Teaser For The Next Chapter Of The End Of The Beginning:

Teaser for the next chapter of The End of the Beginning:

Your eyes are locked, something old and familiar swimming in both of them. You used to be ashamed of this feeling he brought up in you. He was a married man after all and you were just his lying assistant. You were never supposed to be attracted to him. You’re certainly not supposed to be attracted to him when he looks like this. But despite how much he’s changed, he’s still got that Cooper Howard charm.  He doesn’t drag you forward roughly. He guides you further into him, tilting your chin up and leering down at you with that angry grin. His hand glides around the back of your neck- The head drops to the ground with a wet thud as your hands fly to the rope on your neck. He’s grabbed the back of it, tightening it so hard you’re sure you felt your eyes pop out. The smile on his face is gone, instead it’s replaced by an intensely concentrated look. His eyes are boring into your own, taking in every twitch and gasp as he watches you struggle for breath.  You dig at your neck, feeling warm wet blood bubble under your nails the more you rip at the rope. Your fingers go cold and your tongue swells as the pressure in your face increases until you think the skin will burst. The eye contact doesn’t break between you, darkly intimate as he takes in every detail of your slow death by his hand. 

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Guess who finally figured out how to use her editing app⁉️

I’m so excited, I can finally create headers for my stories now. It is kind of distracting me from writing tho, oops lol

Series Masterlist

The End of the Beginning

Cruel World

Crash of Worlds

Ultraviolence

Million Dollar Man

Only Have Eyes for You

The Other Woman 18+

Madman's Eyes

On temporary hiatus

end. — I do not own the characters or the video game/show Fallout, but this writing is my own all rights reserved © not-neverland06 2024. do not copy, repost, translate & recommend elsewhere.

If requests are still open, how about headcanons of Heisenberg with a reader that is a fifth lord. Reader's Cadou allows them to manipulate sound (radio) waves, and go as far as sonic scream. No pressure or rush, just curious on your interpretation :)

Karl Heisenberg x GN!reader A/N: This is only the second time I’ve done HC’s and I’m still struggling to get a grasp on them. Thank you for the request, your prompt was interesting to think about. This is a little short, so if I didn’t give you what you wanted let me know and I’ll try again.

He really doesn’t give a shit about you at first

Unless you go out of your way to catch his attention he’s treating you the same as he treats the rest of the family

Whatever your powers are, he’s gonna assume you’re just as bad as the rest of them and dismiss you

You have to actively make him notice you

It wouldn’t take a lot, maybe one snide comment towards Mother Miranda and suddenly you have value

“You’ve got to be kidding me?” You scoffed, glaring down at the horde of Miranda’s worshippers that had surrounded the old church. You’d just been passing through town, picking something up from the duke before heading back up the mountain. 

Heisenberg happened to be there at the same time. You weren’t sure what his deal with the Duke was but it seemed to be complicated. His head perked up as you glared at the villagers. “What’s your problem?” He muttered, tone bitter. 

You nodded towards the villagers, “They are. All their Mother Miranda bullshit, I’m sick of it.” You walked back towards your lair, the old radio tower up in the mountain. It was the best place for you to be with the way your powers functioned, your strongest point. 

He watched as you went, staring at you contemplatively and wondering how he’d missed that hatred in your eyes. 

When he and Alcina start to argue, Miranda will just look at you and you’ll let out a scream so loud bits of drywall fall from the ceiling

It’s painful but it’s effective, you’re essentially used as a mute button when things get out of hand

You tend to avoid the others, keeping quiet and to yourself

When Miranda had first experimented on you, your experience with the sound waves had been less than pleasant

Learning to control them was difficult. The first time you spoke after waking up from her little experiment, you’d blown out your own eardrums. 

Even after you finally harnessed them, you figured that it was better to just be quiet. The times you did speak you kept your voice below a whisper. 

“You don’t talk a whole lot do you?”

You shrugged, “Only when I have to, really.” You sat in his workshop, mostly against your will. He’d invited you to dinner, though it felt like more of a command, and you’d tried to get him to make the journey up the mountain to you. 

He’d, of course, refused because he was a stubborn bastard. You didn’t even want to sit down anywhere, there was oil and blood on nearly every surface. And if it wasn’t covered in that, it was sticky with dried lycan drool. 

At least Moreau managed to keep his quarry clean.

Heisenberg hadn’t stopped staring at you since you sat down, it was starting to bug you.

You don’t normally speak with your family, mainly because you don’t really care for any of them. Having his attention on you was disturbing.

He sets his fork down on his plate and gives you an odd look, “How do your powers work, anyway?”

It was easier to show than it was to explain. You focused on the large pile of metal scraps on his desk and opened your mouth. The noise was nearly silent at first, a high pitched ringing that you questioned if you were actually hearing. 

Then it got louder, the ringing clear now. It was painful to anyone outside of the focused stream of sound waves, but it was lethal once you stepped into the stream. The metal shook, vibrating loudly against his desk. A few toppled over, the rest exploded in a violent display of clashing metal shards and sparks. 

Heisenberg clutched his ears, a small stream of blood leaking from between his fingertips. You want to apologize to him. You’ve always had a little difficulty controlling your powers in such close spaces. 

But he doesn’t look mad, he doesn’t even look like he’s in pain. Instead he’s grinning widely at you, something glinting in his eyes that had you feeling on edge. 

He sees the uniqueness of your powers, the untapped potential for violence and how helpful someone like you could be to his cause

He waters the seedling of resentment you already hold towards Miranda and helps it grow

He whispers words of hate and anger into your ear until you’re just as passionate about taking Miranda down as he is

You two work together, using your odd understanding of radio and sound waves to improve his soldat designs 

Slowly, your loyal followers from the village start to abandon you and move to different lords. Your connection to Heisenberg has soured your influence among the sheep in the village, but you couldn’t bring yourself to care

Your status as a lord meant little to you when you had him

He’s intrigued by your powers and loves to experiment with them, but more than anything there’s something soothed inside him because he’s no longer alone

He’s grateful for the support you provide when he feels like he’s just stagnant in his progress taking down Miranda

end. — I do not own the characters or the game Resident Evil Village, but this writing is my own all rights reserved © not-neverland06 2024. do not copy, repost, translate & recommend elsewhere.

The Other Woman

Previous part / Next part

Series Masterlist

Cooper Howard x fem!reader, The Ghoul x fem!reader CW: 18+ Summary: He looks like he’s dying, you hope he is. When he finally gives into his disease, you’re taking Lucy and you’re making a run for it.

The sun was bad when you had water and shelter in the trees. Completely exposed and ankles half buried in sand, you think you might die. It would be the preferable fate at this point. You’re sweating so much in your suit that the dried blood from your wound has become wet again. You’re sure the bandages around your thigh are soiled. Anything Lucy’s Stimpak did for you has been undone by the grit and grime coating your body. 

She’s not faring much better than you, trailing slowly along ahead of you. Like yours, her lips are peeling back and paling under the harsh sun. Cooper has already taken all the damage his body can handle. You’re sure he doesn’t even feel the sun under that rough exterior of his. 

You stumble forward, feet tripping over each other as he tugs on your leash. You can’t even be angry at him anymore. You’re too exhausted and beaten down to feel anything right now. But the lack of a reaction only seems to fuel him further. He keeps tugging, prodding, poking, seeing what it takes to get something out of you. 

Sweat is practically bleeding from you. You can feel your skin peeling up and shriveling under the sun’s ruthless gaze. Sand has been steadily seeping into your boots the longer you walk and it’s only irritating you further. Lucy hasn’t once looked at you since Cooper dragged you both out of the old gas station. 

You’d had to be quick about it with the Deathclaw still lurking around nearby. He’d barely given you anytime to wake up. He’d simply grabbed the rope around your neck and ran outside with you, rushing through the old neighborhood until you cleared the Deathclaw’s territory. He hadn’t woken up Lucy or tried to get the dog to come with him. They’d simply followed. 

It terrified you, knowing that the only thing he cared about was you. This dedication wasn’t born from love or care. This was him wanting revenge. Revenge for lying to him and screwing him over. You’d think two hundred years would have been enough for him to just get over it. Self reflect and move on. 

But, no, he’d always been stubborn. It seems like the fallout only made that worse. 

You don’t know how many hours pass before you start to see something other than sand on the horizon. Could be four or eight, you’ll never be able to tell. It all blurred into one miserable memory of nothing but too bright light. 

But eventually, by the grace of God or the universe taking pity on you, buildings start to grow in the distance. They’re all destroyed, the tallest of them half crumbled and the debris spilling across the ground. Lucy perks up slightly at the sight of them, curiosity overpowering her own fatigued state. You do not share the same passion as her. You’d seen it all when it was still standing, wasn’t impressive then, isn’t impressive now. 

If it was a pool of clean filtered water, maybe then you’d be interested. 

Lucy gazes up at the taller buildings, mouth agape and eyes looking glossed over. Cooper moves past her, not bothered by leaving her behind. He knows she’ll follow, same way he knows the dog is going to stay with the head. 

You’re all dogs to him. Just cattle to be herded. He doesn’t see you as human, you doubt he sees anything other than profit and gain. Your worth is measured by your usefulness to him. You don’t know what he thinks he could get from Lucy, you’re sure it’s not good. You know your own fate is going to be slow and horrific. 

You offer him petty revenge. Cathartic and vicarious vengeance on those from Vault-Tec who had wronged him and turned him into the monster he is today. Your value is immeasurable to him, what you offer goes beyond simple bounties or those little vials he keeps puffing on. 

You don’t know what he’s huffing, but you have some guesses. RadAway for one. It would explain how he’s managed to last as long as he has without turning feral. 

He stops, tugging out his canteen and undoing the cap. You know the break isn’t meant for your benefit but you’re grateful nonetheless. You’ve been walking so long you’re sure the bottoms of your feet are nothing but bloody stumps. 

You let your gaze drift as Lucy makes her way back to you both. Your vision blurs and you find yourself drifting as far back into your mind as you dare. You try and find a happier memory to live in so you can pretend for one minute that you’re not as miserable as you are. But Cooper ruins it. 

A sharp, wet sounding cough breaks through the haze you’d created around yourself. You turn your head slightly to stare at him. He’s got his hands braced on his knees, back arching in pain from how hard he’s coughing. You see blood and spittle flying from his lips. Both you and Lucy share a brief look. 

Your eyes dart down to the bindings on your wrist and neck, wondering how far you would be able to make it before he yanked you back. You’re about to tell Lucy to just make a run for it when he straightens up again. He lets out a deep shuddering breath, wiping his chin off with the back of his hand. 

You fix him with an unimpressed glare, “I was hoping you’d choke.”

He smirked and tugged on the rope, yanking you unceremoniously to your feet. “Better luck next time, sweetheart.”

“You,” Lucy cut herself off as she stumbled over a skeleton. Her face screwed up briefly in disgust before she continued on after you. “You need medicine, right? That’s why you’re coughing.” Cooper didn’t offer her anything more than a bored hum as he trudged along. You tried to look over at her but he was being more vigilant about the rope now that you had mouthed off. 

“If I found you some would you let her go?”

Cooper came to a sudden stop, ignoring you as you stumbled into his back. He turned towards Lucy and his hairless brows lifted up. You couldn’t tell if he was impressed by her boldness or sick of it. “Well, that’s where we’re going darling.” 

He didn’t offer anything else but a sinister smile. It wasn’t much different than his usual ones. His tone sounded ominous, like he was laughing at a joke he didn’t want to share with either of you. Lucy picked up on the veiled hidden meaning of his words and her mouth snapped shut, eyes narrowing as she tried to decipher what he meant. 

He dug his fingers underneath the rope on your neck and you hissed at the contact of the raw sunburnt skin. It only emboldened him as he dragged you forward, tucking you under his arm and forcing you to keep up with his stride. 

You felt slight satisfaction at the small coughs he would try and hide under his breath. But with your ears so close to his chest you could hear him wheeze, feel the struggle each breath caused. Every gasp makes you feel a little stronger. Even though it hurts, you glance over your shoulder at Lucy. Her eyes are trained on him, on each stumbling step. 

There’s a look shared between the two of you. A promise of waiting until he’s weakest to finally escape. You only need him to take a break again and that would be your chance. You could finally get rid of him. You don’t have to wait much longer. 

He leads you both to a Super Duper Mart. Cars have been pushed out of the way, a gate set up around the perimeter and most of the debris cleaned away. You’re assuming this is some sort of base for survivors. But that doesn’t make sense. He wouldn’t be taking you anywhere that would take care of you. 

He stops in front of a call box, pressing the button, “Transaction.”

It takes a moment before a staticky British voice answers back. “Yes?” Your brows furrow in confusion. You recognize that voice, you just don’t know how. 

Cooper glances over at Lucy and you finally put together what he’s doing. “Exchange one female, mint condition, for two month supply.” He looked her over, the sweat coating her and wounds she’d acquired over your short stay on the surface. “Near mint condition.”

“Condition requires grading, please send her in.” A buzzer goes off and the glass doors ahead of you slide open. Your gaze darts from the doors to Cooper’s. 

“You can’t-” He cuts you off with a tight grasp on your neck. It's just enough to keep you quiet and immobile. Lucy doesn’t even look surprised, just a subdued anger as she glares at him. 

“You’re selling me?” Her tone is incredulous. This was what Cooper thought was so funny earlier. This is how he gets his medicine, selling people. You’d known that he had changed from being up here, but this was insane. This went so beyond changing for the sake of survival, he looked like he was enjoying it. 

With no hesitation he tugs his gun out and points it at Lucy. She flinches back from it, staring down the large barrel with hesitance. Your attempts at breaking free are useless and draining. The leather of his glove creaks in your ear as he tightens his hold around your neck. 

“Quit your squirming,” he mutters in your ear, “what I got planned for you is much more fun.” You feel your heart drop to your feet and your struggles cease. This is pointless, struggling is pointless. Fighting back against him is pointless. You’re too weak to do anything to him, you’ll just piss him off more. You should just give up. 

He looks over at Lucy and nods towards the doors with a patronizing click of his tongue. “Go on, sweetheart. You got problems out here too, I suggest you try your luck in there.” Lucy looks to you but whatever broken thing she sees on your face is enough for her to sag in defeat. She backs towards the doors, sparing one last glance at you before taking a step inside. 

When the doors close behind her Cooper finally lets you go. The lack of support has you crumpling, you land roughly on the ground and glare up at him. “What’s going to happen to her?”

He spares you a brief glance, sneering down at you. “Diced and sliced,” he empathizes the word with a loud click of his teeth. It takes everything in you to force your spine into steel and be unflinching when he kneels down before you. He prods your chest with his gun painfully, “Your little friend is about to become meat, sweetheart. Ain’t even gonna spare her a tear?”

Your mouth is dry, parched from your long trek in the sun. But you still manage enough spit to land on his cheek. He blinks then blinks again, slow to process what you’ve done. When he does, reaching up to wipe the smear of saliva slowly off his cheek, he huffs a laugh. You don’t see the hit coming until he’s backhanding you down to the ground. 

You groan, pain throbbing in your right cheek, “Fucking dick,” you spit out. He shakes his head and stands back up. 

“I was wondering where that attitude of yours had gone. Glad to see you still got some of that fire.” He glanced down at the call box, a slight cough shaking him as he taps his foot impatiently. “The fuck is taking so damn long?” You’re clearly not meant to hear him. You doubt he wants you to perceive him as weak in any way. 

“I’m sorry,” you glower, “is my friend’s murder taking too long for you?”

“Yeah,” he scoffed, glaring over at you with his eyes narrowed and his lips curled, “it fucking is.”

Fucking asshole. 

Fear is a bitter taste on your tongue when he starts to cough again. This isn’t something small that he can swallow down. This is bad, lasting longer than should be possible and making your ears hurt with the way they echo through the air. You flinch back from him when he falls to his knees, hands grasping desperately at his throat. 

He looks over at you, something like a plea in his gaze. Dread boils and bubbles in your gut with the horrible realization that if he turns, you’ll be the first thing he sees. You’re assuming that whatever he takes stops the radiation from burning away holes in his brains. If he goes feral now, the only thing he’ll remember about you is how much aggression and hostility he holds for you. 

You’ll be ripped to fucking pieces. 

He slumps forward, hands clawing at the ground as drool dribbles from his lips. He wheezes, inhaling the red dirt as he tries to get a steady breath in. You fight back the paralyzing fear of your situation and slowly crawl towards him. He doesn’t seem to see you, his eyes glazed over with the primal panic of knowing you’re about to die. 

You reach out and snatch the knife from his waist and leap away from him again, trying to keep as much distance as you can between the two of you. Placing the handle between your knees you start to saw at the rope around your wrists. Your eyes don’t stop darting between his prostrated form on the ground and your bloody hands. You can’t risk keeping your eyes off of him for too long. You’ve grown too weak under the sun. 

If he turns, you won’t be able to fight him off. 

Agonizingly slow, you start to see the rope fray. Only a few more frantic tugs and it unwinds from around your wrists. You drop the knife to the ground, quickly loosening the noose around your neck and ripping it off. 

When you look back over at him you realize he’s gone silent. It only causes more panic to rush through you. The emotion threatens to choke you, freeze you in place and wait for the inevitable. You refuse to let it. Refuse to let him terrify you into accepting your death at his hands. 

Slowly, like you hope he won’t notice you, you creep forward. On hands and knees you drag your body towards him and reach tentatively for the belt around his waist. You groan, using what’s left of your strength to roll him over so you can better reach the gun on his hip. He does nothing but twitch and moan in response, eyes cloudy. 

You unzip the top of your suit and tie the arms around your waist then tuck the gun in your pants. Your fingers skate across his chest, groping around for any bullets you might find hidden away in his jacket or the bag he keeps across his shoulder. Whatever you manage to find is stuffed into your suit, you don’t pay much attention to what you grab. You’re just trying to get this finished as quickly as possible. 

When you’ve raided him of everything valuable you finally glance over at the glass doors. The one Lucy disappeared behind. He told you that she was going to be turned into lunch meat. He has no reason to lie to you, and you have no reason to doubt what he says. There isn’t much of you that still believes there's good left in him. 

You feel something like grief creeping up the back of your throat, burning at your eyes. But you dismiss it as quickly as it comes. You don’t have time to wallow or mourn. You need to get out of here. Lucy is gone. Crying about it isn’t going to fix anything.

You scoff, so much for her precious golden rule. 

You stand up and turn your back to him, hoping you can figure out a way back to the vault. You still have your Pip-Boy, you might be able to use the map to find your way back home. 

Fuck Hank. Fuck the surface. You were done. You wanted to shower and eat something and feel air conditioning again. 

But nothing up here is easy. 

Something wraps around your ankle and you scream, jumping away from Cooper’s hand and kicking out with your foot. His fingers make an odd cracking sound under your boot and you glare down at him. 

Out of instinct the gun in your pants is drawn and pointed down at him. His eyes don’t betray any surprise or fear. He just looks desperate. Pathetic and desperate. You pull the hammer back and move the gun from his chest to his temple. “I could put you out of your misery right here. Right now. Would you like that?”

He wheezes, barely able to move on the rough ground. Finally, he shakes his head. It’s a small move, but even now he clings on to the desperate threads of his remaining life. You huff an unimpressed laugh and glare down at him. “Stubborn fucking bastard.” You tuck the gun back in your pants and you run. 

You don’t look back. You don’t think about Hank, or Lucy, or Cooper. The people you’re leaving behind once meant something to you. But you’re selfish, and you always have been. Your survival means so much more. 

It’s only when the sun starts to set that you finally find a place to settle down for the night. It’s an old building that seems just stable enough to not come crashing down on you while you sleep. It’s also the only place nearby that doesn’t have the sounds of ghouls or other critters echoing through its foundation. 

You have no water, no food, but at the very least you can finally sit down. You debate taking your suit off, just to check on your wounds. But you figure that you’re better off not knowing the state of your body. All the adrenaline and exhaustion from the sun is keeping you going. You can’t let yourself break the illusion that everything is fine. 

You do what you’ve always done when you try to distract yourself. You let yourself fall down the rabbit hole of your memories and attempt to get lost in them. You should have known the direction they were going to go. 

Perhaps it’s a form of mourning that you start to think about Cooper. You’d assumed him dead or lost to you for years. But actually seeing it happen had opened up a wound of grief you’d thought closed. 

The good memories come first, like they always do when you think of him. The first time you met, the first time he cooked for you. They’re all innocent enough. Remembrance of the man who once was the love of your life. 

And, inevitably, comes that one memory. The one you’d thought buried a long time ago. It usually would creep up on you when you would lay with Norm at night. Alone in the bed you shared with your husband, you would think of that one night. And the yearning would bury the shame. 

You’d once reasoned with yourself that there was nothing wrong with your relationship with him because nothing ever truly happened between you two. It was a lie, a bald faced lie to yourself and to him. Something had happened, something you’d shamefully buried. 

You’d been riddled with guilt after. He was still a married man, a father, and someone you were manipulating and actively lying too. It never should have happened. You never should have gone for drinks with him. You’d known it was a mistake and you’d done it anyway. 

You pick up the handset and try - and fail - not to let your irritation show in your voice. “Hello?” You’d barely stepped through your door and your phone was about to fall off its hook. You don’t know who's calling you, but they must have been at it for a while. 

There’s a breath on the other end and you know it’s him. Isn’t that absolutely pathetic? You know him from the way he breathes. That’s not normal. How much of you is wrapped up and intertwined with him isn’t normal. Certainly not because you’re only meant to be his assistant.  

“Sorry, sweetheart, is this a bad time?”

You want to say, No, it’s never a bad time when it's you. I wished you called me more. I wish you weren’t married and I didn’t have to feel so guilty about my feelings for you. But that would be insane, so you keep your mouth shut and just say, “No, now's fine. What’s up?”

“I had plans to meet up with Seb tonight, but he canceled on me. I was wondering if you’d wanna come out for a little while?”

You should not say yes. This is a perfect opportunity to start setting boundaries within your relationship. Eating dinner and dancing with him was bad enough. Especially considering Barb could have walked in on you two at any minute. 

But, god, are you lonely. You’re tired of coming home every night to an empty apartment devoid of any life or happiness. You’re tired of feeling so gutted everytime you see a happy couple on the street and all you can think about is the married man you’re in love with. And you’re selfish. 

You always have been, since you were little. You used to get in trouble for never wanting to share your toys and being too jealous of others. You supposed, as you got older, the traits stayed but the toys changed. 

You shouldn’t say yes. “Yeah, that sounds good.”

The bar is nice, nicer than the ones you’re used to. You should’ve known that when he invited you out he wasn’t going to take you to some crappy little place where the floors are sticky and the music is too loud. The bar itself is a full circle surrounded by a shiny oak counter and nicely furnished stools that don’t have stains from beer spills. 

He’s sitting more towards the corner. It’s a higher end place, the people that come here aren’t impressed with his wealth or fame, because they’re just like him. He doesn’t have to hide here but you feel like you should. 

You’re incredibly out of place in your work skirt and blouse. It's something cheap from an outlet store that you got out of a bargain bin. It doesn’t fit in with the finely dressed women in the booths. 

But then he looks over at you, his eyes even prettier under the warm lights above him. When he waves at you, you find that you don’t really care what you’re wearing. You skirt past a couple blocking the doorway and hop onto the seat beside him. 

He smiles at you, but you can tell there’s something weighing him down. A sadness in his eyes that makes you want to reach out and comfort him. Instead, you flag down the bartender and offer Cooper a brief smile. “Sorry Seb canceled on you.”

He shakes his head, tossing the olive from his martini into his mouth. “Did me a favor.” At the questioning look you give him he grins. A real one this time. “I’ve got much better company now, darling.”

You resent the heat that flushes in your face. You don’t want to feel like a crushing school girl, you’re a grown woman for god’s sake. But he just brings something youthful out around you. Replaces what your soul-sucking corporate job has stolen from you. “Flattery will get you nowhere, Mr. Howard.” 

You expect him to give into the usual routine. A bit of playful banter to get rid of the tension and then you two can talk like normal. You don’t expect his hand on your thigh and the way he leans in to whisper in your ear, “I think it will get me everywhere, sweetheart.”

It catches you off guard, the boldness of his words, his completely public display of affection. Everyone knows you’re his assistant, you’ve been in enough photoshoots with him at red carpets. Admittedly, more than you should have been in. 

But then you look up, and you really take in the place that you’re at. The bar is well lit, but the booths in the back have dimmer lighting. It makes it harder to see the people who sit there. But you recognize them well enough. Figures with wives and families that are recognizable to the public’s eyes. Except the women they’re with aren’t their wives. 

You connect the dots slowly, not quite wanting to believe what you’re seeing but also desperate for it. You can’t lie, a part of you is disappointed in him. Most of his charm, his attraction comes from what a good man he is. How devoted he is. The fact that he invited you somewhere like this makes you feel cheap. 

You feel like one of those women who purposefully goes after married men. But that had never been the plan and that had never been your type. Cooper was such a rare exception to your usual dates and interests. Now you just feel dirty. 

But it also doesn’t fit who he is at his core. You look over at him and finally get a really good look at him. His hand is on your thigh, there’s a suggestive undertone to his voice. But it doesn’t fit with his face. His eyes are too sad, the stubborn downward pull of his lips gives away his mood and cracks away the mask he was trying to wear. 

You shift minutely, dropping his hand from you and turning to fully face him. “What’s wrong with you?” There’s no point in dancing around the question. 

His eyes widen and he moves away from you, laughing slightly as he does. “You know me better than I give you credit for.” You give him a bored hum and motion for him to continue. He sighs, ordering another drink, and finally speaks. “Barb took Janey to her mom’s for the week.”

You try to keep your expression neutral but you know you’re failing miserably from the self-deprecating laugh he lets out. Things have been tense between them, it’s gotten worse ever since he went to one of those Hollywood against Vault-Tec meetings. You don’t know what he heard there, but it was enough to make him a lot more hostile towards your company and Barb by extension. 

You can’t count how many of their fights you’ve accidentally interrupted lately. 

You should feel sympathetic towards him, but it only pisses you off. You scoff and he frowns, surprised by your reaction. “So, what, Barb wants a break and you decide to fuck your assistant? Seems a bit cliche, even for you.”

He looks slightly dumbfounded by the suggestion. He shakes his head but at your continued glare finally looks around and realizes the message he’s sent across. He groans, head falling into his hand. “That is not what I wanted, sweetheart.” He looks up at you with a sheepish smile but it almost feels condescending. “I just wanted to talk somewhere that I knew we wouldn't be photographed. You know ever since that article about us we have to be more careful in public.”

You feel embarrassed, and you shouldn't. Anyone in your position probably would have assumed the same thing. That he had less than honorable intentions by bringing you here. But there’s a needling feeling in your gut, questioning the hand on your thigh and the way he’d looked at you. You try and dismiss it, passing it off as him just being too friendly when he has a couple drinks. 

You let out an embarrassed groan and turn away from him, “I’m sorry, I just assumed-”

He laughs, taking your hand in his and turning you to look at him. “It’s alright, I probably should have thought this out before I called you over.”

You hadn’t realized the bartender had brought you a drink until Cooper slides it over to you. It’s a peace offering and an apology when he clinks his glass against yours. You smile at him and take a sip, finally letting yourself relax. 

You should never relax. Ever. You make the worst damn decisions in the world when you’re not tense and constantly aware of everything around you. 

Honestly, you blame the bartender. He kept bringing you and Cooper more and more drinks until everything was covered in an alcohol induced haze. You’ve never made good decisions tipsy.

Apparently, neither does Cooper. 

You don’t feel like yourself, and he doesn’t feel like him. You’re not the lying bitch who's going to ruin this whole thing in a few months. He’s not Cooper Howard, the husband, the actor, the success. He’s just Cooper. 

Your Cooper. 

You giggle as you stumble into the hotel room. Because of course this place has a hotel above it. Probably for the same salacious reasons you’re about to use it for. His hands are grasping at your waist, rucking your shirt up until it’s untucked from your skirt. 

Your fingers are frantic, rushed and uncoordinated as you tug at the buttons of his shirt. He chuckles against your lips as you break away from him. Frowning down at the impossible shirt. Gently, he eases your hands away from him and undoes the buttons himself. 

You’re pleasantly surprised when he takes his shirt off. You knew he had to keep in shape for his roles, but you didn’t expect him to be so fit. He doesn’t let you admire him for long, not ready to be parted from you even for a second. He surges forward, hands clasped tightly around your cheeks and lips devouring your own. 

You fall into the kiss, nails digging into his shoulders as you open your mouth to him. His hands find the bottom of your shirt, gently tugging it up. But you don’t want gentle, don’t have the time for it. Because in the back of your head there is a little voice whispering how wrong this is. 

The longer you wait, the louder it gets. You take your shirt from him, yanking it up and over your head. Then you shimmy out of your skirt and reach for his belt. If he’s surprised by the speed in your movements or the desperation of them he doesn’t say anything. Which you’re grateful for. 

You’re just drunk enough for this to be okay, but if you sober up anymore you’ll leave. You don’t want to leave. You don’t want to feel the guilt. You just want to feel him. 

There’s a brief trip as you both stumble over the clothes littered across the ground. And then you’re falling onto the bed, into each other. You don’t stop kissing him, just beckon him closer with open legs and guide his hips towards yours. 

He parts from you then, backing off and looking like he wants to say something. But you don’t let him. You surge up to kiss him again, drawing him forward until he’s thrusting into you. There’s a stretch, it borders on uncomfortable. But you’ve been waiting for this for so long, for him, that you don’t need much more than him kissing you to be ready. 

Still, the feeling of him inside you borders on too much. All of it is too much, too overwhelming. This aching need inside you to consume him, have him, is nearly painful. It’s almost like a punishment for yourself. You don’t deserve something pure and good and untainted. You deserve this. Deep thrusts that cause you to keen and wince. 

He mumbles praises against your neck, how good you feel, how long he’s wanted this. It almost makes you want to cry. And you don’t know why. You don’t know why this is affecting you so much. But you can’t listen to him anymore. You can’t hear how good you feel when all you feel is dirty and desperate. 

You kiss him again, so you don’t have to look at him or hear him. You just picture yourself being somewhere else. Somewhere where this whole thing isn’t so horrible and you can be happy with him without feeling guilty. 

Your brain numbs, gives into the gentle motion of him moving inside you. The pain disappears and the pleasure builds slowly. In your toes, traveling its way up your legs and squeezing around you until it explodes into something blinding. You let the wave crest and wash you away, forgetting all about what was wrong in the first place. 

You must have fallen asleep at some point. When you wake up, it’s still dark outside and there’s something heavy wrapped around your waist. Your head pounds from the lingering buzz of alcohol that’s quickly fading. 

You look down at Cooper, how peaceful he looks resting against you. You feel something deep and aching building in your gut. You don’t know what it is. Desire, pain? It doesn’t matter. You choke on a sob, covering your mouth so you don’t wake him up as the tears start to pour. 

What the fuck did you just do?

You’re snapped awake by the sound of cussing. Your hands go to the gun resting on your waist but it’s too late. Four men surround you. You tilt your head, taking in their outfits and frowning. Where the hell did they get deputy outfits? Did they raid a Halloween store or something?

The mental image is enough to make you laugh and they don’t take too kindly to that. One of them kneels down in front of you, scowling. “Yur under arrest,” the accent is heavy and only makes you laugh more. 

“Yeah, on whose authority, Spirit Halloween?”

He rips his glasses off and you curl into yourself from how hard you laugh. He glares at you through crossed eyes, “The government.” You're still laughing when they tie a rope around you. Maybe you’ve finally lost it. 

The sun got to you and you’re having a heat stroke. Because even though you’re going from one captor to another, you can’t stop laughing. And it’s not pissing them off anymore. If anything they’re starting to look scared. 

But you can’t bring yourself to care. There’s a manic feeling rising in your chest, ripping through your sternum and suffocating you. You want to cry, you want to laugh or rip out your hair. You don’t know what's happening or what's wrong with you. But clearly they don’t want to deal with it. 

One of them comes up behind you and hits you with the handle of his pistol. There’s a sharp pain and then everything is black. 

“I could leave you here.” Lucy scoffs and glares down at him. It’s hard to hear her, everything around him is swimming. His heart is beating so frantically inside his head he’s sure it’s going to explode. “I should leave you here, after what you did to me.”

She glances around and seems to finally realize her little friend is missing. “Where is she?”

He’s got nothing for her but a wheeze, it’s all he can manage to get out. He’s fighting right now to stay sane. To not see her as anything more than meat or food. She sighs and kneels in front of him. In her hand are three vials of everything he needs right now to live. 

More drool dribbles from his lips and he tries to reach for them but his hand just twitches. Lucy places them in front of his face and stands back up. “Golden rule, motherfucker.” 

You’ve got to be fucking kidding me. 

It’s ironic that that’s what saves him. Her goddamn golden rule is the only thing to keep him tethered to the world of the sane. 

He takes in a deep rasping breath. He forces any strength he has left into his arm and slowly drags it across the dirt. The process of moving is painstaking and nearly futile. He’s at the point of desperation where his body is no longer cooperating with him.

Eventually, he manages to shuffle the vial into his inhaler. One is enough to get his breathing regulated. He needs all three just to get his fingers to twitch when he needs them too. He finally manages to scrape himself off the ground. 

Dirt has buried itself into the grooves of his skin, caked in further by his own drool. He’ll feel disgusted later. Right now, his legs are moving on pure instinct to where he knows more vials wait for him. 

He’ll think of you later. Of your escape. What he’ll do with you will all come later. As soon as he’s had just a little bit more medicine and numbed his brain with other illicit substances. He doesn’t want to think now. Doesn’t want to consider what would have happened if it had been his fate in your hands and not Lucy’s. 

When he wakes up it’s alone. Sun peaks through the curtains and he moves his hand blindly across the bed. When he doesn’t feel anything but a cold sheet he sits up and stares at the spot you once inhabited. 

There’s still a groove where you’d laid, a wrinkle in the sheets is the only sign that you were ever here. He sits up, looking around the room. There’s a little bit of hope that maybe you were just in the shower or hiding somewhere for some odd reason. 

You’re gone, though, clothes picked up off the floor and heels no longer by the door. He sighs, rubbing his chest to soothe the ache. He shouldn’t be disappointed. He should be ashamed. He should be disgusted with himself right now. 

He can’t be, all he feels is this deep aching sadness that he didn’t get the chance to wake up next to you. The drive home is lonely, almost shameful. 

He’d paid for the hotel room, he couldn’t look the man in the eye as he did. All he could think about was you, sneaking out. Running away from him. Why? Were you ashamed?

It was his fault. He knew what he was doing when he invited you to this place. He knew what it meant. But Barb had left and he was lonely in the too big house. He’d just wanted to see you because he knew it would make him feel better. And it did. 

You always made him so much happier. He just doesn’t know why you would leave like that. He gets home, tossing his keys in the bowl by the door and walking into the kitchen. He’s got a lingering headache from the drinks last night and a pain in his stomach from not eating anything. 

He knows he shouldn’t, it’s too early in the day, but he pours himself another drink. He doesn’t know what else to do, doesn’t know how to get you out of his head and the taste of you off his tongue. 

The phone rings beside him and he jumps for it. Maybe it’s you, apologizing for leaving and explaining there was an emergency. Or maybe you’d just left to get breakfast and returned to the room to find him gone. 

“Coop?” His stomach drops and he lets out a heavy sigh. 

There should be some sliver of anxiety that it’s his wife on the other line. He should be worried that she’ll hear the guilt in his voice and know something is wrong. But there's only stark disappointment that it isn’t you. 

He hums, not enough energy to try and speak with her right now. “I’m coming home early. I want to talk, I want to work this out.”

No, she doesn’t. She just wants to keep him under control. She realized if she’d strayed too far that the leash would loosen. He doesn’t bother responding, just hums again then hangs up. He needs to shower and get rid of the smell of your perfume on him. 

He’s reluctant to do it, wanting to hold on to the last bit of you he has. He sighs, runs a hand over his face and shakes his head. 

Why would you leave?

end. — I do not own the characters or the game/show Fallout, but this writing is my own all rights reserved © not-neverland06 2024. do not copy, repost, translate & recommend elsewhere.

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