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mrsportgas · 2 days

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The Neighbor. CHAPTER 1

Summary: The story takes place in the real world. Shanks, your unbearable neighbor, makes you a proposition that you're unsure whether to reject. It could be the start of a friendship, or maybe something more?

SHANKS X YOU

WARNING: Except for the first chapter, the rest will contain scenes of sex and violence, making this fanfic strictly +18.

Nami and I had just arrived. It was Sunday, and people were out and about, either running errands, taking a stroll, or simply enjoying the last hours of the day before the week began again. The neighborhood was lively. As I looked out the window, I could see children playing in the park, adults walking their dogs, and others jogging, all going about their lives calmly. Nami parked the car in the driveway, and to the right, a huge Range Rover took up the entire parking spot. The semi-detached houses, split two by two, practically forced you to share the parking and almost the garden with the next-door neighbor.

"Hurry up, Y/N! Let's grab the stuff and go in, they’ve been waiting for us at the bar for hours," Nami said, slightly out of breath.

I laughed at her nervousness, got out of the car, and grabbed the things from the trunk, following my friend.

It had been a year since I finished college, and now Nami and I were starting our PhDs at the same university. So, we had returned to the town where the university was located, but this time, we rented a house in the suburbs. We felt too old to go back to the sorority and wanted some peace and quiet.

We had made plans to meet our friends from college. Some, like us, had started their PhDs, others had stayed working in the city, and Luffy was still in his final year.

"Let’s just drop the stuff at the entrance and go. They’re going to kill us, we’re so late," I said, hoping Nami would relax a bit.

We finished unloading everything from the car and headed to the bar. We chose a bar close to our new house so we could get to know the local spots better, although it was likely we’d end up partying at our place more than once.

We entered the bar, where Luffy, Zoro, Sanji, Usopp, and Robin were already quite lively.

"Guys!!!" Nami shouted, completely unaware that she was drawing everyone’s attention in the bar.

Everyone greeted us enthusiastically. It had been months since I had seen them, so we spent a long time saying hello. We started catching up, each of us updating the group on what we’d been up to. Meanwhile, Zoro drank at lightning speed, seemingly unaffected, and Luffy ate quickly, as usual.

"Y/N, don’t you want something to drink? Come on, it’s on me," said Sanji, guiding me to the bar without waiting for an answer.

The bar was packed with all kinds of people, though the bar itself was clear, except for a group of men. I made eye contact with one of them, who was chatting with two women, and then turned his gaze towards our group.

"Luffy!!!" the man shouted.

Luffy turned around, and a huge smile appeared on his face. He ran over, hugging the man, practically plowing through the bar like a bull in a china shop. I’d say he almost knocked over those women. "Shanks!!!!!!!"

The two of them started chatting animatedly.

"Y/N, I got this for you," Sanji said, snapping me out of my daze.

I wasn’t sure what he had ordered, but I trusted his taste in food and drinks, so I grabbed the glass and returned to the table.

The night flew by, with everyone drinking and chatting excitedly.

"Luffy, who was that guy?" Nami asked.

"He’s not that guy. It’s Shanks, he’s a friend of mine," Luffy responded, laughing.

"You have the weirdest friends," Nami repeated, and we all burst out laughing.

"Nami, we should probably head out, or we won’t be able to get up tomorrow," I suggested.

Nami nodded, and we all got up to leave.

"I’ll walk you home, girls, and you too, Robin," Sanji said, trying to wrap his arms around us.

"We’re fine, Sanji. You’d better walk Robin so she’s not alone," Nami said, dismissing Sanji’s offer.

Nami and I got back home and agreed to clean up the next day since we still had a week before our PhD program started.

I put on my pajamas and climbed into bed, ready to fall asleep, when I heard noises outside. My window faced the front yard and several windows of the neighboring house, so every time someone passed by, I could hear them. I just prayed they weren’t a family with loud kids. I took advantage of the night to look out the window without being seen and finally see who our new neighbors were.

The man from the bar, Luffy’s friend, was walking with the two women he had been talking to. All three were clearly drunk, stumbling across the parking lot while the women complimented the man’s car, and he showed off, flirting with both of them.

"Nami!!!!!!!" I ran to her room, hoping she wasn’t asleep yet.

"Y/N?!?! Are you okay? What’s going on?" Nami responded, clearly disoriented.

"Come quickly, our neighbor is outside. You won’t believe who it is."

We both rushed back to my room like the nosy people we were, hiding as best we could behind the curtains, watching the whole scene.

"That old guy is our neighbor? Great. Looks like we’ll have some good entertainment," Nami said.

I burst out laughing. "He’s not that old, and if he’s Luffy’s friend, I’m sure he’s cool."

"Or a total weirdo… Looks like he’s gone inside. Well, I’m off to bed. If you find out anything else, let me know tomorrow," Nami said with a mischievous smile as she left my room.

She closed the door, and I turned around, just in time to notice that right in the window across from mine, our dear neighbor—shirtless—was laughing and chatting with the women in what appeared to be the master bedroom. Suddenly, he looked out the window, his gaze meeting mine, as I stood in the middle of my window, completely visible.

Our eyes locked, and a huge smile spread across his face. My heart started racing, pounding in my chest. I quickly closed the curtains, my face flushed and burning. I jumped into bed, hiding under the covers. As I calmed down, the image of his muscular body kept popping into my mind. He might be older, but it was clear he was hot.

The next morning, Nami and I unpacked all our belongings and carefully organized everything.

"Why don’t we invite all our friends from the city tonight? It’ll be fun," Nami suggested with a mischievous tone.

"Alright, just hope nothing gets broken, or the landlord will kill us."

We began calling and messaging all our friends and then started setting everything up. We dressed in our favorite outfits, and Nami did her favorite hairstyle on me. "This is the one that looks best on you. You look gorgeous!" she said every time she styled my hair like this.

The night came quickly, along with the guests. We greeted old friends and acquaintances. The party was in full swing. Zoro and Nami were competing to see who could drink the most without passing out, Usopp and Robin were playing beer pong with a few others, while Luffy ate as much as he could. Sanji was busy making drinks for anyone who asked.

"Could you make me a piña colada?" I asked as I approached the table where Sanji was mixing various drinks.

"For you, anything," he replied, winking.

Suddenly, a loud noise interrupted us. The doorbell rang sharply, and Nami rushed to open the door.

Behind it stood our neighbor, clearly fed up.

"What, did you come to join the party, old man?" Nami teased.

"It’s Monday. I have work tomorrow. Could you at least turn the music down?" Shanks replied, ignoring Nami’s comment.

"Oh yeah? You had your little party yesterday, now it’s our turn. Buzz off, old buzzkill," Nami said, slamming the door in his face. "Let’s keep the party going!"

"Nami, what are you doing? We could get in trouble. We just got here," I said, running to open the door again.

The man was still there, his hand on the doorbell, ready to ring again. His surprised expression gave away that he hadn’t expected anyone to open the door.

"I’m calling the police if you don’t turn down the volume. If I don’t do it, another neighbor will. Do you realize people have work tomorrow?" he reprimanded us.

"Please don’t call the police. I’ll turn the music down, and if that’s not enough, we’ll end the party. But please, don’t call."

"You have 10 minutes, or I will," he responded coldly.

I didn’t like his tone at all. I had tried to apologize, and he was still being rude.

"Fine, then I’ll call the police and tell them how you were staring into my room yesterday, you freak," I said, slamming the door in his face.

Nami, who was still behind me watching the whole scene, burst out laughing. "It's been a while since you showed your sassy side, it was about time!"

We both laughed at the situation. "We got stuck with the annoying neighbor."

I headed back towards Sanji, but just before I got there, someone grabbed my arm.

"Where are you going in such a hurry, gorgeous?"

I turned, pulling my arm away forcefully from the person’s grip. Kid—my ex—his voice was unmistakable.

A year ago, right after we graduated from college, our relationship was at its worst. It was the most toxic relationship I’d ever had, and taking advantage of the fact that I was moving back to my hometown, I left him, thinking I’d never hear from him again.

"What are you doing here?"

"I was invited, though I didn't get an invite from you. Guess it got lost on the way," he replied with a smug look.

I responded with a disgusted face, hoping he’d take the hint and leave.

"You know? I haven’t stopped thinking about you, not for a single day. Honestly, I only came tonight because I know we’re getting back together."

I threw a desperate glance in Sanji’s direction, and he immediately understood my non-verbal cues.

"Leave," Sanji said, approaching us.

"This doesn’t concern you, cook," Kid responded, clearly challenging him. "Get out of my sight."

"I said leave. Y/N doesn’t want to talk to you," Sanji replied, unfazed.

Kid got in Sanji's face, pushing him slightly while repeating, "You want a fight?" over and over.

Luffy and Zoro appeared from the nearby rooms, grabbing Kid and throwing him out through the front door.

"It’s best if you all leave," I said, my voice breaking.

I was overwhelmed and scared. The fact that Kid was back in town, knew I was here too, and even where I lived, made me anxious.

People quickly left the house after the scene. Nami turned off the music and started cleaning up the mess on the floor. I just stood there trembling.

"Don’t worry," Nami said while hugging me. "If he bothers you, the guys will take care of him. Nothing’s going to happen."

The rest of the week passed normally. We both started our PhDs, so we were so busy with work and tasks around the new house that the days flew by. Occasionally, we’d run into our dear neighbor, whom we awkwardly greeted—well, Nami did; I just ignored him. After our encounter, I didn’t even want to see him.

"He’s just an old freak, forget about him, Y/N," Nami said after hearing that I’d bumped into him by the window and that he’d waved at me. "I’m sure he’s waiting by the window for you to look out," she added with a laugh.

"Ughh, I don’t even want to think about it."

It was Friday morning. We’d been here for almost a week, and the sun had been shining every day except today, when it was pouring rain non-stop. That night, we had plans to meet at the bar right after class or work, so I wore a skirt, my best top, a cute sweater, and high boots.

The day went by normally, except for the constant rain. As I left, I headed to the bus stop. A huge Range Rover passed by, splashing through a puddle, soaking me from head to toe and ruining my outfit. Now I had no choice but to go home to change. "Damn idiot," I thought. I got on the bus, completely drenched, and shortly after, I got off, realizing I’d left my umbrella at the stop. I ran as fast as I could to the front door, which left me soaked to the bone.

To make matters worse, I couldn’t find my house keys, and Nami wasn’t home. I called her three times and sent her a ton of messages, but nothing—she didn’t answer. After 20 minutes, my wet clothes started to chill me to the bone, and I began to shiver from the cold. Nami still seemed oblivious, so I decided to text our group chat, but no one responded.

"What happened to you? Can’t get into the house?" My annoying neighbor was getting out of his Range Rover, holding grocery bags in one hand and an umbrella in the other.

"Yeah, I forgot my keys, and if you don’t mind, I’m going to keep trying to call my friend."

"You’re going to freeze. Want to come inside while you wait?" Shanks suggested, with a little smirk on his face.

NEXT CHAPTER

#one piece #fire fist ace #op fanfic #op fic #op imagines #red haired shanks #shanks #red hair shanks #akagami no shanks #benn beckman #dracule mihawk #shanks x reader #shanks x buggy #shanks x you #shanks x y/n #shanks x mihawk #peter gadiot #shanks smut #op smut

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captain-joongz · 13 hours

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Ssobin and public sex😩😩😩

ignore this if it makes u uncomfortable,,, I couldn’t find the guidelines

hello darling, don't worry, you definitely didn't make me uncomfortable. you don't have to be afraid to send in anything, if i don't feel comfortable writing it, i'll let you know and write something similar <3 you'll quickly find i'm open to maaaaany things ;))

but i don't mind writing public sex, plus i think Soobin is the type who would be into it haha. i wasn't sure how public you wanted it, so i hope you'll like this!

warnings: public sex, pervy Soob, unprotected sex, cum play

we all know that even though Soobin tries to seem like the unassuming innocent naive type, he's a little pervert. he likes to pretend, but no one is fooled by him, especially when he starts smirking up a storm or uttering double-meaning jokes with a mischievous glint in his eyes

that's why i can totally imagine boyfriend!Soobin taking you on a cute picnic date to the park, but quickly losing all his will faced with your cute little skirt. seeing you sitting on the blanket and squirming around because the clothing is so short you can't even sit comfortably without flashing your underwear, it's slowly driving him up the wall

originally it wouldn't even be a part of his plans - he definitely wasn't expecting to find himself willing away a boner because he was thinking about fucking in the middle of a public park while you happily chattered by his side, holding onto the blanket and gushing about how cute and romantic the date was going to be

but now he suddenly had a new goal - to find the most remote spot where the chances of other people coming up on you were almost zero, because he couldn't go through the whole day without at least slipping his fingers into you

at first you were oblivious to your boyfriend's plight, noting his squirming and his dark eyes, but he seemed completely normal, talking to you like always, and if it wasn't for the occasional glance to your exposed legs, you wouldn't even notice something was going on in that naughty brain of his. he only started pushing up on you after the food was all gone and you two had started to relax into the blanket

a finger or two, trailing up and down your naked thigh, nothing unusual. Soobin's hitching breath and excited eyes, also something you'd gotten used to over the time - the man seemed to be always fired up, especially around you. it was when the fingers smoothly slipped between your thighs and pressed against the seat of your panties your breath hitched and liquid fire started coursing through your veins

Soobin didn't expect you to give in so easily, didn't expect you to shyly look around to check you were still alone before spreading your legs for him, and it had such potent lust barreling through him he physically felt the front of his pants getting tighter. sinking those naughty fingers into was never easier, and he was getting tunnel vision, only thinking about making you cum right here, in the middle of a park. and you, it was to shameful to admit out loud, but you've never felt wetter, the anticipation and adrenaline stoking your arousal higher and higher

actually, you had to bite your lip to stop the embarrassingly loud moan from falling out your lips the moment Soobin fit his long boney fingers inside and started enthusiastically pumping them into you, immediately driving you closer towards the edge with how excited the both of you were

and Soobin thought that fingering you would be enough for him, but you were so good for him, accepting him so easily, and he was so hard. he needed you, he needed to slide inside that pretty tight cunt of yours, and he needed it now

you did panic a little when he suddenly pulled his hand away and pulled you until you were lying on your front, lying over you and pressing himself close. after all, hands in pants could easily be hidden, but now if someone wandered over here, there was no getting out of it - were you really about to risk that much?

yes, yes you were, and you loved it

arching your back and pushing your ass into his hardened crotch, Soobin got the memo to get on with it, quickly so the chances of someone finding you were even smaller. he didn't waste time and quickly undid his pants, sliding them down just enough to take out his cock, and pushing your panties to the side he started cramming himself into you

it went easier than you two anticipated, with how wet you were, and soon Soobin was quickly thrusting into you, fucking you into the blanket while you both attempted to maintain look out, but were spiralling into the all-consuming pleasure too hard

you heard the man's eager grunts in your neck as his pace spiralled out of control, just chasing both of your orgasms, and you were so close too, the public setting pushing into you the sense of wrongness and urgency that had you throbbing and clenching around Soobin's cock sooner than you'd care to admit

the orgasms hit you like a brick wall, and you barely managed to swallow that raspy desperate moan clawing its way out as Soobin's hands gripped your hips tighter and he barreled into you harder and faster, pressing you into the ground before you felt his throbbing cock jerk inside of you and he was cumming with a quiet drawn out whine

lying back on the blanket side by side and watching each other's red blushing cheeks and thrilled smiles had the pleasure burning through you longer, and you were only just settling back into your body after one of the fiercest orgasms you had in recent memory. and judging by Soobin's fucked out hazy eyes, it was quite similar for him

but he wasn't quite done yet - when he went to clean up, he just pushed your panties back into place, leaving his still warm load nice and deep inside your cunt.

"be good for me baby, and hold that nicely till we get home"

with a wink he was done, sitting back on his side like nothing happened

and when only a few minutes later a dog owner passed by, you were thanking god with blushing cheeks that you managed to have your sweet cake and eat it too

and we're back!!! second day of hard hours kicking off with this fun ask! hope you enjoyed yourself!

i'll be breathlessly awaiting more, i'm so curious about your fantasies guys <3

divider from @cafekitsune

#hard hours #txt hard hours #txt smut #soobin smut

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t3a-tan · 1 day

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Pursuit of Gnosis (1/?)

No, not that one Scaramouche-

Here's what I wrote for Ryker's birthday! I will probably write a second part, possibly more, we'll see. G/t interactions appear pretty late into this, but I hope you enjoy ^^ Let me know what you think!

---

“Órale, my Zorrito is all grown up! Come here mi vida, I need a kiss before you go…”

Ryker held back a groan as his mother pulled his face down to her level and began to pepper him with affection.

“Mama, I'm not a child anymore—” He protested, though he couldn't help that a chuckle escaped his lips. Even now, when he was standing at the precipice of discovery, going out into the world to take his research even further, she still insisted on treating him like he was a baby.

Once he was allowed his face back he cleared his throat to get rid of the embarrassment that was starting to heat his cheeks, instead throwing on his jacket and picking up his bag. Most of his belongings were already packed and being sent to his new home beyond the walls of Nirgend.

“Will you be okay out there on your own without your mama, eh?” She asked warmly as she fussed with the buttons on his jacket, doing it up and flattening any wrinkles down. Ryker smiled reassuringly when she looked up and met his gaze.

“Of course, mama. I'll be fine, and I will come back to visit. A palabra.” He promised.

“Ah! Vaya, mi vida… I just remembered, I found your old journals in a box under your bed. I know the carriage ride will be long, so I thought you might like to take them with you— to flick through. They're just collecting dust here after all.” She turned and picked up another bag with some difficulty, and Ryker was quick to bend down and take it from her.

“Careful with your back…” He scolded lightly, before glancing down at the bag of books he was now carrying. I have to admit, it would be interesting to read through… I probably have some old theories in here too. He looked at his mother again and leaned down, kissing her on either cheek. “Thank you, mama.”

He waved to her as the carriage left; his bags now settled beside him rather than weighing him down. He blew a kiss, smiling as she caught it and placed that hand on her cheek, blowing her own kiss back. He mimicked the gesture and waved again before sitting back on the carriage bench with a sigh.

His gaze was drawn to the bag of journals again. She's right…it will be a long while before reaching my destination. I may as well start now. Reaching down into the bag, he felt around for a few moments, searching for the first one. Just how many are in here?

Keeping journals was something he started when he was young, and now he made sure to write something down every day that he could. His more recent journals had already been moved over to his new home, and it hadn't even occurred to him to bring his older ones as he didn't even know where they were.

Until now.

He pulled out a scrappy looking journal that had some scribbles on the front. Ryker chuckled to himself, recalling the moment that Ines found his journal and drew pictures all over the cover. He had been mortified when he found that out, making sure to hide his journals much better from them on to prevent anyone else from reading it, despite her assuring him that she hadn't looked inside.

Turning to the first page, Ryker started to read.

- - -

Journal 1, Entry 001.

- - -

Hello! My name is Zorro.

I turned thirteen years old today, and my mama gave me this journal as a gift! I got some other cool presents too, like the pencil I'm writing with and a cupcake for later.

She said this journal was made by people on the outside. One day, I would like to go outside the walls and see the big cities. I heard they're as big as a whole country!

I'm gonna be a famous scientist someday, and then the Sovereign will have to let us all out. Mama can have a nice house in a forest like she's always wanted, and I'll get myself a pet gryphon and fly wherever I want.

- - -

Journal 1, Entry 062.

- - -

I read in the paper that Queen Seraphina will be ascending today. Mama is excited, but I can't help but notice that the next in line is very young to assume such responsibilities.

Seraphina has been Queen since even before my mama was born. Opa said that he was twelve when she took the crown.

I know she isn't our queen, Anderna do not have our own ruler because we live under the Sovereign of Gahenn, but I know she is nice. When mama was little, Seraphina greeted our kind from outside the gates. Mama said she even waved at her.

I wonder what it would be like to fly like the angels do. I know that shifting is against the Sovereign’s law, but sometimes I wish I could just to see what it would be like.

We have a new neighbour on the floor above us. Mama said there's a girl my age, and she invited the new family over for dinner. I hope we can be friends.

- - -

Journal 7, Entry 011.

- - -

I managed to finish with the top grades in my classes when it comes to sciences, literature, and mathematics. I've already started searching for further education so I can focus on magic research. Ines has been helping me apply for things.

She is going to be an artist. Although I am not usually one for the arts, I have to admit that her paintings are very beautiful. Though, I prefer she doesn't paint near my work, due to the many times she has ended up spilling paint on the papers.

Although I feel a bit anxious about moving out, I know I cannot stay living with mama forever, as much as she claims she wouldn't mind. I will make sure to visit— not that it's difficult in this city.

- - -

“Dr. Ryker?”

“Hm?” He hummed, not even looking up from the entry he was reading when he heard his name being spoken. It has been hours since the carriage had first set off, but Ryker had hardly noticed; too focused on reading.

“Do you need help with getting your bags on the boat, sir?”

Now that got his attention. He realised that the carriage was now stationary…and that his stomach was beginning to complain from a lack of food.

“Ah. No, that's alright. Just a moment…” He held out a hand placatingly before starting to put the journals he had read through back into the bag. Once everything was secure he picked his luggage up, bending down to get through the door and step out of the carriage.

At this point the sight of the carriage driver's nervous expression no longer fazed him; he knew that the rest of Gahenn was still prejudiced towards Anderna, and he was just appreciative that they weren't being combative. Many people had already taken issue with an Anderna moving into their country.

He had stopped listening to the news for that reason, growing tired of how often they liked to complain about his kind as if they were a plague spreading throughout the land rather than him being a scientist seeking to better the lives of everyone. It was the new hot topic that everyone seemed to have an opinion about.

“Thank you for the ride.” Ryker nodded his head towards the driver in appreciation, receiving a hesitant nod in response. He watched silently as the carriage headed off, turning and going back in the direction it had come from. Once he could no longer hear the hooves trotting against the dirt road he turned, walking to the dock and boarding the boat.

It would still be another day or two before he would reach his destination, so upon reaching his room and having himself a meal, he started to read through his journal entries again.

- - -

Journal 12, Entry 201.

- - -

It's so refreshing to work alongside people as passionate as I am about the potential sciences behind magic. Some more so than others, but regardless I enjoy it greatly.

Although we have made no discoveries that would change the way our world views magic entirely, I feel that we are close. I cannot sleep some nights because I just want to write hypothesis after hypothesis, and then I become too excited over actually testing these hypotheses to rest. Ines always scolds me for it.

Souls are still something that we don't fully grasp. They are difficult to observe and any papers made on them offer very little or very inconclusive data on how souls work. Souls are linked to magic but how exactly they are linked and why some races can perform certain kinds of magic whilst others can't is still a mystery.

I think too many people are looking at it through a theological perspective, thinking about why the gods gave certain races souls with high magic capabilities, and others ones with low capabilities. I personally believe that a biological approach would be best, as much as my peers disagree.

Because of the fact that Anderna cannot travel outside of Nirgend, our access to research is limited. Although this is a frustrating setback, I know that the Sovereign's law cannot be changed without some convincing. Once I make a breakthrough and show the world outside that Anderna are not to be feared, I hope that everyone will be able to go wherever they please.

Tonight I'll be going out for drinks with my coworkers, and no doubt I'll be looking after them all since it seems none of them have gotten past their university phase when it comes to pacing themselves. It will be fun anyway since Ines agreed to come along. At least I won't be mostly sober alone.

- - -

Journal 17, Entry 046.

- - -

I've made a breakthrough.

We have been looking at things all wrong— magic isn't something that is created; it is ever-present, like oxygen in the air. Souls are just the conduit for activating the magic that's already around us— and genetics play a key role in determining what the output is.

I need to observe this phenomenon further before taking it anywhere. Once I have a more solid hypothesis I will bring it to the others’ attention. Magic researchers tend more towards theology than biology and I don't want my own discoveries to be muddied by this factor.

Perhaps a new department may even be created? A new field of research entirely? I could be at the forefront of history, leading not just the Anderna but all of Gahenn to a new realm of scientific understanding!

A great woman once said that, “Scientific discovery is not the unveiling of truth, but the relentless pursuit of understanding—each answer leading to new, uncharted questions.” - Syl Sheridan.

I can only dream of the paths and questions that will follow.

Ines is just as excited as me about it. I really love her. Maybe one of these days I ought to tell her as much.

I've heard some things on the radio that there are tensions between the Sovereign and Queen Mary. Ines seems to be getting a lot about it, but I don't know much. Politics were never an interest of mine, but I theorise that it's not much to worry about. The news is likely blowing things way out of proportion for shock value.

- - -

Finishing the last entry, Ryker let out a sigh of relief. It had taken much longer than he thought it would; his entries later on had become much longer winded and in depth, but it still felt nice to get back into the headspace of a younger him. Now he was thirty-two, and had much more responsibility on his shoulders.

His research and findings on magic had gained him great fame and reputation all over Gahenn, and he had even heard rumours that Syris was taking an interest in his research too. When he was a young boy with ambitions to be a famous scientist, there was a time in his life that he felt it was just a pipe dream…

And yet, now he was outside of the walls, exploring the world and taking on new ventures with the same ambition he had all those years ago. Sure, Anderna were still not allowed outside of Nirgend, with him being the only exception, but he hoped that would change with time. If he lived well and did good, people would understand that his kind were not to be feared.

He arrived at his new home; a large house that was in the middle of nowhere. It was an hour journey to get from his house to the city by carriage, but he didn't mind. Most of his research involved field work, and once he developed a hypothesis and gathered material that was when he actually needed a lab.

It took only a few days to unpack everything; mostly books. The furniture had already been set up beforehand by the same people who brought the rest of the boxes. As soon as he was finished unpacking he hastily grabbed a bag, a notebook and pencil, as well as some equipment to collect samples and readings, before heading out of his front door.

He requested to be placed in this particular area for one main reason; Gortoa. It was a mere twenty minute walk away from his doors, and that fact made him giddy with excitement. He had always wanted to do a more in depth analysis on the magical phenomena within the ancient forest, so having it so close was convenient.

Ryker could hardly contain his excitement, keeping his pace at a slight jog just to get there faster. The main thing he was hoping to find were wisps; he had many theories about what they were, and if he was right then it may be the most accurate way to study souls because they could be observed more easily.

He entered the forest, marvelling at the sight surrounding him.

The ancient forest was flourishing and bursting with life. The grass was soft, wildflowers and clovers dotted all across the forest floor, as trees as tall as tens of metres tall towered overhead. The canopy of golden leaves was so thick that it allowed almost no sunlight through— and yet the forest was illuminated by glowing moss hanging onto the trunks of the trees.

The gentle sound of a babbling brook could be heard in the distance, alongside the singing and chirping of birds flying high above his head. It was truly breathtaking. Now I understand why Ines wants to paint here so badly.

The sight of a faint blue glowing flower in the distance caught his attention and he hurried over to the water, eyes widening. Is that…?

Kneeling down beside the gorgeous iridescent flower, he reached down and let his fingers brush against the delicate petals, feeling the magic contained within.

“A mage lily… this is incredible.” They were rare flowers that were sought after not only for their beauty, but also for the astonishing amount of energy stored inside. If I bring it with me I will be able to use the magic stored inside to test ways to artificially activate it!

His clawed fingers delicately grasped the stem as he prepared to pick the lily, only for a shout from below to stop him in his tracks.

“Stop!”

He jolted back, eyes snapping open in shock as he heard the flower seemingly protest his actions.

“Oh my gods. Did the mage lily just speak..?” He gasped in surprise, leaning down and peeing at the flower more closely with growing interest. If the lily was sentient, did that mean magic could bring things to life? Could plants really have souls? How was it capable of speaking anyway??

His breath hitched as he saw a tiny figure step out from under the petals of the lily, with pale almost blueish skin and petals rather than hair. She looked kind of like a mage lily, if it grew legs and came to life. Ryker's mouth was agape as he stared down at the little person, his fingers twitching with the desire to pick them up.

What are they? A pixie? No…pixies haven't been seen for centuries now. And this…thing, doesn't have wings. His mind raced with question after question, a desire to know more filling him and making it almost impossible to think clearly. Just as he was resolving himself to pick up the tiny figure, she spoke again.

“Hello…” Her voice was smooth and serene, like the water surrounding the lily pad she was stood upon. Her weight seemed practically non-existent, or at the very least not enough for the lily pad to register it. Despite Ryker's temptation to grab her he refrained as he met her teal gaze, recognising her personhood. There was a soul in that gaze.

“What are you?” He blurted out the question before really registering her greeting, eyes shining with intrigue as he let his hands rest against the grass again instead of hovering so menacingly close to the tiny being. If he kept them like that he was sure he would have given into temptation sooner or later.

“U-um…” She edged a little closer to the water before looking up at him again and responding. “My name is Suiren.”

Ryker frowned slightly.

“I am Zorro. Although most call me by my last name, Ryker.” He introduced himself, placing a hand against his chest sincerely before humming. “But that didn't answer my question. I asked what you are, not who.”

There was a beat of silence between them, with him waiting intently for an answer and Suiren hesitant to give one. She sat down on the edge of the lily pad, letting her legs hang in the water. He watched with great interest as the legs that went into the water seemed to become part of it, completely invisible.

“Don't pick the mage lilies… the magic inside them just ends up spilling out and it can disrupt the balance of magic in this part of the forest.” She explained, still avoiding the question, and now avoiding his gaze too.

“...I see. Well I won't pick it then.” Ryker assured, as much as it disappointed him. He didn't want to be too hasty and end up ruining his research in the process. He could find another magic source so long as he was patient.

Wait a minute…

“Ah— wait. How would you know that it disrupts the balance of magic? And what exactly do you mean by that?” He was no longer interested in the flower at all, more fascinated over the tiny being who seemed to have a deeper knowledge of magic. It was doubtful that she was a scientist like himself, so he needed to know why.

As he leaned down closer, his face now hovering right above the tiny figure he bristled when she suddenly fell into the water.

“Wait!” He attempted to make a grab at the tiny flower person, not wanting them to get away before he could get his questions answered, but his hands grasped nothing but water. How did..?

Ryker's lips pursed together in disappointment, brows furrowing as he watched the ripples from his hands eventually steady once more. Just like her legs before, it seemed her whole body could become invisible in the water…or maybe she became the water? Whatever it was, he desperately wanted to know more.

I don't think she'll come back…not at the moment at least. I'll see if I can find any information about what she might be later, but for now I should continue to look for wisps.

He sighed and stood up, looking down at his warped reflection in the water and straightening his jacket once he realised the collar had popped up. He took out his notebook and scribbled down as many notes about the tiny being's appearance as he could before snapping the book closed again and shoving it into his bag. Stepping away from the water's edge, he resumed his search.

He didn't notice the teal eyes peeking out of the water and watching him leave.

#g/t community #ocs #g/t artist #g/t writer #g/t #giant/tiny #g/t fearplay #g/t fluff #g/t writing #giant/tiny writing #handheld

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katsona-the-katsequel · 1 day

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Specialized Extracurricular Execution Squad Activity Report

Part 4

16 new entries!

6/27 (Sat) - Reporter: Akihiko Sanada

It seems like I've worried everyone. I'm grateful, but there's no need to worry. As a senior, I can't show any shame. Well, that's enough about that topic.

More than that, it seems that the number of Apathy Syndrome cases is increasing again. This time there were many cases where apparently a pair of a man and a woman became Lost at the same time. Maybe it has something to do with the characteristics of the next large Shadow...

Well, it's best not to jump to conclusions.

We'll find out when the next full moon comes. Oh, and I heard a rumor at school that's bothering me. Apparently, something called a "revenge request website" is becoming a hot topic.

It's the sort of urban legend that says that if you post something on the site, someone will take revenge for you...

Sorry, I can't really explain why this story is bothering me. I think it would be more persuasive if someone with a keen sense like Takeba explained it. If I find out anything else, I'll let you know.

6/28 (Sun) - Reporter: Junpei Iori

Hello, I'm Junpei.

The two seniors are out again today, so we'll be taking a break from fighting in Tartarus.

Yukari-chan's sharp intuition, you know... Well, it certainly seems like there are times when it seems like she has some weird intuition. The moment I started talking about Yuka-tan, someone asked me from behind, "Junpei, did you say something?"

I wish I could have the keen intuition to sense Yukari's approach, like Lucia from Fuuka.

Whenever I say something strange in a report, it always comes back the next day...Maybe this is also a woman's intuition?

Hmm, Yuka-tan is truly formidable...

6/29 (Mon) - Reporter: Yukari Takeba

Well, this is Takeba.

Well... there's a full moon in just a week. I won't be able to do it every day, but I've been gaining strength in Tartarus and I feel like I've made progress. But, as expected, the lack of information beforehand is a problem. All we know is that it's a full moon, and we can't decide on a strategy. If anyone knows anything, please let me know as much as you can. This was Takeba.

7/12 (Sun) - Reporter: Fuuka Yamagishi

Good evening, this is Yamagishi.

I'm a little proud that I've been talking for two days in a row, as if I've got all this equipment all to myself.

Today, everyone seems to be studying in their rooms. Sanada-senpai was out all day, but he came back after dark and it seems like he's also holed up in his room.

When will everyone be able to hear my voice? Maybe not until after the exams are over?

I've thought about it a lot, but I don't think anyone is to blame... We are all just doing our best to do what we can, but it's sad to see them separated like this.

Each person has something that only they can do. There are times and places when their power is needed. This is the case now, when there are so many people suffering from Apathy Syndrome, and in the case of SEES, and in the case of Personas.

Isn’t that what power is?

...I believe that everyone will understand without me having to say it. For now, let's do our best to study for the exam.

I have some research to do, so I'll just mess around with my device for a bit before getting back to studying. Well, good night...

7/13 (Mon) - Reporter: Yukari Takeba

Well, it's Takeba. Oh, exams start tomorrow. I thought I'd take a break and write up my activities for the first time in a while.

Ha. Seriously, after hearing that message from Fuuka, I can't not say anything at all, Fuuka is surprisingly cunning.

First of all, I'd like to say something about how everyone has been quick to avoid touching the sore spot and has not come to ask, yet have a strong aura of wanting to know what's going on.

I talked to the leader a bit about it, but I apologized to Kirijo-senpai for what happened the other day. Sorry for saying too much. There are still some parts I'm not entirely convinced of, but then there are people close to me who are suffering from Apathy Syndrome, and if I fight the shadows, I might be able to cure that, so I can't just sit back and watch. Yeah. That's right.

Oh, and thank you Chairman for your suggestion to go to Yakushima. I'm looking forward to it. Well, if you don't tell me a pun as a thank you, I'll be sure to not give you a cold shoulder just this once.

And then... oh, that's right. That idiot Junpei Iori is always complaining about swimsuits. He should be the only one without Yakushima, so I hope he gets a part-time job at the swimsuit section of a department store. This was Takeba.

7/14 (Tue) - Reporter: Akihiko Sanada

Today is the first day of the final exams. Thanks to the Chairman's timely suggestion, the atmosphere in the dorm seems to have improved a little. Of course, there is still that tense atmosphere that is unique to exam periods, but this tension is not unpleasant.

To be honest, it's painful to see a child being lured in by sweets to get in a good mood, but that's just how it is. I guess that's actually what we made such a fuss about.

Come to think of it, this was the first time we'd had such a big fight since the current second-year students moved into the dorms... I hope this is a rite of passage, and if we can get through it, we'll be able to build a new relationship.

Also, apart from the Mitsuru incident, Junpei seems to have been annoyed for some reason, but are you okay?

Well, I'm sure you're overwhelmed with your exams right now, so I hope you can calm down. ...I'm probably not the one to say this here, Junpei. I don't know what happened during the exams, but I think you should stop yelling things like "Kabara! Kabara! Yakushima!" on the main streets.

7/15 (Wed) - Reporter: Junpei Iori

Sanada-san, don't you know the expression "samurai compassion"? Well, I don't want to say it.

Well, the problem with the insurance in Edogawa was so confusing that I exploded with anger on the way home from school. As for my case, I can see the answer in my mind, so it's okay. Thank you.

7/16 (Thu) - Reporter: Fuuka Yamagishi

Good evening, this is Yamagishi.

Today was the third day of the exam. I was surprised to see that the history question that the teacher said "will be on the exam" during class actually came up. The teachers at Gekkoukan are surprisingly kind, aren't they?

The correct answer is that the reason the foreigners on the Black Ships were afraid of topknots was because they thought they would be attacked by guns.

This time, we had a fight with a large Shadow just before the exam, so Yukari, Junpei, and the leader didn't seem to be very prepared, and the second-years are struggling. But when they think about the ocean waiting for them after the exams, they feel a little better. Yakushima, huh... I bet the water is beautiful.

7/17 (Fri) - Reporter: Yukari Takeba

Uh, I'm Takeba. I just heard yesterday's report, and I thought the answer to that question was... a projectile, is that correct? Seriously? Wow, I should have listened to the lecture properly!

I chose the second one, "they thought it was a black fish cake." Because in the past, Westerners hated fish! Ugh, I failed!

Ugh, to be honest, I'm not that confident about today's physics lesson. I worked hard to memorize the formulas and laws, but I was wondering who discovered the principle behind contact lenses, which is a bit of trivia! I chose Da Vinci for now, but... God!

7/23 (Thu) - Reporter: Fuuka Yamagishi

This is Yamagishi now.

Welcome home everyone.

This is my first time living in a dormitory, but it already feels like home. Having a place to go back to, a place you want to return to... I'm a little happy.

Everyone is tired today, so we took a break from conquering Tartarus. I was tired too, but talking to Aigis kept me awake... and I ended up staying up late.

Aigis is really amazing. I'm a little good with machines, but I can't believe that this technology has not been known until now.

They say cutting-edge technology is created on the battlefield, but I can't help but think how difficult the battle against shadows was 10 years ago.

Ah, but Aigis herself seems more like a girl with a bit of a natural air about her than a weapon. How did you incorporate a mind into a robot? Mr. Ikutsuki also said that the core part is a black box and that he cannot touch it.

It's also strange that Aigis seems to know the leader. It means that he's having trouble recognizing someone who looks similar to him...

It's no good to take your friends' privacy so seriously, right? First of all, you have to think about how everyone and Aigis can get along.

Oh, that's right. Aigis's way of speaking is interesting, isn't it? It's not exactly military-like, but it's more like an honorific that she learned by mistake. When we swam together in Yakushima, she pointed at my swimsuit and said,

"I am concerned about the armor of that underwater weapon, but is it correct to understand that the emphasis is on maneuverability? If possible, I would like to try modifying it for underwater combat." This is the first time I've seen a robot that wants to wear a swimsuit.

Aigis, it's nice to meet you.

7/24 (Fri) - Reporter: Junpei Iori

Hi, Junpei here. What's up? You brought this report machine to Yakushima? That's fishy, Kirijo-senpai! If I'd known, I could have brought you Junpei Iori's swimsuit watching hour.

Well... well, I can't run away, so I'll tell you... today is the day of the test results.

7/25 (Sat) - Reporter: Yukari Takeba

Uh, this is Takeba.

As of today, we have a new member...or rather, he's not in SEES, he just lives in the same dorm, but a new member has arrived. As the Chairman said before, Amada-kun is moving into the dorm.

...I'm a little, no, I'm really worried, but I hope that Amada-kun won't get caught up in a fight or something like that.

The Chairman seems to be pretty matter-of-fact about it, and seems to be like, "If you can fight, let's have you participate."

I feel like I understand my senior a little bit, so I believe that she has no intention of involving Amada-kun. But even so, you still say "at this point," right? Oh, no, I'm not complaining, I know that you're in a position where you have to say that, and that's what you're saying because you yourself are thinking about it. As the head of SEES, you have to think about all the possibilities.

Yes, it’s just a possibility.

So, for now, please take this as my personal opinion as Yukari Takeba. I am against letting Amada fight. Unless Amada himself has a very good reason to fight, I am against it.

Please remember that.

7/26 (Sun) - Reporter: Junpei Iori

Hello, it's Junpei!

Hehehe, having a great summer!

But I'm always like this. I have an innocent heart that is happy to take a day off!

That's the image I want as a healthy high school boy! So, summer vacation starts today. Ah, the long and painful midterms, the long and painful final exams, the occasional but painful quizzes, the painful first semester, Wow! Well, anyway, summer vacation starts today. Let's have fun starting tomorrow!

…Huh. Well, I know it's stupid to make a fuss by myself, even if I say so myself.

However, I just couldn't help but make a fuss today...

Ai-chan did a simulation of what would happen if the number of Lost continued to increase, in other words, if we don't do our jobs properly... but the results were worse than I expected, and I'm feeling depressed.

It feels like a huge responsibility.

7/27 (Mon) - Reporter: Yukari Takeba

Uh, this is Takeba.

What's up, Junpei? You've given it some thought. Yes, that's right, it's a big responsibility. Well, keep that in mind and work hard. Just don't do stupid things.

Come to think of it, I didn't see the leader today, but he's doing intensive training for the sports club. He'll do his best, too. Maybe I should go to the archery club's voluntary training too...

8/3 (Mon) - Reporter: Yukari Takeba

Well, this is Takeba. Anyway, congratulations on winning, leader! You did a great job. The Myo-o Cup is a pretty high level, isn't it? If you keep going like this, I think you can make it to the national tournament. Will you be popular in the second semester? Ah, aside from that, I'd rather report something like this: "I happened to see this kind of person'' on TV, but I did see a strange person.

He was at a takoyaki shop in Saitodai Shopping Arcade, stuffing takoyaki into his mouth with incredible force. He had an athletic look, and I'd say he could be considered good-looking, but his face as he devoured it... It's what's inside that counts. This was Takeba.

8/4 (Tue) - Reporter: Junpei Iori

Hi...Junpei...it's hot.

It has been really hot since the afternoon, but the night was a tropical one just as expected! I wasn't expecting anything like that. I wish it would go against our expectations and snow!

Ugh, the heat is making my brain overheat, seriously.

<-PREVIOUS ● NEXT->

#persona 3 #mitsuru kirijo #akihiko sanada #yukari takeba #junpei iori #fuuka yamagishi #that does appear in the bible!

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hearvex · 7 months

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me gaining more tumblr followers yet losing a ton on twitter after the statement™ is something

#like i expected twitter to drop below 400s after this but #hello new people where are you coming from #talk to me i won't bite #h talks

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eclarinet · 2 months

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same soup... different day

#hello it is sarah in the tags again #i feel like i tell myself i'll actually use this as a blog and then i forget and then i remember and then i forget again #venting ahead if that is not ur jam (talking to the 2 followers who actually see my posts)#i like tumblr because it;s so removed from my personal life that it feels really like a place i dont have to be anything for anyone #anyway i've been wondering if i should go back to therapy again but i feel like they might get tired of me because i keep bailing and comin #back like an addict lol like i swear i'll commit this time! sike. ghost be upon ye #anyway this time i'd come in for the big D #i don't like the floor it just feels closer to being six feet under and a bit like where i belong #i feel like a great number of things have happened in the past year and i've met all of it with a very lukewarm sense of dread and anxiety #its not even about feeling happy i dont even think i can feel shaken by anything. i feel like people see my apathy and think it's confidenc #anyway im not going back. they always say the same thing. can't do shit about shit life syndrome. and i don't want pills i'm so sick of the #isn't it something that i'm especially depressed the day before i start my new job? it's a tradition at this point. cheers #isn't it cruel that everyone in my life seem to put me on some kind of bizarre pedestal and no one questions my decisions or authority and #i battle with myself to figure out if i'm doing the right thing (no one will tell me the truth they are all scared of me getting angry)#was talking with a friend about how it'll be if i join their group project in a module we're taking soon.#and she's like well isn't it obvious? everyone will just listen to whatever you say and we'll end up doing well.#no one would challenge you because you're always right. and it's like.. yeah. i guess. okay. (hate that i know she's not wrong)#lol can u tell this is why house is kind of getting to me. learning lots of things about myself watching that man commit medical malpractic #anyway. i didn't ghost my therapist this time i remember now. she left the clinic lol she asked me to connect on linkedin. that was amusing #i always feel like the therapists here never know what to do with me and i kind of have to hold their hand a bit through my psyche #also they seem to be a bit at awe of me which is a bit annoying. and i know that definitely sounds like Issues but it's just like #ugh not you too. please stop i'm sick of it i'm sick with it. i don't want you to be inspired by my awful life and how i handled it #and i have nothing to say for it but... *gestures vaguely* of all of this

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rainbowsans · 2 years

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ur valid to dislike what u dislike but lumping selfcest in w like... incest and underaged content is just kinda insulting to anybody who has been thru those things. couldn't imagine being an incest survivor and getting told ur selfcest ship (harmless, cannot be replicated irl in any way, is not incest) is equally as bad as, ykno, an irl traumatic experience u had. like if u think selfcest is problematic enough to be put in the same category as incest and the sexual exploitation of children, u need to consider how u express that and also maybe log off of tumblr for a while. say it makes u uncomfy n u avoid it, super fair, but the way u treat it is downright insulting to ppl who have gone thru actual real tangible trauma. selfcest isn't real- I can tell u have a stance on it by ur language but maybe reconsider, there's a reason the stance is unpopular

I was sexually assaulted when I was in elementary, I was molested by my cousins, twice. groped by my own uncles, when I was a CHILD.

insulting to people who’d gone through those things?

IVE BEEN THROUGH THOSE THINGS. HOW FUCKING DARE YOU.

also, also; here’s the thing.

that rule I have with Selfcest? is for MY personal boundary. I don’t LIKE it, I want people to be aware when they ask ME or come to ME that I prefer to stay away from it. people don’t read my rules so I have to remind them in the “nicest” way possible.

I’m not “insulting” anyone by having that rule, it makes me uncomfortable so I want to avoid it the best I can and I want people to be aware of it, in case they think about wanting to send me stuff involving it:

If people are “insulted” with me gently reminding people when I GET ASKED that “hey, I don’t like this thing so please remember that I won’t draw or do anything with it!” then that’s THEIR problem, not mine.

I am setting my damn boundaries and I won’t be told, again, that I’m the one that’s being MEAN or INSULTING for it.

This is my blog, my art, and I get to set down my rules and boundaries, that’s all.

I put it next to those things because it’s so normalized in the fandom, and whatever, I just want others to know that if they are expecting that stuff in my blog? it’s not there, nor is it welcomed. Period.

and guess what? IVE SAID COUNTLESS TIMES THAT I AM UNCOMFORTABLE WITH IT AND AVOUD IT, BLACKLIST IT, and guess what? I STILL have people keep pressuring and demanding that shit to the point where I see it constantly in my inbox.

I HAVE TO GUIDE THEM TO MY RULES, I’m not going to be a damn pushover, I’m not gonna feel like my rules are “mean”, they are there for ME to set boundaries and have a comfortable experience here or ANYONE who feels the same way.

GOD.

#txt #you must be new here because THIS? isn’t the first time someone send me shit like this #I can’t believe this. ‘it’s insulting to victims-‘ I AM ONE OF THEM HELLO?#the undertale fandom is something comforting to me and I’ve done my damn hardest to make a space for myself where I’m comfortable #and it gets draining and tiring when people invade that space for myself that I created to want me to draw that shit #Ive said it OVER AND OVER since back in 2018-19 #that I wanna avoid those pairings #do people listen? no #i tried being nice and avoid it but it’s become so normalized that it’s just expected #i made my blog for folks who wanna have a comforting experience away from that stuff. a funny goofy place in the fandom #and yet I’m always being told I should ‘CONSIDER other people who like it. THEIR feelings’#or how I’m being so mean and unreasonable with my rules #it’s guilt trippy #just because ‘Selfcest’ can’t happen irl DOESNT MEAN I have to like it for christs sake #come on….I’m staying in MY LANE #and I’m asking people to please. PLEASE just move on from my blog or just block me. I’m tired man #anyways I’m done for now #// sa mention #// Selfcest mention #// incest mention #i can’t believe how guilt trippy this sounds to someone who’s also a victim…god

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weepylucifer · 1 year

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Remind me to at some point do something about that ficlet i have knocking around in my head where ulixes surprise-visits steban at his mom's place during semester break and steban gets extremely flustered about it

#posts by me #this would be early in their friendship #they met each other in the last semester and instantly clicked but it's all still new. uli hasn't even realized he has a crush yet #he's staying with his parents and they're distant and disinterested and he misses talking to his new friend #and hey steban did give him his family's address ''for emergencies'' and urgently needing to talk theory is an emergency!!#so he heads to villalobos. has the door opened by steban's mom. all very yes hello can my friend come out to play #he's led out back to a little community garden that some people in the apartment block manage together #steban's there helping out bc he's on break. he's in his oldest shittiest gardening clothes. there's dirt on his hands #and mud on his bare feet. uli looks at him in the sunlight and thinks ooohh. i am IN LOVE with you #then steban sees him and is like OH NO. he's not supposed to see me without my nice academic getup #now he'll think [mesque stereotype] [mesque stereotype] [mesque stereotype]#and meanwhile uli's thinking wow he is the most beautiful being to ever exist i want to be communist lovers with him #cue uli sitting in the kitchen with lemonade while steban has a whispered argument with his mom outside #all ''muuuums why did you just let him IN HERE i'm not even properly DRESSED'' and his mom is all oh you want to impress the boy huh?#you want to look nice for the boy? 😏#and steban (blushing) is like i want the boy to take me SERIOUSLY as an ACADEMIC #like... this is firstie steban. he's still grappling with the whole 'poor kid in a college environment' thing #he hasn't yet learned to simply own it. he's probably trying to suppress his accent when he's on campus. and uli might even be middle class #(!!!)#and like he's not Ashamed of where he's from. his family's great. he... doesn't Hate being mesque. he's not sure yet how it all squares w #his brand-new communist beliefs. where he belongs and what he defines himself as #but he knows this: he does kinda want to impress ulixes. it just feels right to have him around #so he's just very very flustered and confused and trying to act nonchalant about it #steban's mom after fighting tooth and nail for it eventually gets uli to call her by her first name

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celestial-kestrel · 9 months

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It's that time of year again where Mari Lwyd starts to be talked about and shared around and an INCREDIBLY misleading post gets shared a lot. As someone who grew up with Mari Lwyd I wanted to clear some things up.

Also hello, if you are unaware who Mari Lwyd is. This is about the Welsh tradition of the horse skull who visits houses during the Christmas to New Years period in Wales asking for alcohol.

First off and probably the most important one:

Mari Lwyd is not a cryptid!

I can not emphasise this enough. She. Is. Not. A. Cryptid. There is no story or mystery about a ghost or zombie horse roaming the Welsh valleys. She's not even supposed to be a ghost or a zombie. It's just a horse skull on a stick with a guy under a sheet. She's a hobbyhorse and a folk character used to tell Welsh stories and keep songs alive. When people spread the misinformation that she's a cryptid, it's the equivalent of saying Kermit the Frog is a cryptid.

She is actually only one character in a wider cast of characters who go door to door or, in more modern times, pub to pub. The cast of characters can change town to town and village to village but there are some common ones I see time and time again. The Leader, the Merryman, The Jester and The Lady are just some I see regularly. Punch and Judy used to be more popular a few years ago but I haven't seen them in a while as their tradition has mostly fallen out of popularity. In most cases, almost the whole cast will be played by men. Even the characters are considered and referred to as female. Though this again depends and varies by which group is partaking in the Mari Lwyd tradition.

This point also goes onto my second point,

Mari Lwyd does not rap.

I think this comes from a very common misunderstanding of what rap is vs spoken word. Rap is a very specific style of music originating from the African American communities of the USA and has it's own structure and motifs unique to it. It's a lot more complex than people give it credit for as a style of music and just flippantly assign anything similar to it as being rap. If someone is talking fast or reciting poetry, it is not rap. Or anything that is an exchange of words between two people is not a rap battle. Mari Lwyd does not do rap, actually something that gets left out of these posts is the fact Mari Lwyd does not even speak. It's actually the Leader, who does all the speaking and song based banter between the house/pub owner for entry. Mari Lwyd just clicks her mouth, bites people and bobs her head around.

I think Mari Lwyd is a really beautiful and unique part of Welsh culture. She's not actually as wildly celebrated as a lot of the posts make her out to be. Actually, I think most Welsh people themselves learn about Mari Lwyd through the internet as well. Her popularity is increasing thanks to the drive of local groups wanting to keep the traditions alive and a renewed desire to document Welsh traditions before they're gone. Which is why it's such a shame that she's turned into something she's not to earn horror points on the internet. I think this is why it bothers me so much to see the misunderstandings of the culture and the folk tradition. Mari Lwyd's origin is very hot debated as well as how long it's been going on for. But I think it's thanks to a lot of traditions like this that the Welsh language and our stories weren't lost forever. Welsh culture is recovering as is the language. But it's still in a very fragile place. I think it's why it's important to document and correct information when it's spread.

Anyway, if you want to see the tradition in action, here's a lovely video from the Cwmafan RFC going to one of the pubs for charity. It includes the song exchange with the pub owner for entry and the whole pub singing and joining in once Mari Lwyd and the rest are inside.

youtube

As well with another video from St Fagan's showcasing the more traditional and door to door form with the larger cast.

youtube

#Mari Lwyd #Wales #Welsh #Welsh culture #Youtube

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racew1nn3rs · 4 months

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─ 𝘴𝘤𝘦𝘯𝘦 𝘪. (𝘪'𝘮 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘰𝘸𝘯𝘦𝘳 𝘰𝘧 𝘵𝘩𝘪𝘴 𝘩𝘰𝘶𝘴𝘦) 🧶

⤷ summary: the world meets the newest mclaren team member, and they are loving it! it's poor oscars first day and shit's already hitting the fan sorry dude ): LMAO. lando just experienced love at first sight, while y/n is ready to fist fight

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liked by landonorris, oscarpiastri, and 32,890 others

mclaren oscar's first day of kindergarten, done. pre-season testing, done. (we'll be even faster soon 🙏🏼 don't worry guys)

2,568 comments

user2 HELLO??? WHO HACKED THE MCLAREN ACCOUNT

user6 we'll be racing past redbull in no time

mclaren a girl can dream

user7 lando is this you??? 😭

user8 budget dropped so low they had to hire the drivers for social media

user3 this is haas money behavior

mclaren excuse you i am NOT LANDO

user8 oscar????

mclaren no sir, i'm the owner of this house 🫵

user9 idk if this is a new admin but this is so unserious

mclaren new year new me babe

user9 give her a raise mclaren 🙏🏼

mclaren REPOST REPOST REPOST

landonorris first day on the job and already asking for more money?

mclaren i'm so sorry lord lando, you forget that us lowly peasants aren't on an athelete salary 🙄

user10 HUMBLE HIM, WE LOVE TO SEE IT

user11 mclaren admin beefing with lando was NOT on my 2023 bingo card

user12 she really said, "ik we're slow but LET US COOK"

mclaren TRUUUSTTT THAT COMEBACK IS COMING (im manifesting)

oscarpiastri KINDERGARTEN??? i'm nearly 22 mate

mclaren teensy weensy baby basically

oscarpiastri your fired /:

mclaren HAHA YOU CAN'T DO THAT 🏃🏻‍♀️

user13 petition for all the f1 team accounts to be run by young admins, this is tooooo good

mclaren screenshotting this for my boss so they don't see these comments and fire me

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user14 she. looked. up. his. salary. 💀 ICON

user15 hiring her was such a rare mclaren W

user16 MCLAREN ADMIN HEAR OUR PRAYERS AND MAKE TIKTOKS 🙏🏼

user17 OMG CAN U IMAGINE

user18 HOW MUCH MONEY DO I HAVE TO PAY MS. MCLAREN FOR THIS OMG

user19 will our team win? probably not BUT AT LEAST WE'LL BE GETTING CONTENT 😘

user20 AYYYYEEEE

user21 LANDO MAY NEVER WIN, BUT THE FANS NEVER LOSE 🤞🏾

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liked by mclaren, maxfewtrell, and 60,050 others

landonorris don't mind me, just living my lord life on my athlete's salary. bahrain here we come!

10,750 comments

user22 WHERES THE MCLAREN ADMIN

user23 lando nowins flexing on us poor people

user24 someone come get this man's phone

user25 oh i KNOW pr is mad 💀💀💀

user26 daniel ricciardo leaves and mclaren loses it's mind

user27 daniel leaves and all of us lose our minds 🥲

oscarpiastri jesus christ mate, log out

mclaren i'm not sure he knows how, he might need to pay someone to /:

user28 CRAZZZYYYY

user29 THE GIRLS ARE FIGHTING

user30 "f1 is a serious sport." the serious sport in question:

user31 the papaya hat 🫵

user32 HE'S SO FINE IM GNAWING AT THE BARS

user33 BARK BARK WOOF WOOF

mclaren phones. on the table. NEOWWW

user33 holy shit this is actually so embarrassing

mclaren at least ur self aware!

user34 she clocked ur asses 😭😭😭

maxfewtrell lord lando flying economy

landonorris I AM NOT

user35 bro took that personally

user36 me thinks the man doth protest too much

danielricciardo i leave you alone for a few months and this is what you're doing

landonorris i learned from the best

danielricciardo DONT BLAME ME FOR THIS

maxverstappen1 ... that's my plane???

landonorris SHUT UP SHUT UP SHUT UP

maxverstappen1 you can't just take credit for my private jet. its mine.

mclaren this just in, little lando norris is a little LIAR

mclaren when he steals a plane and wears bucket hats 🫵🤣 everyone point and laugh

landonorris I QUITE LIKE BUCKET HATS

mclaren i quite like bucket hats 🇬🇧☕️🤓

maxverstappen1 🫵🤣

danielricciardo 🫵🤣

charles_leclerc 🫵🤣

carlossainz55 🫵🤣

maxfewtrell 🫵🤣

oscarpiastri 🫵🤣

landonorris OSCAR????

oscarpiastri 🫵🤣 🫵🤣 🫵🤣

mclaren damn he got you there

user37 this cannot be real

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There were quite a few things Lando expected to be on his agenda when he arrived in Bahrain after him and Max went seperate ways to their own teams. He figured he would meet with his engineers, spend some time getting adjusted to working with Oscar (especially given he hadn't had very much time to meet or bond with the rookie over the break or during pre-season testing), and doing some press interviews as per usual. However no where on his list was an impromptu meeting with Zak Brown. Oscar seemed clueless as to what was going on as well, and Lydia, Lando's personal assistant of two years, was just as clueless.

Lando and Oscar filed into the board room, bottles of water in hand, only to be met face to face with their team manager. Nothing seemed suspicious which Lando hoped was a good thing, but after their underwhelming performance in pre-season testing he knew anything was a possibility.

"Have a seat guys, it's good to see you both. I hope you've been well-rested since testing," Zak greeted with his usual cheerful attitude. Lando and Oscar looked at each other warily but nodded at their boss nonetheless. Zak was usually more of a 'get to the point' kind of man, so this change of pace was unnerving to say the least. Normally it scared Lando a little bit, but truthfully, right now, Lando wanted to be done with this meeting and to get to race preparations.

"That's good, you need all the rest you can get if we're going to try and put up a fight this weekend. In all honesty, I think within the next two years we have a chance to become real competition here. I think we can give Red Bull and Ferrari a run for their money and earn plenty of points this year. Hell," the older man chuckled, "maybe we can win it all."

Lando didn't want to seem skeptical, but he was definitely skeptical. He did not think the car he was given in testing could win the championship, but he would sure as hell be trying.

"But no matter how hard the engineers work the car, and no matter how many sims we do, the one thing we're lacking in is presence. McLaren is notable, we have a famous team and a long roster of famous, successful drivers, including the two of you, but we don't have the same dominating media presence that Mercedes or Ferrari do. And that's what gets us sponsors, and celebrity visits, and fans, and funding. We may not be struggling for money, but if you guys like your multi-million dollar salaries and you want your car to keep being better, we need more media presence. Which is why we decided we wanted to go a bit of a different route this year, with media and all of that."

Oh god. Lando knew where this was going. This was about the new social media admin that had been ruthlessly harrasing him- albeit teasingly- for days now. Only employed for less than two weeks and already stirring up the pot across platforms. Lando looked at Oscar, noting that his teammate was clearly following as well now.

"I know you both have come to realize this already, but there is a new social media manager who runs all of the McLaren accounts. We wanted someone young, someone trendy, someone who knew what the internet is looking for, and who can help us connect and start getting more eyes on McLaren. We want her to meet with you guys today to share a couple of ideas so you can be on the same page for what we'll be doing online. The new manager is just outside. Let me get her so you can speak with her."

Lando nodded dumbly. Right, ok, he could do that. Lando was young, he was online, he was trendy. Plus, most of if not all of the F1 drivers had some kind of media presence already. Lando streamed, he had instagram accounts and twitter, and he even had Quadrant. Lando steeled himself. This would be just fine. An adjustment, but fine.

Zak greeted someone outside of the door and a small bit of shuffling sounds were heard. Before Lando had a chance to stand, Zak was turning and nodding a quick goodbye. Leaving the office room, as a smaller body replaced the space he had been in.

Lando felt like the air had been knocked from his lungs and hoped he hadn't made a noise out loud. He stared, he couldn't help it. He was sure he was slack-jawed, mouth agape and flies coming in. Somewhere in the back of his mind he registered that he should be professional and behave like a normal human being. But the other part of his brain, the dominant part of his brain, was in awe.

Lando looked at the girl in front of him up and down, probably far too obviously, and was stunned. He saw jean shorts, a faded and a mid-washed denim. A colorful-tighter cropped shirt and some layered gold jewelery. Rings on her fingers. Sunglasses in her hair, making her look way to cool to ever speak to him. She rocked on the balls of her sneaker-clad feet- sneakers that matched her clothes perfectly much to Lando's delight- and quickly moved to set her laptop down of the table. She left her small colorful handbag on the table alongside a cup of iced coffee that was already melting in the Bahrain heat. She looked as if she had jumped straight from a Vogue cover (or one of his favorite dreams) and landed right in front of him.

Was it the heat that was making it so hot? Because Lando was becoming suddenly aware of the heat beneath his shirt collar. A stifled cough from Oscar drew Lando from his observation- or rather his creepy, stalker staring- and Lando realized this was not the social etiquette that the situation called for.

Before Lando could even take a step, the girl smirked.

"Nice to finally meet you guys. Hello Oscar," the girl leaned over and shook the taller man's hand. "And Lord Lando, is it? It's nice to finally meet you. I'm Y/N L/N, i'm the new social media manager for the season."

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Y/N could now officially say she is not a fan of Lando Norris. The online feud she had cleverly created to generate some conversation about McLaren before the season started had been banter. She had taken no offense to Lando's jokes at all, but now that she was in front of the man and could feel his judgement, her opionions had changed.

From the second she walked in Lando had begun unabashedly staring at her. Looking her up and down, from the shoes she had recently bought to the hair clipped back on her head, and was not sparing a single detail. She felt vaguely like a mannequin on display and it unnerved her.

Oscar smiled at her politely as she set her things down, and she felt thankful for the reprieve from the judgement and critcism she had been recieving since she arrived and was now experiencing again from Lando in full force.

Y/N was aware that her outfit wasn't uniform or professional, but those were not the qualities she was hired for. Y/N had been confident coming in here, feeling like she would likely connect better with people her own age, but was thoroughly dissapointed to find this was not the case.

Oscar ultimately cleared his throat awkwardly, and it appeared as though this finally snapped Lando out of his judgemental stupor, so Y/N decided to finally make her introductions.

"Nice to finally meet you guys, hello Oscar," she leaned over and shook the taller man's hand. "And Lord Lando, is it? It's nice to finally meet you. I'm Y/N L/N, i'm the new social media manager for the season."

Lando groaned loudly and Oscar laughed.

"Lando I don't think you'll ever live this one down," and Y/N forced a laugh and nodded in agreeance.

"No, probably not. But that's good, that's what I was hoping for." Y/N stated bluntly.

"You were hoping to torture me?" Lando stuttered out and Y/N rolled her eyes, "You'll live I promise." Oscar laughed before pointing out, "at least your not a kindergartener."

Lando stifled a laugh but agreed.

"What purpose did Oscar's baby jokes serve?" Lando asked, and Y/N forced herself not to punch the man at his judgemental tone. He clearly didn't believe in her ability to do her job.

"It's funny, that was it's purpose," she stated, gesturing to the table for the boys to sit as she opened up her laptop. She turned to face toward them, lifting herself slightly so was seated criss-crossed in the chair. She never had liked sitting normally. The boys across from her stared at her expectantly.

"So you create jokes the make people look at us more?" Oscar asked.

"In a way yes. My job is to manage the accounts, but I've also been hired to help get you guys more fans. Fans love to be interacted with, they love seeing you guys joke around, they like feeling like they have content to consume," Y/N explained.

"By playing into these desires, you get more fans, because they feel they 'know you" in a way they don't know the other drivers." The boys nodded their head in understanding.

"So the plan is for me to keep interacting with fans through the McLaren accounts, playing up jokes with you too, and for us to give the fans new content in a way they don't usually get it. Livestreams, youtube vlogs, inside internet jokes, TikToks, the works." Y/N stated.

"Essentially," she said dragging the word out, "I'm going to make you guys the internet's little papaya stars," Lando laughed but nodded. Y/N, despite her first impressions and her developing dislike for the driver, found herself smiling. She could see the vision. Both Oscar and Lando would be awkward and loveable and humorous. The perfect mix for internet support.

"So where do we start?" Oscar asked.

"I'm glad you asked," Y/N smirked. "Have you heard the clip of 'Cuffing Season' by SZA? There's a TikTok trend I think will be perfect for you to do."

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user38 can we talk about how gorgeous admin is?!?!? LIKE OH MY GOD

user10 only hot people go to mclaren

user40 that check better be huge for her

user41 oscar was so mf stiff 💀💀 free my boy

user42 who had a gun to oscars head, he was so scared

user43 lando thirst trapping ICB 😭 I NEED A BIG BOYYY

user44 god admin is so sexy and smart, that was art

user45 CAN WE DISCUSS HOW LANDO LOOKS AT HER

user46 ikr 💀 get off the floor lando your drooling

user47 i want a man to be that down bad for me

user48 lando loverboy era unlocked

user49 meanwhile admin didn't look him in the face

user50 f1 2023 is going to be a WILD RIDE for us mclaren fans if this is before the first race even starts

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hope you all enjoyed! please let me know your thoughts and feel free to leave a request for me to write something for your fav <3

𝙩𝙖𝙜 𝙡𝙞𝙨𝙩

@lemon-lav @slutforpopculture @m4rt10ne

#f1 x female reader #f1 x reader #f1 x y/n #formula 1 #f1 #f1 smut #f1 x you #formula one #f1 imagine #f1 smau #lando norris smau #lando norris x you #lando norris x y/n #lando norris fanfic #lando norris x reader #lando norris #lando norris imagine #racew1nn3rs: fake it till you make it #racew1nn3rs

5K notes · View notes

ceilidho · 4 months

Text

prompt: construction worker ghost and his elementary school teacher neighbour who made the poor decision to start feeding him (nsfw, 2k) [based on this old ask] [on ao3 here]

They say not to feed wild animals.

It makes them grow soft, lazy. Alters their behaviour. Takes an animal previously capable of finding its own food dependent on humans for sustenance. Makes them lose their natural fear of humans and nearly always results in an increase in human-wildlife conflicts as they start to seek out people. It’s a known fact. You can’t go to a park without seeing it plastered on posters in the bathroom and on the sides of the vending machines under the gazebos where you purchase your post-hike iced tea and veggie roll to eat on a nearby bench.

You know this. So you really don’t know what possessed you to leave a cooler full of sandwiches on your neighbour’s doormat before turning in for the night.

He wakes up preternaturally early and leaves every morning around four-thirty or five o’clock on the dot. Sometimes in the fog of sleep, you wake to hear the door to the apartment beside yours crack open and slam shut, and then the sound of lumbering footsteps down the hall towards the staircase before that door opens and slams shut too.

He never comes home before four o’clock at the earliest. That’s around when you come home from work as well, meaning that you sometimes catch him at the door, him covered in grime and reeking of old sweat while you come flouncing down the hall in whatever colourful dress you’d donned that morning, inevitably paint-splattered by the end of the day. Always something appropriate to wear at an elementary school but colourful enough to keep the kids’ eyes and attention on you.

You’ve caught his name in half-whispered conversations with the property manager, but aside from that, all you know about Simon Riley is that he works in construction. He certainly looks the part: big, calloused hands with blunt, dirt-caked nails and cut up fingers, knuckles always swollen and thick. Body all strength and brawn. Hard hat tucked under his armpit and decorated with countless stickers from old job sites, the same way his forearm is covered in tattoos.

You’ve even passed by his current job site once or twice—some new condo complex going up by the canal that’s forced you and hundreds of other commuters to leave an extra thirty minutes early to account for the road closures. You pointedly don’t bring that up in conversation though. That would just be rude.

At least it would be something to talk about though.

It’s not like the two of you talk. You’re not close by any means. Though you moved in a few months ago, you haven’t had much luck mustering up the confidence to squeak out more than a hi to him in passing. When he grunts back something approximating a hello, it’s all you can do not to break your key in the lock when you hurry into your apartment and slam the door shut behind you, heart beating frantically in your chest.

It’s humiliating. You’re a grown woman and you’ve talked to plenty of men before. You’ve dated plenty of men before. Just because this one speaks in monosyllables and stares at you with an intensity that makes your stomach churn and your palms grow sweaty doesn’t change anything. Just because this one is built like a redwood with wrists thick enough that you’d need both hands to wrap around doesn’t make him any different than any other person.

And yet, when Simon asks you for your name on a rainy June afternoon after you’ve come in after him for a change only to find him sifting through letters at the mailbox, you garble out something that sounds nothing like your name before scurrying up the stairs to your flat.

It’s humiliating. It’s humid outside and your dress is sticking to all the wrong places (namely, your nipples and the inside of your thighs when the skirt swishes between your legs with each stride) and now you’ve made an ass of yourself in front of the only hot guy in your building. There are serial arsonists with more charm than you.

So maybe the sandwiches are an apology letter or an olive branch. Or maybe it just makes your heart race to think of Simon opening up the cooler and finding four wax paper-wrapped sandwiches tucked neatly over ice packs.

All you know is that when you step out of your apartment the next morning, the cooler is empty on your doormat, the lid propped open. He must have taken them with him.

You smile. A job well done. Apology served fresh, with cucumber slices in the middle.

The problem starts when you don’t leave him another cooler full of sandwiches on his doormat the next day.

You didn’t consider that he might think you’d make it a habit. Perhaps that’s partially on you for not leaving a note on the cooler the first time to explain that it was just a one-off; just a way to apologize for being less than chipper around him. But instead of shrugging it off, you come home after a long day to find him standing right outside your apartment, arms crossed over his chest, thick biceps straining against his sweat-stained shirt.

“Open the door,” Simon commands, nostrils flaring as he glares down at you. He jerks his head towards your door when you just frown, not following. “Been starving here waiting for you to show up.”

You open your mouth to say something, but nothing comes out. You’re at a loss for words, never mind that your whole job involves talking. He leaves you speechless though.

Simon doesn’t move when you step close enough to unlock the door. You try to keep your body angled away so as not to brush up against him, but it’s inevitable. He doesn’t move when the door opens either, forcing you to squeeze by him.

He goes straight to the kitchen and drags a chair out, letting it scrape across the floor like men always do before taking a seat. You follow after him nervously, apprehensive at having a man in your space. Not just a man, but Simon Riley. It feels sacrilege—not like he has no right being in your space, but you can’t imagine him here, sitting at your tiny dining room table like he comes over for dinner every Sunday.

When he catches you standing under the archway to the kitchen just staring at him, he barks, “Well?”

That has you scurrying over to the fridge to pull out the cold cuts and pickled red onions. There’s a loaf of bread already on the counter, the bag twisted and tucked underneath because you had to leave in a rush this morning. You don’t know half of what you pile on the sandwiches, but whatever you serve him must satisfy him because Simon digs in with gusto, finishing the plate off in only a few bites while you wash the cutlery in the sink. You watch him out of the corner of your eye the whole while.

He leaves not too long after that, only a light warning for you to not miss tomorrow’s lunch before heading back over to his own apartment. You don’t even get a word in edgewise.

It becomes something of a routine after that and not one you have any control over. Every night before bed, you leave him a cooler full of sandwiches and other things like cut up fruit or slices of cheese on his doormat, and every afternoon you rock up to him waiting on your doorstep, demanding to be let in.

He takes to giving you a wet kiss before he leaves, all tongue and his fingers curled around the nape of your neck, holding you in place. When you try to cover his mouth with your hand, he nips at your fingers until you move them and let him slip you some tongue.

The day you make him a casserole for supper, he bends you over the back of your couch and eats you out. Simon eats like a man starving, glutting himself on the wetness between your legs, licking even over the furl of your asshole and chuckling under his breath when you squeal and flail, your toes just brushing against the floor.

In the aftermath, you sit panting in his lap while he eats. He gets up only briefly to get the bowl of strawberries and cream you left chilling in the fridge before lifting you up and putting you right back in his lap. You stare bleary-eyed when he holds a finger covered in cream up to your lips.

“Clean me up, pet,” he says, then watches you with half-lidded eyes while you lick his finger clean.

He makes you suck his fingers too, to keep things even. He does it when you’re angled half off the bed, thick digits stuffed down your throat until your eyes leak big, fat tears that he licks away, hungry for those too. The man is always hungry, always keen to fill his belly.

The arrangement continues on long enough to become normal, even routine. Simon shows up at your door every day after work waiting to be fed, and then makes you come a couple times before he leaves, a little thank you to repay you for the food. He never really says all that much when he comes around, not a conversationalist of a man. His preference is to eat, fuck, and leave, which you’re happy to accommodate, still too tongue-tied yourself to broach a real conversation.

That’s all before he starts helping himself to your bed for a quick nap after a big supper. Then for naps that turn into a full night’s sleep, snoring like a chainsaw under the covers with you tucked under his arm, naked breasts pressed against his side, keeping you awake most of the night until you pass out somewhere around one A.M.

Just as you suspected, Simon gets up at around four or five to be at the jobsite on time, but at your place, he gets up a bit earlier to help himself to breakfast. He doesn't even bother waking you up, just turns you over onto your tummy and spreads your legs before sinking his dick into where you're still stretched out from the night before. If you wake up or squirm, he just leans down and murmurs, “S'alright, pet…just need a pick me up before work. Go back to sleep, you’re okay,” and ruts between your thighs until he comes inside you and leaves you all wet in bed with one last messy kiss to your temple.

The door slams shut on his way out.

Because you feed him, he keeps coming back. The workday passes in a blur: attendance, a spelling test, recess, maths in the afternoon, and then you’re driving home in the same daze that has you slamming on the brakes before rear ending an old woman who stopped two cars behind the truck at the redlight ahead.

You’re home earlier than him for a change, so you unlock the door quickly while there’s still a chance to avoid him. No such luck. When Simon turns up, he pounds on the door until you let him in. And you do.

It’s a wonder you haven’t come apart at the seams, horny and pent up after this morning. You were too sleepy to come after all, rode hard and put away wet. Still, you flit nervously around the apartment, looking everywhere but at him.

He always smells rich after working all day in the sun, like sweat and dirt. It's not a particularly nice smell, but it still kind of gets you going. He goes for a shower and then collapses on the couch after, beckoning you over to you crawl into his lap and grind yourself on his thigh because he knows of course. Simon can probably smell it on you, the ache. He shushes you when you whine about it, big hands fitting around your hips and pressing you down until your clit rubs deliciously against the muscle of his thigh and your head goes cloudy, cheek mushed against the pillow of his chest.

When you come, Simon tips your chin up with his knuckle and murmurs, “Knickers off, love. Haven’t got my fill.”

He feeds you your own slick from his fingers when he kneels on the floor in front of the couch, your legs draped over his shoulders. Your fingers scratch helplessly over shorn blond hair, buzzed almost to the scalp. It’s prickly under your fingertips.

Simon’s a messy eater. Your slick dribbles down his lips and glistens on his chin. It makes the blood roar under your skin, feverishly hot.

“Please, Simon,” you whine, tears pricking at the corners of your eyes. “It hurts.”

You feel his lips quirk up against the folds of your pussy, the flat of his tongue running up the seam and flicking over your clit. He chuckles when your hips jerk. “Greedy aren’t you, pet? Didn’t even say thank you for getting on my knees.”

“You didn’t make me come!”

His voice borders on mocking when he coos, “Poor little thing. It’s gonna be a lot longer ‘til she gets to come if you don’t say thank you.”

Your brain goes staticy, fingers twitching on his scalp. His words echo back in your head. It’s rubbish, is what it is. All this time and he��s never said thank you once for the countless meals you’ve fed him. Indignation bubbles up in you, rising to the surface like fat on the cream, and you raise a hand to rub the tears from your eyes, a harsh rebuke on the tip of your tongue.

The protest dies on your lips when he meets your gaze. It’s hungrier than anything you’ve ever seen. Whatever animal lives under his skin stares back at you with black eyes, drool leaking from its jowls. It’s mindless, intent only on slaking its hunger. Filling its empty belly. And it is not afraid of you anymore. It knows you’ll feed it until it’s full. It knows you won’t let it go hungry anymore.

So, always leery of the bigger animal in the room, you mumble out a chest-thick, “Thank you,” and shiver when he grins.

There’s a reason they tell you not to feed strays. They often come back for more.

#ceil writing #cod mw2 #cod x reader #ghost x reader #ghost/reader #simon ghost riley #simon ghost riley x reader #simon riley x reader #simon riley/reader

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luveline · 1 year

Note

𝐡𝐞𝐚𝐫𝐭 𝐬𝐡𝐚𝐩𝐞𝐝 𝐢𝐦𝐚𝐠𝐢𝐧𝐞 —send me a shy!reader request for any character (with a plot) and I'll write a >1k drabble

sirius/james introducing shy!reader to remus. and shes just like quiet and in awe, but remus loves it.

luveline's 40k party ☆ tysm for requesting! remus x shy fem!reader

James is used to your personality after months of being your lecture neighbour, unperturbed by your quiet. "It's going to be fun," he promises, handing you a cold glass of cranberry vodka. "They're nice, okay? I won't let anyone irritate you."

He's hosting a party and had the generosity to invite you round early. He's easing you in, so to speak. It took him two weeks of steady Hellos for you to work up the courage to say Hi back, another two weeks for small talk, a month before you felt comfortable speaking to him first. If you're that shy, a party is basically torture.

"It's not about irritating me," you say.

"I know, I'm messing." James lists his head to the left. A second later, there's a knock at the door. "Aha. Wait here, shortcake, there's someone I want you to meet."

"James," you say after him, wet from your glass leaking down to your sleeve, "what?"

"I asked him to come early and say hello! He's quiet and handsome and you'll love him, just don't stare at his nose."

What's wrong with his nose? you think, alarmed.

James opens the door. Two new voices emerge, one scratchy and a little high, the other smoother. "I need to pee so bad," the scratchy one declares, followed by bounding footsteps up the stairs.

"You alright?" the smoother asks.

You think there's patting, a hug, "I'm brilliant! You smell really nice, Remus, like a garden."

"Lovely."

"In a good way! Come and meet my Y/N, you remember I told you about her nice gel pens?"

James leads the smooth-voiced Remus into the living room. You hurriedly put down your drink and stand, wiping your wet hands in your shirt. You cringe at the darkening fabric but hide your grimace as they stop in front of you.

"Remus, Y/N. Y/N, Remus," James introduces you both.

Remus has a scar across his nose that seems cruelly cut. There's another beside it that starts in his upper lip, both of which end in his eyebrow. You know how self-conscious it feels to be looked at, so you manage to smile and offer your hand without too much of it. He's handsome with his scars, a nice nose with a ridge and brown eyes the colour of caramelised sugar.

"Hello," Remus says, shaking your hand. His is big enough to make yours feel small.

"I invited her early because she's more fun than the rest of our lot," James says, throwing himself down on the sofa and kicking his legs out on the coffee table.

Remus taps your elbow very gently as if to usher you to sit and sits down beside you, enough space to be casual but too little to stop the rampant nerves that blossom in your stomach.

Remus asks about your life. What you're studying, where you're from, if James is being nice to you. While James is touchy in the rough older brother way, scrunching your shoulder and shaking you when you're not expecting it. Remus is touchy in a different way, you find, almost as if he doesn't know he's doing it. His shoe bumps your shoe, his hand falls down between his outer thigh and your own, his knuckles touching your jeans very lightly. He spins in his seat to talk to you.

You don't notice other people arriving, nor the scratchy-voiced friends return. All you can do is look up at Remus with wide eyes. Your nerves meld to something warmer.

"And what do you do?" you ask him.

He smiles like you've wandered into a secret. "I'm trying to write a book."

"He's being a bit much," Sirius says to James, the two now loitering in the doorway with matching beers. You and Remus chatter on, unaware of their running commentary.

"It's a very strong reaction. I knew she'd like him, but I didn't think she'd like him like that." James takes a sip of his drink. Remus asks you a quiet question. You duck your head, playing with your sleeves, and Remus, the bastard, ducks his head to follow your gaze, smiling at you all the while.

James almost chokes, pointing his bottle toward you both as though Sirius isn't already looking. "He's eating it up. I forgot how flirty he is."

"She'll be nice to him, won't she?" Sirius asks, like it's a done deal. To be fair, Remus seems enthralled with you.

"Definitely. She's very nice. Oh, look, that's sick, she's gonna pass out." James winces as Remus takes your arm into his hand.

Remus wouldn't do anything cruel, but James wasn't joking when he told Remus that you were exceedingly, achingly shy. He's about to step in and rescue you, but you turn into Remus' touch and pull your leg up on the sofa to make yourself comfortable. Your voice is animated, if quieter than the average person's.

"Woah," James says, beaming.

Remus flirts almost as a defence, like he wants to get the rejection over and done with so he can move on. You've yet to reject; you're looking up at him in moderate awe, your lips quirked into an easy smile.

"Boo!" James calls, flicking his bottle cap at Remus, who brushes it away. "Took me three weeks to get a smile out of her," he mutters. "What a dick."

#remus lupin x reader #remus lupin x fem!reader #remus lupin fluff #remus lupin x you #remus lupin x y/n #marauders era #remus x reader #remus x you #marauders #remus lupin drabble #remus lupin blurb #marauders x reader #remus lupin imagine #remus lupin fanfic #remus lupin fanfiction #the marauders #luveline's 40k party

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dxxdhood · 2 months

Text

drains me slowly

pairing: wade wilson x gn!reader

summary: deadpool finally invites you, the coworker he has a massive crush on, over, which means the two of you end up doing more than just watching a movie.

tags: smut (18+), sub!wade wilson, dom!reader, pain kink, use of superpowers to fuel a pain kink, light masochism, teasing, gentle dom, hand job, scratching, body worship

wc: 3.3k

a/n: fic inspired by the new deadpool movie coming out!!! also, title is from love me dead by ludo.

No surprise that Wade wasn’t exactly anyone’s favorite– that goes for among the heroes he’s worked with and throughout his life in general. He’s – to put it in the kindest way anyone’s ever told him – fucking annoying. Oh, he’s more than aware that he’s a little too out-of-pocket, abrasive, impulsive– a nightmare to interact with, really. And those were just the recent comments made by the closest thing he has to coworkers! The shit he heard from people growing up was leagues worse.

Look, having a rough start in life isn’t uncommon and he’s sure as hell not gonna get the tiny violin out for himself and throw his own little pity party, but he’s grown enough since his healing factor got beat out of him to acknowledge that he’s had it tough over the years.

He’s still going, though! Yeah, he may not always be the best at doing his laundry quick enough to get any clean clothes to wear, or at stopping his room from becoming cluttered with too many half-empty water bottles, but he’s still making it by, day by day.

But, well, it’s still really hard to constantly put himself out there, get assigned – or infinitely more likely, just shove himself into – whatever jobs or missions he feels like taking on when everyone treats him like Jar Jar Binks.

That was until you came along. So, obviously you’re crazy hot – he’s gotta get that out of the way first – but more than that, you were confident. Competent, too, and those rarely coincide in Wade’s experience. You mostly worked on call, joining the occasional mission, battle, or investigation because your mutant powers came in handy often, but you also still kept up with your day job. Honestly, Wade thinks the reason why you weren’t always present in fights was to stop the other mutants from being out of a job. Your ability to slowly deteriorate surrounding biological tissue, while horrifying and a pain in the ass to control – your words – was basically winning on easy mode.

But no, you were adamant about keeping your involvement with the X-Men infrequent– only joining when your presence was absolutely necessary. Apparently nonstop high stress situations aren't good for your mental health– who knew?

And he wants to pretend he became obsessed with you because of all those things, and of course they helped, but really, you had him at hello. Or well, you bothering to say hello and actually talk to him in the first place, to ask him questions about his life in moments of downtime where usually he’d be left with an unenthusiastic audience instead of a warm-hearted listener who actually laughed at his jokes.

So, of course, he has to go and fuck it up.

…

“So, glad that’s over, huh?” Wade says through a smile, the whites of his mask squeezing as his cheeks rise. “Speaking of over, you wanna come?”

“Over?” you shake your head a little, flashing your teeth as you try and comprehend him. “Right after we took on a whole crime ring?”

“Well, what a better time to unwind, am I right?”

“Oh?” you raise your eyebrows. “We’re unwinding?”

It’s small, but you swear Wade ups his talking speed, “Well, yeah, you know. Watch a movie, order in, show you my Pokemon cards, the works.”

You hum, pretending to consider it, “Depends, you got a holo Charizard?”

And now, for sure, he exhales his relief. “You insult me.”

The two of you enter his apartment not long after you’re dismissed from the mission, and Wade briefly excuses himself to change out of his suit. Making yourself at home, you take a seat on the couch and glance across his living room. His apartment is surprisingly nice. The kitchen and living room are one large, open space with a sleek, modern design. Also, you’d assume someone as chaotic as Wade would keep their house in a messier state, or hell, at least a little dusty, but the living room is spotless. Maybe he cleaned recently? What, was he planning on inviting someone over?

Snorting as you shake your head, a small click from across the hall catches your attention.

You’ve only seen Wade on the job, so naturally he’s always been wearing his red suit, but for some reason, you never stopped to picture him wearing civilian clothes. Actually, now that you’re seeing him in a sweatshirt and sweatpants – awfully warm for this weather – you’re struggling to reconcile the image of him you had in your head with the person right in front of you.

Well, at least until Wade brings up a fist to cover his mouth, illustrating his nervousness, and the tension fizzles out. Only Wade has body language that cartoonishly exaggerated.

“Nice sweats, green looks good on you.”

Wade pauses for a moment, registering your words before he giggles softly, arm falling to his side, “I’ve been thinking about changing the color of my suit. You know, hiding all the blood is great and all, but sometimes I gotta wonder – could this thing be more flattering?”

He walks over with a spring in his step before sitting by your side. Cutely, he wraps you up in the larger blanket first before settling the smaller, throw blanket over himself. You try your hardest not to show your confusion outwardly, but seeing Wade up close now has you questioning his outfit all the more.

He’s a bit tall, so the sweatpants don’t go all the way down to his ankles, but Wade’s wearing calf socks, as if he specifically were trying to avoid them being uncovered. Also, his hoodie’s easily a size or two larger, which makes it the perfect thing to wear to lounge around and watch a movie in, but also, the sleeves cover his entire hand sans his fingers. From the little you can see of them, they look puckered in scars.

But obviously Wade’s hands are scarred– he’s a mercenary. He’s handled all sorts of weapons and been in hundreds of fights over the years. You weren’t expecting his skin to be baby-smooth.

What’s interesting to you is why he’d go through all the trouble to hide it.

Also, yeah, the most obvious pointers were that the hood of his sweatshirt is up even though you two are indoors in his own home and – how could you forget this one – his Deadpool mask is still on.

Was he just uncomfortable with sharing his identity in general or was he specifically trying to shove distance between the two of you? Whatever, if he doesn’t want to take his mask off with you, he doesn’t have to. You feel a distinct pang in your chest, but you try not to let it color how you respond to him. He’s more than in the right to only share what he feels most comfortable with.

Wade’s been fiddling with the remote while you’ve been – hopefully – subtly looking him over, and the screen finally changes from a streaming service page to the opening of the movie.

“We’re watching The Princess Bride? I didn’t take you for a romantic.”

He bats his eyes – at least, you think he does, given the mask– and speaks in a sweet voice “Why, me? Oh please, I know romance. I’m not going to invite a lovely, gorgeous, incredible person over and force them to watch Die Hard on the first–”

His back straightens out like he’s been electrocuted before he forcibly relaxes his posture to finish his thought.

“Hang-out.”

Okay, you want to go easy on him, especially because he seems so tense, but you can’t just let that one slide. You close the small distance remaining between the two of you, causing your entire side to press against his. Even through his sweatshirt, you can feel how warm he is.

“Mmm, just a hang out?” you mumble, sliding your head onto his shoulder. You’ve done this before, either for comedic effect or just in an attempt to push his buttons the same way he always tries to push yours – which, despite his best efforts, always ends up endearing him to you instead of bothering you – but never in a context like this.

He inhales sharply, and you count the seconds until he finally lets himself release it. Sometimes, you think he takes his healing factor for granted.

Turning his head to peer down at you, Wade considers you for a moment, keeping his face and body language deceptively neutral. You try your hardest to keep your eyes focused on the movie and your body loose and comfortable.

“You want this to be a date?” he says, flat.

“Why, thank you for asking, dear sir,” you copy his sweet voice from earlier before returning to your normal. “Yes, Wade, I like you.”

“I–” he starts, but the words get caught on their way out. His fingers bury themselves in the material of his sweatpants, and the movement draws your attention to them again. Shades of blotchy red and pink curve all across his skin.

Wade doesn’t say anything, which is concerning enough on its own, but following your confession, you feel like he’s more than out of his element.

“That’s why you invited me over, right?” you try and help him out. “You feel the same, too.”

And then, feeling bold, you turn your head to face his still mask-covered head and kiss him lightly on the cheek. Instantly, you see fireworks go off inside him, because Wade hurriedly shuts the TV off and runs off to close the blinds. There’s barely enough light in the room now to make out shapes, but apparently Wade doesn’t take any issue because he peels his mask back and kisses you on the lips.

His lips are textured, and your intuition flashes quietly in the back of your mind, but for right now, you focus on how energetic he is. If his body is warm, his mouth feels like it’s on fire. He’s constantly moving, trying to experience all of you as fast as possible.

It’s making your face heat up, how quickly he demands your complete attention and how relentless he is in grabbing it. Wade bites your bottom lip, causing you to gasp into him, and he uses the opportunity to explore across your own teeth and tongue. After a few more seconds, you break away, needing the space to breathe.

“Holy shit,” you whisper, voice rough.

“You’re telling me,” Wade coughs out. “We could’ve been doing that this whole time?”

“Well, all you had to do was ask.”

And although you can’t see him, which you know is the point, you understand something in him has shifted. He gets up from the couch, takes you by the hand, and leads you towards his room. His pace is so quick, you barely comprehend his actions until you’re both standing right in front of his bed.

“Is this okay?” he asks, quiet. You don’t think you’ve ever heard him stifle the amount of words he let loose before.

“Yes, of course it is. But Wade, we have to turn on at least a lamp or something in here.”

“We do?”

“Yeah,” you pause to give him a second to think. “I can’t see you at all like this.”

“What if – and you're just going to have to trust me on this one – you’d prefer it this way,” Wade’s voice is light, but it feels like it’s cracking at the edges.

“And why’s that?”

Not like you’d be able to see, but the anxiety radiating off of him makes him sound wide-eyed, “Huh? Oh, I– uh…”

“Look, if you’re worried about how I’m going to react to you having a bunch of scars– don’t. I don’t mind,” the sound of fabric rustling in front of you makes you think he just flinched. “I figured it out. You’re not sneaky.”

“You say that, but…”

“Wade, I don’t care. And I mean that kindly! Really, it doesn’t bother me.”

Wade starts pacing in front of you, nearly tripping on the leg of the bedpost, “Look, I appreciate the whole hero act you got going on here – really fits you good, you should totally quit your day job – but you don’t have to force yourself, I–”

“Wade, you either confront your insecurities head on or I’m not doing this with you. I told you what I think, the only person who’s going to worry about how you look here is you. We either have sex with a light on or not at all, okay?”

No one speaks for a few seconds once you finish saying your piece, and you cringe, realizing how forceful you must have come off. You’re about to speak up again to apologize when you hear a shudder-filled exhale from a few feet away.

“Jesus H. Christ,” he groans. “You’re so hot when you're putting people in their place.”

Your lips curl into a shaky smile, “Yeah, what else do you think is hot?”

And you can practically hear the gears turning in his head from here.

…

It’s actually happening. No fucking way he didn’t dream this up. But you were pretty adamant about him getting his head in the game in order for you guys to actually get down and dirty, so for you, he tries to keep his train of thought as focused as possible– a big ask.

“Bossing anyone – everyone, especially me – around. You using your abilities–” you reach over and find Wade’s hand before running your fingers up his arm. “Shit, umm, using your abilities in general, but, umm, I really like when I’m there.”

“Oh?” you giggle. “When you get to watch, or?”

“When I get to feel.”

Your hand moves over to the nape of his neck, reaching under his hood and mask, to rub at his rough skin. Wade’s nerves light on fire as he waits for you to respond– for some reason, it never feels like your words come out fast enough.

“You got a thing for pain, Wilson?”

He chuckles, “You’d be surprised.”

“Okay, but are you sure? I can try, but it might not be all that good for you.”

“Don’t worry,” he thinks back to all those times he had a hard on while the two of you were fighting together. “It’ll be great for me.”

You hum, “Alright, then, but you tell me to stop the second you don’t like something, okay?”

“Aye, aye, captain,” he salutes, though you probably can’t see it. “And, same goes for you.”

“What a gentleman, letting me destroy him and giving me an out.”

He’s blushing something furious and he’s never been more grateful for the dark, “Anything for you.”

Those are the last words he whispers before he begins undressing. He knows you probably meant for him to strip with the light on, but he’s really not so sure he could stomach being looked at like a bug under a microscope. The attention, while electrifying, was already starting to get to him, so he lets himself stay in his comfort zone a little longer. As a treat.

Once his sweats are off, he hesitantly peels off his mask before slipping into bed, keeping most of his body under the covers. After shutting his eyes, he clicks the lamplight on.

You’re not saying anything. That’s– a sign? A good one, a bad one, Wade doesn’t know. He’s trying so hard to keep his breathing steady, but he can feel his body start shaking all on its own.

You join him on the bed, kneeling next to him, before your warm breath falls across his cheeks as you kiss his forehead. Only then does he open his eyes, and you reward him by cupping his cheek in your hand.

“There,” you say. “Wasn’t so hard, was it?”

Wade gets the strong urge to snort, and so he does, but your eyes narrow. There’s a soft scratching at the back of his skull as you snake your hand over, and quickly you dig your nails in slightly. Wade has to bite his tongue to keep the noise in.

“I’m sorry, is that funny to you?”

“No!” he whispers sharply as you bring your hand down to scratch along the line of his neck.

“Good, seems like you’re learning.”

You kiss him, teeth clacking together at first before Wade melts into it. Your hand is still slowly exploring his body, running along the line of his shoulder and towards his upper arm. When you reach his bicep, you very obviously squeeze the muscle there, and you let out a pleased sigh as you begin groping in earnest.

He wants to turn to hide his face in the pillow, not sure how to react to all the positive attention and appreciation, but you catch him trying to turn away, and you kiss him deeper.

While one hand begins to explore his pecs and abs, your other hand scratches down his v-line, softly caressing the skin of his inner thighs before moving around to squeeze his ass.

Wade rewards you with a small whine, and you carefully trail a finger down his dick. You move in to whisper in his ear, “You’re so hot, I’m not forgiving you for hiding for so long.”

Trying to stifle the embarrassing moan that he knows will come out, he bites down on his lip hard, but you take the hand not teasing his cock to gently pry his lip away.

“From now on, I get to hear you, okay?” you say and Wade nods rapidly.

You take the moment you wrap your hand around the base of his cock, and after giving him a second to ready himself, you ask, “I’m going to use it now. Tell me if you want to stop.”

“Okay–” he responds before he feels the sweet sensation of you jerking him off coupled with your power. It’s a humming, dull feeling of pain resting in the background– almost like the sensation of being choked except it’s affecting his entire body. Wade feels like there’s a weight pinning down each of his limbs and it’s so freeing– so relaxing.

He sighs and turns his head to the side, letting out a deep moan when you up the pace of your hand and bring the other to fondle his balls.

“How is it?” you ask, sweat dripping down your brow at trying to control your ability. Sure, it’s powerful and at times pretty horrifying, but Wade always loved how he was essentially immune. At the same rate you could destroy the flesh around you, he could heal his own right back. Just knowing that made him feel good, somehow, like he was made perfectly for you.

“It’s good– so good, I–” he nearly shouts, forgetting about the neighbors.

“Yeah, baby? What do you need?”

At hearing the pet name, he straight up whines as he tries to bury his hands in the sheets instead of his own thighs.

“Not sure, umm, a little more–”

And he doesn’t know which god he has to thank for putting you on this planet, but he’s willing to pay them all a visit. You read him like he’s not some mess, some walking disaster nobody bothers paying attention to, and you give him what you know he needs.

From the base of his chin, you drag your hand in a deep scratch across his neck, chest, and stomach, your eyes watching the pink lines blend in with his scarred skin. It’s a flashing pain, sharp like being scalded and it feels so good mixed with the blunt feel of being under your power.

“I’m gonna–” he says, and of course, you seem to already know. He cums with a deep grunt, rutting his hips into your fist before he thrusts his head forward to kiss you again.

As soon as he comes down, he pulls away only slightly, just so he can say what he’s been wanting to say since he met you.

“Thank–”

You cut him off with another kiss, because sometimes, he really does need to shut up.

#deadpool #wade wilson #deadpool smut #wade wilson smut #deadpool x reader #deadpool x gn! reader #wade wilson x reader #wade wilson x gn! reader #marvel #marvel smut #dom reader #sub character #gn reader #smut #deadpool x you #wade wilson x you

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periprose · 5 months

Text

Sweet as Nuka Cola

Cooper Howard/The Ghoul x Reader

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

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

Word Count: 11k

“Action!”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

He says your name.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

You just choose to assume it’s entirely friendly.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Was it good?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

He loved being the hero, really.

He lights a cigarette, and takes a puff.

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

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

“Backlash, really?” You whisper.

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

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

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

And you absolutely are.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

You shudder.

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

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

Oh fuck.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“...”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Now he thinks you're just unfinished business.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

You flinch, and he stops.

“Oh, God, my eyes–”

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

You blink, tears rolling down your face.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

No wonder he enjoys his casket time.

Coop sighs.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

No way is he letting easy money pass by him.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

You’re angry at the state of the world.

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

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

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

Coop is actually drawn to silence.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Alright.” You whisper.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Bullshit.”

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

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

“Nah. I’m not.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

You grasp his arm back, making him quiet.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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