#Fallout drabble

[witchwithapen]

A Wasteland Reunion

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

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

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

The thumping of heavy footsteps on broken concrete. 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

[mileschoosesdeath]

Hopefully I have more time to write this summer but what’s next on the block apart from updates to Righteous Hand, Sayian! Spencer Reid, and others is something with my beloved Arcade Gannon.

It’s still in the works now, (in my mind) but I’m planning on writing a Hanahaki fic that is Arcade Gannon x Boone.

I already picked out the flower, but I will give kudos to those who guess the flower’s name.

Hint: it shares the first name of a very important story location in Fallout 2, associated with the Enclave.

Happy guessing!

[white-eagle-roleplay]

Jayne Drabble #2

After failing to get into Diamond City, Jayne makes her way with Billy to Goodneighbor instead. It's got a friendly name, so it should be welcoming, right? Oh Jayne, you are so naive, because as we all know, Finn likes to extend his own special welcome to newcomers.

Jayne stared at the man standing before her in disbelief. "Insurance?" she echoed. "Are you fuc--" she faltered, aware of the ghoul child hovering at her elbow. Someone had apparently rescued him from a fridge some weeks before, then unceremoniously dumped him in the middle of downtown Boston. Jayne had agreed to help him find his way home again, and although it was highly unlikely that his parents were still alive... she still had to watch her language, lest he learns a few new words. "Are you freaking serious?" Jayne repeated. She was pretty sure that the last time anyone used insurance was before the War. She was also almost certain that the man's proposed insurance was nothing but a scam. That sneering smile was all too familiar... "Listen, I--" Before she could say anything more, however, there was the all-too-familiar crackle of an approaching radstorm, and Jayne knew that she did not have much time. She had to get inside now or things would turn ugly, and not just for her. Thanks to the experiments performed on her, any more radiation would result in Jayne turning into a ghoul--and very likely a feral one. She could deal with ghoulification, but turning feral and harming those around her was the last thing Jayne would have wanted. Taking a deep breath, Jayne struggled to regain her composure, because the last thing you wanted to do around these types of men was show that you were scared. "Listen buddy," she said at last, "I don't have time for insurance. And maybe I just like living recklessly." This last part was a lie; Jayne was careful, but she hoped that this would be enough to get the man to back off.

But she was wrong. Oh she was so, so wrong.

"Don't say I didn't warn you," the man said. His face twisted into an ugly smile as he pulled out a knife, causing the ghoul boy to yelp with fear. He seemed more like the type to threaten people with it than actually use it, but better safe than sorry. Not knowing what else to do, and certainly not wanting to draw blood (especially in front of a child), Jayne slammed her Pip-Boy against the man's head. Almost immediately, the man's eyes rolled backward, and he slumped to the ground. Jayne's heart was pounding as she grabbed the ghoul boy's hand and led him around the man. "Is he dead?" the boy asked. "Nah, just unconscious," Jayne said, hoping that the shaking in her voice wasn't too evident. Did anyone else see what happ--oh, of course everyone saw. She had a whole frikken audience, including an Assaultron. Fortunately, no one was drawing guns at her yet, so maybe this was acceptable behavior in Goodneighbor, or maybe everyone else had grown tired of Finn. "Come on, Billy, let's go inside."

[darkmasterlistyouneveraskedfor]

Mob Drabbles

A collection of various mob AUs

Thor

Take a Seat | Take It Slow | Take Your Time

August Walker

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

Loki

A Touch of Sweetness | 2 | 3 | 4 | 5 | 6 | 7 | 8 | 9

Bucky Barnes

Death Wish | 2 | 3 | 4 | 5 | 6 | 7 | 8 | 9 | 10 | 11 | 12 | 13 | 14 | 15 | 16

Steve Rogers

Sum of All | 2 | 3 | 4 | 5 | 6 | 7 | 8 | 9 | 10 | 11 | 12 | 13 | 14 | 15 | 16 | 17 | 18

Nick Fowler

Hush | 2 | 3

Captain Syverson

The Olde Bakery | 2

Peter Parker

Sense and Sensibility

Frank Castle

In a Place Like This | 2

[darkficsyouneveraskedfor]

The Vow 2

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

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

Character: mob!August Walker

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

You nod, “yes, sir.” 

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

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

“You know my name.” 

“Walker.” 

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

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

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

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

“I understand, August.” 

Another heavy exhale. 

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

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

“Goddamnit, look at me,” he says. 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Head up,” he girds before you enter. 

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

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

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

[multi-fandom-imagine]

Heatwave || Cooper Howard ||

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

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

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

It was the Heatwave.

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

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

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

Now you were burning.

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

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

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

“I know what you need,” he growled.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

And even then… his fingers were trailing down again.

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

[teastainedprose]

🔞Gash (Cooper Howard / The Ghoul x Reader)

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"Better, dove?"

"Mhhm," You hum in contentment.

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

[spadeinasuit]

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

[losersiren]

Yandere! Vault Dweller

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Everything

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

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

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

What the hell.

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

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

“I need to hear you say it..” 

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

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

He was prepared for all of this…

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

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

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

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

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

You both stare at each other.

You turn and run.

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

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

“I hate you,” You whisper.

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

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

[saucyplague7432]

"fuck... Coop" you moan breathlessly "I'm almost there" you run your hands up his chest, nails biting into his skin every time he slides across your g-spot. "that's it girl" he groaned keeping his pace. Bigger and bigger your orgasm grew like a swell till you could bear it no longer. Your breath was ragged and legs shaking as his next stroke brought you over the edge and into the abyss. Your legs shook, walls closing around his dick deep inside you. Your lips are at his ear groaning his name and trailing kisses down his neck, across his chest. "fuck Cooper" you say in a breathy tone

[circetalia]

Paladin Danse Post Blind-Betrayal Headcanons

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

[witchwithapen]

The First Meeting - Pre War

Summary: meeting Cooper for the first time. Pairing: Cooper Howard x Reader (eventual) Word Count: 597 Warnings: none for this chapter, future chapter may have more warnings. A/N: This drabble series is going to feel like a slow burn, and it will likely not be posted in any specific order. However there will be a masterlist for this series. I do NOT consent to my work being translated or published onto third party sites - including AO3 and Wattpad. 

The Cowboy & The Movie Star

When you had gotten the role, you did not expect much to come out of it. The one thing you knew for certain was that your mom was proud. She was every time you got a role. And eventually, everybody in your hometown would know about it. On release day, her book club would become a watch party and they would drive to the nearest theater and watch it. Later in the evening you could expect a call where your mom would rave about the movie and your performance, Even if it was only thirty seconds. 

That is exactly what happened with your latest movie. Though the praise did not stop with just your mother this time. Multiple times a day your agent was calling to tell you about the latest interview opportunity or magazine article that wanted to feature you and discuss the movie. . 

Accepting those interviews had rocketed you to the status of America’s Sweetheart. Your place there was cemented by the nomination you received for best supporting actress. 

“Mom, I don’t know if I can do this.” You admitted into the space of the backseat, running your hands down the front of your dress. An attempt to calm the nerves taking over. 

Your mom placed a gentle hand on your shoulder, forcing you to turn towards her. Pride was visible on every feature of her face. 

“My sweet girl, you can do this. You are so strong and magnificent. And now the world is finally catching onto what I’ve known this whole time.” She fixes a strand of your hair as she continues. “So, when you do win and you become a world traveling movie star, don’t forget you momma.” 

A laugh breaks through the nerves as the car comes to a stop. 

The door is opened from the outside of the car and the flashes from dozens of cameras momentarily blinds you. The shouts of your name are nearly deafening as you step out of the car. 

An older gentleman ushers you and your mother down the red carpet. Instructing you on when to stop and where to begin looking. The ordeal was slightly disorientating; the lights, the voices, the people. It was too much and the nerves began to return as you shuffled down the carpet.. Slamming into your chest like a bus. 

Or perhaps that feeling was the man you had stumbled into. 

“I’m so, so sorry,” You rushed out, grabbing onto the man’s forearm for stability. 

Chancing a glance upwards, dread filling you as the remnants of your career in Hollywood flashed in your mind. 

Though instead of anger from the man above you, there was a flash of worry as he helped you right yourself. His brown eyes were soft as a hand landed on your hip. 

“Accidents happen,” he waved off, “Are you okay, darling?” 

The term of endearment, laced with his slow drawl slid down your spine like warm honey. Settling where his hand sat on your hip and spread warmth through you. 

Before you got the chance to respond, the voices of the paparazzi cut into your brain. 

“Cooper! Y/N! Look this way! Over here!” 

It seemed that, broke the man, Cooper, out of his own trance. His hand slipped from your waist, yours fell from his arm. Backing up a step you met his eyes again. 

“Thank you for catching me.” You spoke quickly, shuffling past him, you mother in tow. Sporting a new, cheshire cat grin. 

As the award show began, a newly familiar figure slid into the empty seat next to yours.

[mileschoosesdeath]

short drabble- lake ghost! Arcade Gannon

WARNING!! FALLOUT SPOILERS AHEAD} SKIP POST IF YOU DONT WANT TO SEE!

Summary: After Boone's death at the hands of the Shady Sands bombing, Arcade is forced to flee the NCR and Brotherhood. He meets his untimely end at the hand of Lake Mead's water but gets a second chance.

What better way to spend his afterlife(?) than waiting for his husband's killer?

Inspired by "Get in the Water" from the Epic: The Musical soundtrack

Original song by Jorge Riveras-Herrans

----------------------------------------------------------------------

“Get in the water.” Arcade growls, spitting out slime of 219 years past. The waves rippled behind him, the waters of Lake Mead filled with righteous fury. The crumpled and ripped doctor's coat stuck to him, green with time and sludge.

Finally, after fourteen long years of waiting and biding his time, his husband’s killer was standing in front of him.

Hank can only look at him in horror and a bit of confusion. “W-What?”

“Get in the water.” The spirit spits out again, his blank eyes impassively moving over the former Overseer.

“Or I’ll raise the tide so fucking high, all of your vault friends will die.” Arcade smirks, a dark cruel thing.

“Please….” Hank raised his hands in an attempt to placate the spirit? Ghost? mutant? Whatever the fuck it is.

Why the hell is he so afraid of this thing?

“I’ll make tidal waves so profound, all of your family will drown!”

“NO!”

“GET IN THE WATER!”

------------------------------------------------------

[white-eagle-roleplay]

FO4 Jayne Drabble

"He's just a kid!" ~ Jayne, FO4 I asked myself what if Billy, the kid in the fridge, was released and abandoned in the wasteland, far away from his home. What if my character, Jayne found him? And what if she was trying to seek refuge in Diamond City from radstorms, raiders, and super mutants, completely unaware of the city's biggest rule?

"...we can let you in, but not the ghoul." The Diamond City guard's voice sounded unapologetic as it garbled through the speaker. "What?" Jayne stared incredulously at the speaker before glancing over at the green gate, hoping that this was all some cruel joke and that it would open. It didn't. She wanted to say a lot of things then, but bit back her tongue because said kid was right next to her, and his parents (if they were still alive) would be less than pleased to discover that their son had learned a few new words once he reunited with them. "But he's just a kid!" A radstorm crackled in the distance, warning of its approach. Jayne's shoulders tensed. Shit. And the raiders and super mutants were probably not far behind, either. They did not have much time; they needed to find shelter, and fast. "Please?" she tried again, a bit more politely this time. "Can't you just make this one exception?" "Sorry, but rules are rules. Mayor McDonough's super strict on that." "Mayor McDouchbag is more like it..." Jayne muttered too herself. What kind of place bans people based on how they look, let alone kids? But before she could take a more agressive approach, Billy spoke up. Having been abandoned before, he was already expecting the worst. "You aren't going to leave me out here, are you?" Jayne glanced down at the ghoul boy standing by her side. She had found him wandering alone a few days ago. Apparently, some asshole had let him out of a refrigerator a few weeks ago before abandoning him in the wasteland, miles away from his home. Billy was still searching for his parents when Jayne found him. Knowing what it felt to lose everything, Jayne agreed to help him. "No," Jayne said gently, "Of course not. Come on, let's go find some place else to hole up in. I'll let you play Red Menace on my pip boy, while we wait out the storm." She placed an arm around the boy's shoulder as she led him away. Then, making sure that the boy wasn't watching, Jayne quickly flipped the bird at the green gates of Douchbag City. Screw them.

[darkmasterlistyouneveraskedfor]

Drabble Roulette 🌻May 2025🌻

Night Fall (August Walker)

Make Up Your Mind (Clark Kent)

Dirty Little Lies (Johnny Storm)

Making a Mess (Lee Bodecker)

Bonfire (Captain Syverson)

Not My Woman (Curtis Everett)

Dirty Clothes (Jake Jensen)

[darkficsyouneveraskedfor]

The Vow 1

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

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

Character: mob!August Walker

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

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

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

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

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

"Hasn't he taken enough--" 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"Yes." 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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