallow his pride to go and find out for himself.

Which is why he's not just turning around and fuckin' leaving.

The building is crammed between two others, as ramshackle as the rest being made of recycled tin and wood that's rotted by time and rain in places, but still suggests a stability that won't crumble if somebody breathes too hard on it.

Cooper's spurs jingle as he walks, lost momentarily to the chime of something over his head when he pushes the door open. He looks up, forehead creasing.

Is that a bell?

Rusted but still in working order, it clatters again when he shuts the door, looking around. It's about as put together as any other kind of shop, an eclectic organization to it ㅡ a couple of rifles, a pistol or two, along with an admittedly impressive assortment of knives ㅡ but it's the shine of something on the floor that makes Cooper stop.

His head cocks as he studies the stain, the still-slick shimmer to it that makes him crouch and drag two gloved fingers against it, studying the residue. Coppery, with a hefty dose of some kind of chem to clean it, but still unmistakable ㅡ blood.

Well damn. He doesn't know what's happened here and he's pretty sure he doesn't care to, much beyond the fact that if the runner of this place is dead, that puts a damper on things. Or maybe not ㅡ if nobody's here, what's to stop him from taking what he wants?

"If you're thinkin' of stealing," comes a call that snaps his head up as it echoes from further back in the building, "I'd advise you not to. Less you wanna meet your maker, then I'd be happy to assist."

It's a flat bravado that both amuses him and piques his interest, and he leans against the counter to rap his knuckles. "Not stealin'," he drawls, "just wonderin' what kind of business model you've got if you make customers wait."

"The kind where patience is still a virtue, that's what." Foosteps, unhurried ㅡ and then Cooper is staring at you as you round the corner. You've got a jumpsuit of some indistinguishable color opened to rest around your hips, dingy tank-top underneath ㅡ and a stimpak in your hand. No doubt for the mess of your other arm, bicep wrapped with gauze that's already seeped into a bloom of bright red.

Well now. Cooper wasn't sure what he'd been expecting, but you still manage to surprise him. Enough that he's staring, which makes you scowl.

"I know that look," you challenge, "if you think I'm easy picking, you'll get a new place to breathe from, courtesy of the hole I'll put in your head."

Cooper's head cocks. "Well now sugar," he says, "that's not very nice now, is it? Wasn't even thinkin' of that." He turns, jerks a thumb at the half-assed cleaning of the mess on the floor. "That's your doin', I reckon."

You nod. "Don't get trouble much," you say, "but when I do, I make sure to prove a point." You jam the stimpak into your arm, and he watches the tension melt from your shoulders. "Now, what can I do for you besides point out the exit?"

Well damn, Cooper thinks again. You've got a pretty face, but it's at odds with the attitude coming from that nice little mouth of yours. About as welcoming as a rattlesnake and probably just as quick to anger, from the way you bristle as he eyes you.

"Need supplies," he says, and you snort.

"What a wellspring of information you are. What kind of supplies?" You eye him, brow furrowing. "You're a bounty hunter, aren't you? Get your kind in here all the time." You tap a worn boot against the floor, hands now on your hips. "Hope you got means to pay for shit, because I don't do tab and I sure as fuck don't do charity work."

Cooper isn't sure if he likes you or he hates you. Bit of both, he guesses. The like is tentative and the hate is more solid ground, because he hates just about everybody. Makes it easier to do what needs to be done.

"Well, sweetheart," he leans into the counter, tips his hat, "depends on what you got to show me that's worth buyin'."

You stare, unimpressed by whatever angle he's going for. He's handsome, you'll give him that ㅡ but not much else. He also reminds you of somebody, with that hat of his and the way he talks ㅡ the low, drawn out drawl that you've only seen in those movies you manage to scrounge up here and there for your amusement.

Rolling your eyes, you hold up a finger and shrug your arms back into the jumpsuit, though you don't bother to zip it up. "Gimme a sec."

You don't know why you're doing this. Entertaining the notion that if you show him good enough product, he'll become a regular. You like regulars, but most of what you get seem to run on about six months worth of visits and then vanish.

Probably dead. Such is the way of the world, and it's still enough to get by. But you like new faces.

To his credit, he doesn't flinch when you slap the first pack onto the counter, followed by a second, and then a third.

"This is baseline stuff," you explain. "Your usual grade of bullet. Black powder, the standard kick." You shove the first pack at him, let him inspect the bullets. "Then you've got these."

The second pack shoved over, thin fabric parted so he can eye the neat little row of what would be hollow-point bullets if they didn't end with a tiny, pointed bulb of red glass.

"Explosive rounds." Your expression is unreadable. "They do the job, but they need special packing. Unless you wanna be blown up before the damn things even get loaded into the gun."

Cooper hums, eyes the bullet he holds up, the barely there shift of powder in the glass. He watches as you push the third over. "And these?"

"Same, but they pack even more of a punch. I'd recommend only shooting them at shit you want up in smoke." You shrug. "Or people, deathclaws, whatever the fuck you do out there."

Cooper studies you. "Where did you get this stuff? Thought bullets were hard to come by."

You give him a flat look of annoyance. "I make 'em myself."

Cooper stares, then smirks. Another little tip to his head. "Really now," he says, watches you bristle like a viper, ready to strike. Wonders if those fangs of yours pack a punch, what he'd need to do to get you to spit at him. "How 'bout you show me, darlin'? Wanna make sure what I buy is good quality."

You should tell him to shove it. Tell him to get the absolute fuck out of your shop, take his fuckin' yeehaw personality to someone else in the mood to deal with it ㅡ but you don't.

Instead, you sigh and tug the packages back, moving away from the counter. "Well c'mon then," you prompt, irritated. "Don't have all goddamn day."

The back of your shop is half a home and half a workshop, sprawled mess of equipment rusted with time but otherwise well maintained, smell of grease and hot metal and gunpowder that clings to everything.

You don't have to look back to know he's followed you, the jingle of his spurs as he takes his time, eyes missing nothing. The boxes of empty casings and empty glass bulbs ㅡ and the Mister Handy that's slumped in the corner, sparks spitting from it.

"Poor thing got shot first with that...situation earlier." Your voice is quiet. "Gotta fix 'im if I can."

Kind of funny, you sound sadder about the damn machine than the fact you'd killed someone over it. Then again, they'd been trying to kill you, so...eh. Justified, in your book.

The rest of the room is a haphazard attempt at something like a house ㅡ a couch with blankets on it, a short stack of books gone yellow at the edges, a coffee table ㅡ and sitting on it is a shitty little television, staticy and without color ㅡ but that doesn't matter. What matters to Cooper is that he knows what it's playing.

Your flitting around fades a little as he watches himself on screen ㅡ forever ago, a lifetime ago. Before the bombs, before vault-tec ㅡ when he'd been happy.

He'd loved his life, his family ㅡ and they'd loved him too.

"I've got enough stuff to make another round of flash-baㅡ" You stop, blinking at the way he's staring at the television. "Somethin' wrong? I know this isn't much, but it's my way of living, soㅡ"

"Stop your yappin'," Cooper rasps, and you glare as he shakes himself out of whatever reverie he was lost in. You scowl.

"Look, I know this doesn't seem like much of anything, but this is my business, and my shop." Your eyes narrow. "So try to be a little fuckin' nicer if you want me to sell you anything."

Whatever patience he'd had left promptly snaps like a bowstring as he snatches your arm, grips it tighter than he should. "Listen, sweetheart," he hisses, "what exactly is stopping me from just takin' what I want and leaving?"

Something whirrs behind him, distracts him just enough for the cool, sharp kiss of metal at his throat.

"Do it," you taunt, expression unreadable, grip tight on the blade you hold to his neck. "You're not the first one to try, and you won't be the last."

And there, Cooper notes, are your fangs, ready to sink into his skin. The two of you stare at each other for a good, long minute while the Mister Handy spits and sputters. And then Cooper huffs something like a laugh. "Glad to see you've got some bite to you, darlin', but I still think I could handle you."

A threat and something a little less hostile all in one, even as you yank your arm out of his grasp. "You couldn't handle me even if I came with a fuckin' manual," you snap back, but there's a playful gleam to your eyes. "You gonna buy anything or just lookin' to be a pain in my ass?"

A crooked grin tugs at Cooper's mouth. "Both."

ㅡ

The truce between the two of you is tentative. An understanding in the barest sense, because neither of you are dumb enough to pass up a lucrative, beneficial deal. He gets his supplies, you get caps. Simple.

You won't go as far as to say you're even friends, up until the point that you greet him on a visit with, "You know, you remind me of somebody."

He eyes you. "Really now. And who would that be, sweetheart? You workin' with more ghouls than just me?"

You snort. "Careful," you tease, "you almost sound jealous." Your tone quiets as you drum your fingers on the counter. "Nah, you remind me of that one actor, Cooper Howard."

Cooper stills. Watches you warily, turning a spent bullet casing over and over between gloved fingers.

"He played a cowboy," you say, nodding to yourself. "Talked like you do, too. Good movies, at least the ones I've gotten my hands on." You eye him, playful light to your eyes. "Wouldn't happen to be a fan of him too, would you?"

Cooper debates. He's not sure if you've put the pieces together and if you have, you're polite enough not to say it. He appreciates that, makes that fleeting temptation of putting a bullet in your head all the more temporary. He likes you. Be a shame if he had to cut ties.

"No," he answers. "I can safely say he and I are nothin' alike." Not anymore. He lets himself lean over the counter, too close to your face. Intimidation, maybe, or perhaps just because he likes being able to look at you like this. "Got anythin' else to tell me?"

Your eyes flick over his face, down to his lips as you lean a little closer, the suggestion of your mouth just shy of his. "Yeah," you murmur, quiet. "Next time you come by, work on your fuckin' manners."

[redroomwidows]

war of the worlds ( lucy maclean )

summary: in which a friendly yet naive to the wastelands vault dweller, offers some useful advice to a survivor that doesn't trust easy and thought vault dwellers were some myth that died out long ago. for once they decide to put their lack of trust on hold and give lucy maclean a single chance at accompanying them cross the wastelands, an offer of safe travel, because anyone who's anyone knows that vault dwellers don't survive for long up here and the small part of kindness left feels the need to help.

contains: usual fallout shenanigans, violence, character deaths, gore, cannibalism, reader kills a bird and eats it, slow burnish, strangers to friends to lovers, lucy has to stitch reader up with a metal bed spring, reader is beat up and lucy rescues them, kissing, mild language, dead dad mentions, also kinda long ngl, they also think that cooper howard is dead since he was an actor

With a mouthful of blood you grinned, teeth clenched in seething anger as you crawled towards the discarded yet worn down backpack a few feet away. The golden grains of sand turned red with each movement, wavering rains of hot red blood pouring out of your side as you reached out with trembling fingers, barely getting them to curl in on the backpack, a weak grip as you dragged it over and winced with pain, trying to breathe through it.

A harsh kick to the fleshy wound in your side caused an agonising cry to leave you, leaving you stunned against the sand, gasping out breaths as the golden grains had begun to stick to your sweating face that was pressing into the ground weakly. "Where did you think you were going?" The mocking tone pierced your ears and there wasn't even a raised voice, everything was heightened, everything hurt, but he didn't care, he would kill you or leave you bleeding out and be off with your stuff, you'd regretted taking this shortcut, the townsfolk warned of the stories of those that took the shortcut route, but in your mind it meant that there was rarely anyone here, a lone path, there would be trouble but nothing that you couldn't handle.

"You know, no matter how much those townsfolks cry and babble their stories about the shortcut to hell, the select few always think they'll have a chance." The man states, a scoff of a laugh leaving him as he turned you onto your side and pressed his solid boot down with a look of boredom when you glared up at him. "There is always someone as stupid as you that passes through and thinks they'll be just fine." Your hands reached up, nails digging into his filthy hands that blocked the air from your lungs, "It's a shame you didn't stand down, fiends would've paid good money, maybe I'll just keep you for myself, I haven't eaten in days, always thought human meat was better than an animals."

This was it, one stupid mistake and you were going to end up murdered and turned into food, as if you were nothing at all. You're whole life ending because there'd been a part of you longing for rest, a simple shortcut, townsfolks warnings ignored, you would die and not a soul would know, there was nobody to know. You stop, giving in and closing your tired eyes, this was it, you're going to die here.

"Leave them alone!"

Your eyes opened warily, head tilting to the side to see a wave of blue blur your vision. A woman stood, a strange gun trained on your attacker who turned his attention to her and laughed wheezily, an unhinged look of humour within his features. "No fucking way! A vault dweller, we haven't had one of you pass through here in a while!" A rattle of a cough sounded from him, his attention being focused on the woman dressed in blue. The grip he had on your ratty coat was dropped and your head fell back into the sands causing a winded cough to leave you, an instead hand pressing into your side as you attempt to keep pressure on the already terrible wound.

"I'll bet you've got nice skin." The man guessed and his words made your own skin crawl as he took slow steps towards the vaultie who didn't stand down, keeping an easy hand on the trigger. "I'll eat like a king tonight, you vault dwellers are always easier to skin, I promise to kill you first, last time it wasn't the easiest job skinning a gal that's still alive." His knife drew and just as he lunged at the vault dweller, she pulled the trigger, and a needle is planted right in his chest and leaves him stumbling for the few seconds he had and then he was collapsing to the sand beside you, eyes shut and unmoving. You grit your teeth together, forcing back the pain as the vault dweller approaches you cautiously. "Are you alright?" Vaultie asks with concern and a breathy laugh passes through you at the question. "Now that is a question I think you already know the answer to, Vaultie."

The vault dweller immediately shakes her head at this, as if realising her question to be a stupid one, "Sorry, here, I have a stim pack, I can help you." The woman was quick, shrugging her pack off and rummaging through it with a nervous laugh, "I'm Lucy, by the way, nice to meet you!" She greeted cheerfully and you stared at her, your brow drawing together dumbfounded at someone who kept a smile on her face despite the circumstances. The sharp needle was a familiar sight, you were used to seeing the injury pauser around but it didn't hurt any lesson when a wave of discomfort washed over you when Lucy pierced the needle into your wounded side. "You should start to feel a little better, I would offer to stitch you up but I was in a bit of a rush when I left home." You made a noise of acknowledgement, "First time on the surface, huh?" The vault dweller nodded at this, almost proud.

"I got something in my bag that'll take care of this." You stated, gesturing to the backpack nearby and Lucy has quickly grabbed it, glancing from you to the bag, "Is it a needle and thread?" She asks and you shake your head, "Not exactly, give it here." She hands you the bag with a gentle hand, helping you sit up and smiles at you when you give her a nod as thanks. Turning the backpack up, you let your contents stumble out into the sand, Lucy's smile fading in confusion as you pick apart the items, a lot of it looked to be junk, old scraps, gun parts, a box of empty bullets, a faded photograph, a canister that she'd assumed held water. A twirled piece of metal is held up, gripped in your hand, it looked clean, the cleanest thing amongst your odd supplies. Pouring some contents out of the canister, you turn to the vault dweller and hold it out to her, and that's when she finally sees what it is, an old spring, something that didn't have much use in her home, usually found in beds or furniture, this looked to be similar to the ones she would see on the trampolines when attending her gymnastics club.

She had a feeling of what you were going to ask when it was being held out for her to take, "Is this safe, I mean, I did take some time to brush up on health and safety for my journey but I don't even know if this can be used for stitching up something like that." You blankly stare, and force it into her hand harshly, "Look it's a spring, I got it for five caps, all you have to do is twist it around until it closes my skin up, simple as that." Lucy looks unsure at your words so you sigh at her, "If you don't do this, I'm gonna die out here."

As if giving in to your words, Lucy sighs, glancing from the wound on your side to the spring in her hand, a nod of assurance to herself. "Okey Dokey."

You screamed until the pain made you pass out.

You awoke to a crackling fire and a dull ache in your side. Eyes blinking away sleep as you sat up cautiously, tired eyes instantly flickered to the vault dweller, Lucy, holding her hands towards the flame to claim some warmth. The fiend was lying still, you assumed he was dead but it was obvious he wasn't considering he was tied to a rusted car nearby, twitching in his slumber. You would deal with him soon, your attention focusing back to Lucy who noticed you had finally awoken again. "How are you feeling? I was starting to get a little worried, thought you'd never wake up if I'm being honest..." She trailed off, watching as you'd lifted your soaked shirt, the white fabric stained red, you hummed at the sight of the spring, curled around tightly and keeping your flesh closed over for now. "Surprised, I was able to go through with that, I've never actually had to stitch anyone else up before other than myself, ruined a perfectly good wedding dress." She laughed quietly to herself and you tilted your head curiously, "Never would have thought I'd meet a Bridezilla, folks up here haven't given two shits about marriage, not for a long time." The vaultie looked confused, "Bridezilla?" You dismissed her when you realised she hadn't gotten the reference, "It's nothing, forget about it."

Pushing the fabric back down, you turned back to Lucy with an unsure stare, her kindness unsettled you a little, but you could tell it was genuine. "You shouldn't light a fire after dark, specially round these parts." You tell her, and she meets your gaze curiously, "Why, what's wrong with lighting a fire? We need some sort of light source." You stood up shakily, wincing at the pain in your side as you began picking at the guns from earlier, screwing on an unusual tool Lucy hadn't seen before, to you it was a silencer and you aimed it just behind her and fired, the sound of squelching flesh and a high shriek made Lucy flinch and turn, watching as you walked past her, your face curled when the slimey creature twitched beneath your hands, it's hard shell shattered as you carried it to the fire and dropped it in the flames, it's shrieks dying to a stop as Lucy stood up and took a step back. "What is that?" She questioned with a look of horror and you are quick to place your gun inside your inner coat pocket, a simple shrug as you gestured to it, "That's one of many things attracted to a fire at night, we're lucky that this is all that seems to be out here so far." Lucy adjusted her bag on her shoulders, "You mean more of those grossly large roaches could sneak up on us?" You shook your head, "There's far worse things than roaches out here." You told her and her gaze lowered to the fire as if she'd understood what you meant.

Soon after the crackling flames were stomped out.

You had wanted to part ways with the vault dweller but it wasn't as easy as you thought it would be. Even after you shot the man dead who had injured you, she stayed, even when you threatened her with death, she followed, you'd never actually kill her, she saved you after all. You hated it when you packed your bag in the morning and realised it, she thought that stitching you up gave her a travel buddy in the wastelands, someone who knew what to do when she didn't, someone to learn from.

And despite it all, you just couldn't say no, you'd rejected people for less, you didn't have travel companions, you'd never stayed in a place long enough to call it home or be considered anyone's friend. Lucy MacLean was different, in a way, you felt a sense of trust, not fully but enough to let her linger, just for a little while.

She was kind, a good soul, she looked like something out of the movies, the pretty smile, the doe eyes, clean hair, a wave of confidence. She wouldn't last out here alone and the part of you with a conscience would have felt bad so you let her travel with you, the deal being you'd part ways when you reached the next available town where you had not stolen from someone or conned another, anything to get by, you're surprised at your restraint in not just being an asshole and shooting the girl and stealing her shit, it's something you'd done in the past when desperate but a part of you didn't let you. She had saved you and that is what repeated each time a selfish thought occurred, she could have left you to rot but she didn't.

While the company was strange, you were aware of it an awful lot, Lucy had a lot of questions about the world, an awful lot of questions indeed. She asked about why you'd rather be alone than have company, she asked for a name and you gave it to her, she asked about the bombs, she'd asked about things as random as what your levels were when it came to radiation, asked why you had all of the junk you did in your bag, why you preferred travelling at night. She seemed to be quite the chatterbox and though you often preferred the silence, you answered her as best as you could, but you didn't have all the answers that she desired, especially the one that she wished you did.

She was looking for her father, you told her she was lucky that she still had one, she apologised for your loss, you'd dismissed it, your dad died a long time ago and you tried to avoid that topic, of course someone like Lucy opened up a part of you to vulnerability and you had let her, you were letting your guard down when you needed it to be held up high and safe.

There was something so safe about her and you didn't like it, maybe because safety was never something you'd ever thought of on your travels. Safe was new, safe was scary and you wanted to scrub it away, that feeling she gave you, but you couldn't do that if she's still here, you would part ways and it would leave you, you only hoped parting ways and leaving her alone wouldn't kill her, you knew vault dwellers didn't last. Good people always died in a world like this, you knew that better than anyone, if your father was alive he would be ashamed of the things you've done, who you've become. He died screaming at you to run, his bottles of liquid gold ran dry and you had blown his brains out while he cowered in a corner, trying to stay himself, muttering his name over and over until a bullet pierced his brain and mercy ended his life.

Safe got people killed, your dad felt safe when he had his medicine on hand, it stopped him losing himself until he eventually did. You saw it happen, the resistance to it, as guttural cries and growls mushed together, it scared you, it strengthened you, it hurt you, but it also made you the person you are now, alone and forgotten.

Lucy was talking to a bird, its wing bent oddly, she had a look in her eyes that she wanted to help it, she ran a hand down the dark feathers and this was your chance to push her further away, make her despise you, make her know a good person wasn't hiding within you. You stuck a sharp blade through its head, ending its life in front of her, she'd stared at you in horror with those big wide eyes and you merely looked away coldly, stripping away at its feathers and cutting it open with little care, you could see that she was upset, angry at you, she wanted to save the bird and you had ended it's life instead, turning it into food, she'd sat away from you when you lit a fire, twirling the carcass above the flame and letting it singe so you knew that not a part of it was raw.

Lucy didn't eat that night, choosing to go to bed hungry rather than have a scrap of what you had eaten, she was starting to understand it, you weren't a kind sole, you're just as bad, you hoped that was what she was thinking, hoped that when you drifted off that she'd leave, realise who she's travelling with isn't good, isn't safe, you hope that she leaves and lets you wake up alone.

When you awoke, she was still there. She was sat staring at her surroundings and had greeted you with the words of good morning and then smiled, offering you a drink of her water, claiming you had to stay hydrated if you want your wound to heal nicely. You felt like asking why she'd stayed, but you didn't, you remained quiet and gulped a gallon of water down your throat and started your walk for the day and she followed you.

That was five days ago and still she stayed with you no matter what you did to try and get rid of her.

By now, you had made it to a town and shoved a few of your caps to some old man renting rooms, Lucy decided a room shared would be fewer caps and you agreed with that, she also insisted it would be safer if you shared and you agreed to that also, which resulted in you lying on an old, worn down bed, Lucy lying on the one next to yours, and for once she was quiet. You wanted to ask her if she was alright, reach out to her, but you didn't want Lucy to think you cared, so you stayed quiet too, at some point, you knew she'd open up anyway, she had basically told a whole life's story to you over the week, varying from her wedding day ending in disaster because she was almost murdered by her new husband to her dad being taken to this, maybe she told you because you listened and didn't offer any comfort or apologies, or maybe she wanted to gain a friend out of you.

"I don't think I'll find my dad." She muttered out quietly, a strain in her voice as if she was holding back tears, "I feel like the people that took him probably killed him." When a sniffle could be heard from her side of the room, you sat up carefully and parted your lips to speak, unsure of how to handle her delicate feelings. You thought back to your own father, how it felt when he had died, how you felt, it left this wave of emptiness in you, like a part of you was ripped away from you. You wondered if that's what she'd been feeling since he was stolen from her.

You began by clearing your throat, "If they wanted to kill your dad, surely they would've killed him when they were attacking your home." You suggested and Lucy blinked at this, her eyes looked tired for the first time you'd seen her and it made you feel disheartened. "I'm sorry, Lucy." That made her turn to face you, smiling slightly but it wasn't a smile you were used to, it was a sad one. "No, you aren't." She replied before turning over, her back facing you and you frowned, you had expected her to say something like it's not your fault or there's nothing to be sorry for and in that moment you knew Lucy MacLean could read you as if you were an open book, she knew that you only said it to make her feel better, to try and get her to snap out her saddened feelings and change the subject, to ask some stupid questions like she usually does or to count out the rations she had left. She was challenging you, she knew you had something else you wanted to say, something she needed to hear but knew you would never discuss, a frown crossed your brow and you swallowed down your own overwhelming feeling of tears and took a breath, an unsure gaze fixated on Lucy before you spoke up with a tremble in your voice.

"Your dad isn't dead, Lucy." You began, "If he was dead, I don't think you'd still be out here, you'd be back home in your vault grieving." Lucy turned to face you once more, interested in what you had to say, "If he was dead then I think you'd know it, that part of you would feel lost, like someone ripped a part of your soul out." The MacLean is slow to sit up, "How would you know what that felt like?" She asks softly and you could see she'd already guessed, she was just waiting for you to open up for once instead of her. "It happened to me, two years after I was born, my old man got stuck for three days in a bad radiation zone, by the time I turned six his nose had disinterested and his skin looked like it was falling off." Lucy frowned at this yet stayed quiet, letting you continue, "When I was eleven he ran out of meds, we lived in the middle of nowhere so we would never get him that shit in time and I think he knew that it was time for him to go, he couldn't afford it and he gave up, told me to blow his brains out if he went crazy." You stopped and Lucy sat forward slightly, "I shot him in the face." You met her gaze, "The sickest thing about it is the next day, Davey, the guy who was dealing his meds, he showed up with a full box and I took it off him cause he said it was on the house." You laughed at this, it was a cruel thing that occurred but it made you laugh bitterly, "I took meds that stopped ghouls going feral and shoved it down my dead daddy's throat as if that would do shit. All those little vials could've gone to the ones who needed it and I kept them for him because I thought they'd end up bringing his ass back from the dead."

Slowing your rattly laugh, you lock eyes with Lucy, "While ghouls may be able to survive a lot of shit, getting blasted in the face isn't exactly on that list, I learned that the hard way." Lucy frowned at your words and made her way over to you, her arms reached out, embracing you and you fell still, realising that what you were being given was a hug, a thing you hadn't received in a long time. At first, you kept still, arms hanging as she hugged you and then slowly, an arm raised and wrapped around her then your other arm, you didn't even notice you'd closed your eyes, finding an instant comfort within Lucy Maclean, safety.

It made you wonder if this is what having a friend felt like.

You lasted in that rented room another week before caps ran low and you decided to leave, Lucy following after of course, she had acclaimed a drawn map from some lady on a stall, telling her of some places she might find Hank Maclean, her father. Not trusting someone with a rotten grin, you had taken the map from Lucy and scored out a few of the destinations, cannibals, raiders, thieves, all of the places were bad, you had stumbled across a few on your journey to nowhere.

Luckily, spending a week in that room gave you time to check over your wound, unscrewing the spring so that a proper sewing up could be done since Lucy had tracked down a needle and thread. She had told you of how she had been stabbed on her wedding day, her husband was a raider disguised as another vaultie and she'd ended up stapling her wound shut, something you felt squeamish at the thought of. Another thing that surprised you was how neatly she'd sewn you up, a perfect stitch and not a sign of infection. She was way smarter than what you'd first thought of her, you thought her to be naive but she could handle herself just fine, she could throw a punch if she had to, she knew how to use that gun of hers despite claiming she wasn't very good. It made you want Lucy to stick around a little longer but you knew as soon as she'd found her dad, she would be back in that vault and you'd be alone again, left to wander the lonely world.

You didn't know Lucy had other ideas, the way she spoke about her home, the way her eyes lit up talking about her family, her life, but you could see she craved adventure in it which is perhaps why she was so eager to follow you to whatever destination was next.

You didn't have a set destination, just away, forward, an old bed and shitty food, somewhere to sleep, that is the only thing you wanted, always looking for the next place, you didn't get attached much to those types of things, it was all the same everywhere. Lucy, on the other hand, is convinced that it's all great, a little scary but great, she'd had a look of curiosity whenever you landed some place new or had some story to tell, she always listened with a look of interest, eager to know everything that she sadly missed in the world. She asked so many questions and a part of you had grown fond of her daily dialogues, it was growing into a sort of routine.

"We're friends, right?" She asked, her gaze travelling over to where you walked beside her, you turn to her with this unsure look for a moment and then nod, "I guess..." Is the first thing you utter out, "Why do you ask?" Lucy smiled at the confirmation and kept her eyes on you, "After I've found my dad, would you wanna live with me?" You halt, stopping in your tracks, "You mean in your vault?" Lucy's quick to nod and you scoff out a laugh and begin to walk again, "No." She frowns and hurries after you, "Why? It's not like you've got places to be." You pull a face and stare ahead of you, "Oh, I've got places to be, just not in some underground cage." Lucy scoffs at this, "It isn't a cage, it's my home, would you at least consider it?" You shake your head again and walk faster trying to end the discussion at last, "No, now stop asking." Lucy pouts at your tone, then immediately follows up on your refusal, "Why not? Could you at least give me a real explanation as to why?" You'd stopped walking once more, turning to face her with this wary look in your eyes, "I've heard the stories about what went down in those vaults, there's a reason that a bunch of them are now empty." You begin to walk again, but her hand grasps your arm gently and you can see the look of confusion on her face, "What do you mean empty?"

You sigh at her question but her clueless expression had you answering her anyway, "A lot of those vaults were all only made as some fucked up experiment, I had a really old ancestor or whatever it's called, they were living in a vault and when shit went bad down there it went bad, it isn't you're fault, but from the stories I've heard I'd rather take my chances up here on the surface." You explain to her, glancing at the map when you saw her frown deepen at your explanation, "At least up here you got plenty of places you can run and hide, down in a vault, well... you wouldn't stand a chance."

Lucy frowned when you decided to keep walking, instant thoughts swimming in her head at your words, vault 33 is safe, isn't it?

After three weeks, you had given up hope that Lucy was ever going to find her dad. The only information that she had found was that the woman who took him was called Moldaver and everyone knew who she was but nobody actually knew where she was. It was an irritating thing, a majority of the puzzle solved but the single piece to add to it was missing and you and Lucy were growing tired of the dead ends and false leads.

You were in some shed for the night, a small lantern was being used as light, usually as soon as nightfall hit both of you, Lucy would sleep soundly but not tonight, she had a troubled expression and stayed awake with you, looking through an old box from the before when she gasped at something she'd found, "Oh, my Gosh!" She exclaimed in excitement and you turned to her with curiosity, "What's that?" You asked and she turned it to you with a grin, "I can't believe this survived after all these years!" She was quick to shuffle closer to you, handing you a worn down holotape, "Do you know who this is?" She asks and you peer at the cover under the light before nodding, "Yeah, he's some old actor from before, used to be known for those cowboy movies, my dad loved the movie with the dog." You admitted and Lucy grinned at this, "My dad is this guy's biggest fan, he has almost all the movies, we usually watch one of these during movie nights." With a hum of acknowledgement you glance back at the box in front of you, "What's his name again?" Lucy thinks about it for a moment before answering, "Cooper Howard." At the mention of his name, you raise your canister, "Well, I am about 200 years too late but rest in peace, Coop." A humoured laugh left Lucy as she raised her own bottle of water, clinking it against your own, "Rest in peace, wish my dad could've met you, he's a huge fan of your movies, even the cheesy ones." You scoff out a laugh, your nose is quick to burn when the water travels down your throat at a faster pace.

Lucy pretty laugh made you glance at her with a look of softness about you, the way her eyes crinkled when she's smiling, how her whole body moved when she laughed, it made you smile at her for the first time and when she had finally calmed her laughter down she turned to face you, a smile of her own when she realised you were looking at her without a facade. "You're pretty when you smile," She admits quietly and when your smile parts, she thinks she may have offended you and immediately backtracks, "I'm not saying you're only pretty when you smile, you're not, you're pretty all the time actually -"

Her ramblings are cut off when your lips press against her own, at first she froze at your move and then you felt her smile against you, bringing her hand up to your face with such softness that you almost didn't realise it was there, a part of you wanted more but another part needed to stop and make sure she wanted you in the same way you want her and so you broke your lips apart from hers and met a flushed face in front of you. "Is that offer still open?" Was your first question, "To come live with you in your vault?" Lucy immediately grinned and kissed you strongly before breaking apart, "Yes, of course it is!" She laughed out and you smiled back at her softly. "Well I'm thinking that we'd better be on our way to the next town, don't wanna move in without your dad's approval, right?"

Lucy stood up, a smile crossing her features at your tone, the hint of playfulness making her grab your hand tightly and open the door to outside.

"Let's go rescue your dad, Vaultie."

[redroomwidows]

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 knight 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. 

[redroomwidows]

Heyy, idk how this works but would you be willing to write for the ghoul but write it as platonic, maybe the reader is some kid and steals from him or something like that, kind of like a funny dynamic where he wants to kill reader for real but can't till he figures out where his shit is first.

klepto ( the ghoul / cooper howard )

summary: you had a rule to being a thief, do not ever get caught and you were doing well until you decided to be a little more bold and steal from a ghoul, snatching away a ring he was carrying in his pocket and lets just say that he wanted it back, too bad you'd already sold it.

contents: usual fallout shenanigans, platonic relationship, violence, reader gets the shit scared out of them, cooper breaking into their house, stealing, mild language, reader is held at gun point, cooper threatens to chop the readers hands off for stealing, threat, reader knocks coopers hat off and insults him, ect...

Stealing was easy if you knew how to do it right. You had come from a family of thieves, your daddy was one but a terrible one at that, got his hands chopped off when he'd stolen an extra bag of rations, the greedy bastard. That's what got him killed, bleeding out and crying and he even tried blaming you for it but everyone knew who he was, a crook through and through and his karma caught up with him rather quickly.

That's when you decided to be better than him, better at stealing, better at lying, better at all the things he told you that you'd never be able to do. You had never ever gotten caught and you intended to keep it that way. You kept to a routine, only steal when it's busy, more people meant it would be harder to find the culprits, steal small things on somebody's person, useless but worth a few caps, that's the difference between you and your daddy, he was just a greedy and selfish bastard and it was his own fault that it ended badly for him. You were careful, unsuspecting, too young to be taken seriously, nobody batted and eyelid at you, kids didn't matter all that much, you didn't matter at all, this was survival to you.

You should've known better than to steal from a ghoul of all people, but he was bent over having a coughing fit in the middle of the market so you took your chance, you'd brushed past him in seconds and swiped a ring from his coat pocket, some plane gold band that looked boring in your opinion but it was worth a lot of caps, the old pawn shop was actually surprised at your find and you were in this somewhat good mood the rest of the day, a bit of a spring in your step and a little grin whenever you looked at the little pouch of caps you had earned.

Of course, being happy never lasted long in your world, it was rare and it was ruined the moment you opened your front door to the little house you'd been living in for a few weeks since you'd taken a liking to it. Nobody bothered in this part of town, you were left alone mostly, and you had loved that about this place, although, being left alone had some negatives to it, like being left to deal with the ghoul who ambushed you as soon as you stepped foot through the front door. He had been standing behind it and you'd barely gotten through when he slammed the door as this means to shut it but also harm you, the force ended with you crying out and being knocked on your ass, winded, a feeling of utter shock as you tried to breathe.

"Thieving little shit!" The angry southern drawl had barely registered to your ears, heavy footfalls approaching your figure and hauling you up from the floor, at the sight of a rather angry looking ghoul, your own eyes widened and a feeling of fight or flight kicked in. Your boot covered feet began to kick at his knees as he yanked you towards your small makeshift kitchen but he didn't budge, only a scoff of a laugh escaping him at your attempts to free yourself from his grip. His singed hands had a hold of your coat, a strangling grip on the collar as he flung you back to your kitchen floor and pointed his gun at you. Panic creeps up on you as he lowers himself to be at your level and with a frightened cry you kick his radiated face and knock away the hat on his head, "Get away from me!" You cry and he stands to his feet once more, barely acknowledging how you cowered at the sight of his movements. He picks his hat up with a sigh and places it back on his head, looking back towards you with a blank stare.

"You know..." He trailed off, pulling a blade from the bag he was carrying and inspecting it, blowing air out of his throat and beginning to clean it with the edge of his long coat, looking satisfied at the new shine. "Back in my time, way before you were even a bean sprout in your Mama's belly, thieves would be punished a little differently unlike what they do to em' now." He pointed the blade towards you, finding humour in the way you flinched, "Yeah, back in my time they'd have your hands for this, just chop em' right off of ya." You watched as he peered upwards, as if in thought and then he turned back to you, "Now, usually I'm a shoot first ask questions later type of man but if I'd blown your brains out as soon as you walked in then that would just be a waste of a bullet on my behalf."

You eye him warily, wondering if you should run or not, a feeling of dread washing over you as he decided to sit on one of your chairs and gesture for you to sit on the other one with a calm demeanor. You stayed sitting on the floor with doubt, "How do I know you won't shoot me?" Ghoul, as you'd been referring to him, sighs, "Didn't you listen to a word I said, sweetie?" His expression draws to one that holds mocking disappointment, "Kids, these days, you'd think a few nukes dropping would wisen them up." You're quick to glare at him, "They dropped like a hundred years ago, can't all be as wise as some old, no nosed asshole!" You hear him chuckle lowly as you sit in the seat and it's that split second you're caught off guard, his hand grips a fistful of your hair and forces your head to smack against the table harshly, you hear your nose crack and blood has quickly begun rushing from your nostrils. "That's no way to treat a guest, now, is it?" He mocked, "And, it was 219 years ago those nukes dropped, not a hundred."

Something sharp dug into your wrist and through tearful eyes you glance up to see the blade pressing down with a force that drew blood. "Now, let's get back on track, shall we, reckon you wanna know what a fella like me is doing in your house." You remain quiet and he continues, "Now, earlier today I had a pretty little ring in my pocket, and, it has come to my attention that I no longer do, would you like to explain that?" You remain quiet for a moment and it causes him to press the blade further into your wrist, a cry leaves you and you shake your head as best as you're able to, "I don't know what you're talking about, Mister, I ain't seen no ring!" He sighs and you know he's aware of your lie, "If you ain't aware of it then how come a lovely little birdie told me all about your klepto tendencies?" A small cry leaves you and he stares mockingly, "Hope you didn't forget that little story I told you, you won't be able to steal shit without your hands." You stay quiet and if he had eyebrows they would've raised, "You ain't gonna say nothing, alright, guess you'll have to get used to having two stumps instead of ten fingers."

At the pressure of the blade deepening, you confess, "It's gone, alright! I sold it, I don't have it anymore!" The Ghoul is quick to retract his blade, shoving your hand away like he was disgusted at the sight of it.

"And who, pray tell, did you sell it to?" He questions, like it bored him now that his reign of terror had to stop for that singular moment. "The pawn shop, down by rustic road, I swear!" You cry out and he rolls his eyes when he sees the flood of tears, "Dry your eyes then get up, we're gonna be paying a visit to the rustic road pawn shop." His hand was ripping you from the seat, his grip tight on your arm but a little less painful than before, "How bout' you be my guide and introduce me to your little friends, see if they'll show an ol' ghoul some kindness and give him his ring back?" A smug grin stretched across his fleshy face and he turned towards you when you mumbled something, "Speak up, I didn't catch that." You sigh at him, "They don't do refunds down there." He paused and then shrugged at you, "Well, maybe they'll change that rule when I pay em' a visit, and if that don't work out, there's always option two."

Curiously you glance up at him, "What's option two?" You ask unsurely as he walks slowly down the road with you, a scoff of laughter leaving him at your question.

"Option two would be shooting them in the fucking head, sweetheart, and then taking back what's mine." He lets a rattly cough of laughter follow his words, "You may be an excellent little pick pocket but you ain't that brightest, are you?" When your features turned furious, he looked as if it humoured him.

"It's alright, you'll learn, I'll make sure of that."

[redroomwidows]

On the Surface

A/N: Nothing important, please enjoy and send me more ideas! Tags: Fallout, Cooper Howard, Cooper Howard x F!Reader, Cooper Howard x You, Ghoul x Reader, Lucy MacLean WARNINGS: None Summary: Lucy knew traveling with the Ghoul would be tough, but no one told her it would be so... weird. Especially when he stops to pick up another companion along the way.

Word count: 1.2k+

(GIF credit to @talesfromthecrypts)

Lucy surely didn’t know what to expect when she trudged along after the Ghoul and Wilzig’s dog, charmed by its new companion. 

She followed, weighed down by the revelations Moldaver had laid bare. It had pulled the curtain away from her entire life and ripped her heart to shreds. Between seeing her father flee and leaving Maximus, her mind was heavy with pain. 

The Ghoul was absolute zero on the comfort scale. He walked silently, only breaking it to mutter hypothetical questions at the dog- so affectionately called Dogmeat- and cough dryly. Lucy decided they had to have been walking for hours through sparse woods and dry ground before a flickering light appeared on the horizon. 

And after everything she’d been through, she fully expected another fight. 

But the Ghoul seemed to gain some motivation at the sight, and moved along at a quicker pace than they had been. Lucy was able to make out the shape of a small campfire burning, less than ten feet away from a fairly large, but crudely-built cabin. It was tucked into a patch of dead trees, and had what she thought to be clothes hanging on clotheslines outside. Even the dog was excited, barking loudly and jogging up to the cabin. 

Lucy stopped a few yards away, apprehension freezing her limbs into place. The Ghoul continued on, hopping lithely onto the front porch and knocking at the door. Again, she expected the occupant to come out, guns blazing, and be killed by the man at her door. 

Maybe he’d even make Lucy carve pieces of them off to make jerky again.

What she didn’t expect was the door to open, and the Ghoul to crack a smile she’d never seen. A figure- a woman- stepped out onto the porch. Lucy watched them exchange a few words before the woman leaned in towards the Ghoul and…. hugged him?

What the fuck even was this place?

The Ghoul, always cold and callous with Lucy, chuckled out loud. ���Miss me, sugar?”

When she pulls away, the woman is beaming. “Every day.”

Lucy probably looks like a whole fool, jaw gaping and brow furrowed in confusion. She stares at the woman, who eventually turns an eye to her. 

“What’s this? Gettin’ some on the side, Cowboy?” The still unnamed woman trots off the porch towards the Vault-Dweller. 

Upon closer inspection, the woman doesn’t appear as angry as her statement. She’s got long hair wrapped into a complicated braided style to keep it up and out of her face. There’s a smattering of freckles over her sunburnt nose, and a jagged scar running the length of her right cheek. The gnarled tissue pulls her mouth into a scowl, but she’s otherwise well-kept. She’s probably three or four inches shorter than Lucy, but no less intimidating. 

“Calm down, woman.” The Ghoul bites. “This is Lucy MacLean.”

The woman pauses, looking back to him for confirmation before staring back at Lucy. “MacLean, eh? I can see it.”

Spurs clank as the Ghoul takes those slow, scary steps towards the woman. “Thought you might be interested in comin’ along. We’re followin’ her dad. Hank.”

A smile twists the lady’s lips, fighting against the wretched scar on her face. “Come on in. We can leave in the morning.”

And that’s how Lucy finds herself in the rickety cabin. The woman- who still hadn’t offered up a name, much like her Ghoul friend- had led her to a room and tossed a scratchy blanket and pillow in behind her. Despite her gruff exterior, she had told Lucy there was a pantry in the kitchen full of non-perishables, and cans of purified water hidden in the back. And though water sounded beautiful, Lucy was more stoked about the water purifier connected to the house. She was told there was cold but clean water in a makeshift wash room to clean up.

So Lucy took her time to freshen up in the first relatively put-together place she’d been since coming up from the Vault. The little cabin did have lights, thanks to a generator that hummed along outside. She was able to scrub the grime from her face and hands, and attempted to do the same with her Vault-suit. There was an old Nuka-cola  bottle on the floor in the washroom with ‘SOAP’ scratched across it in cursive. It lathered like any other that Lucy remembered, and she felt like a new person walking out of the wash room and back into her own little space. 

Unsurprisingly, her empty stomach reared its head in protest, and she decided she’d make one last trip to the pantry before bed. There were no voices outside of her room, just the humming of an old Television setup she’d seen on her way in. Lucy tiptoes back to the junction of the living area and pantry, but stops dead in her tracks. The lights are all off, and it takes a moment for her eyes to adjust. 

The living area right inside the door, the one she’d passed by on her way in, was occupied by both the Ghoul and his mysterious friend. However, instead of the simple sofa she’d observed prior, it was now pulled out into a bed. 

A bed in which the woman and the Ghoul were curled up,  completely unconscious. 

Lucy almost feels bad intruding on the situation, but she’s more bewildered that anyone could show such affection towards the irradiated man she’d come to hate over the past few days. And they’re not even just sharing the bed, they’re tangled together and… cuddling? The Ghoul is on his back, head propped on a pillow and hat still on his head but tipped down low to hide his disfigured face. The long coat he’d worn day in and day out is hanging over the armrest beside his bandolier, guns easily accessible. And the woman, looking relaxed as ever, is curled up on her side with her head on his chest. The Ghoul has one arm curled around her shoulder, the other loosely gripping his inhaler device as he sleeps. 

Lucy collects her jaw off the floor and scoots along to the pantry, snagging a couple ration bars and a can of water before heading back. She tries not to look again as she goes back to her room, but the temptation is too great. She pauses, turning back only to hear the click of a gun being cocked. 

In the darkness, she can only see the whites of the Ghoul’s eyes and a flash of teeth. “Move along, Vaultie.”

Lucy obeys, and practically dashes back to her room. 

So when they move out in the morning, Lucy pretends not to notice anything. When the pair stops their trek and leans in close to murmur directions at each other, Lucy taps away at her Pip-Boy. 

There’s even a time where she returns from gathering water to find them locked in a kiss, coats swaying in the Wasteland wind. And Lucy had immediately backed up, lingering in the treeline until they broke apart. 

The displays of affections continue with the travels, and it wasn’t odd to wake up to the sight of the woman curled beneath her Ghoul’s arm, content as ever. Days pass, and Lucy doesn’t mention it. It’s kind of cute, she comes to think. She didn’t dare mention anything in fear of the Ghoul’s wrath. 

So their odd trio trots along through the desert, letting Dogmeat take the lead. 

And Lucy? Well, she's learning to be blissfully ignorant towards the abnormalities on the surface.

----

thanks for reading, much love ❤️

Read More: Fallout Masterlist

[redroomwidows]

"Can you be quiet for five minutes?"

AN: hello! i wrote this for fun, it's nothing serious or special, i just needed to do something with myself. hope y'all will enjoy it anyway lol (also, i had that one scene from shrek 2 in mind)

»»————-　♡　————-««

Summary: the night wasn't peaceful for the ghoul because reader talks too much

Warnings: english is not my first language; reader is female; it was supposed to be more of a comedic oneshot; a lot of inner thoughts

✄┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈«

The night was getting cold. Chilly air mixed with the pleasant warmth emanating from the fire, touching your red cheeks. It was a nice feeling, especially after a whole day of walking in the brutal heat. The sun was killing you and the night was a nice change. 'I fucking hate wasteland', you thought to yourself every day. Burning sun, disgusting monsters, crazy raiders or even that ghoul, literally everything could kill you any minute. It was hard to survive out there alone ans you knew that. Maybe that was a reason why you didn't ran away from him yet.

You sat by the bonfire with your legs pressed to your chest, staring into the sparkling flames. Hands still tightly tied, of course. The other end of the lasso held the ghoul whom you met a few days ago. He was sitting on the other side of the fire, leaning against a huge piece of something wooden. He looked like he was sleeping with a cowboy hat covering his face. The ghoul wasn't like anyone you've met before, but you weren't sure if it was a blessing or a curse. He did tied you up after all and have gave you no choice, but to travel with him to God-knows-where. On the positive side - he didn't killed you. And that was something unexpected.

"So...", you couldn't stand the silnce anymore, "are you gonna finally untie me?"

No response. Was he really sleeping or just pretending that he didn't hear you? It was in his style, to be honest. Ever since you met him, he seemed cold, selfish, like he doesn't care about anything else in the world but him. Sometimes straight up annoying, sometimes kinda funny and nice in a twisted way. These mixed feelings made you somewhat intrigued.

"Hellooo..? Did you hear me, Mr. Ghoul?", you never called him like that before, but you wanted any interaction.

"Listen lady" , he didn't looked at you. "I need some peace and quiet so no stupid questions or talkin', got it?"

"Oh, come on! We have been travelling for days! I'm not gonna do anything stupid", it was this time when he was just annoying as hell.

"I bet you won't, sweetheart", you knew he smirked under that stupid hat.

By anything stupid you meant something like killing him or running away. First of all, he was very skilled and you knew that attacking him was suicidal mission. Second of all, you could try to escape, but you didn't know if it was even possible with this man and did you really wanted to? On one hand, there were plenty ways for him to hurt you. Shooting, beating, selling, starving you to death or worse - eating you alive. It was something... common on the wasteland. People were doing everything to survive and as crazy as it sounded, you understood it, the ghoul knew it as well. But on the other hand, after raiders killed your parents, life became harder than before. You hated it and what you hated more was loneliness. You had none, no friend and no family left. Maybe it was delusional, but you hoped for befriending the ghoul and travel with him for a little longer. Or maybe he could help you made it to town where you could stay. In that situation you didn't have many options (it didn't work by force anyway) to consider or anything to lose, to be honest.

"So what, are you gonna keep me like this to what? Sell me for chems? Or eat me one day?", you spoke once again. "You know, both options are pretty problematic for you because, I mean, you are really planning to sell skinny, dehydrated girl and hoping for decent payment?", fake scoff escaped your mouth. "Keep dreaming. I am way more useful as a compa-"

"Oh, for fu-", he straightened up, finally looking at you.

You didn't have many opportunities to meet him face to face and take a closer look. Beautiful eyes spoke more than thousand words, that's for sure. The most noticeable thing was the lack of a nose, but aside that the face was handsome. You could imagine how he looked like before the ghoulification. In fact, you always thought that people were exaggerating with their disgust towards non-feral ghouls. They were still humans, right?

"You asked me a milion questions already, while I couldn't ask you one", you heard the irritation in his voice. "You better don't cross the line"

Classic threating. You rised your tided hands, palms facing him in surrender. It wasn't the right time to ask about the future and you didn't wanna cross the line, at least not that night. He was looking at you for a moment, making sure you wouldn't ask anything else and returned to his previous position. You stared at him, trying to figure out what he was thinking about and you couldn't read him. Not before, not now and probably not in the near future. He seemed like he could always read your mind while being completely unpredictable to you. What he thought about you? What was his plan? You should be very scared or just scared? Many questions were running in your head, but you couldn't find answer for none.

That silence was overhelming. Sure, the sound of camfire was nice, but your thoughts were getting weirder and weirder. You needed something to occupy your mind and because you weren't the best at small talk (or starting a conversation at all) you came up with the stupidest idea.

"What it's like to be a ghoul?", you mentally slapped yourself, but there was no turning back now. "I mean, how did you become a ghoul? It was quick or it was a long process? My parents never told me much about ghouls"

Deep, long sigh escaped his mouth. He looked at you again, not bothering to move his body. Even someone like him lacked words and strength for you.

"Did someone ever told that you talk so much?", a ghost of a smile crept across his face.

"Actually, yes, my father told me that once", you smiled proudly.

"No lesson learned", you quite enjoyed his harsh voice with strange accent. He definitely didn't talk enough. "Can you be quiet for five minutes?"

"Hm, I'm afriad no, Mister", then it striked you. "I don't know your name! I won't shut up until you will told me your name. Wait, you do have a name, right?"

"Yes", you felt annoyed again by his lack of cooperation.

"Well..? You know my name, even you don't use it, may I know yours?"

"Cooper", the ghoul hide his face under the hat again. "Now, let me rest for a while, will ya?"

Bright smile appeared on your face. That was what you called a progress. It was genuinely a cool name and suddenly you started to wonder if he liked yours.

"But...", you heard a growl from under the hat, "we will talk about what to do next? I know how things works out here, but... We don't have to be enemies. I know you want to survive and I don't wanna be your prisoner forever"

You were on thin ice and for the first (and not last) time in your life you couldn't gather your thoughts. You wanted to tell him a lot of things in one go.

"I'm not your enemy, sweetheart, you don't have to worry. Now sleep or I'll have to shoot that pretty face"

You noded quietly. You knew that tomorrow you would try to talk to him again, still hoping for some sort of cooperation or agreement. Your life was on the line, after all. Not to mention that he called you pretty and even another threat couldn't take it away from you. Maybe that was the sign that he doesn't mean no harm to you, there was a hope, at least.

[redroomwidows]

appreciating physical traits prompts ˗ˏˋ ꒰ 🐚 ꒱

— counting their freckles

— playing with their hair

— tracing over scars

— laying their head down on the other’s stomach

— massaging their shoulders

— pressing kisses to their hips

— tracing the curves of their torso

— pulling them in by their love handles

— keeping a guiding hand on the small of their back

— cupping their jaw

— studying their birthmark(s)

— letting the other rest their feet in their lap

— tracing the notches of their spine

— laying on their chest

— squeezing their thigh

[redroomwidows]

Just want Sirius Black to help me cut my hair. I KNOW he does his himself, cutting off random strands.

[redroomwidows]

reblog this if your blog is a safe space on april fools and won’t have any jumpers, screamers, or anything scary or anxiety inducing

[redroomwidows]

i'm about to become a broke uni student, and I see a lot of writers link their Ko-fi's.

[redroomwidows]

#His face in the last gif 😭

[redroomwidows]

a writing challenge? in 2024? you bet

Hi! Hello! Hey!

I've been going through A Time and have chosen to cope by going back to the specific vibes of 2016 to 2018. That happens to include an incredible resurgence in my love for MCU fanfic, the community around it and all the love that goes into them. I've felt a bit distant from here for a while, but I still see so many of my old friends writing, ones who want to get back into it, and a whole lot of new writers I am dying to meet.

I've floated this idea vaguely on my blog and people seem to be interested so I figured it was worth a shot!

So yeah, welcome to Ari's Old School, Nostalgia Jam, Why-The-Hell-Not MCU Fic Writing Challenge 2024!

Prompts, rules and whatnot under the cut:

Requests:

If you could reblog this post to reach someone who might want to participate, I'd really appreciate it! No need to be following me, it's open for anyone.

Reader-inserts, OCs, solo character fics, character x character-- absolutely no limitations

Any and all MCU characters are allowed

Anything above 500 words should have a read-more/keep-reading tab. Series, multi-chapters, one-shots, drabbles, etc etc. The sky's the limit.

Please tag me in your fics (@shurisneakers) so I'm notified of them, and post them with the tag #arisoldschoolwritingchallenge . It may take me a while to get back to you due to the circumstances I find myself in currently, but I absolutely will. Please send me a DM if I haven't responded within 10 days.

Send me an ask with the prompt you would like. Feel free to pick up to 2 prompts

The only thing I request of you: no RPF and no dark fics. Smut is welcome, but non-con/dub-con/incest or anything along those veins is something I'd ask you not to submit for this challenge. Thank you for your understanding!

I know I've called it an MCU fic challenge as it's the community I've grown with, but if you feel like any of these prompts resonates with a character from another fandom, please go ahead and write it. This challenge really is just about the fun of writing fanfic and love for Your Little Guys

No submission cut-off date. Take all the time you need.

Prompts

I've tried to have a mix of classics and uncommon tropes/dynamics, so I hope everyone finds something they connect with!

Relationship Prompts

1. Enemies (taken by @theysaywhatasadsight)

2. Best friends/childhood friends

3. Coworkers

4. Internet friends

5. Neighbours/roommates

6. Fake dating

7. Commuters

Alternate Universe Prompts

1. Florist AU

2. Showmance AU

3. Social media/streaming/gaming AU (taken by @splintered-emotions)

4. Thieves/Heist Group AU

5. Time travel AU

6. Pirates AU

7. College AU (taken by @lovelybarnes)

8. Apocalypses/dystopia AU (taken by @targaryenvampireslayer)

9. Chef AU

10. Roadtrips AU

Some rarer miscellaneous ones for those who are so inclined!

1. Shipwrecked together on an island

2. Meet Ugly (opposite of Meet Cutes) (taken by @barnesandco

3. Both of you are ghosts but don't know the other is

4. Treasure hunters AU

5. Faking death

6. Professional cuddlers AU

7. Time loops/Groundhog Day (taken by @sxrensxngwrites)

8. Orpheus and Eurydice

9. Villain x hero

10. Hitchhiking

11. Carnival of Horrors

12. Robin Hood

13. Matchmakers AU

14. Insomniac x narcoleptic

15. Intergalactic Coffee Shop AU

16. Doomed By The Narrative

17. Enemies to Lovers to Enemies

18. Subversion of Classic Hallmark Movie Tropes

Dialogue prompts

You can tweak them as per requirements, but be sure to keep the underlying message!

Angst

1. "I should have trusted myself. I should have stayed far away from you."

2. "Has it occurred to you that how I feel matters too?"

3. "We failed. I would do it again."

4. "You do not deserve my forgiveness."

5. "You make me feel so alone."

6. "I'm not giving up on us." "I did. You should too." (taken by @targaryenvampireslayer)

Crack

1. "Ohhh, you wanna kiss me so bad it makes you look stupid." (taken by @pinkthick)

2. "I think you and I make the worst choices together." "Yeah, but it's always entertaining."

3. "I trusted you." "Terrible decision, really."

4. "I know I'm smiling but I want to push you off a very big cliff." (taken by @pepperonijem)

5. "I'm hilarious." "You're traumatised."

Fluff

1. "This is the only thing I look forward to everyday."

2. "I think we should do that again. For the sake of the world and my sanity."

3. "You're all I think about."

4. "Don't go anywhere I can't follow."

5. "Don't smile at me like that." "Like what?" "Like that." (Taken by @lovelybarnes)

Word Prompts:

Flesh

Strawberry

Bruised (taken by @juvenilearson)

Groovy

Jump

Sunflower (taken by @barnesandco)

Alchemist

Wayward

Offerings

Mischief (taken by @supraveng)

I hope you'll join in! Please do tag anyone you think would be interested, I'd love for this to have as wide an audience as possible.

Lots of love <3

-Ari

[redroomwidows]

DOCTOR WHO (2005-) “Turn Left” (4.11)

[redroomwidows]

googles: how to write smut

[redroomwidows]

@promptsh20 brings you:

“I am not your brother.” Brother’s best friend prompts.

Anytime their brother’s best friend comes over they search the house for them.

“When are you going to start dating men?”

Probably has seen them indecent at least once, this goes both ways.

Is the only exception to the ‘no boys over rule’, which they abuse, heavily.

“Don’t tell my brother.” “I won’t tell him, but you have to do something for me.”

Their brother’s best friend bothered by being referred as their brother or relative, they don’t want them thinking about that when they finally have their way with them.

Brother’s best friend making a show of giving them headlocks and random pokes in the side when others are present but in private it’s more light brushing and holding.

“When did you get here?” “Just now, just came to say hi. Hi.”

Doesn’t like anyone they date and has an opinion on each of their new partners of interest, spoiler, it’s never anything nice.

Everybody loves their brother’s best friend which grants him an automatic invite to every and all family dinners, functions or events.

“What would your brother think? Finding you like this.”

Probably, on accident, lets it slip that they’ve had fantasies about them, that they still do.

Their brother’s best friend becoming a whole different person in the presence of a potential crush or their partner. They don’t hide that they don’t like them, they make it abundantly clear.

Brother’s best friend getting an injury or cut and going to them to fix it up, even if their miserable at it. they just want their hands.

“Are you crazy?” “Yes, you’ve quite literally been driving me insane for years.”

Both siblings mistaking the brother’s best friend’s possessiveness as protectiveness, which works for everyone.

Their brother’s best friend always starting at their bedroom doorway and somehow migrating to their bed or computer chair.

Their brother’s best friend attending all their special events or presentations.

“Shouldn’t you be, I don’t know, hanging with my brother?”“ Probably, but I like our times together too.”

Their brother’s best friend constantly looking out for them a social events or parties.

Their brother being annoyed that anytime their best friend goes missing or gets lost they know exactly where to find them, with their sibling

Heated moments with lips on necks, hips against one another’s and their brother’s best friend struggling and failing to keep their hands off.

Their brother’s best friend sneaking up to their room to do nothing but talk and watch movies.

“What are you doing here?” “Your mom invited me.”

Them being surprised by their brother’s best friend’s feelings and their brother’s best friend’s finding it all a bit funny. They’ve known these feelings for years.

Their brother’s best friend inviting them to hang out with them and their brother occasionally and their brother absolutely hating it.

Brain storming ways to share their new developments with those around them, especially big brother.

“I don’t know where to start, honestly. It feels like another one of my fantasies.”

Would tell them that their relationship matters more to them than the one with their brother if they asked. They would choose them over anything.

“I care about you, okay?”

[redroomwidows]

I am here to embarrassingly ask for smut recommendations, any fandom really, any character, nasty and taboo, sweet and fluffy, whatever you recommend.

literally ANYTHING.

HP, Marvel, Star Wars, Skyrim, Game of Thrones, Shadow and Bone, Bridgerton, The Boys, OUAT, whatever

Im begging you, this is asap lol.

[redroomwidows]

Dating Agent Mobius Would Include...

Naturally you met while working for the TVA where you had started as a secretary at first.

You first met Mobius not too long after you had started at the TVA after he came back from a timeline investigation.

You of course were still learning your part and had a cheat sheet you referenced from.

“Agent…,” you began as you look over your papers, but he beats you to it. “Mobius.” he nodded, as you smiled before you continued. “Is there anything you’d like- need to archive?” “No, nothing to archive.” he answered softly, almost in a trance with a smile pulling on his lips.

Eventually you got moved to a cubicle and everyone that you worked with regularly was whispering about Mobius looking like a lost puppy.

“Mobius has been looking like a lost puppy lately, have you seen him?” You shook your head and then explained that Mobius had gotten very fond of you at the front desk, so when you had been moved, he most likely thought something had happened to you.

The next time you hear that Mobius came back from a mission, you made sure to tell him where you had been moved to.

Since you don’t get to leave the TVA, Mobius started bringing back small items from different worlds and time periods for you.

Usually Ravonna gets to keep the big things, but Mobius always tries to makes sure to try and give you things that he can slip into his pocket and sneak over to your cubicle.

Sometimes it's something that lasts, like a small snow globe, jewelry, books, postcards, etc.

Other times it’s something fleeting, like a flower, a scented candle, a snack, etc.

The TVA is always so busy, so naturally you and Mobius don’t really get to spend time together aside from brief moments when you visit each other’s cubicles, so having lunch together is a way the 2 of you can spend a good amount of time together.

You meet at the exact same table, usually at the exact same time.

When he’s late you get nervous that something’s happened to him, when you’re late, he worries that you’ve found somebody else.

However, you both always wind up at the same table, never more than 5 min late.

When you are late, you both apologize.

When he’s late: "Sorry I'm late (Y/N)." Mobius winces apologetically, taking his seat across from you. "No worries, it's fine." you assure him with a smile. "I know you worry though." he replies back, giving you a knowing look, which makes you relax your shoulders while smiling, letting him know that he's right and that you're glad that he's safe. Mobius reaches his hand across the table and takes your hand in his. "Thanks for ordering for me by the way. He smiles as he strokes his thumb against the back of your hand. "Not a problem." you smile back.

When you’re late: "Sorry, sorry." you say to Mobius as you quickly walk up to your normal table, causing Mobius to stand and pull out your chair for you even though it's just the cafeteria. "It's okay, no rush." he smiles, beyond happy you showed up, even if you're just a little late.

We all know that Mobius is pretty fearless and witty on missions and with the variants that he deals with, but he’s also a sweetheart.

He has a soft spot for things like opening doors for you, pulling your chair out for you, and standing whenever you enter a public space.

He also remembers birthdays, anniversaries (even the small ones like “I-first-met-you-day”), dates, little things like that.

And despite being pretty tough when it comes to dealing with variants, he’s definitely in touch with his emotions and they often control his impulses more often than not.

Since Mobius focuses on the particularly dangerous time criminals, you can’t really deny that sometimes you get nervous about him going out in the field. Even if Mobius normally goes to investigate the aftermath, but regardless you’re very aware that it could be dangerous, you never know.

So, you make it a point to be there before he goes.

“Just be careful, okay?” You ask, fiddling with his tie. “I’m always careful.” he says with a chuckle. In reply to that you perk an eyebrow with a questionable quirk of your lips. “Alright, I’ll try harder, only for you though.” When he comes back, he always finds you first, wherever you may be. You wrap your arms around his neck and sigh his name with relief. “It’s been so long, I was so worried,” you admitted. He chuckled, “I’ve only been gone an hour.” “Not here, it’s felt like-“ “Days.” he nodded, remembering the time change from TVA time to other times. With that he drew you back into a hug and held you for a while longer. Somehow moments like these never lasted long enough, no matter the time.

Quick kisses being shared before he leaves for a mission.

Becoming close to Loki after he starts working with Mobius.

Mobius getting jealous when Loki flirts with you.

Loki teasing you and Mobius constantly.

Cheek kisses

Eating pie

I’ll have to add more to this later as Season 2 of Loki continues so keep checking back to this post for updates!