#the ghoul x reader

[wrr000]

my love for y'all (and him) is infinitive

[dantesunbreaker]

So Doggone Lonesome(18+)

Summary: Cooper agrees to escort you into town after you save him from going feral, AFTER he collects the bounty he is after. Neither of you expects the connection you form along the way.

WC: 9.2K

Warnings: canon typical violence, menstruation, blood kink, cunnilingus during menstruation

Next Part

Darkness is just beginning to settle over the horizon as you wander into the crumbling remains of what once may have been a small settlement. Your steps are light, measured and well calculated to make as little noise as possible. There is only the light of the moon and stars to guide you. The pack hanging over your shoulders is dreadfully light, a testament to your struggle for survival, constantly edging the line of desperation. Though your supply of food is near nonexistent, at least you have plenty of water, which is of some small consolation.

Climbing over a half remainder of a once solid concrete wall, you duck inside the shadow of a building. It has more holes than walls. You drag one hand along the cool, rough surface, acting as a guide as your eyes continue to adjust to the slow dimming light. But your eyes are still able to perceive enough to recognize the sight of a rifle barrel aiming towards the center of your chest as you round a corner. It is a beat later that you take note of the man wielding said rifle.

A ghoul.

Back to the wall, he sits with knees bent awkwardly up, tattered leather trench coat clinging to him in a way that suggests both shield and shroud. In any other circumstance you would find some delight in his appearance, looking as though plucked straight from one of those Pre-war western films, the hat, spurs, leather duster and all. The steady aim of the weapon in his hands however, keeps you suspended in a freezing sense of dread.

“Wait!” You are quick to throw your hands up, palms flat and wide spread and facing the ghoul, hoping he will see you as anything but a threat. “Please, I’m just passing through,I don’t want any trouble.”

“Trouble seems to have found you,” the ghoul’s accent is thick, a heavy southern twang grown raspy and dry from years of radiation born rot. 

The business end of his rifle does not lower, but his eyes flick across you up and down before focusing on your gear.

“What’s in the bag?”

You consider lying, truth a dangerous thing to be so easily thrown around, but lying feels lethal in the moment. “Maybe two or three days worth of food, water, a few medical supplies,” you settle on half truths, enough that there is nothing to hide written in your expression. “Really not anything worth shooting me over.”

The ghoul snorts out a laugh, “Out here, everything’s worth shooting someone over,” the ghoul drawls, but the gun does not fire. Though laughter abruptly mutates into a cough, dry and wheezing as if his lungs were trying to shrivel up and spit themselves back out.

It does not take you much more than a quick once over of the ghoul to understand what is happening.  While hunched over in his coughing fit, you dare to move a few steps closer, squatting down to be near his level. But a quick jerking motion of the rifle stops you, deadly stare halting you as the coughing subsides.

“I can help,” there is a wobble in your voice, fear evident. Your heart feels as though it could pound right out of your chest. He chokes on a scoff, but still you persist. “If you let me, I can help. I have what you need.”

“Touch me, and I'll bite your fucking fingers off,” the ghoul snarls back, waving the rifle at you, but there is less bite to his tone. As if he was weighing his options and finding you were his best chance of survival. “Like hell you even know what I need, might accidentally kill me instead.”

Fingers creep slowly toward the pouch at the strap of your bag, slow as predator stalking prey, the ghoul’s bloodshot eyes tracking your every twitch. The vial catches moonlight as you extract it, semi translucent yellow liquid sloshing around inside. Germaine’s voice echoes in your head, hollow memories reminding you the importance of keeping the vials on hand. Your throat tightens, heart aching at the thought of him. Two winters since you lost him, yet here you are, still hoarding these lifelines whenever you had the caps to spare. A habit too hard for you to shake.

With a desperate rasp, eyes narrowing, the ghoul lunges for the vial, but trembling fingers miss, closing around empty air inches from your hand. The rifle barrel dips, bobbing up and down, scraping against the dirt. Before he recovers, you are on him, one hand clamping around his wrist, twisting until tendons strain beneath your grip. Not enough to snap bone, but enough to make him hiss. Your free hand goes for the rifle, wrenching it away, sending it clattering somewhere into the shadows beyond.

Yellowed teeth flash in the darkness, like daggers, a snarl bubbling up from his throat. Boot heels scrape for purchase, leg twitching up to kick you, but your knee drives into the muscle of his thigh with a thud. It takes only a single hard shove at his chest to send him toppling over, back hitting the dirt. One leg swings over the ghoul’s chest, knees digging into his ribcage as your weight settles onto his hips. Each breath is a struggle, chest heaving beneath you as the ghoul fights his failing body. It is not a fair fight by any means.

Dry lips curl back, teeth flashing in the moonlight. “Get the fuck off me.” The ghoul’s hips twitch weakly beneath yours, resistance dissolving into another fit of coughing. Violent convulsions shaking his entire frame and vibrating up through your thighs, sending heat creeping up your face.

Patting down the ghoul’s coat, your fingers dip into each pocket but come up empty. “Where is your inhaler?” The ghoul’s eyelids droop to half-mast, pupils contracting and dilating as if struggling to keep focus on your face.

Head lolling to one side, the ghoul jerks his chin toward a corner where weathered saddlebags slump against the wall. Stretching, two fingers hook into the cracked leather and drag them close enough to dig through. Beneath layers of junk and supplies, your fingers close around a familiar shape before your eyes confirm it. The smooth plastic curves of an inhaler.

You hold it up in the dim light, the chamber glints. Empty. As the ghoul’s breath grows shallow, his chest barely rises. 

Grinding your teeth, you give a rough tap to the ghoul’s leathery cheek. “Stay with me.” His eyelids flutter, bloodshot eyes rolling back. Your fingers fumble with the vial, clicking it into place with one hand while your gaze never leaves his face. “Alright,” your voice cracks, “take a big breath on three.”

Rocking back, thighs trembling against the ghoul's ribs, you ease up the pressure from his chest, just enough so that you can slide a hand beneath his neck. Gentle fingers cradle his neck, spreading to provide support as you lean into him. The fight once raging through the ghoul has diminished, jaw slack, mouth parting without protest as you raise the inhaler to his cracked lips. On three, the plunger clicks, pressing down and releasing a yellow mist that disappears with a heave of the ghoul’s chest, drawing it deep into his lungs. You repeat the action twice more, until the vial hits empty.

Beneath your thighs, his chest begins to rise in a steady smooth rhythm, the rattling of his lungs fading into nothing. 

Cracked lips part. “Why the fuck are you helping me?” The ghoul’s words slur at the edges, eyelids heavy, fighting to stay open. Pinprick pupils track your movements, though obscured by half closed lids as your weight shifts atop him.

Your mouth opens, then closes again with an exhale, shoulders sagging beneath some unseen weight. The tips of your fingers trace an absent pattern into your thigh. “Guess I just don’t enjoy watching a ghoul rot away when I know I can do something about it.”

The only response given is the slow, even rise and fall of the ghoul’s chest, jaw going slack, head rolling to one side. You count each breath, watching for any twitch that could mean danger, any sign that he might lunge forward. 

When your legs begin to cramp, muscles singing their opposition, you slide off the ghoul, settling cross legged beside him in the dirt. Behind you, the road stretches long and empty, darkness licking the edges of broken asphalt. Your pack lies within arm’s reach, ready to cut and run, yet your fingers curl into the dirt at your sides, rooting yourself in place as surely as if you had grown from the earth itself. 

Moonlight casts shadows across the ghoul’s still form, softly illuminating the high ridges of his cheek bones. Uncertainty coils like a knot in your gut, instinct screaming at you to leave, to high tail it out of town before the ghoul wakes, possibly even more volatile than before. But a foolish feeling of hope, perhaps, or a stubborn spark of compassion that refuses to be snuffed out tugs at your heart. Though torn between the fear of anger and violence that could come and the tantalizing possibility of the companionship of another living being, you fear walking back into the lonely darkness even more.

Heaving a sigh, your back presses to the cool surface of concrete, resting your eyes, but not daring to fall asleep. There you wait for the sun to rise alongside the ghoul.

Dawn cracks, splitting the horizon with soft speckles of orange when the ghoul’s body jerks upright. Something catches in his throat, not quite a cough, but not quite a growl. The cold metal of the rifle muzzle presses into your peripheral vision. But your eyes stay on the empty vial balanced between your fingers, staring at it as if it would start sharing secrets if you stare long enough. Numbness has long since crept up your legs and ass from sitting cross legged in the same patch of dirt for hours, leaving you unbothered to move away from the danger.

“You’re still here.” Each syllable drops from the ghoul’s mouth like a heavy stone, as though the words were of some personal offense. 

Flicking a thumbnail against a ridge of dirt beneath one of your fingernails, your shoulders rise and fall with a sigh, gaze fixed on a point just beyond the rifle’s sight. “Figured someone ought to be here to roll you over if you started foaming at the mouth.”

Pushing himself up with a grunt, the ghoul’s stiff joints crack with protest, popping like the snap of dry kindling. Using the back of a tattered sleeve, he drags an arm across cracked lips. “Think you’re funny, smoothskin?” Pupils contract to pinpoints, knuckles going white around the rifle grip. Challenging you.

“Never,” your tone is flat, not moving a muscle in your face.

Your attempt at humor earns what you could almost call a laugh from the ghoul, the corners of his mouth pulling just a fraction upward. Relief hits you like a supersledge as his shoulders lower half an inch, sliding the rifle into its holster across his back with practiced motions. Though his gaze lingers for a moment, eventually the ghoul relaxes, head turning away in silent acknowledgement you are no longer perceived as a threat. Not missed by your keen eyes is the way you are still kept in his peripheral, back never turning to you.

Busy fingers rifle through saddlebags, patting pockets, counting possessions before slinging them over his shoulder. “Missed out on a chance, kid,” the drawl of his voice is smooth, almost enough to put you at ease.  “Could’ve rolled me and split, would’ve been the smart option.”

Rolling a pebble between your thumb and forefinger, your shoulders rise and fall with a shrug, but you keep the ghoul in your own sight. One hand rests just close enough to the weapon on your hip.  “Never claimed to be smart.”

The air between you crackles with unspoken words. Jaw working side to side, the ghoul’s eyes briefly narrow. “You want something,” his tone flattens, matter of fact. “Nobody’s that stupid without reason.”

Resisting a flinch, your eyes dart away, finding interest in a hairline fracture running up the concrete wall, branching out like lightning. Sweat beads at your hairline. Fingers tap against your thigh, drumming a nervous rhythm.

“I’m assuming you are out of vials,” you  breathe slowly, striving for calm. From your peripheral vision, you catch his neck snapping around, tendons standing out like cords. Reaching into your pocket, glass clinks together as you pull out two of the yellow cylinders, allowing them to catch in the dim light. “I’ve got more than enough to share...but I want something in return.”

Across from you, the ghoul’s upper lip curls back, exposing time worn yellow teeth. Hazel eyes flick between your face and the vials in your palm, battling the need with the desire to shoot the glass out of spite.

Hands clench, finger twitching once toward the rifle. “You realize,” voice dropping, he leans forward until you can smell the lingering inhalant on his breath, “I could bash your skull in and take the whole lot.”

Swallowing hard, your shoulders square up as you force your voice to steel. “Try it,” knuckles turn white, fist closing tight over the vials. “Make a move against me and I crush them.” The hammering of your pulse betrays your certainty that if he lunges, you are already dead. 

The words linger like smoke, but something shifts in the ghoul's gaze, a slight thaw around all those hard edges. Maybe you are not as foolish, as expendable as first thought. Maybe you could prove your worth. Just maybe. 

Spurs jingle as the ghoul's foot taps a rapid rhyme against the dirt. “Well?” Voice snapping like a whip before softening as he draws out the words, the ghoul studies your face. “You gonna spit it out or not? Don't got all damn day.” Shifting his weight, he crosses his arms. “What is it you want?

Swallowing hard, you fight the heavy feeling at your tongue. “I need to get to town...” The words hang in the air like dust motes. Silence stretches until you can almost see your words floating away. “Alive, and preferably in one piece.” Fingers twist a loose thread at the hem of your shirt. “Company would help.”

Head tilting back, the ghoul fixes his gaze on the spiderweb of cracks along the ceiling. Expression stern, as if locked in negotiations with ghosts of its past. 

Hazel eyes narrow, the ghoul’s gaze circling back to you. “You got a death wish?” Voice scraping like boots on gravel.

Throat tight, your mouth feels dry. “Not today,” but the corner of your lip shifts upward.

A muscle in his jaw twitches, gaze traveling from your face, to the vials still in your hand, down to your well worn boots, and then back up. Silence stretches on, the sound of your heartbeat filling your ears. 

“Fine, but I’ve got a job first,” whatever space that lies between you closes, the ghoul entering your bubble as he locks with your eyes. Watching you, testing you. “You do exactly as I say, when I say. Do that, and I will get you to town when the job is done.”

“Deal.”

With a grunt, the ghoul pivots on his heels, stalking toward the exit, debris crunching beneath his boots. Never bothering to check if you are following. Your knees pop as you scramble upright, palm catching a jagged edge of concrete. A red bead wells within your palm, but you wipe it on the leg of your pants as you lurch after him.

Outside, the sun has yet to fully rise, rust orange bleeding from the horizon through surrounding skeletal buildings. Footsteps fall into rhythm with the ghoul as you manage to catch up, a cadence that feels oddly familiar. Like muscle memory from another life.

The job turns out to be a bounty, a revelation that should not be a surprise given the way the ghoul carries himself. As if carrying all the confidence of someone never expecting to see tomorrow, no longer bothered with the concern of fear. Gutted cars and barricades of forgotten debris block the path, but the ghoul cuts a line straight through without a care in the world.

But you follow after him like a lost puppy, stuck on his heels, but always at least two paces behind. Conversation comes and goes in short waves, as if unsure if he feels in the mood for talking or brooding. You give him your name at some point, prompting you to ask for his in return.

A bark of a laugh is your response, a sound that gives you a small emotional jab of pain. “Let’s not be tryin’ to get all personal darlin’,” the southern drawl is extra thick in his voice, sounding all the more condescending. “This here is a business relationship, nothing else. Don’t go thinkin’ I care more than that.”

Nearly tripping over yourself in attempts to respond, you receive only a half turned glance that seals your lips for another mile. Worse than being seen as a job is being seen as a burden. But you choose not to divulge that information.

Halfway through the next day, after hours of dragging feet through cracked asphalt and the sun beating down your neck, you see the ruins of a town ahead. A single gas station at the center of town stands as the sole point of interest. When the distance closes, you feel the ghoul’s hand clamp onto your shoulder, fingers digging in as he yanks you behind a concrete barricade, knees scraping on the way down. A palm remains on your shoulder, forcing you to stay low, out of sight. Squinting, you follow his line of sight, spotting movement on the far side of the street.

Breath catching, you watch a figure in tattered combat gear hunch over an overturned toolbox, rifling through the contents with surgical precision. Something is hovering above. An Eyebot, chassis full of dents and roughly patched with century old license plates. To the right, a Mr. Handy, jets whirring, armed with a rotary saw and flamer. Behind them all, sunlight barely reflects off rust tainted paint as a Protectron shifts its weight with a mechanical groan. 

“Is that the bounty?” You keep yourself pressed flat against the ground, but you try to turn to look at him.

No answer is given. Instead he unholsters the rifle from his back and fixes you with a stern look, “Stay put. Don’t move unless you enjoy laser burns. Got it?”

Afraid to speak, lest you catch unwanted attention, you give a wide eyed nod and watch the ghoul’s eyes narrow before he vaults the barricade with a dancer’s grace. Despite the heat, you shiver. Through a fracture in the barricade, you watch him move in a zigzag, disappearing into the maze of ruined storefronts.

Five minutes pass before the silence cracks. One bullet tears through the bounty's thigh, spraying the street with a mist of blood, another glancing off his clavicle, shattering the bone. Though you look, you are unable to spot the ghoul or the barrel of his weapon. 

Before another bullet can finish off the bounty, the three bots shift, moving to provide cover as the man struggles to drag himself behind the chest. The Eyebot spots the ghoul first, stalking out from a doorframe full of shattered glass. 

A tight feeling enters your chest, watching as the Mr. Handy charges first, saw extended and spinning with lethal intent. Sparks fly as the blade hits brick, only missing the ghoul by inches as he ducks and rolls to the side. It is enough of a distraction for the bounty, as he seizes the moment by daring to peek his head above the safety of his cover, firing a shot that misses by a mile.

From below, the ghoul draws the revolver from his hip, blowing off the Mr. Handy’s arm with an explosive shot that sends bits of metal falling like drops of rain. Though thrown back in the blast, the bot persists, arms rotating as a cone of flame erupts from another limb. Laser fire singes stone as the Eyebot struggles to lock aim on the ghoul ducking and weaving as if partaking in some deadly dance. Watching the Protectron lumber that direction fills you with a sickly feeling of dread.

You don’t remember standing, but suddenly you are exposed, a pistol with not nearly enough bullets to matter in hand. Two of your eight rounds fly striking the Eyebot. For a moment it sputters, bobbing in the air as smoke begins to bellow out from the seams before ultimately it falls to the ground with a loud clang. Unfortunate for you, this draws the bounty’s attention. A few seconds is all you have to dive behind a fallen mailbox before a bullet strikes the air where your head had just been.

Pressing yourself flush to a broken slab of sidewalk, your head rocks to the side, locking eyes with the ghoul for a fleeting second. From the ground you slide your pistol forward, shooting a single round at the Mr. Handy that does minimal damage. But it does pull focus on you, giving the ghoul opportunity to flank. Giving himself space, the ghoul shoots the fuel tank, causing a small explosion. The bot hisses like escaping steam, limbs trembling before self immolating. 

That leaves just the Protectron and the bounty. 

Electricity sparks to life from the center of the robot’s metal hands. Just before those claws clamp around his shoulders, the ghoul pivots and fires. Not at the Protectron. The bounty leans out from his cover, revolver in hand and taking aim. Before his finger can squeeze the trigger, the hand is gone, only a bloody stump below the wrist. 

The stench of burning flesh assaults your nose even from yards away as the Protectron grapples the ghoul, shocking him. Breaking cover, your knees scrape asphalt as you sprint, emptying the last of your rounds into the back of the robot’s head. Not a budge. You could reload, you have the ammunition, but the trembling of your hands leads you to believe more would end up on the ground rather than in the gun. Out of other options, and crunching on time, you grab the first sturdy object in reach. A thick shaft of rebar.

With as much heft as you can manage, a loud crack resonates as you bring the bar down over the back of the Protectron’s head. A large dent is left in its wake, but it is still locked around the ghoul. Over and over you bring down your makeshift club onto the bot until the metal gives way, crunching and splitting.

As soon as the sparks cease, no longer cooking him alive, the ghoul plants a boot on the main body of the Protectron and kicks it over without ceremony. Smoke wafts from twin burns on the arms of his leather duster, somehow only slightly blackened. When your eyes meet, you are expecting some sort of token of gratitude or appreciation for the aid. But those hazel eyes harden into an unreadable look, the ghoul practically shoulder checking you as he brushes past you without care.

During the struggle, the bounty has managed to drag himself further behind the overturned tool chest, as if that somehow would shield and spare him. But a wide smear of blood marks his path. 

“Wait wait wait!” The bounty throws his hands... well, hand up as the ghoul stalks up to him, sobbing as he tries to push himself further away by bracing his legs against the dirt. “Please, I can pay you! Whatever they are offering I can-”

A gaping hole blown into the center of his chest cuts off whatever plea the bounty was going to offer, blood trickling from his mouth as he gives one bubbling gurgle before sagging. Lifeless. When the ghoul pulls a bone saw from his bags, you have to look away, staring at a wall, the sky, anything but the mess.

“Thought I told you to stay put,” he growls, pausing before getting to work on the body. “Coulda got yourself killed making a stupid move like that.”

Something rises up in you, heat flushing your cheeks as the hairs on the back of your neck stand. “That’s a pretty shitty way of saying thanks for saving my life,” screw the bloody mess, you turn back on the ghoul with ire in your eyes.

He laughs. But those eyes are sharp, looking you over, slowly tracking lower and lower until they pause. Tracing the same path with your own eyes, you see what has caught the ghoul’s interest. A stain blooming deep red down your inner thigh. As much as you want to convince yourself it is a wound, some cut from a stray bullet, you know better.

“Fuck,” you continue to stare at the patch of blood, as if doing so would make it dissappear with willpower alone. “FUCK!”

“What, you get shot in the dick or somethin’?” The ghoul is grinning, a mean look that is full of teasing, but with just a tiny ounce of something more.

“No...just..,” between two fingers, you pluck the fabric of your pants, the tacky feeling of it wanting to cling to your skin. Tears sting your eyes. “Fuck.”

Rather than elaborate further, you scramble away, shoving past the ghoul in a rough move as you search for shelter. A public restroom. The door barely clings to the hinges, but it will do. Slamming the door, you stuff yourself into a stall, ripping off your belt and pulling at your waistband to survey the damage.

Blood, yes. Enough to soak through the entirety of your underwear and through the thick denim of your pants. Enough to leave the fabric sticky and growing cold. Sitting on the floor, head in your hands, you bite back the urge to cry, choking on humiliation.

Three deep breaths. Removing the lid off the back of the toilet provides a small ounce of relief, finding only mildly questionable water. Stripping everything below the waist, you dunk your underwear, scrubbing at the fabric until your hands begin to ache, wringing the pinkish water out into the bowl.

“You know,” the suddenness of the ghoul’s voice just outside the stall makes you freeze. “It is considered rude walkin’ away from someone while talkin’.”

“Go away,” your voice is halfway between a groan and whine, similar to that of a dying animal.

The following silence leads you to believe the ghoul has granted your request, but then the door comes slamming inwards, forcing you back up onto the seat of the toilet. Standing in the doorway of the stall, the ghoul stares down at you. Bloody underwear are still clutched tight in your hands, your thighs slightly parted and leaving nothing to the imagination. You can feel his eyes scanning you up and down before you think to cover yourself.

There is a moment where all you do is lock eyes with each other, as if having a full conversation without uttering a word. No joke, no gross comment or leering sneer. Just standing there, looking, eyes almost appearing softer.

“Ten minutes,” the softness of his voice surprises you, almost making you question if this is even the same ghoul. “Then I’m gone, with or without you.”

You watch as he turns to leave.

Just before he is out the door, he pauses, barely glancing back over his shoulder at you. “Cooper.” He does not elaborate, does not wait for you to question the sudden name. Just walks out the door as soon as it is out of his mouth.

When it dawns on you, the significance of the name, you can’t help the way the corners of your lips pull upward. He gave you his name. A trade off of sorts. Seeing you in such a private, exposed, vulnerable state, but giving you something he would consider of equal worth.

As you begin to redress in now damp but slightly cleaner clothing, a wad of scrap cloth between your legs, you find yourself feeling safer than you have all day. Maybe, just maybe, the ghoul is not as bad as he wants you to believe.

Something shifts in the atmosphere between you in the first mile away from the macabre scene you leave behind. Nothing drastic. Perhaps newfound mutual respect, or at least understanding. Not as concrete as trust, but a level of relaxation in the air, loosening muscles that were once coiled and ready to strike. You would never acknowledge this change out loud, almost sure that it would set you back. The ghoul would certainly not. But it is there all the same.

Though given his name, in a strange act of deference, you never utter it, choosing to keep it sealed behind your teeth no matter how much the urge burns whenever his ruined face glances your way. It feels dangerous, something not quite allowed. Feeling like the kind of thing reserved for behind closed doors. 

Silence is still common, but in a day’s worth of travel you find conversation to be less of a rare commodity. It feels...comfortable. Far too late you realize that you might want this to last longer, for your time with Cooper to last longer. But a dark mass on the horizon stands out against the smear of violent pinks and oranges of the sky, taking shape the closer you get. A town.

Relief and dread mix in your gut, making it flip and churn with unpleasant sensation. Reaching town will provide food, water, maybe even a roof over your head for the night. But it also means the end of the road.

The final approach to the settlement is still a few hours walk through the broken wreckage across flatlands. Cresting a low ridge, you spy the town perimeter. A haphazard fence of welded metal and stacks of scrap cars, watch towers standing at each corner and the main gate.

If the ghoul notices how your pace slows in the final stretch, he makes no mention of it, only gives a quick side glance. 

“You made good time,” the ghoul eventually gives, scanning the horizon as if searching for something else to say. “Didn’t think you’d last the trip.”

There should be a sting from his words, but there is none. You take them as intended. Off handed praise.

“Thanks,” you allow yourself a small smile, meeting his eyes. After a few seconds he looks away, as if the sun was in his eyes.

Together, you close the distance to town, feeling the tension gathering, the world closing and ready to crumble down on your small circle of peace. A pair of guards stand at the gate, surly but professional, waving you through with only a second glance. Once you have cleared the gates and are off the main path, the ghoul stops walking.

“Looks like this is where you pay up and we part ways,” his tone is easy, but the words still feel like a punch to the gut. 

Not trusting yourself to speak, you give a small nod, digging through pockets and producing four yellow vials. Cradled in your palm, you hold them up in offering. “As promised,” you find your voice, but it is soft enough to be barely above a whisper. “Thank you for getting me this far.”

Moving gently, he handles the vials with such care you half expect them to shatter anyway, long fingers sliding them off your palm with surprising delicacy. A thumb brushes the sensitive skin of your inner wrist, a gesture so careful it seems accidental. You almost expect him to say something soft, almost. Instead the ghoul grunts, tucking the vials inside his coat and turns away muttering, “Don’t get yourself killed.”

You want to say something, anything that would make him stay, but there is nothing else that you can offer. Coat tails catch dust as the ghoul walks away, slipping through the crowd and disappearing with such ease it is hard to believe he was ever there in the first place. For longer than you would like to admit, you stand at the gates, ignoring the stares of locals. Eventually, you push yourself to move, because it is all you can do.

Finding the general store is easy enough. Pushing open the heavy door greets you with the clatter of a bell, the smell of musty fabric and gun oil hitting you with full strength. Inside the walls are lined with dented shelves, but blessedly stocked with enough clean water and packaged food to supply a small army. Behind the counter sits a man, peering down at a battered ledger with one good eye, his only eye. 

“Can I help ya?” He smiles at you, and although it is more hole than teeth, it feels warm and welcoming.

“Just looking for food, water, maybe some medical supplies,” you say, already moving towards a shelf stacked top to bottom with boxes of pre-war food. The shop owner grunts, gesturing with his hand at the shelves.

After a few minutes, you return to the counter, setting down enough supplies to last you two weeks at least, a month maybe if you ration. It forms a moderate pile. You watch with vague interest as the man begins to add up your total, but something resting within a case behind him catches your eye.

Fading light flickers off glass, casting speckles of yellow across the ceiling and walls. “How much for those?” You point toward the three vials, the shop owner turning to follow your line of sight.

The man smiles, waddling with a bum leg to the case to retrieve the vials and sets them amongst your stack of supplies. “Tell ya what,” he watches your face for a moment before nodding, as if contemplating something and coming to his own decision within a fraction of a second. “For the whole lot, call it three hundred even.”

You have seen the same amount of vials alone sell for triple the price. Either this man is a fool, or is incredibly kind. Seeing the prices marked on some of the other items behind the counter, you have a feeling it is the latter.

“Deal.” Counting out the caps, you slide them across the counter, and pack away your purchases into your bag. The vials you keep tucked in the pocket of your coat.

By the time you finish and step back out onto the street, the sun is already sliding down behind the hills, orange having faded into a deep purple. For a few minutes you wander town, absentmindedly wondering where the ghoul had gone off to before you can catch yourself. Best not to dwell and let the feelings grow. At the far end of town is a motel, neon signs flashing in waves of red and blue.

The main lobby is empty besides a frail woman, looking thin enough a strong breeze could blow her over. But the shotgun resting on the countertop near her hand likely keeps trouble away well enough.

“I need a room,” you muster up a smile, resting your hands on the counter.

“Sorry, kid,” she begins, sighing and looking past you as if you were the least interesting thing in the world. “Just had a ghoul come through, booked the last one.”

Air leaves your nose in a hot rush, heaving your own sigh as you push off the counter and storm back out the way you came. Outside, the temperature has already begun to drop, a chill running down your spine underneath the dying light. For a moment you consider finding a place undercover to curl up for the night, but you lack the willpower to move. So you stand there, watching the faint fog of your breath.

“Fancy meetin’ you here,” a familiar voice calls from your right, pulling your attention. The ghoul leans against the wall, one boot propped up behind him, arms crossed over his chest, a smirk gracing his face. Hazel eyes catch in the neon light as they sweep over your dejected posture. “Let me guess, no vacancy? Seems I must’ve got the last room.”

“It would appear so,” taking three steps toward him, worrying your bottom lip with your teeth, you struggle to meet his gaze. When you finally look up, your fingers twitch and twist at your waist. “Was thinking...maybe we could work out another deal.” 

Skin pulls tight over Cooper’s cheek bones, the corner of his mouth quirks upward and brow ridge lifting in clear question. Pulse quickening, a flush crawls up your neck that has nothing to do with the night air.

“Just picked these up from the general store,” you reach into your coat pocket, producing three vials, palm tilting to let them catch in the neon light. The yellow liquid glows bright against surrounding darkness. “Share your room and they are all yours.”

Lips curl at the corners, grin slowly spreading across his face as teeth begin to dully gleam in the darkness. Narrowing eyes flick from the vials in your palm to your face, and back again. Pushing off the wall, boards creaking beneath his weight, he closes the distance between you in two strides. A palm turns upward between you.

One of your hands slips beneath his, steadying it while you place the vials gently into his awaiting palm. Fingertips brush as you curl his fingers closed around the glass. Even through the leather of his gloves, you feel his warmth despite the night chill. Your thumb moves up, brushing a sliver of exposed skin at his wrist. His eyes find yours, pupils wide.

Abruptly, you release him and look away, appreciating the red glow of the motel signs hiding the color of your cheeks.

“Well, come on then,” he mutters, already turning toward the motel entrance, pausing at the doorway until he hears your hurried footsteps as you follow.

The door swings open to reveal a room with peeling wallpaper and a single bed, so worn down that a few springs poke out one side through the threadbare sheets. A couch sits against one wall, sagging in the middle in a human shaped depression, and held together by mismatched patches of fabric covering decades worth of tears. Behind the closed door on one wall, you assume you will find a bathroom. Your eyes focus on the mattress, small, but wide enough for two.

Tossing the room key onto the nightstand, Cooper begins to shrug off his bandolier and holsters, coat following suit. They hit the floor with a soft thud. “Couch is yours.”

Your shoulders drop an inch, swallowing hard, fingers tightening around the strap of your pack before setting it down beside the couch with deliberate care. Something in your chest aches as you watch him claim the bed with casual indifference, one hand pressing into the mattress to test its give.

Ducking into the bathroom, you mutter something about taking a shower, but Cooper is already halfway horizontal, boots thudding one after the other against the floor as you close the door. Pipes groan and spit a thick rust colored substance before water finally cascades down. Twisting beneath the spray, you let the water work the knot between your shoulders. Fingers press into your lower abdomen, massaging slow circles as another cramp ripples through you. When the tightness loosens, you reluctantly turn the squeaky knob, the pipes groaning protest.

Wrapping a fraying towel around yourself, you crack open the bathroom door, stepping out when all you hear is the slow rhythm of the ghoul’s breathing. Lying near diagonal across the bed, Cooper rests with one arm flung wide, the other curled against his chest. On the nightstand rests his revolver, safely within reach, and moonlight catches a sharp metallic edge peeking from beneath his pillow.

Pulling clothes on over damp skin, fresh cloth between your thighs, you ease onto the couch. A spring digs unpleasantly into your thigh. You shift positions three times before finding one that isn't entirely uncomfortable. Outside, boots scrape against gravel, a bottle shatters, someone laughs. More distant, a pack of dogs howl. Eyes drift, tracing over Cooper’s shadow on the bed, over the curve of his shoulders and hollow of his throat. Limbs grow heavy, darkness slowly swallowing you whole, dragging you into a sleep sweeter than you have known in months.

Heat greets you in sleep, dreams finding you back in the wasteland, only this time the sky is crimson and the ground sizzles with every step. The ghoul, Cooper, is with you, gripping your hand tight. You tell him to let go, but he only pulls, dragging you closer until heavy breath wafts over your neck. Kisses sear down your throat, burning all the way down your spine and leaving the prickling sting of need.

A hand spreads across your sternum, the weight gentle at first, but growing, pressing until you both lower to the ground. It isn’t enough pressure to hurt, but you can’t move, not even to touch him in return. Mouth moving lower, Cooper does more than kiss, something that burns with fiery intent. Nuzzling your throat first, he then bites your neck. Not enough to break skin, just enough to hurt, echoing the shadow of a threat that lets heat bloom under your skin.

The ghoul laughs when you gasp, the sound breathy and bordering a moan. “What’s the matter? Scared?” Ending in a growl, he runs a palm down your belly. “Or is it somethin’ else?” Words wouldn’t leave your lips even if you could find them. 

Dipping lower, a thumb hooks into your waistband, dragging it down, leaving you feeling exposed yet helpless to stop it. Not that you want it to stop. You want it, even as you burn with the knowledge that blood awaits below. Cooper finds it, of course, wants it even. Making a show by dragging a thumb through your folds, bringing the wetness to his lips to lick clean with a flourish, eyes never straying from your face.

With a gasp, you wake, heart pounding, chest tight, and wetness between your clenched thighs that has nothing to do with menstrual blood. Already your hand is trapped between your legs, pressed over your clit. You must have been grinding against your palm in your sleep, friction already feeling all too much while not enough as you try to shift. Need throbs along with the beat of your heart.

Unable to shake the dream from your mind, you resume palming yourself, chasing your pleasure in desperation. Tension is there, ready to draw tight and snap at any moment. It is almost embarrassing how badly you want to cum. Ashamed by the reality of being so close to the edge from just a dream. 

Springs creak, a soft whisper of sound coming from the bed, but you ignore it. Until a voice soon follows. “You gonna keep that up all night, or you gonna finish and let a guy sleep?”

Hand half buried between your thighs, you freeze, caught between humiliation and pure need, wishing the floor could just open up and swallow you. Breath trapped in your throat, your eyes flick to the side, just making out the shape of him through the dark.

“Don’t stop on my account,” there is the soft rustling of sheets as Cooper shifts, turning to watch you, head propped on his hand. “If you’re going to make that much noise, might as well finish. Some people are tryin’ to sleep.”

“Sorry...” When you find your voice, it is little more than a wheeze. 

A beat of silence. Cooper sits up on the bed, elbows resting on his knees as he leans even further towards you, face hidden in shadow. But you see the flash of teeth as he grins.

“Need some help with that, darlin’?” Though the tease is clear in his tone, Cooper almost sounds out of breath.

Swallowing hard, you glance back up at the ceiling, mind racing with so many thoughts, so many questions. Was this still part of your dream? But your mouth works faster, the only sound coming out is a soft, “Yes.”

“That’s what I thought.”

You don’t remember standing. Shivering from the cold, nerves and adrenaline combined, your legs feel like jelly, wobbling unsteadily on your feet. You feel as graceless as a child. But you reach the bed, standing at the edge of the mattress between Cooper’s spread legs, unsure if you should lie down, sit, or run away.

Something in your eyes must betray your nerves, a clear outcry for guidance, for in a surprisingly tender moment, the ghoul reaches out to grab your hands, thumb stroking your knuckles. A gentle tug has you moving forward, knees hitting the mattress. It is enough to spur you back into motion. On hands and knees, you crawl the rest of the way up the bed, rough sheets rasping at your shins.

Cooper scoots closer, swinging his legs up to kneel at the foot of the bed. Resting on your back, knees pulled halfway to your chest, you watch as he pulls off his leather gloves with his teeth, tossing them without care to the side. Rough, warm palms wrap around your ankles, sliding up the length of your calves, up your thighs, before hooking into the band of your underwear. 

“Wait,” shame has you reaching out, closing around both his wrists to keep him still when you feel the slightest tug at the fabric. Maybe in your dreams he was all too eager to find the mess that awaits him. But reality? Not so likely. “I’m still bleed-”

“Shut up,” the tone of his voice lacks heat, simply unbothered, undramatic, as if telling the dark to stay dark.

Putting you enough at ease to release your hold, letting out the breath you hadn't known you were holding as Cooper gives your hips a firm yet gentle squeeze. Steady hands drag your waistband down, exposing you to his eyes inch by inch. When free of  your ankles, he drops the garment over the side of the bed.

Hands are once more upon your burning flesh, teasing up your calves before hooking under the crook of your knees. Spreading your legs wide, the ghoul grins, staring at his newly revealed treasure until you feel the itch to squirm under the weight of his gaze. You want to, but those hands finally move to secure your hips, anchoring them in place. Fingers dig into soft flesh, holding you open as if he owns you.

Warm breath fans across your folds, sending a jolt up your spine that has you bucking against hands keeping you down. A sudden irrational fear flickers through your mind that he is going to eat you alive, but you are too far gone with need to not risk it. Tensing, you expect him to be rough, hot and heavy from the start, but Cooper surprises you. Gently, the tip of his tongue traces up and down the outline of your labia, ending with a long upstroke that ends with a teasing pass at your clit. 

Gasping as his tongue flattens, wide and steady pressure working you from bottom to top, you clutch at the sheets. Humming against you, the ghoul circles your clit before enveloping it in his mouth for a brief, teasing suck. If he was not already holding you down, he would be now, hips fighting to arch and buck against the heat of his mouth.

Shame hasn’t fully left, and you think to ask reassurance that he really does not mind the strong scent of iron, the heavy taste of copper on his tongue. Every time your mouth opens to ask, he tongues you harder, delving into your depths or paying extra attention to your clit, as if he could taste your words before they can escape your lips and chooses to replace them with other, sweeter sounds.

Beneath you, the mattress shakes. Trailing your eyes down, you watch as Cooper grinds his hips against the bed, desperate for friction, getting off at the taste of you on his tongue. That knowledge pushes you even closer to the edge.

Something in you feels brave, willing to take a chance, test a theory. “Cooper,” voice little more than a breathy moan, you test his name on your tongue. 

Whatever you are expecting, it is not the way he grins against your heat. Eyes snap to yours, maintaining eye contact as he curls his tongue in a way that has your toes curling. It is all too sweet, stars painting your vision.

The cry that leaves your lips as Cooper pulls away should feel humiliating, sounding so pathetic and desperate for him to come back. Unintelligible pleas and whimpers leave you, hands reaching for the ghoul’s, but instead closing around empty air. 

“Greedy one ain’t you?” Streaks of red paint Cooper’s lips as he leans back, hands working his belt and pants open to free himself. “Shouldn’t be havin’ all the fun just by yourself.”

Another moan escapes past your lip at the sight of Cooper’s hard, heavy length the moment he is free from the tight constraint of his pants. The tip is flushed a deep pink, already leaking in a steady stream. Wrapping one hand around himself, the ghoul gives himself a few slow pumps, the other hand sliding up your inner thigh to caress where hip and leg meet. 

No other warning is given before two fingers slide knuckle deep into your already dripping entrance. You groan at the sudden stretch, the fullness. Working you open, Cooper crooks his fingers just right to make your vision blur, knees quake. 

Pleasure burns through you like a roaring fire, bringing you to the ridge of ecstasy, feet digging at the mattress for purchase, to brace yourself for the fall. Those fingers know how to play you right, as if strumming beautiful music on a guitar. When you feel a third finger slide in, you scream, raw and ravaged. 

As sudden and helpless as being shoved off a cliff, your orgasm hits like a tidal wave that drowns away everything but the feeling of your walls clamping around the ghoul’s fingers. You convulse, back arching and hips bucking wild to drive those fingers just a little deeper. Cooper works you through the peak, thumb adding pressure to your clit that has you sobbing. Even as you come down, not stopping until you are squirming away from the overstimulation.

“Let me,” you are barely able to work words past your lips, throat raw and hoarse from the steady stream of moans and  final climactic scream. Hoping the message is clear enough through action alone, you reach for the hand stroking himself now in a faster rhythm, seeking to find his own end.

If you were not so keenly aware of everything that is Cooper, you would miss the way he briefly falters, caught off guard by the brush of your fingertips on his shaft. But he recovers quickly, grinning wide as he pulls his hand away. 

“By all means,” you think he has more to say, but whatever it is gets lost when you close a fist around him. All that comes is a hiss through clenched teeth.

Bracing against the mattress, the ghoul snaps his hips up to meet your fist in sharp thrusts, your timing right to meet him at the base every stroke. It doesn’t take long for his rhythm to fumble. When your fingers tighten their hold it drags a groan from him, the extra friction driving him wild.

Then you are watching as Cooper raises one hand, gazing at the three blood stained fingers with a look lost somewhere between hunger and lust. When his tongue peeks out to flick, just to get a taste, you stare with jaw slack, barely remembering to keep up the motion of your hand. Plunging all three into his mouth, the ghoul sucks your flavor off his fingers with a sinful moan. It seems to be the final thread that snaps, for not a second later you feel the first spurt as he paints your mound and belly. Marking you. 

You keep up the motion of your hand until you feel him begin to soften and pull away. While you sag boneless into the mattress, Cooper tucks himself away behind his zipper before collapsing beside you. Subtle heat ripples through you as his eyes examine his work, a finger dipping into a puddle just above your pubic bone. With the same finger, he runs one last teasing stroke up your length, circling your clit to reward himself a final shriek.

Both of you lie there for a moment, out of breath and quaking with the aftershocks because it is all you can do. It is almost tender. As your head lolls toward him, the ghoul hooks a finger under your chin to tilt it up, eyes only cast on your lips. When rough, warm lips press against yours it feels as if your heart skips a beat.

All too quick the moment is over. Just as you begin to kiss back, pressing a hand to his chest and running it up to his neck, Cooper leans away. Something churns behind those blown wide pupils, a conflict of emotion you can’t read. But then you feel a nudge, followed by another, and suddenly you are falling. Landing on the floor with a soft thud, you blink, mind taking too long to make sense of things, turning back to the ghoul with wide, questioning eyes.

“Back to the couch.”

“But..” You want to argue, to question, but Cooper is already turning away, rolling to lie on his back in the center of the bed. Leaving you in a whirlwind of emotions that you try to piece together. Shame? Used? Rejected? None of them really seem to align with your feelings, as though connection was made before stalling at the next hurdle.

Huffing, your hands fumble around the floor to gather your underwear, pulling them up over your legs. A handkerchief rests on the nearest nightstand. Snatching it, you use it to wipe the drizzle of cum off yourself and then let it drop to the floor. Your legs are unsteady as you stand, forcing you to take it slow on your adventure back to the couch. When you finally hit the cushions, it is as if exhaustion punches you in the face, quickly coming to claim you. As you let it drag you away into heavy, dreamless sleep, you smile. With over a dozen yellow vials stashed away in your pack, you may just be able to convince Cooper to let you tag along a little longer.

[sexy-monster-fucker]

If I’m Gonna Be Drunk…

gif credit: @langernameohnebedeutung

Pre-War Cooper Howard x Assistant!Reader

Summary: Reader goes along with Cooper and Barbara to the Lucky 38.

CW: SPOILERS FOR FALLOUT SEASON 2, f!reader, implied age gap, drinking, drunk!cooper, drunk!reader, infidelity, power dynamic, drunk hookup, makeout, breast play, p in v, creampie

a/n: aaaaaand Walton has slithered his way back into my skin and heart, I adore him more and more every day

title track 🎶🍸

~~~

Fingertips danced along the rim of your glowing green martini glass.

Most of the time when girls your age were sitting at a bar in New Vegas, it was with a piece of eye candy attached to her hip. Having to wave off every man who offered her a drink or to come back to his hotel with him. Drowning in compliments and free liquor.

But not you. No, you were stuck sitting next to who had to be the most annoying Vault-Tec employee: Hank McLean. Watching him pussyfoot around finishing the drink he had ordered over half an hour ago. Losing your boss somewhere in the crowd a long time ago. Standard for the Cooper Howard. America’s favorite cowboy.

It was all so last minute. Cooper deciding to come to New Vegas. Tagging along with his wife, Barbara, for a very important meeting. On the pretense of spending more time with her, but you knew better than that. Cooper loved his wife, but hated the starlight being the poster boy for Vault-Tec had shined down on him. So he would never willingly tag along to an event where his face would be plastered advertising their newest Vaults. There had to be something he needed here.

Not that you ever questioned him. If he called and told you to pack a bag, you would do so. Always ready at the drop of a hat to do whatever he wanted. Sometimes to a fault. Part of it being your dedication to work, but most of it was the deep crush you harbored for the superstar. Growing up, you watched all his movies with your dad. Falling head over heels for the man on the screen. And somehow, all the stars had aligned to allow you this job. To be at his beck and call. Getting to see sides of him hidden to the public. Understanding Cooper Howard more than any tabloid or reporter ever could.

It was a little disappointing. Getting this dressed up with no date. Just some socializing you loathed and pompous assholes all talking to you like you never completed the third grade. It felt as similar to any premier party you attended. Differing in the time you got to mentally prepare for this one.

Luckily, the people here were showing nearly no interest in you. So sneaking away to sit at the bar alone was easy. Well, you were alone. That was until Hank got eyes on you and joined you as if the two of you were best friends. Given, he was one of the only other people you knew here. Having met him many times when Cooper would go visit Barbara at work. You could understand why he gravitated towards you. Taking the stool directly beside you and ordering himself the same drink as you. Trying his damndest to make small talk, but all you could focus on was the stupid case latched to him.

“What the hell even is that thing, Hank?” you tugged at the chain link connecting to his wrist.

Which he tugged back from with haste. Scoffing and protecting his wrist awkwardly with the other hand. Blinking as he looked around the room before leaning in to whisper to you, “You heard what I told Mrs. Howard at the airport. There’s an assassination attempt planned on someone very important. And I have to keep this safe just in case.”

You nodded, annoyed by Hank’s presence all together. Yes, he was cute, but no where near what you were needing from someone. Too young, too boyish. You longed for someone matured and gruff. Someone who could take the lead and know what he was doing. Not some babbling baboon who thought he was smarter than he was. Maybe a few more drinks and the promise of sleeping with him would sound more appealing.

“That didn’t answer my question,” you rolled your eyes, resting your cheek into your palm. Bumping your elbow against the sparkly resin countertop, reaching to finish off your Nukatini.

Hank patted his hands on the metal case. Stumbling with words that were not even coming out. Straining as he finally admitted, “I can’t tell you.”

Eyebrows bounced up your forehead. Clicking your teeth together and inhaling, “Of course.”

This situation was exhausting. Stuck with the kiss ass of Vault-Tec. Their perfect little runner boy, always happy to do as he’s told. Going above and beyond to please. Too dense to understand when someone clearly did not care for what he had to say.

But deep down you knew he was the same as you. Hired to be bossed around by someone. To do anything and everything to please your superior. Both of you were nobodies in the grand scheme of it all.

Hank cleared his throat. Thinking for a moment before turning his legs in towards yours, “You look very beautiful tonight, Y/N.”

“Thanks,” you sighed, waving down the bartender. Ordering two shots and turning to Hank. Pushing the glass to him, “Do a shot with me, Hank.”

“Y-You know I can’t—“

You fluttered your lashes. Tilting your head a little and softly pouting your lip. Making sure to push your arms a little tighter against your chest to make your cleavage more noticeable. Watching Hank’s eyes bounce down to look at your chest as he stammered the millionth reason why he was not supposed to get drunk tonight.

Hank exhaled hard, “Okay!”

You smiled as you took your own shot glass in hand. Clinking it to Hank’s before counting down. Both of you throwing back the bitter liquor on three. Sucking your teeth as it burned down your throat. Laughing when Hank’s entire face puckered and his eye twitched. Not used to such a strong taste.

Despite the smile on Hank’s face or the way he made you laugh, your eyes still could not help but wander. Scanning the crowd behind you. Swiftly jumping face to face, suit after suit, designer brand after designer brand, faces filled with more cosmetics than you had ever seen. All still missing some important detail. More specifically, someone.

Hank’s voice completed faded away. Telling some story about the coffee order he had to fetch last week and how some of the most important execs were there. There was a change in atmosphere. Someone had thrown off the status quo.

Hooting and hollering from the other side of the room caught your attention. Shuttering of camera flashes and grown men cheering. Excusing yourself from Hank. Attracted to the sound like a lasso had been tossed around your waist. Moving without thinking over to the crowds of men surrounding a mechanical rocket. Similar to one of those bulls you had seen at a bar in Dallas when Cooper went there for a premier of one of his newest westerns.

That’s when you finally realized who sat atop it. Limbs dangling loosely as his hips gripped the leather bound seat. Head thrown back bouncing with every buck of the machine. Utterly lost in the applause and spotlight these men were giving him.

Something blossomed inside you. Maybe it was the alcohol. Maybe it was the look of his body covered in sweat. It did not matter. You had found what you were looking for.

Cooper’s body was tossed from the ride. Earning disgruntled groans from the audience. Some men clapping. Landing on his back in the rough cushioned ground surrounding it. Struggling to fully open his yes. Allowing his body to lay completely spread eagle. Suddenly, you were utterly aware of all the cameras. Knowing this could be a huge hit to his career if these images circled around the media in the following days. Needing to get him up and walking. Looking normal and sophisticated.

Your heels clicked on the hard floor as you rounded the ring. Leaning over the side to look him in the eyes. Waving your hand above him to try and get his attention.

“Cooper,” you whisper screamed.

Blinking his eyes slowly, your figure was blurred above him. Shadowed by the harsh light above. Burning his sensitive corneas. Groaning with the soft pain that thumped against his muscles. Vision of you slowly making its form. A signature smile curving across his face when he realized who you were.

“Hi, doll,” Cooper breathed out. Husky voice, clear he had been drinking.

You extended your hand down to him. Hoisting him up and over the edge. His body rested against it as he looked at you. Pupils blown wide and curiously exploring your body. Making your guts knot together in a way you were never sure you experienced before.

“Fun night, eh?” you cracked the joke with a grin.

A low chuckle rumbled in his chest. Patting down his blazer and finally stepping onto the stable ground with you. Clearing his throat and looking around the room. Temples pounding with all the memories of tonight. Angry. Frustrated. Disappointed. There was only so much one man could take. Trying his hardest to hold it together, but his inhibitions had long since jumped ship.

Cooper’s hand met the small of your back, leading you away from the crowd into some empty corridor. Reaching inside his jacket pocket and pulling out his silver flask. An eyebrow bouncing up his forehead, “Could be more fun.”

Heat rose along every inch of your skin. His hooded hazel eyes peered into you in a way they never had. Unable to stop checking out every inch of your over and over. Especially the same bit of cleavage that had convinced Hank to drink with you earlier. Silently offering his flask to you now.

You smiled, accepting it. Twisting the cap off and taking a large swig of the clear liquor. Allowing some of it to drip onto your tongue before leaning your head back forward. Meeting his eyes with your own sultry ones. Licking the bit of alcohol off your lip slowly. Handing his flask back to him still open.

His own tongue poked into his cheek. Smirking as he took it back from you. Fingers caressing yours. Throwing his head all the way back and downing the rest in the metal container. Tongue stuck out. Some dripping down his chin. Looking unabashedly sexy.

You chewed your lip as he hid his flask back in his jacket. Wiping his mouth on the backside of his sleeve. Checking his watch for the time. Taking a deep breath, then smiling at you again. Closing the distance between you, he towered above. Cupping your cheek in his large hand, “You came to my rescue in the nick of time, Y/N.”

Giggling, “It’s my job.”

Cooper laughed. Looking at you in a light he typically shut off. But how your cheeks beamed with a smile and your nose scrunched up, he could not stop himself. Still drunk, but as clever as ever. Scheming the best way to get what he wanted. Because he would have you tonight.

Cooper’s lanky arm draped over your shoulder. Bodies pressed closer together than anytime before. Beginning to lead you further down the hall. His lips suddenly pressed into your ear, “You’re trouble.”

Which only made your face run hot. Not sure what he was implying, but liking how the words sounded on his tongue. Even if it was just some flirting, you liked this game you were playing.

“Sure would’ve thought some man would’ve swept you away by now,” Cooper drawled, “Looking near irresistible.”

Stunning you. A genuine compliment. Still buzzing making you laugh like an idiot. Alcohol blurring the lines of him being professional and lewd. Leaning further into his body, flattening a hand against his chest. Smiling widely up at him, “Means a lot coming from someone as handsome as you, Coop.”

His eyebrow bounced up his forehead. Smug look painting his face. Cocking his head to the side as he asked, “You think I’m handsome?”

Messing with you. Trying everything to get you to stumble or slip. He liked seeing you stutter and blush. Mouth opening and closing like a fish begging for water. Eyes darting side to side, avoiding his at all cost.

“Doesn’t everyone?” you said, a little confused. He was a star. Headliner of countless films that were loved by most the country. A face of the most powerful corporation in the world. There was no doubting his charisma and looks.

Cooper’s teeth glazed across his teeth as he huffed a breath. Leaning so he could whisper, “I don’t care what everyone else thinks.”

You widened your eyes at him. Daring him to say the next part. Time slowing as you both examined each other’s faces. There would be no coming back from this. Everything would change.

“I just care what you think,” Cooper grinned.

A silence washed over you. Background of people chattering slowly fading into a ring of your ears. Looking at him, questioning if you were seriously so drunk that you were imagining all this. Never would you have guessed he would be interested in you. Or did you think you both would be all over each other after a few drinks.

His eyes challenged you. Telling you that if you wanted this, it would be yours. Wordlessly admitting to the fact he had thought about it before. On trips where the two of you had been away while he was shooting his newest movie. Where the door between your hotel rooms stayed unlocked. When he would catch you staring as he was getting dressed in his trailer, or how your touch would sometimes linger a little too long. Maybe this was deeper than either of you realized.

The elevator behind you dinged. Cooper and yourself pulling away from each other on instinct. Hiding into the shadows of a half wall. Some well-dressed couple came out. Fancy shoes clicking against linoleum. Chattering about the finest place to have dinner.

Your heart was racing. A hand clasped over your chest tried to calm you down. Closing your eyes and steadying your breathing. The thrill had your knees buckling. Looking over to Cooper and smirking. It told him all he needed to know. He grabbed your hand. Tugging you along to the elevator. Clicking a random number, one you assumed to be his floor. Standing side by side as if this was normal. Like nothing had been happening for the last few minutes. You were just his assistant. Escorting him back to his hotel room after a few too many drinks. Nothing more.

But that was not true. Cooper pushed all his weight into you against the elevator wall. Lips sloppily entangling together. Drunk and tasting strongly of his signature brand whiskey. Taking you entirely by surprise. Melting into his kiss as the floors dinged by. Tilting and turning to deepen the connection. Tongues lapping into each other’s mouths.

“Your room,” Cooper stated.

“Cooper…” you trailed.

“Come on. Floor eight right?” Cooper extended his arm to press the number. Returning to kissing you, allowing his lips to trail down your neck. One hand coming to grope at your chest. Your eyes practically rolled into the back of your head. The tender press of lips on your pulse mixed with the way his hands praised you. It was euphoric.

“Y-Yes,” you admitted, giving in to your urges. Draping your arms over his shoulders, one hand tangling in his hair. Savoring the excitement of this endeavor.

As the elevator came to a slow stop, you both stood up straight. Acting as professional as ever. Making sure that no wondering eyes would ever suspect a thing. Your hands folded neatly in front of your stomach. Cooper’s hands in his pockets, pulling his pants away from his groin to hide how his cock pressed against it.

The doors opened and you were greeted by an empty hallway. Taking a beat before you both walked out. You led the way, Cooper following behind you. Of course, taking the time to appreciate the view. Maybe walking a little too close, but you did not mind.

Pulling the card out of your clutch, the door unlocked. Pushing it open and walking inside first. Your secret guest looking both ways before swiftly sliding into your room.

Cooper clicked and turned all the locks on the backside of your door. Stepping to capture your lips back in his. Hands roaming along every inch of your body he could touch. Bunching up your designer dress in his large palms. His teeth caught your lip causing you to groan. Making him smile from the sound alone.

You began to push his expensive coat off his shoulders. Letting it pool in the floor around his feet as he began to undo each button. Revealing a far more muscular torso than you expected. Running your hands down the hills and valleys of his skin, resting on his large belt buckle. Playfully tugging him backward by it. He smiled as he kept his forehead pressed to yours, stealing the occasional kiss as you stepped in tandem. Stopping at the side of the still made queen sized bed.

His hands cupped your face, tucking hair behind your ears. Thumbs outlining your cheeks as he breathed heavily. One hand wrapped around your back, pulling the zipper of your dress down. Letting it fall off your shoulders revealing your bare chest. Nipples pebbling from the cold air.

“Fucking gorgeous,” Cooper whispered as he framed one of your breasts with his hand. Dipping his head down to take your nipple between his lips. Swirling his tongue around it, perfectly stimulating you. Reaching your own arms around your back to unzip the dress the rest of the way. Finally able to step out of it, leaving you in only your lacy panties.

His hands found your hips. Walking you in a half circle so that he was closer to the bed. Taking one of your hands in his and guiding it down to his belt buckle. Beginning to undo it, sliding it from his belt loops. Undoing the button at the top and taking the zipper down slowly. Cooper sighed at your touch, kissing you as a punctuation for your movements. Guiding your same hand down the front of his slacks. Fingertips grazing against his half-hard shaft. Still covered in a layer of cotton.

“This is okay?” Cooper asked, pupils blown so wide his eyes appeared black. He cradled your face, needing confirmation before furthering this.

You ran your fingers along his length, “Better than okay.”

“Atta girl,” he chuckled, pushing his pants down his legs. Leaving his lower half completely nude, dress shirt still hanging off his body. Slowly taking a seat upon your mattress. Thighs large and spread. Cock perched up proudly. It made you bite your lip at the sight. Only ever seeing him like this in your fantasies.

This was all so wrong. He had a wife, one who was in the same building as you right now. A loving wife, and a daughter at home. A career that kept both of you employed. His reputation as the perfect nuclear family man. All going down the drain in this moment.

But if the world was ending soon like all the reports said. Who cares?

Cooper patted his lap, “Come on, sweetheart.”

Sliding your panties off your hips, you crawled onto the bed with him. You straddled his hips, bare core hovering above his. Weight sinking into the mattress together. His hands ghosted along your sides. One of them coming down to your core, gliding through your soaked folds. Finding your clit and circling it for a moment until you rutted forward and grabbed both his shoulders. Cooper smiled widely, loving how sensitive you were.

You felt embarrassment lying in your stomach. Awkwardly laughing as you admitted, “It’s been a while.”

“Guess the boys have been missing out,” Cooper cooed. Complimenting you as easy as breathing. You kissed him. Mouths exploring each other with each groan and sigh. His finger not leaving your core, changing the pressure he applied on your nub. Easing you along in preparation for him. Fighting his desire to force you down onto him. Needing to feel how your walls would encapsulate him.

Bravery decided to show itself; reaching down and framing his cock at the base. Looking down at his leaking tip, then back to his eyes. Wrapping your hand around his length and stroking the velvety skin. His head fell back in bliss. Enjoying the twist of your wrist and how your thumb rubbed over his tip. His Adam’s apple bobbed in his throat as he let out a breathy moan.

“I wanna be inside you, darlin,” his accent thickened.

You swallowed. Lifting your hips once more, lining him up with your entrance. Sinking down agonizingly slow. Taking your time to adjust to his girth, bouncing on the tip a couple times. Once you were snuggly against his hips you gripped his shoulders once more. Squeaking out a moan, enjoying the intimacy of being connected.

Cooper smiled at you, hands flattening along your spine. Looking up at you in awe. He was infatuated by every inch of you. Kissing your chest, up your neck, and finally on your lips. You began to roll your hips. Beginning slow and quickly finding a pace that had you both trying to catch your breath. Cooper sucked on your chest as you took him in and out. Skin smacking lewdly together. Filling the room with the most obscene noises. Walls stretched around him, feeling better than anything you had ever experienced. Clit rubbing against the curly hairs around his base. Stimulating you and helping along to your end.

“F-Fuck, Cooper,” you whined.

“Y’fit like a glove. Ain’t ever felt something so good,” Cooper praised through gritted teeth. Snapping his hips upward to match your movements. You threw your head back as you rode him. Losing yourself to pleasure as your guts tightened in their knots. Living a dream you never believed.

Cooper’s finger found your core once more. Circling your clit vigorously. Panting as he watched your face twist and contort. Loving how your mouth shaped his name. Skin glowing with sweat. Tits bouncing in his face. It was like heaven.

His fingers tangled against the back of your head. Guiding your forehead to his. Breathing the same hot air over and over. Holding blurry eye contact as your bodies met one another. Cooper’s tongue wetted his lip, “I want you to cum at the same time as me.”

“I don’t know if I—“

“You can,” Cooper reassured, quickening his finger, “I know you can.”

You nodded. Squinting your eyes closed and focusing on the heat blossoming in your belly. Listening to all the small noises Cooper made. Mumbling your name and telling you how good you were. It was the best thing you had ever experienced.

Your nails dug into his bare skin. Leaving small crescents, most likely the only remnant of this entanglement. Even if the way your name sounded on his lips would linger in your mind for the rest of your life. There would never be more. Only this.

Hips raised upward as waves of orgasm flowed through you. Whining and moaning louder than before. Cooper forced your hips down flush against his. Allowing your walls to milk his cock as he blew his load into you. His own hips fucking up into you over and over. Coating your insides with his hot seed. Capturing your lips in his again. Kissing you passionately like someone was going to barge in and ruin this.

Both your bodies were shaking. Still connected at your most vulnerable points. Cooper’s nose softly rubbed against yours. Stealing another kiss before laying back. Taking you with him. Both your hearts running together. Hitting the same beats. You laid in the afterglow. Neither of you fully acknowledging it, or how sober you both felt now. Not a regret. Just the looming dread of never getting to do this again.

“I’ll have to go soon,” Cooper sighed.

“I know,” you replied.

What happens in New Vegas stays in New Vegas.

~~~

[END]

// Thank you so much for reading!! I really enjoy the Ghoul/Cooper as a character, so any chance I get to write him I try. This inspiration hit me like a bus after the new episode, and I can’t wait to see what happens next. If you want to be tagged in the future, let me know. My inbox is always open for requests or to simply chat. Comments and Reblogs are appreciated!! //

{tags}

@megangovier ~ @person-005 ~ @infinitywritingarchive ~ @toogaytofunctiondangit ~ @darkness-and-books ~ @my-deer ~ @timeslugarts ~ @ghoul-rider ~ @deviantgamergirl ~ @creampuffx14 ~ @adoredawn ~ @b0xerdancer-writes ~ @millercontracting ~ @simpingforsharp ~ @moriartyyouwhore ~ @tremendouschangelingneophyte ~

[unearthlyeclipse]

⌇ INVINCIBLE

MARK GRAYSON :: INVINCIBLE P!Links. 1

NOLAN GRAYSON :: OMNI-MAN P!Links. 1

⌇ SUPERMAN (2025)

CLARK KENT :: SUPERMAN P!Links. 1

Coming Untouched, Clark Kent :: Superman — NSFW

⌇ FINAL DESTINATION

ERIK CAMPBELL P!Links. 1

⌇ THE LAST OF US

JOEL MILLER P!Links. 1

JOEL MILLER P!Links. 2

Webcam, Joel Miller — NSFW

⌇ OTHERS !!

Finger Sucking & Dacryphilia, Higgs Monaghan — NSFW

Blindfolds, Kento Nanami — NSFW

Exhibitionism, Messmer the Impaler — NSFW

Punishment, Cooper Howard :: The Ghoul — NSFW

Somnophilia, Bruce Wayne :: Batman — NSFW

Sex Work, Din Djarin :: The Mandalorian — NSFW

...

[domestically-loving-monsters]

Testosterone

༻ ⊱The Ghoul x John Hancock x F!Reader - Fallout Fandom ༻ ⊱ 3k words ༻ ⊱ Some drug use mentioned & jealous men ༻ ⊱ I genuinely had no plan for this fic other than 'jealous ghouls' and a whole lot of self-indulgent day-dreaming. I'm just a sucker for the idea of these two fighting over you that I had to write it. So, excuse the lack of world-building and character development. I might continue this, but let me know if you'd like a part 2 of some kind.

Hancock liked to pride himself on his people skills. His intuition rarely let him down when it came to picking out the good apples amongst the burly, prickly sort that wandered in and out of Goodneighbor.

John had been right about you, after all. A right diamond in the rough, you had been. And the others he kept around him, those in the Neighborhood Watch and the locals that made a home in his town - they were were all good people. Just lost or discarded, needing a safe place to sort things out.

So, when you returned to Goodneighbor with a tag-along, John tried to keep a rather unbiased opinion about him. But there was…something. The stranger was like all the others that walked through Goodneighbor's gates. Guarded, on edge - a hand on his weapon while the other hung loosely by his side, nothing more than a feigned sign of calm. But with you by his side, there was no nonchalance or carefree body language. This stranger wasn't just guarded because of a new town but because he was guarding you. It took John all of five seconds to notice how this stranger moved with you rather than trailing you like some lackey. He was step behind you, close enough that his hand brushed against your arm if you shifted an inch towards him but his attention was everywhere else. A scowl would soften around the edges when he turned to you or his posture would shift to shield you from a loud noise from down the street.

It all seemed to be happening on instinct. Because you and this stranger were deep in conversation while passing through the gates. Unaware that Hancock - and he'll admit it sounded a little psychotic - had heard your voice amongst the daily racket and his attention snapped towards the gates as if Heaven had started calling him.

John saw you first. Travel dirty and fatigued, but grinning ear to ear. You had different armor on than when he last saw you. The old and worn leather gear had been replaced with something sturdier - you still wore the same old outfit underneath but were clearly better protected. The holes had been patched up, at least too. Your weapons looked new. At least new in the sense that Hancock didn't recall a rifle on your back and two pistols strapped to your hips part of your possessions when you left.

You looked like a proper Wastelander. Almost an ideal companion to the rugged, cruel looking cowboy at your side.

And it grated Hancock something fierce.

The stranger locked onto John first. And, oh boy, did something sharp fly between them. Two ghouls sizing each other up, eyes dark and stormy beneath the brims of their hats - the tension grew like a maelstrom. Churning and raging - until you found Hancock amongst the crowd and the Mayor's heart fluttered under the beaming light of your smile. A shaft of pure, warm sunlight broke through the dark clouds brewing between the two and suddenly the tension fell away to make room for you.

You left the cowboy's side and all but ran towards Hancock. His arms opened on instinct and the embrace knocked the wind out of him - both with the force of your arms squeezing around his middle and the sudden flood of relief of having you home again.

"Well, look what the wasteland spat out. I was starting to think you up and abandoned me, Sunshine." John said, burying his face into the crook of your shoulder. Enveloping himself in you, around you, just for a moment before letting you go.

"I took a detour. A very long and unintentional detour, but I'm back." You laughed in return, picking lint and stray threads off of Hancock's coat as you looked him over. He didn't realize how much he missed whatever this was between you until your fingers fixed his coat where the exchange had ruffled it. The shadow of the stranger darkened the sweet reunion and Hancock was forced to acknowledge the other ghoul when you bounced back to his side. John knew his voice had a little more ice, but he didn't care. "And you brought home a stray, I see. Welcome to Goodneighbor. I hope our little firework here didn't give you too much trouble."

This ghoul wasn't a simple mercenary, that much was certain. He didn't hold the same type of arrogance as those that believed themselves invincible because of their numbers or hired weapons. No, this was a ghoul who had a reason to walk like he owned the road paved in front of him. He was dangerous. Calculating. John could see the dark weight that pressed down on this ghoul's shoulders - similar to his own. Exhaustion wrapped in spite - a reluctant, but stubborn, willingness to keep moving forward. To escape something in the past. Or maybe search for something in the future.

A purpose. That was a rarity nowadays. A purpose outside of ensuring the next meal or bed for the night. Something bigger than simply surviving.

The cowboy tipped his hat in greeting. Speaking with voice as gruff and grating as John's, a ghoul's voice roughened by radiation. "Pleasure. She's troublesome, that's for sure." The amber gaze slid to you and the sharp dagger of suspicion softened around the edges, but then returned when the cowboy looked past you and surveyed the town. "Got a store round 'ere?"

Hancock easily pointed the stranger in the direction of one. Eager to separate you from him with how much oogling you were doing towards this guy as he sauntered off. Giving you a wink and a murmured, "Be a minute."

You turned back to John and he had a second to compose the scowl into something you wouldn't clock right away. "I could use a drink." You groaned heavily, feigning to collapse into Hancock as if passing out. "I've wandered for weeks without a drop of liquor, John. I'm so very parched." He grinned at your dramatics, rolling his eyes as he tilted you towards The Third Rail.

"Your return home has been long overdue. A celebration with booze and a warm meal is in order I think." Hancock draped his arm over your shoulders, guiding you towards the bar, The Third Rail, practically pushing his way through the gathering crowd that started to form to welcome you home. You stalled by the jukebox to greet some old friends and John left you for a second to order two very stiff drinks. Returning to your side with a very obvious nudge to the crowd to give you space and leave you all to himself. "Now, who the fuck did you bring into my town?" Hancock asked as nonchalantly as he could. Layering his voice in harmless scorn - something you would perceive as him being curious and cautious, rather than probing. "You leave for a few months and come back with some wash-down version of me? I'd be flattered if he wasn't so ugly."

You were halfway through a tentative sip of your drink when he said this and his words made you choke on the harsh liquor. You coughed and spluttered, laughing through the burn of alcohol that ran down the wrong side of your throat. "Oh fuck, that hurt - John, you're adorable. And I love everything about you but I did not go out there and pick up the first ghoul I saw because I missed you." Hancock placed a hand over his chest as if he was insulted by your words. You ignored him, looping your arm through his to tug him towards one of the couches by the back of the establishment. "We met not long after I left and then kept running into each other. We were heading in the same direction, so we decided to travel together."

Uh-huh, I remember using that excuse multiple times with you too. Hancock thought to himself. It was on the tip of his tongue to say but something in him held back the quip.

"I was lucky to have him out there. You're getting slack, John. We spotted Raiders on the way here. Left us alone for the most part but I hate to think what would have happened if I was alone on my way home." You seated yourself on the red lounge and Hancock took up the space beside you. His arm slid across the back of the seat, relaxing against the nook of the lounge's arm, all attention turned to you. He looked you over, already knowing that you weren't injured but after hearing that, he needed to be doubly sure. You caught his wandering gaze right away. "I'm fine! Just some old cuts."

You must have thought he spotted something you were hiding. He didn't show any surprise but now Hancock was more attentive of how you were sitting. You weren't leaning against the back of the chair and you were carrying the glass in your non-dominant hand. The more John looked, the more he realized the grime and dirt wasn't just markings from your travels - but old bruises peppering your face and neck. You were injured. He wasn't sure the extent of it, but regardless - you were hurt.

The hand behind your head curled into a fist. But Hancock kept the facade of collected calm for now. "It wouldn't have anything to do with your dusty cowboy, right?"

Hancock gauged your reaction over the lip of his glass. Masking his growing dislike for the man behind a sip of his drink when you didn't meet his eye. "I think he'd give me a run for the title as 'trouble magnet'." You chuckled. "I brought him here to get him out of the Wastes for a bit. There won't be any trouble, promise. I'll make sure he stays out of trouble."

Hancock very much doubted that this stranger was anything but a peace-keeping citizen. The man just didn't have the aura of someone who would sit pretty on a porch or count stock in a store.

"Well, who am I to turn away another ghoul from a safe place to sleep?" He smiled and you gave one in return, relief sparkling in your eyes as if you expected Hancock to turn this stranger away.

He had half the mind to do so, but not because of the danger the cowboy posed. But because of how adoringly you talked about him while recollecting your time out in the Wasteland. Hancock had never felt such emotion towards you before than right here. His chest ached and longed for this conversation to continue until you were both too drunk too speak. But something hot and barbed was beginning to coil inside him the more he listened to you tell tales of adventure with this new friend of yours. He didn't want to listen to you talk about this stranger.

He wanted to fill the hole in his chest with your presence.

And yes, Hancock was beginning to see through the lines. That this wasn't a time together out of convenience but one out of mutual companionship. Whether you knew that or not was still unknown to Hancock. You talked about this ghoul like he was a byproduct of some of your stories. But then you would bring him in as the center detail and the thorns in John's chest would grow sharper.

He also noticed that you didn't call the cowboy by any certain name. It was either 'The Ghoul' or 'him', in your stories. You did start calling him 'cowboy' after Hancock pointed it out, but there was still no name. Which intrigued John greatly.

Drinks flowed like purified water between you two. Charlie kept your glasses filled and had food brought to you both while you answered John's questions and told him all sorts of wild stories. He had the comfort that you didn't meet this stranger as soon as you left Goodneighor. And that the entire time you seemed to have talked about nothing else to the cowboy but about home and how much you wanted to come back. Your detour home had been a job the two of you had taken to fill your pockets with caps for the journey. However, it had become more complicated and John put your unspoken details together that it had been the reason for your stiffness and bruising.

You were home at least. Finally, you were home.

"He heard so much about it I guess he had to come see it all for himself." You said at some point, half slurring your words as the liquor loosened your lips and relaxed your mind.

Hancock was in no better condition. Head back against the couch, legs kicked up on the short table in front of you both - staring up at the ceiling with Jet buzzing through his veins - making every breath and shift of your clothing twice as loud in his ears. He was very aware of how close the two of you were currently sitting after so many hours of talking. His knee against yours. His arm half draped over your shoulders, he was careful not to bump whatever you were hiding beneath your clothing. A bruise or stitched wound on your shoulder somewhere, he wasn't sure but he was hyper-aware of the fact that you had finally relaxed enough to sit back against the couch.

It felt like old times. Just you and him wasting away the afternoon while talking about nothing and everything.

Hancock had almost forgotten that there was an intruder in his midst and that you weren't just talking about a specter you left behind in the Wasteland. His good mood was soiled when the click of spurs announced the stranger's approach. And Hancock hated how much he burned with something sour when you grinned up at the approaching shadow.

"Hey! Did you find everything ok?" You asked and Hancock dragged his eyes off the cracked ceiling to the ghoul in front of him.

"For a little town, there sure is a lot to get lost in." The Ghoul replied and from his pocket, he threw you something. You managed to catch it, remarkably even in your drunken state, and smiled even wider.

"Ah! You remembered!" It was bundle of stimpacks. Wrapped together in cloth.

"As if you would let me forget." The cowboy mumbled and then dropped a pack - your pack - by your side, right between you and Hancock.

Black, near pupilless, eyes snapped up to clash with a deep amber scowl. No words were spoken, but the exchange was vicious and serrated. You were too busy muttering about The Ghoul owing you stimpacks and putting the new ones away to see what was happening right in front of you.

The Ghoul's gloved hand twitched and Hancock's lips curled into a cruel smirk - his eyes slid past this stranger to the few armed persons sitting at the bar. They were subtle, nursing drinks and chatting idly, but the tension in the room doubled when their Mayor's hat tilted and the Neighborhood Watch noticed the exchange. Vigilant as expected, The Ghoul glimpsed the rising hackles in the Mayor's attack dogs. From your stories and his poking around town, this wasn't a fight he was going to win if things escalated. This whole town orbited this ghoul like he was the sun - there would be no allies found here. But Cooper couldn't help it. Hancock's fingers played with a strand of your hair by the nape of your neck…and you let him. The comfortable familiarity between you two stung like a radscorpian needle.

And the poison of the sting was spreading through Cooper at a rapid pace. "From what she told me about this town, it sounded almost too good to be true. Not unheard of. But still quite the achievement."

"What can I say? Shoot for the stars or sink." Hancock purred with an overly sweet tone layering his words. "We ghouls don't have much going for us out there. So, I made a place for people like me right here. A safe haven. A place to call home. And I ain't gonna let it go anytime soon."

The sly curl of John's lips portrayed what he wasn't saying and The Ghoul's scowl deepened in response.

Oh, if you could see the look in these fellas' eyes. A radiation storm would have less of a burn to it. But you were still too busy trying to make room for the chems in your pack.

And then a hairline fracture split through Cooper's mask as the Mayor's hand brushed down along the side of your neck, all innocent in his drunken state - moving his arm from around your shoulders to rest in his lap - and you shivered from the contact. No comment or sigh answered the brush of rough fingers to your smooth skin, but Cooper hated it all the same.

The ease and casualness of the two of you.

"You're welcome to stay as long as you like, cowboy." John said, picking up something from your pile of discarded possessions. Making the whole ordeal between him and Cooper seem as casual as any normal conversation. "We got everything a guy like you could want. Just keep your hands to yourself, you hear?"

The heaviness of his words was a threat sweetened in your ears. You looked up when Cooper grunted, nodding. Eyes glancing at you before switching back to John again. You didn't notice a thing. "Then I guess a room isn't too much of a request, then?"

"On the house." Hancock purred, breathing in a lungful of Jet from the inhaler he found from your stash. Ignoring your protests about taking his gift from you without you presenting it first.

Cooper left you with the other ghoul to retrieve keys to the room. He snatched a bottle from the counter, ignoring the Mayor's dogs watching his every move, and retreated into the depths of the bar. Your laugh followed him all the way. And as he kicked the rented room door closed, locking him away from the storm brewing outside, he downed half the bottle of alcohol to stave the burn of whatever was clawing at his chest.

₊˚ ✧ ━━━⊱⋆⊰━━ ✧ ₊˚ Thanks for reading! ₊˚ ✧ ━━━⊱⋆⊰━━ ✧ ₊˚

Quick Links: Masterlist / Vgen / Commission Info

[ghoulfuckersincorporated]

How do you think Howard Cooper/The Ghoul would react to his partner accidentally slipping out a “daddy” whilst they’re having sex, and said partner being so embarrassed they try and pull away?

The scream I scrumpt when I first read this, Anon...I wish you could have heard it. This is one of those submissions where I'm a little embarrassed at how brightly my brain lit up when I saw it. I will say that my level of embarrassment has certainly dwindled over the time I've been running this blog; y'all are just as bad as me the vast majority of the time. Enjoy.

Cut added for length.

Prewar!Cooper's reaction will depend pretty heavily on whether or not he's sober when it slips out, honestly. And it'll vary wildly.

If he is sober, he's likely already focused pretty intensely on you, on whatever he's doing to you to make you wriggle and cry out in overwhelmed pleasure the way you are. He revels in the feeling of closeness the two of you share when you make love, when he has enough clarity of mind to be truly present. Typically, he takes his sweet time warming you up and teasing you before the main event begins, so you're already strung more tightly than you'd ever thought possible before he even slides in.

When he does, pushing in fully in a single, smooth movement, it makes your whole core clench in a way that sends you sighing a string of profanity. The sound makes the man on top of you grin wickedly.

"That feel good?" he asks teasingly, excited hands forming strong cuffs around your wrists and pinning them to the bed.

"Fuck yes, baby." you pant, arching your spine and letting your head loll back to expose your throat.

Cooper can't resist the sight of the open expanse of skin, velvety and glowing with a thin sheen of sweat, and drops his head into the crook of your shoulder. The slightly salty taste of you blooms across his tongue as he traces your pounding pulse point back and forth. The old cowboy knows this is a weakness of yours, and is rewarded with a beautiful, full-throated groan from you as you rock your hips against his.

He gets far more than he'd anticipated, though, when you shudder and whimper three syllables right into his ear:

"Oh, daddy..."

You're both still writhing against one another for the few seconds of silence that follow, bodies driven by the pleasure you both feel, but yours rather quickly stalls as your eyes widen. Coop's own face is contorted—though only slightly—in surprise, thrumming head to toe with halted energy as he tries his best to hold himself motionless over you. He's still buried most of the way, hoping your clear embarrassment will sufficiently distract you from the way he's throbbing, hard and steady, inside you.

"God." you groan, though it's a less sexy sound than before, dripping with humiliation so thick that he instantly feels terrible for not having a better poker face about the whole thing.

One hand moves to cover your face, partially hiding the grimace he sees painting your pouty lips, but the other moves to push your weight upwards, trying to sit up and wriggle away from him. He doesn't lift his weight from you, though, keeping your splayed hips pinned under his as he calmly tugs you back, hands around your waist.

"Where you goin'?" he drawls playfully, trying his best to placate you despite your weak protests. Your palm doesn't leave your face until he pulls it away himself, tracing a line of gentle pecks across the back of it and down your wrist. The soft gesture makes you smile, however small.

"I—" you begin, still not looking right at him, but far over his shoulder. Maybe unconsciously, you worm in discomfort as if you're waiting for chastisement. Instead, he lowers his lips to yours, muffling whatever explanation you were about to offer with a deep kiss. He's eager to move on from the moment's tense energy, and equally uneager to dwell too long on his own reaction to the whole thing.

Truth is, he liked it way more than he'd ever have thought...at least physically. Mentally, there's a knot of conflict he's winnowing away at, though he's in no place to think too deeply on the subject, as the way he leans over you only buries him deeper.

"Mmm." he hums, tongue pushing into your mouth. You hesitate, but a moment later you're kissing him back, the rigidity in your spine fading as you sink into the bed once more. There will be time to talk about it later...or not.

He's much worse at hiding his hand if he's fucked up when he hears it, though. Already he often struggles to rein in his worst instincts when he's not in full control of himself, much more of his focus dedicated to metering his strength, being mindful of how he handles you, biting his tongue when he tries to say something that might scare you or turn you off. Though he's lost in just how perfect you feel against him, beneath him, he still trembles with the effort of holding himself back.

The way you wriggle and whine beneath him, inflaming him with the sounds that leave your already kiss-swollen lips, doesn't help in the slightest.

"Fuck, you make me so crazy." he growls into the back of your head, burying his nose in your rumpled hair as he pumps away at you. His hands grip your hips firmly, bouncing them against his own with quick, fluid movements. You struggle to keep yourself balanced on your hands and knees.

"Coop." you groan, delicious tingles breaking out along the back of your neck as his warm breath fans across it, heavy and tinged with the smell of bourbon.

The sound of his name on your lips makes him drive himself into you harder, the short nails on one hand digging into your velvety flank, and probably a bit harder than he should allow himself. Despite the keen that leaves your throat, you don't seem to respond to the way he grabs at your flesh, just as lost in him as he is in you. But when he gives you a hard slap on the ass, the impact making a tasty little wave across the muscle, you show a bit more enthusiasm.

"Daddy!" you gasp.

He's glad you can't see his face, because his eyebrows shoot up for a moment in surprise, but it quickly morphs into a wolfish grin.

"What was that? Huh?" he asks, leaning in to tease his lips along the shell of your ear and feeling you shudder under his weight. He gives a sharp, deep thrust into you when you don't answer, ears red at the tips as you bury your face down into the pillow.

"Oh my god." he thinks he hears you say.

A twinge of guilt sparks up in his chest at your humiliated tone, and he runs a careful hand across your hair. Pulling back, he rolls you over onto your side, then onto your back, forcing you to look up at him. He lets out a chuckle when you tug the pillow along, still pressed firmly over your face to hide your shame.

"You gonna answer me?" he asks again. Your only response is a muffled groan.

Rolling his eyes playfully before tugging the thing away, though not without a little effort. You still don't look him in the eye once he can see your face, but that doesn't stop him from leaning in and giving you a few teasing pecks along your neck, right where he knows you're the most sensitive. It proves to be an ample distraction from the way he pushes your legs apart and pulls himself between then.

"Go on. Say it again." he murmurs, arching his hips into just the right place.

"Baby!" you breathe as he bottoms out again.

"Nah, that wasn't it." he huffs. He's pretty impressed with the way he's able to keep his tone steady as he grinds into you, his hips rubbing against your most sensitive spot, especially with the way it makes his gut tight with pleasure. Again, the way you coo and hiss through your teeth only tests him.

"Hmm?" he repeats for the final time, skimming his own along the side of your throat until he finds the point where your neck meets your shoulder, sinking them into the muscle there harder than he would usually dare. You cry out in heated pain at the feeling, grinding yourself against him. His hips remain still as he soothes the angry spot with his tongue, and the lack of stimulation is enough to get him what he wants.

"Daddy." you whisper again, eyes screwed shut like you'll be less embarrassed if you can't see him. He can feel that isn't true by the way your bare skin heats under his touch.

"Mm, that's it." he praises, kissing you deeply as his hips begin to pivot back and forth again. He fucks you with all the energy he's been holding back, the heavy frame of the bed vibrating with the way your combined weights rock together. When he pulls back, he rests his forehead against yours, making direct eye contact with you and grinning at the embarrassed look on your face.

"Don't worry, pretty thing." he murmurs, breathy, moving at a bruising pace against you as you struggle to cling to him. "I'll be your daddy."

Cooper's veins are running hot with lust and liquor, and he can feel himself abandoning any attempt at self-governance. He knows there's a part of him that will feel differently about what he's said come morning, but that's a problem for then. For now, he's perfectly content to embrace what feels good and forget about everything else.

His reaction a few centuries into the future is a bit of a mixed bag, but it's the most intriguing sort of mixed bag.

Despite traveling a long road to reach the level of comfort with physical intimacy the two of you now share, he's still more than a bit hard to read sometimes. Interacting with him, especially in such a vulnerable way, is rife with pitfalls and traps you struggle to see coming. Sometimes you stumble onto things that really seem to turn him on, overwhelmed by just how strongly he responds to sometimes innocent behavior. Other times you manage to unknowingly piss him off so badly that he nearly pulls away before you're done.

On rare occasions, you seem to hit both points at the same time.

To give yourself some grace, you find yourself frequently overwhelmed any time the two of you are together physically. It's like fucking a hurricane much of the time, something you have to just hunker down and brace yourself for. There are moments where he's gentle, tender, but more often than not you can feel the built up decades of tension in the way he handles you.

This time is no different, as he's stripped your bottoms off and bent you over the bed you've spent the last few nights sleeping in, leaning most of his weight into the sharp thrusts he's giving. Each and every one sends you jolting an inch or so forward, only to have the vicious grip he maintains on you yank you back, both gloved hands grabbing at you with bruising force. He's completely clothed, save for his hat, which lies tossed on the corner of the bed. It's still a bit strange to you, but you feel as though you understand him enough to know why he's never comfortable being nude with you. The distinct smell of his grimy leather coat surrounds you in a curtain just like the coat itself, but you've grown alarmingly accustomed to it.

The way he nips and licks at the exposed nape of your neck, pinning you into the musty mattress, sends you squirming beneath him, something you know you'll pay for. He always reacts rather aggressively to you "acting all helpless", or so he calls it. Something about it seems to inflame the predator in him, and he bites harder at whatever flesh he can get into his mouth, one hand wriggling between your body and the bed to touch you just right. You can feel him throb hard at the way it makes you moan, the combination of white-hot pleasure and knotted pain sending your back arching against his chest.

Your brain is alight with stimulation, searching for something, anything to say, but what tumbles out isn't what you were expecting, nor exactly what you want.

"Fuck me, daddy." you breathe, so labored and rushed that you can barely make out the words yourself. Cooper seems to have no trouble hearing you, stilling instantly.

"What did you say?" he demands, continuing to throb where he's halfway-buried.

You're completely frozen, half in embarrassment, half in fear of the sudden anger in his voice. Nothing comes to your lips.

"Tell me what you said." he enunciates painstakingly, leaning in close again so you can feel his words against your ear.

"Uh..." you stammer. You can feel yourself starting to tremble.

The hand that had been touching you strikes out viper-quick and grabs your chin, turning your head as far as he can to force you to look at him.

"I know you know what you said." he says firmly, though with less detectable venom. "Say it again."

There's no rage in his eyes like you sort of expect, but the emotion you see displayed there isn't one you can parse out in the few seconds you feel comfortable not answering him. You've no idea what to make of his tone. Still, you know he has you dead to rights, so there's no reason to continue to delay; it'll only provoke him.

"Daddy." you murmur, trying your best to not let your nervousness show.

He presses all the way back inside with a sharp snap of his hips, though you can't tell if the gesture is intended to be a punishment or a reward as you cry out at the feeling.

"Again." he orders, both hands moving back to grab at your ass as he straightens himself back to his full height.

"Daddy." you say louder, squirming at the way his nails dig into your hips and anchor you in place. His pace begins to increase again, quickly building back up to the same sort of feverish strokes he'd been giving you before.

"Again." he grits out, his whole body tense behind you. That same hand makes its way back to right where you want it.

"Daddy!" you gasp, feeling yourself flutter around him.

"Shit." Cooper growls, bending quickly to press his bony cheek between your shoulders, bearing down on you as his grip tightens. His teeth clench down hard on you again, and the shock is enough to jolt you over the edge, hips rocking against his hand as his thrusts became short and erratic. You can already feel yourself bruising in the spot where he's bitten you when he pulls back, warm spurts hitting your inner thigh and rolling down your leg.

You're both still, trying your best to catch your breath, but he's faster, straightening up only a minute or two later, eager to redress.

He's quieter than usual as you curl up on your side to watch him, physically exhausted from the encounter. Normally, he's got something sassy to say, a quip about a sound you made or the way you reacted to his touch to stroke his ego. Now, though, he's completely silent, face clouded with thought. Like always, he scrounges up a bit of a rag and gives you a rough clean-up. He's notably stiff as he sits down on the edge of the bed, but he doesn't push you away when you cuddle up against his hip.

You study him awhile, waiting to see if anything revealing will happen, but all he does is pull his flask from his pocket and take an exceedingly long pull off of it, staring off into the distance at nothing. There's a twinge of guilt in your chest, sensing that, as per usual, there's something he's not sharing with you, but you know that trying to talk to him will be an exercise in futility as long as he's in this mood. Carefully, you reach out and let your hand rest on his covered knee, giving it a few feather-light strokes as a sign of apologetic affection. He doesn't rebuff you, but still, he doesn't move.

After a while, the last slits of sun filtering in through the boarded up window disappear, and your lids grow too heavy to keep open. You pull yourself as close as you can and let yourself start to drift off, but he must think you're asleep before you're completely out, as you feel him start to gently pet at your head. It's quite a while before you manage to actually rest, too fixated on the rare gesture of genuine affection. He's still softly patting when sleep takes you.

[acapelladitty]

please may I have some ghoul/reader with jealousy

"Cooper, please- fuck, it's too much."

With his back pushed against the wall of the surprisingly sturdy shack which houses you both, your knees feel hot against your stomach as the discomfort of having your entire body folded up against his only serves to make the pleasure of his thick cock hollowing you out that much more intense.

"You don't get to rile up a wild dog and then bitch when the motherfucker want to take a bite, darlin'." Cooper growls, the sound tearing free from his throat as he slams into you even harder - his enhanced strength allowing him to bounce you on his cock like a doll without much effort.

"I wasn't riling you up," you deny hotly and the accusation is enough to break your cockdrunk delirium as irritation passes through your sweat-slicked skin, "and you can't use me saying hello to some trader as an excuse."

"I can do what I want, sweetie, unless you've got some way of freeing yourself from this here predicament? Otherwise, you're gonna enjoy what I've got to give until I'm finished giving it."

Send me a prompt for a five sentence nsfw fic.

[secretlyshyfics]

Little Bride

Summary: Managing to escape the vaults on the day of your wedding you meet a particular Ghoul who is also looking for your sister Lucy.

Pairing: The Ghoul / Cooper Hoffman x fem reader

Warnings: Smut, oral (f receiving), p in v sex, kinda non-con, cheating, kidnapping, the Ghoul does refer to himself as Daddy at one point

Word Count: 1.7k

A/N: Not my best work but I've been in love with the Ghoul since season 1 so hope this is ok! Happy to do more Fallout series fics so any request/suggestions let me know :)

You can’t believe it. You’ve made it. Of course, “it” being the wasteland, completely covered in desert sand, decaying bodies and god knows what else. But somewhere out there is your sister Lucy who’s looking for your father and boy are you determined to find her. 

Preferably you would’ve entered the surface in more appropriate attire, wearing a wedding dress two sizes too small and previously worn by your sister wasn’t the most thought-out idea but hey you had one opportunity to get out of vault 33 and you took it even if it meant leaving your soon-to-be husband at the altar. Aw well, I guess you’ll stay a virgin another day. 

Your white high heeled wedding shoes pinched your feet as you made your way through the sand. The thought of walking barefoot in the dirty sand disgusted you but the shoes weren’t giving you much coverage either. 

In the distance you spot a dark figure wearing a cowboy hat and a dog walking by his side. 

“Hello! Hello! Excuse me sir!” you yell attempting to catch up to him. The figure turns to face you and as you get nearer you notice his features...or lack thereof. 

“Excuse me sir I’m looking for my sister she’s-” 

“Now why do I get the irritating feelin’ that you're some relation to Lucy McClean?” the Ghoul wonders aloud. You gasped beaming with delight. 

“Yes! She’s my sister! Do you know her? How did you know-” 

“You both have that same dumb smile,” the Ghoul stated almost annoyed. Your smile dropped. As children you and Lucy were inseparable and comparisons were often drawn between the two of you, taking after your mother of course. 

“I’m looking for her,” you stated. 

“As am I,” the Ghoul began to look you up and down. You shifted uncomfortably.  

“And why exactly is a pretty little bride searching all alone in the wasteland then huh?” the Ghoul continued.  

“Be-because I’m the only person that knows my sister better than anyone and uh it just so happened that the only day I could escape the vault was in fact the day of my wedding,” you admit.  

The Ghoul smirks at this statement, “Well then pretty lady, it must be my lucky day because you’re gonna help me find your sister. But see your sister has been causin’ me some trouble lately so I will be needing some...payment from you in return for her disobedience.”  

The Ghoul makes his way closer to you. 

You frown in confusion, “Like wha-” 

He grabs your wrists and ties them together tightly with rope. 

“Now pretty lady, I don’ know if I can trust you just yet so this is only a precaution until I know you’ll do what you’re told. God knows your sister doesn’t.” 

You struggle against the restraints. The Ghoul takes you by your waist and slings you over his shoulder. Your veil just barely holding on. 

“Hey! What the heck!” you yell. The Ghoul slaps your ass. 

“Firstly, we’ll have to consummate that marriage of yours little lady,” the Ghoul laughs walking towards an abandoned town in the distance. 

- 

The Ghoul sits you down on an old dusty table in an abandoned house with no windows nor doors and not much walls either. He places his hat to the side. You blow a strand of hair out of your face. 

“Listen sir, whatever it is my sister has done-” you began. The Ghoul places a knee between your thighs pushing them open so that he can stand between them. 

“You can call me Coop sweetheart.” 

“Coop.” 

“Yes ma’am.” 

“I’m sure there’s a more rational solution to whatever it is my sister has done. But taking advantage of a bride on her wedding day is-” 

Coop presses himself against your crotch. “Oh, it’s your wedding day, is it?” 

“Yes.” 

“Well, I think it’s only right little lady that we bless this union and consummate your marriage. Since of course your poor husband can't be here.” Coop leans in and presses himself harder onto you. A wet spot grows in your lacy wedding lingerie.  

“But my husband-” 

“He don’t have to know.” Coop's gloved hand moves up your thigh. He slips two fingers into your panties. The sensation of the leather glove causes a shiver to run down your spine. 

Oh, fudge it. Your “husband” wasn’t the best looking and hey, you’ll probably die out here in the wasteland anyway. 

Coop begins rubbing tight little circles around your clit. You gasped, whimpering as he applies more pressure and faster circles. 

“Oh, you’re a good girl alright but, like your sister you talk too damn much.” Cooper removes his hand from your panties causing you to whimper at the loss of touch. The Ghoul licks your wetness from his gloves before taking it off and shoving it in your mouth. You moan in protest. 

He leans down. His mouth by your ear. 

“You know, it’s been quite some time since I’ve done any of this. I just hope I ain’t too rusty,” he growls before licking the shell of your ear. You cringe and move your head away at the feeling causing Cooper to let out a laugh. 

“Now let’s see what we’re working with.” Cooper gets on his knees his face inches away from your soaking wet pussy. He licks his way up either side of your inner thigh before taking your “something blue” garter off with his teeth. 

“Too bad your husband wasn’t the one to do that.” He sling-shots the garter off to the side. “Or this.” 

Cooper pulls your lacy panties off before using his thumb to part your slit. Your pussy juice glistening in the light. 

“You know there are a lot of ugly things out there in the wasteland but that right there sweetheart-" flattening his tongue he licks from your hole to your clit. "-is one pretty pink pussy.” 

Cooper attacks your clit with his tongue lapping it up like a dog who hasn’t had water for days. You spat out the glove moaning louder than you thought humanly possible. Coop forces your legs to stay open with his hands digging into your inner thighs keeping them from closing in on his head. 

“God sweetheart you taste incredible,” Coop breathed continuing to lick your most sensitive area. Sure, it’s been a while since Cooper Hoffman had seen any action, but he sure had a talented tongue and knew what to do with it.  

You assumed you’d died and gone to heaven. Of course you weren’t a complete virgin, but messing around with cousins definitely didn’t involve pleasure on your end. 

As you came you saw genuine stars. Unable to comprehend all that came from your mouth was complete and utter gibberish. 

Satisfied with himself and grinning from ear to ear, Cooper stood up, mouth glistening with your arousal. 

“Now that the lady is prepared, it’s time for you and I to go for a ride.” Cooper grabbed his hat placing it back on his head. He crashes his lips into yours. His lips chapped and dry but god they taste good. Lips and tongues clashed together as Coop slowly lowered you onto the table so that you lay flat on the table with your legs dangling on the edge. 

Coop gave one last lick of your lips before reaching into his trousers and taking his cock out. He pumped himself a few times lining up with your entrance eager to let him in. 

“You do me a favour darlin’?” Coop asked, only his tip inside you. You nodded. 

“When I fuck this tight little cunt of yours, I want you to scream real loud for me.” 

And loud you were. As Coop stretched you your groan echoed throughout the empty house. He gives you a brief moment to adjust. 

“God I forgot how good fuckin’ a tight pussy is,” Coop groaned before quite literally fucking you into the table. His thrusts were fast and deep, allowing you to feel every last inch of him stretching and fucking you. 

“Oh Coop,” you moaned eyes rolling back. You struggle against your restraints wanting nothing more than to dig your nails into his back. Cooper takes your right leg placing your high heeled foot on his shoulder allowing him to get even deeper.  

Cooper laughed, “I bet your husband is one jealous motherfucker.” 

His breathing and groans become erratic as he reaches closer to the edge.  

“Please Cooper!” you beg, feeling pleasure like you’ve never felt before. 

“Oh yes darlin’ you better beg for Daddy's cum,” Cooper grunts, his thrusts getting faster. 

“Oh please! Please! I need oh-” 

The Ghoul fills you up with a loud groan before gently placing your legs down. 

Breathless you sit yourself back up on the table.  

“I don’t think my Dad will be very happy that I lost my virginity to a ghoul,” you state attempting to wipe the sweat off your brow with your tied up arms. 

“I hope he ain’t. He may have been involved in fucking up the world, but god does his daughter have a good pussy,” Cooper replies untying you. 

“Now, let’s find that sister of yours.” 

- 

Lucy’s eyes flicker open. A needle and tube attached to her arm. She winces at the sun in her eyes and pulls the tube from her arm. 

“Lucy?” You’re sitting by her side still in your white dress. 

“Oh my God! It’s you! How did you-is that a wedding dress? Did you get married without-” Lucy gushed but you cut her off with a hug. 

Sitting only a few feet away in a lawn chair the Ghoul rolls his eyes. 

“I missed you,” you whispered. You smile at each other. 

“I can’t believe you’re here,” Lucy whispered tucking hair behind your ear, grinning like a mad man.

“I know...you wouldn’t happen to have any spare underwear by any chance, would you?” you ask attempting to be casual. 

“What happened to your underwear?” Lucy questioned with a frown, confused. 

“Yeah sweetheart, what happened to your little panties,” Cooper spoke, a shit eating grin on his face. 

Lucy looked back to you still confused waiting for an answer. 

“Heh, don’t worry about it.”