Hello, I Was Wondering If You Could Do A Female Reader X Vincent Sinclair. Where The Reader Is Very Needy.

hello, I was wondering if you could do a female reader x Vincent Sinclair. Where the reader is very needy. Like she constantly just wants to be around him. They don't have to be talking just being around him is fine. If you don't write for house of wax that's fine. If you do this thank you. Have a good day!

Thank you for the request, I hope you like it. As I’m posting this I realized I kind of made the reader gender neutral because I never actually used pronouns. 🤍 gn!reader

You’re overwhelming, to say the least.

And that’s being kind. 

Vincent was his mother’s favorite, but even she had to cover his face. She might have favored him over Bo, but she didn’t love him, not the way a mother should. 

At least, that’s what you told him. 

Vincent was never sure if he should believe you or not. Bo had instilled in him that their mother was a saint. It was hard to lose that idealized image of her and replace it with the one you presented. But with the way you clung to him, hovered around him without a word, he started to wonder if maybe you had a point. 

Growing up, he wasn’t allowed to take the mask off. If he had to eat, his parent’s didn’t watch. He didn't know if it’s because he was so grotesque to them or because they couldn’t stand to see their failure. His mother was an artist, his father a doctor, yet somehow, they had created him. Formed him into this ugly and deformed creature. 

He struggled to reconcile with the fact that, maybe, someone truly could love him. He struggled with coming to terms that someone as kind as you, could love him. Most days he didn’t believe you. He would watch you carefully while you sat by his side. 

He waited for the inevitable, a look of disgust, a flinch when he came near. It never happened. He figured you were biding your time, sweetening him up and getting him to trust you before you made your escape. It wouldn’t be the first time one of the victims had done that to him. 

He almost wished he was right, that you were just a liar. He waited for you to slip up so he’d have a reason to keep you here forever in Ambrose. But you never did. Each day, you grew bolder, your presence nearly suffocated him. 

You don’t always touch him, you rarely ever talk. Your days are simply spent lingering around him, watching him work or reading while he sculpts. It’s odd, going from so many years on his own in his workshop to suddenly having a constant presence. 

He wonders why you don’t just go with Bo. He was the more handsome twin, more charming and funny. He could talk, he could walk around without a mask and be comfortable with himself. There was a clear language barrier between you and Vincent. 

His sign language was choppy at best because he’d had to learn it on his own. Bo and Lester learned some for him, but the family was pretty against it. You struggled to decipher his odd language but you still tried. He didn’t understand the effort. There was a “better” brother to choose from and, still, you stuck with him. 

Just as he looks over at you, you move from your spot by his desk. His fingers loosen around the tools in his hand while he watches you. You stretch, back bowing and a low groan leaving you as you finally move for the first time all day. You shoot him a smile before heading up the stairs out of his workshop. 

He stills and listens to the way your footsteps echo across the floorboards above him. You’re in the living room, you give a muffled greeting to Jonesy before heading towards the kitchen. His hands fidget restlessly with his tools but he can’t bring himself to get back to work. 

He hates when you go upstairs without him. He’s worried that one day he’ll hear the door open and close and he won't be able to get upstairs in time to get you back. He worries that he’ll hear Bo and you together upstairs, either in a fight or doing something worse. 

But you always come back. You’re never away from him for longer than you need to be. Your footsteps rush back towards the stairs and he feels some of the tension leave him. 

When you come back downstairs, a plate of food for you both, he pulls your chair closer to him. A silent invitation to stay close, one you eagerly accept. You sit beside him, leaning over his shoulder, and admire the sketches splayed out across his desk. 

You reach out, before he can stop you, and tug at the corner of one, pulling it out from under the others. Your eyes rove over the drawing of yourself, one of you sleeping on the couch he now keeps down here for you. You smile and glance up at him. When you lean forward and press a kiss against his masked cheek he wonders if maybe he needs you around just as much as you need him. 

end. — I do not own the characters or the movie House of Wax, but this writing is my own all rights reserved © not-neverland06 2024. do not copy, repost, translate & recommend elsewhere.

Requests are ….. [CLOSED]

If you just want to chat, feel free to just send me an ask and I’d love to hear your thoughts on anything and everything

Any requests anon or not are under the #anon tag

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Want a fic? - Be specific in what you want in your requests, it just helps me give you exactly what you want

I will write:

Steamy stuff but not full NSFW. I will write fade to black scenes, make out scenes, smutty stuff just not all the way sex I will literally write for any character, any, doesn’t even matter if I’m apart of the fandom or if it’s not on my master list. I’ll write for anybody!! - x reader - only fem!reader/gn!reader exclusively, that’s just my comfort zone and what I’m most confident in dub-con elements will do poly relationships as long as it is x reader

I won’t write:

Explicit sex scenes No real people/actors No age play, underage elements, not interested in anything to do with bodily fluids No character/character I’m not interested in writing anything extremely freaky

Million Dollar Man

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Cooper Howard x fem!reader, The Ghoul x fem!reader Summary: Shot, choked out, nearly gotten your throat ripped out by a feral ghoul. It’s barely even been forty eight hours on the surface.

Red carpets are overwhelming. You don’t have to walk them, thankfully, but you do have to accompany Cooper. It’s not explicitly required of you as his assistant, and honestly you think Barb would prefer if you didn’t. But he’d started taking you along after you’d admitted to wanting to go to one of his premieres. After that it became a sort of habit. 

Normally, you don’t have to participate. You linger behind interviewers or photographers and wait for him to enter into the theater with you. Tonight, however, Barb was sick. Nothing too horrific, a simple stomach bug that kept her at home. That’s what Cooper thought, at least. You know that she actually has to have an emergency meeting with one of Vault-Tec’s higher ups. There’s been some concerns raised about some of the experiments that she has to do damage control on. 

You’re almost nauseous at the thought that while you’re about to walk the carpet she’s arguing about whether or not children should be executed or experimented on in Vault 130. 

You’d spent most of your paycheck on this ridiculous red dress because Cooper insisted you join him tonight. He didn’t want to be dateless, joking that someone like him should always have a pretty lady on his arm.

You know he was just screwing with you, needling you to get you to agree to come. But you’d seen how much he really wanted you with him and how much Barb didn’t. Her right eye had twitched near imperceptibly at the suggestion and her smile had turned thin and strained. And that petty part of you that despises her for what she’s doing to Cooper, and making you do, had agreed just to piss her off. 

Standing on the carpet with him now, though, his hand hovering over your lower back and a respectable distance between you two, you felt sick.  He’d made it clear to those speaking to him and calling out questions that you were simply his friend, nothing more. He didn’t say assistant, employee, or poor girl that he’d roped into this. He said friend. He was foolishly opening himself up to the risk of a scandal. 

And he didn’t seem to care. 

One woman’s eyes hadn’t left you since you’d joined him at his side. She was glaring holes into you, bitter jealousy and suspicion clear in her gaze. She would kill to be in your position yet would still tear you down later in her pathetic little tabloid. Out of instinct you tried to inch away from Cooper, the plastic smile on your face faltering slightly. 

He glanced over at you through the side of his eyes, his own smile twitching with discontent. His hand came up to your shoulders, fingers splaying across your back, one of them slipping under the skimpy strap of your dress. You inhaled sharply at the contact, warmth blooming everywhere he touched. He seemed to have noticed your reaction if his pleased expression was anything to go by. 

His hand slipped around your arm, tugging you into his side. It was almost comical how many more camera flashes went off at the move. He laughed slightly, the noise low and sending chills down your spine. You couldn’t help yourself, shamelessly indulging as you wrapped your own arm around his waist. His grip on you tightened for a moment before you both relaxed into the other’s touch. 

Scandals be damned. 

It almost felt like he was messing with you. You kept running, breath coming out in short painful bursts. You felt like your chest was going to cave in the longer you went. You couldn’t falter for a second, you could hear him laughing behind you. The cruel noise echoed up above you in the trees and haunted you the further you got. 

You’re sure he could have caught up with you by now, he was teasing you. Taunting you with freedom before that horrible rope of his was back around you again. It was ironic, honestly, considering how attractive you used to find him when he did those lasso tricks in his old movies. 

“You can run sweetheart! But you won’t ever be able to hide from me, not out here!”

“Fuck off,” is what you wanted to say. But at the moment you were pretty fucking busy with just keeping yourself upright. You weren’t sure how long you’d been running, could have been ten minutes, could have been an hour. By this point the sound of branches cracking under your feet and the leaves rustling above you was just one high pitched ringing in your ears. 

Your blood was pumping so hard all you could really hear was the muddied sound of your heart pumping inside you. The loud bang didn’t register until you were flying forward. Your hands slide across the forest floor, palms scraping sharply against the rocks and twigs. 

The adrenaline in you is pumping so hard, your instinct for survival blocking out everything else, that you don’t register any pain. You scramble back to your feet, boots slipping in mud you hadn’t noticed before as you do, and shoot off again. 

You can hear him growing a bit more distant, voice fading away to nothing the more distance you put between the two of you. He must have had to stop to fire off his gun, you’re sure it’s the only reason you manage to get away from him. 

Still, you don’t let yourself stop or take a moment’s reprieve. You keep running until you can feel the impact of the ground inside your bones. You keep moving even as your blood burns with exhaust under your skin.

You’re completely turned around, not even letting yourself have a second to check your Pip-Boy. Eventually, when you break through the border of the forest, you find yourself in an area that looks more civilized than you were expecting. It’s all cracked pavement and crumbling buildings, but at the very least it’s not an endless wasteland of red sand. 

Through cracks in old cement you can see life beginning to grow through the old dredges of humanity. You’ve completely lost sight of Cooper. You’d like to believe he’s giving up, but you know him better than that. He’s nothing if not stubborn. Still, you allow yourself to slow down slightly. 

You jog through an old neighborhood, looking for anywhere that seems safe enough to squat in. But in every house you pass you can spot Radroaches or hear something that sounds inhuman. You’d rather not risk it when the only weapon you have on you is a knife. Plus, you’re completely exhausted from the chase. You can feel yourself slowly losing steam, the only thing that’s keeping you going now is pure adrenaline. 

You hear a loud screech to your left and your head whips towards it. Nothing comes out of the dilapidated house but you can hear the floorboards creaking with the weight of whatever is inside. The noises echo through the neighborhood and it’s only then that you notice how dark the sky is growing. You haven’t been on the surface very long, but you can assume it’s better not to be caught unawares in the dark. 

You keep your eyes on the house, blindly stumbling backwards as fear courses through you. It nearly has you frozen in place. Images of inconceivable horrors darting through your mind as you consider what could be waiting for you in the house. Your heart is racing again and you turn around, bolting down the street. 

It sounds like a bomb goes off behind you and you duck instinctively. Your feet catch on an upraised root in the ground and you go tumbling forward. Your arms spin uselessly by your sides as your feet scramble for purchase on the pavement. You manage to right yourself, turning around just long enough to catch something that looks like a ram fucked a T-Rex. It hasn’t spotted you yet, it’s head tilted further into the neighborhood as the destruction of the old house surrounds it. 

You glance around desperately, trying to find anywhere you could hide. You recognized its form, a Deathclaw. Another one of Vault-Tec’s special projects. A collaboration with the US military and their scientists to create the next great bio weapon. A knife wouldn’t do anything to it except piss it off. 

Not too far from you, you can see a bright red sign. An old Red Rocket gas station that should be good enough to hide out in while you wait for the Deathclaw to move on. You move slowly, backing away while you keep your eyes trained on the beast. It’s only then that you start to notice an odd tingling sensation in your right thigh. It almost feels like a bee sting. You don’t have time to worry about it now, though. 

The Deathclaw’s head turns, nose pointed up in the air while it sniffs around. You take the risky move of turning your back to it and bolt towards the safety of the gas station. You move with a slight limp, your right leg dragging behind you as a cramp begins to take hold of your thigh. You groan through your teeth, reaching down and holding onto it like you can force it to keep moving. You’re surprised by the wet warmth you feel when you touch the pants of your suit. 

You crash into the door of the gas station and rush inside. You slam it closed behind you and lean against it, letting out a long relieved rush of breath. You finally let yourself slump, your muscles going lax and losing the tension they’d been holding for the past few hours. You slide down the door and fall onto the filthy floor, dust rising up around you as you do. The adrenaline you’d been so heavily relying on is starting to wane as your exhaustion crashes down on you. 

You pull your hand off your thigh and glance down on it. You almost feel disconnected from your body when you see the blood coating it. The bang you’d heard in the woods earlier, Cooper shooting off his gun. You’d foolishly thought that he’d just been firing around you or into the sky, like he was trying to frighten you. 

Your voice is small as you speak, a surprised whisper, “He fucking shot me.” Your head thuds against the door and you clench your eyes shut. The adrenaline must have been the only thing keeping you going. You hadn’t even felt the bullet make contact. The cramp in your thigh begins to get more intense, you feel like your leg is being bent backward and another second of pressure is going to break it. 

You grit your teeth, bloody hand slipping against the door as you force yourself to your feet. Your foot’s going cold and you need to find something to stop the bleeding before you lose any more blood. It’s a dull throbbing ache now, it’s only going to get worse the longer it goes untreated. You’d had a plethora of Stimpaks, but Cooper had tossed those to the forest floor like they were nothing. 

You suppose to him they are nothing. 

You put your weight on your left leg and begin to hobble through the gas station, hoping to find something useful. The entire place has been raided, the aisles overturned and the shelves are bare. You’re sure there used to be supplies here but they’re long gone. The only interesting thing that catches your eye is a radio on the counter. It’s right near a back door. 

If you’re lucky - which clearly you aren’t - there will be something good behind the door. You clutch onto the counter for support, cold sweat beading on your temple as the pain in your leg intensifies. You flip through the stations of the radio, hoping to pick up a helpful radio wave. 

“-friendly reminder that I don’t take requests. So, please, don’t try and visit me anymore.” The ear grating sound of fiddles fills the empty shop and you jump back in surprise. Of fucking course. The only radio station for a hundred miles and he only plays fiddle music. You go to turn the radio off but a loud clatter coming from behind the closed door stops you. 

Your hand moves from the radio knob to the crowbar on the counter and you limp towards the door. You press your ear against the cool metal but don’t hear anything else. Clutching the cold iron of the crowbar close to your chest you slowly pulled the door open. It creaked and you winced but you barely had time to process that before something was screaming and lunging at you. 

You went flying across the shop, the breath knocked out of you as you slid across the floor. You slammed into the refrigerated walls and rolled onto your hands and knees. Blood followed the trail your body made, still leaking from your thigh. You caught sight of disjointed feet rushing towards you and had half a second to react to the ghoul that lunged for you. The crowbar was swinging before you could think about it. 

Iron met skull and the dull, wet, thud had you cringing. There was a brief squeal before the feral ghoul dropped to the ground, arms and legs twitching around wildly. “Fuck me running,” you muttered, wincing as you dragged yourself back to your feet. Two more were waiting in the doorway for you and you briefly wondered if you should just kill yourself. Seemed easier than dealing with all this bullshit. 

But you were inclined to saving your ass, so you tighten your grip on the crowbar and wait for them to come to you. The second one was easy enough to deal with. You swung the bar against their jaw so hard half of it fell to the floor with a bloody splat. Then you brought it over the top of their head until you could see brains and it crumpled to the floor. 

But your strength was waning, any reserves you had of adrenaline were drained. You stumbled against the wall as the third lunged at you. It took everything you had to simply keep its rotted teeth away from your neck. Your arms trembled from the strain and your hands slipped against their neck as they snapped their teeth loudly. You pushed against them in vain, any strength you had was gone. 

Their head snapped to the side and your ears rang as a shot went off. The ghoul crumpled near your feet and you stared wide eyed down at the blood pooling out from under it. You looked to the right and saw Lucy standing at the door, gun in hand and eyes wide as she stared at the ghoul by your feet. 

“Lucy?” You spotted what she was holding and frowned, “Is that a head?”

Credit where credit is due. He’d never seen someone run off a bullet wound before. She’d barely even tripped before she was bolting through the trees again. He watched her flying over the roots and jumping around bushes of stinging leaves with a grin on his face. “Run rabbit run!” He shouted after her, laughing when he heard her fall again. 

He stopped, eyes darting down to the small pool of blood she’d left behind. He could follow the prints her boots left in the mud, and when he lost those, he could just follow the blood. The sight of it brought him more satisfaction than it should have. But along with it came the rage that she’d even managed to get away at all. 

He should have known she would try and fight back. He’d been hoping she would be unprepared for the surface, but Vault-Tec would never let their little soldiers out without knowing how to fight. They were meant to re-dominate the world after all. 

He forces himself to slow down, to savor the chase. It’s so rare that he gets to do anything but wait with his targets. He was going to milk this for all it was worth. He couldn’t wait until he got her cornered, snared like a wild animal. He’d love to see how she would try to fight back then. 

He follows the tracks and feels himself growing antsy. She doesn’t know the area, that much is clear. If she did, she wouldn’t be running towards a well known Deathclaw nest. Not much can do him real harm. Bullets, arrows, knives, pretty much anything can go through him and he’ll live. But there’s only so much healing you can do when a Deathclaw is ripping your arms off. 

“Fuck,” he mutters, watching as her prints dissapear and small dribbles of blood lead into an abandoned neighborhood. It’s getting dark, he’ll lose sight of the trail soon. If he follows it into the neighborhood there’s a good chance that she’ll already be dead. Either from blood loss or from running up on a Deathclaw in its home. He’s risking his own hide for nothing more than revenge. 

If he waits any longer he’ll have to camp for the night and there’s a chance he might not catch up to her again. He tugs the pistol out of its holster and keeps an eye out for any hulking beasts that might try and delimb him. 

There’s a pile of broken wood and glass in the middle of the road. Remnants of an old house. He can only assume it's the work of the Deathclaw, nothing else has half as much a penchant for destruction. He skirts around it, following the blood down the hill towards an old gas station. 

The dog he picked up in Filly runs up ahead of him, catching a scent and following it. He can only wonder what’s set it off but it’s not his main priority. If the damn thing runs off then so be it. The closer he gets to the station the more he can make out voices. There’s a light glowing through the window, flickering to life like a fire would. Among the voices is the staticky sound of fiddles playing. 

The music he recognizes as the work of the intolerable DJ he ran into a few months back. Man had his station boobytrapped halfway to hell. As annoying as his music was, he wasn’t worth the hassle to kill. He wished he had now, though. Just the brief bit he has to listen to is enough to drive him mad. 

Dogmeat barks and the voices go quiet. “Fucking dog,” he mutters. He doesn’t give them any time to prepare. He busts through the door, guns drawn and points them at the two women on the floor. Two-in-one, he gets the head and the girl. 

She glares up at him, hand wrapped around her bloody thigh. “You found me.”

He gives her a mean grin, cocking the hammer of his gun back. She braces herself but he points it at her little friend instead. “You can run, but you can’t hide from me sweetheart.”

Cooper led her into the theater. He couldn’t help but laugh at the way she visibly deflated. Her shoulders slouched forward and she lost some of the faux confidence she’d been forcing for the cameras. He almost felt a little guilty for dragging her along with him, but not by too much. 

When Barb had said she couldn't make it, well, he hadn’t hesitated. As horrible as it is, he’d been wanting her on his arm for a while. Could anyone really blame him? She was gorgeous, and it wasn’t all physical. There was a fight, a spirit, in her that he adored. It created a certain spark in her eye that had drawn him the first moment he met her. 

And still, in front of all of those cameras it was the first time he’d ever really seen her look unsure of herself. Indulging more than he should, he kept his arm around her, thumb idly smoothing over her bare skin. “You alright, sweetheart?”

She glanced up at him, lips parted and looking like she’d forgotten he was standing there with her. The odd sadness in her gaze disappeared, shuttered away behind her walls. She put on a tense smile and hummed, “Yep. I’m fine.” She took in a deep breath and straightened herself, looking more like the woman he recognized. “Just never really been a fan of cameras, especially not that many.” A weak chuckle and then she ducked out from under his arm using the guise of needing the washroom. 

He sighed, immediately feeling the absence of her body pressed against his. There was a clear lack of warmth as she walked away from him and the distance between them seemed larger than it should. “Mr. Howard?” Cooper turned around, a young woman was waiting behind him with a notepad in hand. He recognized her as one of the producer’s daughters and immediately turned on his charm. 

“Yes?”

She nearly blushed at the direct attention and eagerly held out the pen and paper. “Could I please have you autograph? I’m one of your biggest fans!” Meeting girls like her was one of his favorite parts of doing these premieres. They were always so kind and excited, waiting to meet him like he was some sort of hero. Sometimes it felt like he received the sort of attention as an actor that he should have when he was in the war. 

He smiled and reached for the paper, quickly signing off his signature. It had been one of the harder parts to adjust to when he first started acting, trying to get his signature right. Now, he didn’t even have to look at the paper to do it. The girl started rattling off her favorite movies of his, asking him questions he wasn’t really hearing. He knew he should be paying attention, it never does well to ignore producers' kids. 

But he sees his date moving into the theater out of the corner of his eye and suddenly can’t be bothered with the girl. He hands her the notebook back, cutting her off as he bids her goodbye and walks after the woman he’s eager to speak with again. A P.A. jumps in front of him before he can get very far. “Mr. Howard,” his smile is strained and they sound tense. Clearly, he’d been looking for him for a while. “You’re needed up front.”

She sits in the back of the theater, clearly tired of being front and center the whole night. Again, there’s that little pang of guilt in his chest that he’d dragged her out here. But it disappears as she takes her seat and the slit of her dress slides up her thigh. He jerks his head back towards the stage and focuses on just getting through his little speech. He thanks his supporters, introduces the movies, and the second he gets the signal is beelining towards her. 

She gives him a surprised look when he lands in front of her. “Aren’t you supposed to be up there with them?” She phrases it like a question but the tone of her voice sounds like a demand. He should be up front with the other actors and executives, but she isn’t. The only way he’s getting through tonight is if he can talk to her during the movie. 

He doesn’t often like revisiting his movies. He finds that if he watches them too much he starts to get too critical. He’ll pick apart every line, every action and expression. Eventually he’ll wear himself down and tire himself out by being too picky. 

He shakes his head and takes a seat beside her, arm resting on the bar between them. He unbuttons his suit jacket and leans back, letting out a tired breath. He’s been in the public eye a little bit more lately with this whole Vault-Tec partnership. He’s hoping he can take a break after tonight. Maybe spend more time with his family. 

Of course that means spending less time with her. 

The lights of the theater dim and the crowd quiets from its earlier rush of excitement. She leans back into her seat with an annoyed huff and one last lingering glare before diverting her attention to the start of the movie. He can hear the boot spurs ringing through the speakers, his own voice calling out to the villain of the flick. 

But he can’t take his eyes off of her. The annoyance had disappeared fast from her gaze, never really there to begin with. She’s got this sparkle in her eye and a sort of subdued excitement that pleases him to see. She can try and deny it as much as she wants, but he knows that she is one of his oldest fans. She gets a starstruck look everytime she sees one of his movies. 

But she doesn’t give him that same look, just the movies. 

Without thinking his hand reaches for her own. He doesn’t know why he does it, what could possibly possess him to do something so stupid. But she looked so damn beautiful tonight, he just couldn’t help himself. Her hand, however, happens to be on her thigh. 

He’d meant it to be a friendly gesture. But he was so busy admiring her he missed and his hand clasped around her upper thigh instead. He doesn’t hate the feel of her skin under his. The brush of silk from her dress and the warmth emanating from her. He should, he’s a married man after all. But she seems like such a perfect fit in every aspect of his life that he can’t ever imagine any part of their relationship being wrong. Even such an intimate touch like this feels right to him. 

He expects her to get upset, swat him off of her. She should, she has every right too. Instead, she places her own hand on top of his. She’s yet to look away from the screen, barely even twitching when he touches her. Her eyes are on the larger than life image of him, but her attention is solely focused on Cooper. 

She leans closer into him slightly and he can smell the sweet perfume she’d spritzed tonight. It drives him insane, how deeply attached he’s become to her. He recognizes that this isn’t her normal perfume and he shouldn’t. He shouldn’t know what perfume she wears, what her favorite nail color is or the exact shade of her everyday lipstick. But he does, he recognizes it all. Knows her better than he knows himself sometimes. 

It should surprise him. Him touching her should surprise her. But it doesn’t. Because on some level, they both know this is how it’s meant to be. They’re meant to be together, even if they shouldn’t be. He finally tears his eyes off of her, squeezing her leg slightly and she does the same to his hand. 

A secret message between the two.

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.

Only Have Eyes for You

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Series Masterlist

Cooper Howard x fem!reader, The Ghoul x fem!reader Summary: He found you, again, you should be expecting it at this point. The only problem is there’s still a Deathclaw lurking around outside the station. You’re stuck with him and the bodies of the ghoul you kill in a desolate gas station.

“God, Coop, this is delicious.” She moans around the fork and takes another bite of dinner. He clenches his fork a little tighter, trying not to stare too obviously at the way her lips wrap around the metal. He feels like a lech, watching her reactions so eagerly. He also feels like she might be playing this whole thing up to screw with him. 

He’s a good cook, but he’s not that good. She glances up at him, red lips tilted up into a mischievous smirk. He lets out a rough sigh, shoulders slumping forward as he shakes his head and digs into his own meal. Of course she was messing with him. 

She lets out a little laugh, “Sorry, couldn’t resist. You’re so easy to rile up.”

“Yeah, yeah,” he tries to sound stern, but he can’t mask his own smile. “Keep it up and I won’t be cooking for you anymore.” He points the fork at her, an attempt at being intimidating, but he can’t keep the act up when she laughs. 

She’s enchanting, everything about her. The way she sits, eats, talks. He could just watch her all day and never be bored. Everything about her seems to be designed to tempt him. He knows he shouldn’t be thinking like this, it’s wrong. But he finds that thoughts like these are becoming easier to live with everyday. 

There’s always a cop out or an excuse that assuages his guilt in the moment. Of course, that night, when he puts Janey to sleep and lies next to his wife, that’s when everything comes crashing down. But when he’s with her, it’s like they’re in their own world. 

There’s no one here to answer to. No responsibilities to worry about or deadlines to meet. He can take off the celebrity mask and just be himself around her. Her presence is freeing. She approaches everything in life with such self-assuredness that he feels more confident around her. 

Sometimes, after a particularly bad day or a rough fight with Barb, he imagines what life would be like with her. If he’d never been a movie star. If he’d never fought in that war. If he’d just met her before everything changed. Maybe they’d have a ranch, out in the middle of nowhere with no one and nothing around them. 

It would just be the two of them together, maybe some chickens, definitely Roosevelt. The thought always makes him smile. Then he remembers what reality actually looks like. The war, the stardom, his family, it’s who he is. It’s so deeply ingrained into him that he doesn’t even know who he would be without it. 

“Oh,” she looks up from her plate and glances over at the record player. Cooper takes the chance to look at her, really look at her. The candlelight gives her a youthful glow. Her lips are eased into a gentle smile, expression soft and open. It’s the most relaxed he’s seen her in a while. She’s been so tense lately, it’s why he offered to make her dinner. 

Now, the tension has melted from her shoulders. It looks like the light’s gone back on in her eyes. Hell, he’d practically invited her on a date, he doesn’t know why he’s surprised by how happy she looks. They’re eating a dinner he made by candlelight with I Only Have Eyes for You playing in the background. 

He’s not sure he could have made this any more romantic. “I love this song,” she whispers. She glances back over at him. It’s a brief look, fleeting and gone as quick as it comes. But he knows what she’s thinking, because he’s thinking the same thing. 

They speak with their eyes, their looks, it’s become a secret language between the two of them. It’s full of fleeting touches and longing gazes and it’s always quicker than he wants. There was a yearning in her eyes that he knows is reflected in his own. The desire to act on their desires. 

For tonight, only tonight he reasons, he’s going to do what he wants. The world will melt away and he’ll give into the fantasies. They’ll go back to their usual tomorrow, but tonight, tonight is for the two of them and no one else. 

He stands up from his seat and she glances up at him, eyes wide and a furrow in her brow. “Come on darling,” he whispers. If he speaks too loudly the spell will end and they’ll sober up, realize what they’re doing. He holds out his hand to her and she looks at it for a moment. Fleeting touches, it’s all they know, tonight that changes. 

She doesn’t smile, simply slides her hand into his and nods. Acceptance of what they’re doing. Her palm is warm against his, smooth and when she squeezes his hand it takes everything in him not to just bring her into his chest. But he has to be slow, savor this while it lasts. Tomorrow it ends. He can’t let this moment be rushed. He helps her to her feet and leads her into the open space of his living room.

When he comes to a stop she finally takes her eyes off her heels and looks at him. He swears the stars are in her eyes, they lure him in and keep him captive in their hold. He never wants to look away from her. 

Her hand slowly glides up his arm. Her fingers brush against the nape of his neck from where she lazily drapes her forearm over his shoulder. He smiles at her, heart racing a bit when she gives him her gorgeous smile in return. They sway slightly as his arm wraps around her waist and his free hand takes her other one. 

She scoffs in amusement when she notices the way he keeps them apart. There’s a ridiculous amount of space between the two of them. He’s afraid if he pulls her any closer he’ll lose the last thread of sanity he has.  

She takes the final step, slotting her feet between his, their chests pushed up together. For a moment, he worries that she can feel how quickly his heart is beating. It processed slowly that it’s her own pulse he’s feeling. She’s just as affected by him as he is by her. 

She gives him one last look before she leans her head against his shoulder. He mourns the loss of her eyes for a moment before he closes his own and leans into her. He forgets where he is, lets himself get lost in the moment. They're not even dancing, merely moving together. 

He’s not sure how many songs they sway to, how long they stand joined together. He doesn’t care. He doesn’t know whether they’re still in his house or have somehow danced their way into the backyard. He only has eyes for her. 

You hold your hands up, trying your best to placate him. Cooper just gives you a mean smirk, his head tilted in contemplation as he looks at Lucy. Her eyes are wide as she stares down the barrel of his gun. “Cooper-”

He pulls back the hammer and your mouth clamps shut. You have no way of knowing what he’s going to do. Maybe if this was two hundred years ago you might. But this man before you is a stranger. 

Your heart leaps to your throat and you have to stop yourself from lunging forward when he grabs at Lucy. In a split second the gun is pointed at you and his arm is tightly wrapped around her neck. Lucy wheezes, hands desperately clawing at Cooper’s arms. 

You’re crouched on the ground, hackles raised like a feral animal. There’s a throbbing pain radiating from where he shot you. Were it not for Lucy’s medkit you would have bled out. If the wound wasn’t crippling you right now, you would have already shoved your knife through his neck. Again. 

“Up,” he commands with a jerky upward motion of his gun. Your eyes dart to Lucy’s. They’re rounded with concern and she shakes her head as much as he allows. You can’t run, your brains would be splattered across dusty linoleum before you breached the door. You have no choice but to comply with his commands. 

He smiles, seeming to come to the same realization as you. His eyes rove over you, lightening with satisfaction as he catches sight of the blood covering the entirety of your right leg. Then they happen upon the head dangling from your hand. “Well, well, well, look what we have here. Three for the price of one backstabbing bitch.”

Your face screws up in a sardonic smile and you toss the head to his feet, “Take it. Leave us the hell alone and just take the bounty.” Lucy squeaks but her face is turning purple from the grip he has around her throat. She’s got no room to protest against this. Either you give up the head or he kills you both. You don’t see yourself getting out of this one. 

To your chagrin Cooper simply shakes his head. He tucks the gun back into its holster and you track the movement carefully. He reaches behind himself, pulling out his rope and roughly placing it in Lucy’s hands. With a loud gasp she’s released from his hold and shoved forward. You grunt, hands reaching up to brace her as she crashes into you. She pants into your shoulder, rubbing her throat with a wheeze as she catches her breath. 

Cooper’s eyes are cold, devoid of anything except a detached boredom as he watches you both. “Tie her up.”

Lucy looks over her shoulder, voice cracking and painful to listen to. “What?” You can barely hear her, you’re not sure how Cooper manages to understand what she’s saying. But he does, he doesn’t say anything else. He leans back, arms hanging relaxed by his side as he nods once more from the rope in her hands to you. 

Your hands tighten to the point of creaking pain in your knuckles as Lucy slowly shifts away from you. Her own grip on the frayed rope is shaking, hands trembling as her cool fingers wrap around your wrists. You don’t let your eyes leave Cooper. You take in the smug look on his face and let it fuel your hatred for him further. He might think he’s got you now, but the second you’re fully healed you’re going to kill him. Permanently this time. 

There’s a little tsk from Cooper and Lucy glances back at him, hands still hovering over your wrists. He shakes his head and nods upwards. Her lips part, brows narrowed in confusion as her hands slowly make their way higher up your body. Over your forearms, past your elbows, and grazing against your biceps. He’s only satisfied when her hands are placed loosely around your neck. “Leash her,” the command is a rough growl that has panicked shivers crawling down your spine. There’s contempt dripping from his voice, nothing but hate as he barely even looks at you. 

Lucy mouths an apology but you just shake your head. You don’t need her apologies, you just need this to be over. You need him to turn his back so you can both make a run for it. Craning your neck forward, Lucy slips the loop over your head. She tries not to irritate the bruise that is already around your throat from your last run in with him but it's unavoidable. Your jaw clenches, teeth grinding together as you try not to focus on the burning chafe of rope against your skin. 

Something wet nudges against your hand and your stare breaks away from Cooper. The back of your palm is sticky with something slimy and you grimace as you glance down. There’s a sharp yip from the hound beside you. She’s nudging relentlessly against the hand holding the head, like she’s trying to take it from you. Your fingers bury deeper into the hair and you jerk back, forgetting momentarily about the rope and hissing when it tears at the fragile skin. 

Cooper stomps forward, the spurs on his boots sounding like jingling omens of doom. He grabs at the rope and with a hard tug you stumble towards him. Your chin lands on his chest, the bone digging uncomfortably into his sternum. You glare up at him and he’s already grinning down at you. The yellow of his teeth looks particularly putrid tonight. 

His hand is rough as it grasps your wrist. The skin hardened and calloused from hundreds of years of being under the nuclear sun. Your breath catches slightly when it finds its way around the base of your neck. His touch is almost gentle as his fingers skate across your collarbones. It catches you off guard, lips parting with a surprised gasp as they travel deftly up your neck. 

You expect him to squeeze so you take a deep breath. His smile ticks up, grin widening at the action. His head tilts slightly as he takes you in, eyes roving up and down your form. This is odd, this feeling. There’s a flutter in your stomach, a recognizable ache in your chest when you see the way he’s looking at you. 

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. 

The world around you is muffled like you’re underwater. The blood rushing around in your head as your brain throbs. Vaguely, you can hear Lucy shouting and the dog barking. But Cooper never takes his eyes off of you. He’s undeterred by Lucy hitting and slapping at him with her own fatigued arms. It’s only when a loud roar off in the distance rattles the floor of the station that he lets you go. 

Your legs give out but you don’t get a chance to sink to the floor. A firm arm wraps around your waist and keeps you clutched to his chest. You have no choice but to hold onto him, nails digging into the leather of his duster as you catch your breath. “Alright,” he mutters, voice low as he speaks into your ear. “Catch your breath, sweetheart.” For a moment you can pretend he’s comforting you. That he wasn’t the one who just tried to kill you. 

He doesn’t let the fantasy last long. “It’s only going to get worse from here.”

You’d cry if you weren’t so exhausted. “Please,” Lucy croaks from behind you. “What do you want from us?” You try to slip away from him while she speaks. But you still don’t have great control over your faculties. Your feet just slide uselessly against the floor as he keeps you strapped to him like an iron band. 

“You,” he spits the word out like an insult. “Well, I don’t want nothing from you, little lady. It’s her I want.” You don’t have to look up to know that he’s talking about you. It’s clear enough from the way he tugs a little at your rope. You whimper at the twinge of pain and he chuckles. You glance up enough to see him look down at the head, frowning slightly as he considers it. “Although, that bounty right there is a bit of a bonus.”

Lucy shakes her head, ponytail waving around wildly. She holds up her hands, starting towards it. The dog lunges forward and Lucy stumbles back with a frightened yelp. “Please,” she looks up at Cooper, eyes pleading. “I need that head to save my father.” You would sigh if breathing didn’t hurt right now. There was no getting him to sympathize with her. 

“Your father?” Cooper questions, voice almost sounding sympathetic. Lucy nods, lips pouted and eyes wide with a beg for mercy. He huffs, a sneer marring his lips. “Well that’s just too bad,” he mocks. Lucy doesn’t seem to pick up on the sarcasm in his words, though, so he makes himself a little more clear. “I don’t give a fuck about your father, darling.”

Before anyone can say anything else there’s another loud roar, this time much closer than the last one. Cooper tenses up around you, arm tightening and eyes darting over to the closed metal door of the shop. Finally, he releases you. 

Your legs are still wobbly, you manage to stay standing for a second before they give out. They fold under you like a crumbling card tower and your body jolts roughly against the floor. Lucy skirts around the growling dog, still guarding her master’s head, and kneels beside you. 

Cooper opens the door, he pops his head outside for a second. You and Lucy share a look but it’s barely a minute later before he darts back inside and slams the door behind him. Without a word he drags a large metal shelf in front of the door and blocks it off. 

You and Lucy watch as he does it to the other doors as well. His face doesn’t give away much but you can tell from the hunch of his shoulders that whatever he saw had scared the hell out of him. You don’t know what time Deathclaw’s like to hunt but you figure it’s probably about now. You would enjoy the idea of something frightening Cooper if it didn’t scare you ten times worse. 

Cooper looks over at the two of you and frowns like it’s your fault you're all stuck here. “Settle in, ladies, it’s going to be a long night.”

He managed to find a half rotted couch in one of the rooms, it’s not very comfortable. But it’s better than the floor. It’s certainly better than being tied up to a counter, which is exactly where you are. You keep shifting around, picking at the dried blood on your pants. He can’t deny the satisfaction it brought him to see how uncomfortable you are sitting in your own blood. 

Your little friend is still hovering around you. He hadn’t really had to worry about tying Lucy up, she refuses to leave your side. Lucy keeps fussing about the wound on your neck. Everytime she tries to take the rope off all he has to do is clear his throat and she’s pale with fear. 

The dog is curled up by him, resting on top of her owner’s head. It’s creepy, her attachment to that damn thing. She should be able to smell the death on him. Though, with the men he used to work for, he’s sure that she doesn’t know any other smell. 

He didn’t bother questioning them about the dead ghouls in the shop. He’d just made them drag the bodies into the empty refrigerators to hopefully keep the smell locked away. It didn’t take a genius to put two and two together. You’d had a bloody crowbar in your hand when he’d ambushed you. 

He catches your eye from where he rests on the couch. It’s hard to believe you’re such a ruthless little killer considering how pathetic you look right now. Your expression is sour, eyes set with thinly veiled hatred. You can glower all you want, he’s not gonna pretend he didn’t see the want in your eyes earlier. You might be angry now, but you still want him all the same. It’s gonna make breaking you so much sweeter. 

Lucy happens to catch the look and she frowns at what she must think is familiarity. He tilts his hat over his eyes, deciding he might as well try and sleep now. They won’t be leaving this place until the Deathclaw lurking around outside goes back to its den. 

“Do you know him?” He attempts to drown out their conversation but its hard. They’re in ridiculously tight quarters and as much as he wishes he was alone right now, he’s not. He could always just toss Lucy out the door, use her as a distraction for the Deathclaw. Sadly, she does have some use about her. 

Clearly she knows her way around a gun and a medkit. She’s resilient, he’s sure even if he did toss her out she’d still bounce back somehow. Besides, she’s keeping her friend calm and docile. He needs them both to keep each other under control. 

A light hum, “Used too.”

Lucy’s voice is incredulous, she almost sounds betrayed. “How is that possible?”

He opens his eyes just enough to see yours widen. Your face pales like you’d just realized the mistake you made. He doubts Lucy actually knows much about the vaults she lives in. He’s sure that, just as you always did, you’re still keeping Vault-Tec’s secrets. 

Instead of answering the question you try to deflect. “Come on, he might be missing a nose and have a real shitty fucking attitude.” He can’t help but snort at the anger in your voice. Like you have any right to be angry at him. “But you don’t recognize your favorite little mascot?”

He sneers at the mocking tone. When he glances back up you’ve got a smug little smile on your face. You’re not looking at Lucy, you’re already staring at him. Waiting for him to explode. 

Well, one thing hasn’t changed. You still know how to get under his skin. But he’ll be damned if he lets you know just how much you piss him off. He doesn’t give you the satisfaction of his reaction, he just closes his eyes again and imagines all the different ways he wants to torture you. 

“What do you mean?”

“You should ask him for an autograph Lucy, it’s our very own Vault Boy.” He pictures sliding his knife under your skin and peeling while you shriek. “Isn't that right, Cooper?” He sees himself shooting Bud and Barb and you, over and over again. The same little fantasies that got him through the first years of the fallout. 

Lucy is undeterred by your deflection. She keeps her eyes trained on you both. Her brows are drawn in, mouth set in a firm line. “You two know each other.” You don’t answer, eyes darting away from his and settling on the floor. Lucy sinks back against the counter and sighs. “That’s why you never loved Norm.”

Norm? He tilts his head up, taking in the affronted look on your face. Your head whips back towards her, “Lucy-” she cuts you off. 

“Him?” She motions towards him, voice incredulous and almost hurt. Who the fuck is Norm? You lower your head, like you’re ashamed. He wonders if it’s because you got caught or just because you were ever with him. “He’s so much better than my brother?” She keeps going, voice reaching a pitch of anger as she prods at you. 

He’s surprised by how quickly she connected the dots. He hadn’t thought she would be so perceptive. He’s sure that little show you gave her earlier when he had his hand around your neck probably gave you away. 

“In my defense,” you hiss back, “he used to have a fucking nose.” 

You know she’s struggling with this. The idea that you could have ever loved the ghoul. But, she doesn’t understand just how different he had been when you’d known him. She only knows this cannibalistic sadist without a kind bone in his body. 

Lucy is staring at you with something close to hate in her eyes. You can’t really blame her. So far he’d beat you both down and taken you hostage. You both know it’s only going to get worse. And now she thinks that you loved him, which is true. You think she might believe you still have feelings for him, which, despite your earlier display, is not true. 

She also knows now that you precede everything before the fallout. You’re sure she’s trying to put together how that works and right now you need to distract her with whatever you’ve got to keep her from figuring out the truth. 

“He was different,” you try, voice soft and pleading. 

She just shakes her head, turning away from you. “Norm deserved better,” she whispers and you frown. It hurts, the way she says it. Like you aren’t good enough for him. You cared for Norm as best you could but you weren’t going to apologize for not being in love with him. You can’t control who you love and who just can’t.

She would never know the man you loved and the thought hurt more than you cared to admit. “Who the fuck is Norm?” You and Lucy both leap apart, not expecting to hear his voice. You share a hesitant glance with each other. 

Cooper stands over you, expression expectant and hard. You try to shake your head, but she’s already answering, “Her husband,” she spits the words out like a threat. You recognize the tone, the same one you used to hear pre-war. Like if he keeps bugging you, your husband is going to come kick his ass. 

But this isn’t some asshole hitting on you in a bar. And Norm isn’t exactly a fighter. Cooper seems to realize that too because he steps back and fixes you with an odd look. You brace yourself, for anger or disgust, anything. You’re not prepared for the way he laughs, hands on his knees and whole body shaking with it. You frown, almost offended by his display. 

What the hell was that supposed to mean? 

You’ve never seen him laugh like this. 

Lucy gives you a scared glance before scooting closer to you. “That’s rich,” he sighs, wiping a tear from his eyes and shaking his head. “Married in the fucking apocalypse, how goddamn ridiculous.” He doesn’t sound amused anymore. There’s venom in his tone. His eyes narrow down on you and you shrink further into yourself, thigh throbbing painfully. 

He walks back to the couch, throwing himself down and tugging the hat over his eyes. “Feel bad for the poor bastard,” he mutters, the words feel hateful. But everything about him now is tainted with anger and hate. 

Lucy, realizing he isn’t going to bother you both anymore fixes you with one more angry look before moving away from you. She settles against the refrigerators. She’d rather sit near dead ghouls than be near you. 

Your head falls forward with defeat, chin tucking into your chest with a rough sigh. You’re sure it wouldn’t take much longer for her to discover just who you really are and what you do for Vault-Tec. She’s smart, she’s going to figure it out soon. And when she does she’s not going to be interested in your company anymore. 

Once that happens, well, Cooper’s got nothing left to leverage against you. 

“You cooked?” The astonishment in Norm’s voice has you rolling your eyes. 

“Don’t sound so surprised. I am capable of some wifely duties,” you send him a playful grin and he offers up a brief chuckle. “Your dad’s coming over,” you admit. You turn your back to him, placing a fork beside the plate you're setting. You can practically feel the tension that settles over him at the announcement. 

Hank’s visits never really go the way that he wants. Or the way you want. He’s the overseer before he’s an old friend and especially before he’s a father. At least to Norm. He’s always been a little sweeter on Lucy. You’ve never really figured out if it’s because she embraces her role in the vault so much better than Norm. Or if it’s because she reminds him of her mother. 

You, personally, never got to meet Lucy’s mom. You only heard stories about her. Norm was too young to really remember her, but Lucy always loves to talk about how kind of a woman she was. You don’t know the real story of how she died, but you know the shit Betty and Hank pedal isn’t the truth. 

You try to avoid the topic of parents in your home as much as you can. It’s a sensitive subject for Norm. It’s why you’d been putting off telling Norm about Hank coming over. But you put it off so much, you’ve had no choice but to spring it on him. It’s better like this, honestly. He always weasels his way out of these dinners. Then you’re stuck awkwardly fielding Hank’s questions about your marriage with his son. 

It’s not really fun to talk to the guy you used to get drinks with about creating a child with his kid. 

“You didn't tell me,” Norm doesn’t sound angry. He never gets angry with you. He just seems resigned. Resigned to accepting that he’s in a marriage he never wanted. Resigned in the fact that he hates the vault he lives in, the jobs he works, that he’ll never truly be satisfied. Your husband can be a sad man sometimes. 

You wish you could be what he needed you to be. Wish you could love him the way you should, but you can’t. As much as you try. He knows it’s forced and he doesn’t want to pretend he’s okay with being second choice in your heart. 

“I’m sorry, but you always manage to get out of these things. Then I’m stuck awkwardly talking about sperm count and his and Lucy’s book club.”

Usually Norm just huffs and accepts his fate. Instead, he fixes you with an odd look. It’s that assessing gaze he gets sometimes that makes you feel like he’s looking straight into your core and seeing the rot there. He walks around you, grabbing a plate and finishing up setting the table. “You know,” he starts and you tense up. 

You pretend to be busy mixing the mash potatoes so you don’t have to look at him. Your anxieties are always evident on your face, you don’t need him to pick you apart right now. “My dad seems a lot more comfortable with you than he does me. Sometimes,” you risk a glance and he shakes his head. He seems like he’s talking more to himself than you. “Sometimes,” he starts again, “it seems like you two know each other.”

Your breath catches and you’re pretty sure your heart stops beating for a solid minute. He’s still muttering to himself, not looking at you or really even processing what he’s saying, but you’re worried he’s figured you out. It’s illogical and impossible. You could easily explain your bond with Hank away. But it doesn’t make you feel any better about having to lie to him. 

You’re quite literally saved by the bell as your doorbell buzzes and Hank’s voice calls out a chipper, “Hello!” Norm puts down the last glass, gives you a strained smile, and turns to get the door. You take in a deep breath and slump over the counter for a second. 

You had this foolish idea in your head that the last person you would ever have to lie to would be Cooper. That once you got down into the vaults you wouldn’t have to keep lying to the people you care about. You could finally rid yourself of the constant anxiety and stress of the upkeep of your lies. 

You should have known better. 

Hank walks in with Norm, the two of them chatting about Norm’s new janitorial job. Norm is less than enthused and Hank is worried about the lack of enthusiasm. “Cleaning toilets is a very important role here, son. I’m proud of you.” At least he tries. 

Norm sits his dad at the table and walks into the kitchen. You give him a smile and finish pouring the potatoes onto the dish of food. You hope he doesn’t notice how strained your look is. If he does, he has the decency not to mention it. 

He only offers you a brief smile in return, a secret message in his look. It’s tense, the same as yours, but this is simply a request to play interference between him and his dad tonight. You huff a laugh and nod, he gives you a relieved look and grabs the pitcher of lemonade from beside you. 

You watch him walk back to the table. His back is turned as he pours drinks for all of you. You’re reminded of a different dinner you had a long time ago. Not for the first time you look at Norm and wish he was someone else. 

You screw your eyes shut, turning your back on him and glancing down at the food in front of you. He deserves better than you. 

You take in a deep breath and pick up the dish full of your dinner tonight. You straighten out your shoulders and turn towards the men waiting for you with your most practiced smile. “Who’s hungry?”

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.

- Belle - 21 -

I’ve been writing fanfiction in my head for years but just started publishing it in 2023

I mainly do series, I’m not a huge fan of one-shots because my stories are constantly evolving. That doesn’t mean I don’t love a good ficlet, it’s just not my specialty.

I have eclectic tastes in the media I consume because my mom was a film major so I grew up on a lot of different stuff.

Top fandoms (doesn’t mean I’m going to write for all of them, they’re just my favorites):

- Harry Potter

- Detroit: Become Human

- Game of Thrones

- House of the Dragon

- Fallout

- American Horror Story

- The Hobbit

- Buffy The Vampire Slayer

- Lost Boys

I’ll write for pretty much anything and everything. Including small fandoms that might be a little nonexistent fanfiction wise. Just remember, this is a safe-space for everyone, so no hate.

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.