I Don't Usually Like AUs But Mafia 141 Is Just...mmmmm

I don't usually like AUs but mafia 141 is just...mmmmm

I love it.

The Assistant

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Lmfao this is my take on the Mafia!141 x reader

this had been sitting in my drafts since February.

WARNING: swearing, violence, later chapters might include NSFW if I decide to continue. afab!reader, f!reader

(I would like to preface this that this is not my original idea, I know that many of these stories have assistant!readers but this idea had been sitting on my head for the longest time)

Dividers by: @cafekitsune

Paying for school was a fucking shit storm. You really should’ve just stuck to STEM but dammit did you fucking hate statistics. That was never your forte.

In desperate need of work, you took up waitressing, bartending, house keeping, even dog sitting.

You came to the conclusion very quickly that while job hopping kept you busy- it’s not something you want to keep doing.

So you found a job offer for an office assistant. Pretty solid. Keep orders of appointments, organize files, print and send files, and send emails.

Shit…it sounds easy it certainly can’t be so?

Well. Call it a hunch. You were right. It was awful.

Your boss was pretty alright at the start, but later on it became such a shit show. He would show up drunk, verbally assault you and another assistant, and constantly throw passes at you.

Not only that. The man you worked for ended up being a fucking scammer. Offered a very dangerous group a ‘great deal’ that ended up turning their plans for the worse. The threats from the clients were scaring off co-workers of yours. Some without notice, which kind of hurt your feelings.

One of them being your friend, Amara. She was a sweet girl, getting married soon. She was so excited to start a new life with her fiancé and her mom. But then she was found dead only a few weeks after she left. Oh you were heart broken.

Her funeral was very difficult to attend.

You noticed that your boss wasn’t around the past few days, and you were anxiously answering furious emails back to back. Some of them threatening to end your life if you couldn’t fix their issues.

You were so close to finishing college with your BA. You needed to save enough for your Masters. How else could you manage?!

There went your goals of becoming something in theatre, yes we know, of all things. Gods…you were so willing to start selling organs to pay off student loans. You knew this job was way too good to be true.

Then *they* came around.

Two gentlemen, a charming male, with brown eyes and a dashing smile had you distracted before he even opened his mouth. The other next to him, a blue-eyed individual with a soft-looking Mohawk and rugged nature, had a contagious laughter that drew you to look up in the first place.

When they got to you, they were very polite.

“Good afternoon, we’re here to see Mr. Seamire.”

Your smile falters and you worry that they might turn nasty if you tell them the truth…but you can’t think of a better lie than the “sorry he’s not in right now” that you’ve been repeating that past few days.

“I’m so sorry, he hasn’t been in for a few days now.” You sheepishly admit. “If you’d like to leave a message or number we can leave it on his desk, if he comes back-“

“Oh that won’t be necessary, hen.” The blue eyed man speaks, a Scottish accent in his words.

“If we can, would you be able to find us some files? Only if you can. We’re pulling out of a…” he huffs a laugh, but there’s no amusement in his eyes, “business, deal.”

You blink and nod your head.

“Sure, I just need a name. I’m so sorry we’ve not satisfied you with our company’s service.”

The brown-eyed gentleman smiles warmly. “Thank you kindly, ma’am. It’s no worries. They’re under a number actually, 141.”

You nod, typing in the number as an aggressive smack on your desk counter sounds right next to the two.

“I wanna speak to Seamire! Now!”

Ah shit.

“I’m sorry sir, he’s not in-“

“You said that shit last time!!”

“Y-Yes- I did-“

The man throws a drink (where the fuck he got that from you don't know) right at you, and you thank god that it was a cold one.

Immediately the two gentlemen wrestle him back a few steps.

“Oi- what the bloody hell is your problem?!”

You take a deep breath, the aggressive stranger still yelling profanities at you as your in the middle of a breathing exercise your therapist from your uni taught you. It’s not really working.

“Cheap whores like her need to learn how to do their fucking jobs-!”

Your eyes snap open in rage. “ENOUGH.”

Everyone in the room stops.

You slam the company telephone on the top of the counter, grabbing the actual phone part and holding it out to him. “Do *you* wanna try calling him? Huh? Wanna give it a fucking go?!”

You shove it off of the counter as he stands there gobsmacked.

“I’m sorry you got fucked over by my boss, but I’m not his fucking keeper. I’m his fucking assistant. He tells me what to do, when to do it, and not even a please or thank you to come with it. The little slimeball hasn’t been here in,”

You yank out a file and slam it down. “three fucking weeks. So if you want to file a complaint-"

You harshly slide the folder over. It's huge, the papers spilling out of the openings. "-JOIN THE FUCKING CLUB. You incompetent prick!”

The Scotsman lets out a huffed laugh, looking back at the stranger. “Think yer not welcomed here, lad.”

He grabs the man by the jacket of his suit and drags him out of the door. You can only see so far which way he takes him.

His friend looks back at you, a sort of worry on his face. “You alright there, miss?”

Immediately you shake your head. “No. I think that might’ve been my sign to quit.” You sigh out. “Uhm…I’m not supposed to do this but since I’m putting in my notice, uh I can use the computer on the managers floor to get those files for you. I can either mail them to you or-“

“I can pick them up myself, I’d rather them not be others hands.”

“Okay,” you pull out a pen and sticky note. “Write down your number or email, and I can let you know when they’re ready to be picked up. I can honestly have them by…”

You need to take a deep breath, the nerves and anxiety still hot in your blood. “…like- tomorrow.”

The man smiles, scribbling down a number, and a name. ‘Kyle’. You presume it’s his, considering he doesn’t correct you when you point at him.

You smile, peeling off the note and sticking it onto the desk. “Okay, Kyle. I’ll let you know as soon as that’s ready. Thank you…for uh…helping me out there.”

‘Kyle’ nods and motions to your outfit. “You’re gonna be alright smelling like coffee all day?”

“Oh, I’ll manage. Might leave after this.”

He leans in with his forearms on the desk.“I don’t blame you.”

There’s a feeling of shyness in your chest as he leans in, and then his friend comes through the door.

“You alright, miss?”

Again, you nod. “Yes! Thank you, I hope that wasn’t trouble-“

He waves his hand in front of him. “It’s no problem for us.”

Kyle raps his knuckles on the desk as he looks at his friend. “Well, she said she’ll let us know when we can get those files. We're clear?”

“Almost,” the Scotsman states. There’s a look between the two, something their communicating with their eyes as Mohawk opens his mouth. “You wouldn’t happen to know where your boss last was?”

Your brows raise up- cause in all honestly no. You didn’t know. Last you heard he just stated he was taking some vacation days. Which you relayed.

“He could be anywhere really, he really likes his beach house though. Never really told us where it was.”

His demeanor perks at the mention of a location. Not a proper one but a house nonetheless. “Thank ye, lass. And yer name was-?”

“Oh I’m (y/n).”

“(Y/n). Such a beautiful name. I’m Johnny.”

“Pleasure.” You can’t help but notice his knuckles. Bruised and cut up, like he fights for a living. Honestly, with his build, you would assume he does so.

“We’ll keep in touch, yeah?”

Kyle throws you a toothy grin before turning and walking out, Johnny right behind him.

——————————

That night, before you left for the day (even though you smelt of coffee), you managed to find those files that Kyle and Johnny were asking for. To your surprise they weren’t blacked out of some of the info that should be blacked out on a managers desk.

You sigh, shaking your head. If anything this proves that this business was failing, as none of the necessary precautions were being used.

As you printed out everything, you decided to put some in a flash drive as well to give to them. And then in the same moment, you downloaded a file that had your name? Which was odd. Cause these were all names of clients and buyers. Your name shouldn’t be on there.

But then you see other names. Familiar names of previous co-workers who just stopped showing up to work. One was Amara. This wasn’t right.

You decided to be nosey, putting like five names that you recognized even Amara’s in the flash drive. You’d just move things around before giving it to Kyle.

When you finish you organize the printed files in order. If it’s named, it’s alphabetical. If it’s dated, it’s numeral. Some are even color-coded.

By the time you make it to your car, you pull out your phone, texting Kyle that his files are ready. And to your surprise, he texts you really fast. Right as you start the car!

Kyle: great! Would you mind if we met up somewhere public? Wouldn’t want to scare you if I asked you to drop them off.

Well, that’s odd. Why the fuck would you be scared. He’s such a nice-looking gentleman.

But anyway, you sent him a location and headed over there.

It was a rather busy street, the place you recommended. Finding parking was easy though you didn’t think to tell Kyle where the good spots were.

You sit in front of a cafe, a coat covering your stained blouse with the file in front of you. Eventually, a familiar voice greets you.

“Why hello again.”

You look up from your phone and grin. “Hi! Here you go, I’m sorry it took so long, something was weird about the files. Uhm, not everything is blacked out but I swear that’s not normal, we usually black out certain info-“ you begin to play with your hands. “Honestly I am really sorry things didn’t work out, a lot of people but a lot of money with this kinda of business.”

Kyle is furrowing his brow at the files before glancing up at you with a hard gaze that softens immediately. “You put this together?”

“Yes?”

“This is…” he raises his brows before thumbing through the pages. “Jesus love,…how long did this take?”

“Like,” you sputter, the name catching you off guard. “Like I don’t know 20 minutes?”

There’s a long pause as he nods his head, looking up at you with a smirk. His eyes are a hypnotic coffee brown. Flakes of gold shimmer from the gold lighting of the window to the cafe. You’re mesmerized before he speaks.

“You’re out of a job now right?”

"Yep."

“You like assisting?”

You give a shrug. “Could be worse.”

Gaz leans in, putting his file on the table. “If I offered you an interview would you be interested?”

It was like a record scratch hit your head. “I…well I mean…it depends really. No offense I barely know you-“

“Yet here we are, face to face again.”

You furrow your brow. “Oh come on, I was being nice and doing a favor.”

“Maybe, but this is a job that pays well. I promise you we can take care of anything you may need. We could do work benefits like dental, medical, or even housing.”

You clicked your tongue, a wide but nervous grin sprouting out. 'Housing?' you thought.

What they were going to keep you nearby? What in a tiny little shack?

You let out a dry laugh. “What is this..."business" you do?"

Kyle licks his lips, and you notice only the tiniest amount of hesitation.

"Call it uh, protection detail."

"Protection? So you're security?"

Oh if only you knew.

“Well," He changes the subject. "I understand this is pushing. Honestly, we could really benefit from your work ethic.” He stands, tucking the file under his arm before shaking your hand. “Text me if you’re interested I'm serious.”

Then just like that. He’s gone in the crowd.

comment and/or reblog! I'd appreciate it! requests are open!

Night, Darling

Bo Sinclair x reader

******

Bo sneaks into your shared bedroom tired and aching. He huffs and sighs quietly as he undresses to his boxers. He felt his arms aching and his head pounding, but it fades when he ears you stir under the blankets.

“Bo?” You voice sounds like a coo from a dove. “Baby? What time is it?”

“Go back t’sleep, honey,” he drawls, covering his mouth as he yawns. “It’s half-past midnight.” The floor creaks under his feet and his bones crack with every steps. The weight of the bed sinks down and he lays on his side, pulling you close. “Back t’sleep.”

There’s silence for a moment as the crickets sing their good-night songs and fireflies dance to the beat of the swamp. Then it’s cut as you sleepily asked, “Did ya turn out the porch light?”

Bo groans in annoyance at himself and sits back up. “Shit,” he whispers as he stands and hobbles across the floor.

Sleep filled your voice as you called, “Bring back water.”

“Get yer own water,” he spat through a yawn. He was already half way down the steps when he called back, “Yeah, I got it, y/n.”

He turns off the light and locks the door (even though he doesn’t have to) then goes into the kitchen. He gets you a glass of water with two ice cubes; he knows how much you like ice. He looks through the kitchen window and out into the woods. It’s all peaceful out there; it almost scares him. The moon was half full but it lit up the forest. He could see coyotes trumping through the tall grass without care and glow from faded stars. The train whistle was distance and he felt its wheel through the floor like thunder. He smiles to himself before heading back to you.

By the time he gets back, he finds you dead asleep. He smirks and shakes his head. He places the glass on your nightstand then goes on his side of the bed. Bo fixes his photo of you and him before laying down next to you. Just like a puzzle piece, you fix perfectly in his arms once more.

Sleepily, you planted a kiss on his cheek then went back to sleep. He kisses your forehead in return then your lips.

“Good’igh, darlin’,” he whispers. “Love ya.”

People worrying if their fic is too self indulgent like....... that is the point of fanfiction. You are supposed to indulge . Every fic is self indulgent

Colour Splash

Requests from fanfiction(.)net

Arayta:I don’t have a Tumblr account, but can I make a request? Basically, it’s a soulmate one. The reader and Yondu only have seen tints of grey their entire lives. Only when the reader meets Yondu do they see the colors associated with him, such as blue and red, while he only sees their eye color and such. But then, when they fall in love, they see ALL the colors. Smut if you want. And reader is as snarky as possible, which both turns on and p*** off Yondu.

Thx! Arayta, She with Lost Honor.

(Y/N - your name, Y/L/N - your last name)

Warning - language (also this is probably the longest fic I’ve ever written by a very large margin) 

(no smut - may have got side tracked a bit, so there’s not much of snarky reader)

—–

You’d seen grey all your life, there was nothing wrong with that - it was normal. It was normal when you were 5 and when you were 10. Some people saw colours by the time they were 15, but not many; though by the time people were 20 there were a lot less who only saw grey. Years passed, as they did, and you turned another year older, again and again, and all you saw was grey. And it was fine. Sure, everyone you grew up with saw in colours now. But it didn’t matter. What was life if all you worried about was finding your ‘soulmate’? There was so much more to life than some relationship, like memories and experiences and money and treasure and how good you were at stealing stuff. That was important. You were very good at stealing stuff.

Keep reading

Omg, the ending had me fucking cackling XDDDDD Poor girl is trying to defend herself from Cooper's teasing and he just laughs at her XD Ooooooooh, how I love them

Daisy

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Pairing: Cooper Howard/The Ghoul x Fem Reader

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Description: Cooper Howard was not a kind man, he cared for nobody, but himself. Then he found you, a lost little dove, barefoot and crying, torn dress and big innocent eyes staring at him like he was a hero. He knew you’d be a burden, he knew you couldn’t survive in the wasteland, he was doing you a favor.

But he couldn’t pull the fucking trigger...

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[5.7k words]

🌼🌼🌼🌼🌼🌼🌼🌼🌼🌼🌼🌼🌼🌼🌼🌼🌼🌼🌼🌼🌼🌼🌼🌼🌼

Chapter 8 "The Lie"

It’s been a journey.

Parched and starved, you’d been dragging your feet over the desolate wasteland deep into the night. The promise of a guesthouse only a mile or two away keeping your spirits up and your soreness to a minimum. Your head was still fuzzy with the trauma, as expected after taking such a brutal blow.

A pale coat of dust covers your boots, the blood has ceased oozing and now clings to your hair and skin like haunting war paint.

Cooper hadn’t said a peep about what had happened earlier, didn’t complain about you keeping his hand hostage either, just let you soak his glove in sweat while indulging in chain-smoking.

The lights coming from the inn are a beacon in the darkness, they slice through the shadow of the night, beckoning you with whispers of a bed and a full night of sleep. An exasperated sigh leaves you when you finally see it.

It was once a farmhouse. Large three-story mansion built of wood and reinforced by steel sheets only after the apocalypse. There’s a barn to the side, presumably turned into storage, a handful of soil beds from which vegetables are sprouting, a small herd of brahmin lay huddled in a corner, under a flimsy tin roof, sleeping in the remnants of a stable. A large rusty gate hugged by a sturdy fence, electric too once you were close enough to hear the distinct buzz. The generator rumbles behind a locked door in the ground, the basement if your speculations are correct.

It’s a fine establishment by today’s standards, well-known for offering respite for travelers because it was plopped in the middle of nowhere.

Regardless of the newfound relief, your pace stays the same, too achy and drained to rush towards the finish line. It’s a slow and agonizing walk, feels like an eternity, but as you climb the front porch steps you crack a smile. Your hand is promptly released and you take your usual place behind the ghoul, the medical folder still pinched under your armpit and looking like an old pancake.

The rich yellow hues shining through the dirty windows illuminate the creaky wooden boards beneath your shoes, the old benches on either end of the porch, and the large urns hosting a blooming tato plant each. There’s a mud-caked mat at the entrance and you can scarcely make out a “welcome” sign beneath all the grime.

Cooper spares you a glance over his shoulder, heavy-lidded eyes and husky tone indicating he’s just as exhausted as you.

“Don’ wander. No talkin’ t’ strangers.”

“Got it.” you nod, suppress the urge to hold onto his coat, and follow after him through the door.

You’re flooded with cigar smoke and the smell of spirit. Methodical chatter hangs in the air, mixing with the fluent jazz from the jukebox, random paintings are strewn across the walls, hiding the peeling wallpaper, some of the hanging lights are intact, some are missing their glass domes. Simple wooden chairs and circular tables, mostly vacant aside from a few rugged personas stuffed in the darker crooks of the establishment.

You take in everything under lowered lashes and caved-in shoulders.

It’s a cozy place, an oasis nestled along the road, a lovely little safehouse that welcomes any who have the caps.

The bar looks out of place, it’s too new and polished compared to everything else, dark oak shining under the soft glare of the old lightbulbs. A plethora of bottles are on display behind it, most of their labels scratched out or simply missing.

“Where’s Monique?” Cooper rests a palm against the counter and cocks his head to the female ghoul absentmindedly wiping at a glass with a stained rag.

“Holy Moly…”

You’re awestruck at the sight. She’s the second ghoul you’d ever seen and a woman at that. Despite the decomposition, she’s still retained her feminine features, one could even call her exotically beautiful. Donned in a full-body apron, a turquoise polo peaks under it; her eyes are sunken but lively, however the veiny red sclera makes you cringe. It just looks damn painful.

“Nice to see you too, Cooper.” she barks a laugh, her voice – distorted by radiation, but still cheery and friendly. “She went to bed so I took over. What’ll it be?”

“Got any rooms left?”

You’ve decided to focus on the hand-drawn menu hoisted above the liquor cabinet, scrunching your nose at the radroach skewers and cricket potato stew. There isn’t much that would suit your pallet, especially not the yao guai jerky. What even is a yao guai? Another overgrown bug?

The drinks have more variety than the food, even though most are alcohol. There’s still just plain water, specified as ‘mostly rad free’, then there’s tato and cactus juice. The options aren’t mouth-watering, but the drawings next to the headers are cute, some of them are even colored in.

“Got two, lucky for you.” she pauses then and the friendliness on her gaunt face gives way to confusion. She leans to the side as you step out of Cooper’s shadow to get a better view of the menu, her mouth shrinks out of its prickly smirk. “Oh, hello.” her curiosity quickly blossoms into sweet glee as she stares you down with startling warmth, then tosses the bounty hunter a passing comment. “Made a new friend, I see.”

You stiffen as the realization of her attention on you sinks in. Rolling your eyes to her, you find her beaming and you can’t help but return her welcoming smile with an awkward one. You fix your slouched posture, straighten up because first impressions are important, and give a polite nod.

“Mitzi, good to meet you. And you are?” she’s all giddy grins and wavy hands, finding you as a good treat after a long time of only having gruff wastelanders as customers. And you’re more than happy to humor her, she matches your character perfectly and you feel her filling up your energy levels instantly.

Your lips part as you fully intend to reciprocate her brightened mood.

“I’m – ”

“–An annoyance.” a dismissive scoff, one which has you shoot Cooper a nasty look. He’s indifferent, doesn’t bat an eye at you, instead nudges his chin at the untouched bourbon bottle. “I’ll take that one, room too, don’ care which one.”

Mitzie turns to reach for the bottle and sets it down next to the bounty hunter before sifting through the ledger hidden behind the counter. Keeping the privacy of her customers comes as a nice surprise. She mumbles something soft, supposedly checking the available rooms, then looks up at you.

“Shower or nah?”

“Excus – ” you blurt, then stop and suppress the need to ask for elaboration. “Shower.”

If she was alluding to the possibility of taking a proper bath, you’d cry. After months of rubbing soap into your sweat and using saliva to wash out toothpaste, you felt disgusting. Dirt had accumulated in places you didn’t even know existed and all of this excluded the greasy mess your hair had become. At times, you wanted to crawl out of your skin with how crusty you were.

And the stench was a whole other story you fought valiantly to ignore.

“Gotcha.” she hums and stuffs her hand into a jar before pulling out a large, rusted key and handing it to Cooper. “Master bedroom, second floor to the left.” her baby blues dart back to you. “Just so you know, showers cost extra.”

You hear the disgruntled groan and your expression sours.

Of all the things he dismissed to save up on caps, basic hygiene was one which you fiercely disagreed with. You’d already had this conversation multiple times, him walking around smelling like a dumpster fire with no regard for how that made him look was unacceptable. His clothes needed washing, he needed washing, and you’d scrub him clean if you didn’t know he’d stab you if you so much as tried to bring your soap bar anywhere near him. Both of you were in dire need of a proper bath. You’d work him into the idea, you’d already succeeded once when you were less acquainted.

With a sigh, you blindly pat the side of your backpack in search of the pocket holding your caps.

“How much?”

“Thirty per shower.” she answers simply, then perks up to holler at a behemoth of a man waving her over from the back of the bar. “I’ll be right there!”

“Deal.” you chirp and point at the menu. “And a cup of brahmin bone broth, please and thank you.”

“Right away.” Mitzi graces you with another cheeky smile before rushing past the counter and through a door to the kitchen.

You’re close enough for the smell of roasting meat and herbs to waft into your nose, your stomach twists with hunger and gargles in protest. You clear your throat in embarrassment, the jazz music does a wonderful job of disguising the ugly toon. A clatter of pots comes from behind the kitchen door followed by a meager slur of curses that has you hoping your order wasn’t the cause.

After gathering enough caps, you extend your arm to leave them next to the register. Your attempt is shot down by a sharp slap to the knuckles, you glance up at Cooper and prepare to debate why you should be allowed to wash up and spend the money for it. He snuffs out your bubbling protests with a stern look and a dismissive flick of his wrist.

Mitzi reappears shortly after with a tray in hand.

“Here you are.” she lays down a steaming tin can in front of you and scoots to the register, which is mostly used for decoration. “You want the total or separate tabs?” she scribbles down each of your amounts and lifts her eyes to Cooper.

“Total.” he gruffs out and litters the free space on the bar with scoops of caps fished out from his bandolier.

You have to bite down on your bottom lip to prevent a grin and tuck away your money. He definitely knew how to turn your legs to pudding and tie your tongue into submission. Sadly now that meant you couldn’t complain for at least a week.

“Hundred-fifty. Oh!” the waitress sloppily wraps a rag around your drink and squeezes it in place. “Here. I tend to forget smooth-skins have more delicate hands.” she winks at you and proceeds to gather up the payment, combing through it with a long bony finger and counting. “We’ll get to know each other another time.”

Once she was sure of the amount, Mitzi stuffs it all in the hefty pickle jar labeled ‘earnings’, then sealed it shut and stored it somewhere around her feet. She’s back to polishing shot glasses, gives both of you a ginger smile and nudges her head towards the staircase to the right of the counter.

“Enjoy your stay.”

You take the broth and let your fingers soak in the warmth as you follow behind Cooper with bated breath and a spring to your step.

A bed and a shower, you were being spoiled tonight. The covers and sheets are probably old, the room itself is most likely slowly rotting away and covered in grime and dust, but it’s heaven compared to sleeping on the ground with one eye open due to threats skulking about. The last time you’d managed to get a full night of sleep was back in Tillburry, and just the thought of being undisturbed had you going through a plethora of pleasant jitters.

You give the greasy drink, your dinner, a good sniff while climbing to the second floor.

It’s not an aroma that makes you salivate, but you’ve missed the luxury of warm food and the herbs do well at overpowering the stench of boiled beef. Even under the weak light in the corridor, you can tell it’s fatty enough to keep you sated for a while, it’ll have to do. The can is used as a cup for hot drinks, the broth came from elsewhere, either that or you were scammed into eating dog food judging by the peeling-off sticker of a poodle.

You thump over a long red carpet rolled out on the floor, squint at the hacked cough coming from one of the rooms, and then stop a foot away from the ghoul.

He jams the key in and after a deft click, the door creaks open.

Your refuge for the night isn’t as bad as you’d imagined. The bedding is mostly white minus a few stains, the wallpaper is torn a tad, but intact and it’s all relatively clean, there’s even a few trinkets lying about to bring more life. A wall clock is hung above the curved sofa next to the window, it’s not working but it is a nice touch. There’s a night lamp on one of the nightstands, a wide drawer, an ashtray on the table along with two more chairs in case there were more than two bodies in the room. There’s even a deck of cards next to the crystal alcohol glasses.

You watch Cooper set down the bourbon and slouch against the couch with a long exhale before shrugging off his hat and coat and letting his eyes shut for a moment.

“Darn hell, what a day…”

Safety is painted in his mannerisms, you smile adoringly at him and shut the door behind you.

True to her word, there indeed was a bathroom. You switch the lights on and peek inside. The tiles are cracked or missing, it’s old but clean and there’s a bottle of Rad-X among the diluted shampoo bottles. Lovely!

You hear a ripple and whirl your head to see the ghoul lighting a cigarette. His feet are perched up on the table and crossed, his bandolier thrown over the backrest of the sofa, he takes a long drag and strains to push open the window.

“You know Mitzi?” you ask and shed your backpack with a delighted moan before kneeling to zip it open. With your trusty Vaseline and a tiny vodka bottle in your free hand, you join him on the couch, sitting on the opposite end to give him as much space as possible.

“Hm? Sure I do, met some years ago.” he twists to partially face you and pinches the smoke between his lips before grabbing for the bourbon. “Thought you’d wash up first thing. Changed yer mind?”

You chuckle at that and dab the vodka into your palm before rubbing it between your fingers. It’s a mundane little habit you picked up since you learned vodka specifically was almost pure spirit nowadays. Considering the unthinkable things you touched on the hour, from blood to dirt and worse, and without a sink to wash your hands, you needed this at least before eating.

“I’ll shower later. Wanna take a breather first.” you cradle the broth to your chest and take another good whiff before sighing. “Plus, I’d like to drink this before it goes cold.”

“Hope you know tha’ ain’t all brahmin, Darlin’.”

“Let me stay ignorant, please.” you mumble before taking a long sip.

Cooper cackles but decides not to ruin your dinner. You watch him pour a glass of bourbon for himself, mull, and then pour a second one before setting it next to you.

“Mm?” you give him a crooked look, frown with scrunched eyebrows.

“Heavy broth goes good with booze.” he gestures for you to take the offer with a keen smirk. “ ‘Bout time we pop your cherry anyway.”

“Gosh, don’t call it that!” you hiss through a flustered face, but take the glass and ignore his mocking grin.

The jukebox can still be heard from the main floor, it calms your apprehension and you twirl in your spot to open the window fully, looking to the sky for further comfort. You’re intentionally stalling as you swish the bourbon around, elbows rested on the windowsill and gaze lifted to the cluster of stars. A chilly breeze caresses your bare shoulders and you shudder.

“Thought you’d get bored gawkin’ at nothing by now.” The ghoul spits, watching you like a hawk because he refuses to miss your first time trying alcohol. You wish he wasn’t, it adds unnecessary expectations and you’re unaware of how exactly you’re supposed to react. By the smell alone, you’re guessing it won’t taste pleasant.

“I’ll never get tired of the sky.” you muse out loud with an unreadable expression, then face him briefly. “Has it changed over the years?”

You don’t know how old he is, he’s refused to disclose that with you, but from the subtle hints in the past, it’s been longer than the average person. You wish he’s looser, that he trusts you enough to share more about who he is and where he comes from. He seems to know almost everyone you’ve crossed paths with, could work with any weapon and traversed the wasteland without a compass or map and still know exactly where he’s going.

“ ‘Sides the radstorms, not much.” he rolls his tongue over a mouthful of bourbon, then audibly swallows and scowls. He raises his glass towards you, waiting for you to mimic him. “ ‘Nough stallin’ ya pansy, it ain’t poison. Drink.”

Your nose is already wrinkled at the idea, but you oblige him by lifting the drink to your lips. Holding your breath you take a tiny sip and your skin explodes in goosebumps before the fire registers on your tongue. Your taste buds feel defiled, the foulness makes your eyes pop open and you spit before the urge to gag crawls too high up your throat.

First impression: No.

“Ugh…Ew!” a hand clasps over your mouth, obscuring both disbelief at the fact you’d spat straight against the window and pain at the utter nastiness of the flavor. You take the rag wrapped around your now lukewarm broth and wipe off the evidence with urgency. “How do you like this stuff? It’s awful!”

He’s cracking up a storm on the other end of the sofa, having burst into such an abrupt fit that half his drink was running down his vest. You sneer through a glare, hoping he catches your translucent reflection in the glass and feels at least a drop of remorse for your misfortune.

“Glad to make you laugh.”

He tries to say something, a snippy remark most likely, but his gullet is too dry and nothing comes out when his mouth parts. He washes down the hoarseness with another swig of alcohol and tries again.

“You’re doin’ it all wrong.” he’s all up in your beginner technique, even though you weren’t open to be taught how to become a proper alcoholic. Nasty habit that, but he’s given you no choice. “Gotta let it rest on yer tongue, enjoy the taste ‘n go slow.” he can see you sulking even with your back turned to him, can practically smell the discomfort and annoyance emanating from you.

He tones down the decibels when you refuse to face him. Unlike you, Cooper finds the concept of convincing you that drinking is a fun pastime activity strangely thrilling. That, and he’s a horrid old man who selfishly craves to claim all your first experiences, no matter what they are. It’s a vile desire and he’s aware, but the longer you exist in his presence the further his obsessive protectiveness develops. He chalked it up to you being dumb and defenseless, it was natural to become possessive of you and want to keep you safe.

He’d be caught dead before he let some mangy bastard touch you before him or be present for your first cigarette. And he’d take this revelation to the grave because he was too prideful to admit to his urges. This was for your protection, better him, a person you trusted, than anyone else.

“Come ‘ere.” he takes off his gloves and extends a hand to you, beckoning you in the softest way he can muster. “I’ll teach ya.”

You look back at him and the angry frustration simmers down to mild irritation when you notice he’s reaching for you. Tasting that nightmarish poison again makes you queasy, you don’t want to and you’re fussy, but falter for him once more with the intent of giving it another go and then never again.

He’s paid for your dinner, bed, and shower, it’s only fair to entertain his stupid ideas. That doesn’t mean you’re going to smile through the whole thing though, no, you’ll grimace until the end.

He shifts until his feet are firmly planted on the floor as you round the table.

“One last time.”

“Last time.” he repeats through a haggard breath and as soon as your fingers dip into his open palm he spreads his legs farther apart to accommodate a plan you were blissfully unaware of. “Promise, Sweet pea…”

He coaxes you closer, tugging on your hand until you’re standing between his legs, radiating confusion. Guilt prickles his heart, you don’t deserve to be manipulated into succumbing to his perverse advances. It wasn’t even a good lie. Teaching you how to enjoy bourbon…a load of horse shit, but what were the odds that you’d so pliantly let him desecrate you once the concussion and fatigue didn’t stand in the way of clear thinking?

You were vulnerable now and he was a fiend for taking advantage. He’d deal with the consequences later.

The concentration carving his expression is hidden under the guise of darkness as he gently lures you down until you’re hesitantly sitting on his thigh. An arm coils around your waist to keep you in place, you’re face to face and the ringing in your ears increases, completely deafening the music from downstairs. Blunt fingers melt into your supple flesh, deliberately massaging away the prolonged day. You’d had it rough today, poor little thing, you needed some good kneading.

He’d give it to you. Whatever the hell you wanted, you’d have it.

Rotten man. Defiler.

He shakes the thoughts away and feeds on the sugary lavender hints beneath the sweat clinging to your body.

You’re engulfed in warmth and finally, you can put a name to the ever-present musk he carries around – bourbon and cigarettes; the smell of home. Your hands are resting in your lap, pinching at your dress in a nervous tick as you fight to keep eye contact. Inexplicable tension writhes in the air, it chokes you with sadistic glee.

Cooper’s studying your features as they twist, searching for something specific in the involuntary muscle twitches.

“You don’ like it, you call quits. Got it?” he speaks softly, but with authority, already taking another sip and letting it rest in his mouth.

You’re no less lost than you were two minutes ago, left to wonder what he means because your glass is on the other side of the table. But now he’s mute with alcohol and unable to elaborate verbally so you simply nod in understanding.

“Got it.”

No cheeky smirks or mischief is dancing in his eyes. He’s the most serious you’ve ever seen him, it’s nerve-wracking, you’re left to blindly follow his guidance and you trust him, but anticipation has no boundaries. The bedroom turns stuffy and his once welcomed heat is forming sweat on your forehead and pinching at random nerves throughout your body.

He glides a hand to the back of your neck, holds it with solemn tenderness. You make a pathetic noise when he leans you back until you’re cradled in the safety of his arms without leverage, hovering above the sofa as he watches over you with a mellow look.

“Tha’s it…steady, Pretty girl.”

You’re rigid and hesitant in his embrace, don’t know what to do except give in and let him work you like a puppet. It’s humiliating, you want to be an active participant, give him what he wants without him having to hold your hand, but you can’t. The only soothing thought that comes to mind is that he’s a dominant man, he probably doesn’t mind.

Probably even likes it like this.

“This okay, Sweetheart?”

You barely register he’s asked a question, the gravel in his voice seizes your breath.

“Yeah…Yes?”

The ghoul is languid and gentle when he leans forward, taking his time, but you notice the twitch in his fingers, the hidden urgency behind the façade he’s adopted to not scare you away. But he’s still a rugged man, you can tell by the callouses on his palms and the leathery skin on his face as it rubs against yours.

It’s a peck at first, makes you tingle all over. He barely brushes his chapped lips against yours, testing the waters, and dulling your awareness with patience before he shatters and ruins your innocence. But you’re too enticing for your own good. You don’t startle; cling to his vest instead and shiver with a milky moan and his resolve cracks.

With a ravenous snarl, he squishes you against his chest when you offer no protests and the hands that held you are now clutching. He kisses you with a bruising need, changing into a brutish oaf as his tenderness fades. Your mouth opens in a gasp and he lets the bourbon seep past his teeth and ravage your taste buds. The flavor is the last thing on your mind as he devours you whole, a few droplets escape from the corner of your lips and trail down your jaw until they soak into your hairline. Starved of everything soft and sweet, he gorges and palps, litters you with clumsy bruises because he’s forgotten how to handle someone such as you.

He tilts his head to one side and his tongue glides past your teeth to twirl around yours, forcing you to open wide. His eyes are hidden behind squeezed lids, leaving him purposefully blind to your current expression. He didn’t want to see rejection, didn’t want to know if you were disgusted but too fearful to pull away. All he needed was just one moment of indulgence disguised as him teaching you to drink. Let him feast upon you for a bit and he will never touch you again afterward, he swears it.

It’s just to show you how to enjoy a good glass of alcohol.

But you weren’t stupid, you already knew this was all a charade. It’s agonizing when you wrap your arms around his shoulders and clutch at his back. You’re klutzy in your love, a shaking mess as you try to match his pace, but this is too new and with an absent mind, instinct can only tell you so much. Still, you fill his cavernous maw with high-tuned chirps of affection and you’re so pleased despite the uncertainty, you’re aching for him, you’re just as starved if not more.

Cooper wasn’t prepared for reciprocation, it leaves him boneless and barely holding you both steady.

You let your eyes close as well and guzzle down the remainder of the booze from his mouth. A strained growl reverberates in his throat as he cuts down the urge to buck into you. Too soon, not yet. He’s taken enough from you for one night.

You suck in a breath as your knees turn to jelly. Your thighs are quaking; he presses one hand against them to soothe you and earns a muffled mewl. It’s raw lightning, sparking over your skin and making your clothes feel so damn constricting. You’re clawing at your tights, scratching at his sleeves, turned feral with lust and lilting pleas in his chewed-up ear.

A clash of teeth and jerking tongues, muffled sounds of indulged wants and thinned nerves.

He’s intoxicating, gruff to the bone and you avidly drink in everything he offers.

“Greedy little thing…” he rasps over deep breaths once he’s pulled away enough to take in your possum-like state. “So how’d you like the bourbon?”

A dull ache forms in your core at his sweet derogatory coo. You bite the side of your cheek to stifle the vulgar rattle trying to escape the confines of your heaving chest.

He lifts you into a proper sitting position and readjusts your dress back over your legs because he’s a gentleman tonight.

You’re a mixture of labored inhalations and sputtered words, struggling to descend to normalcy and proper manners. It takes you a moment to find your voice, you speak before thinking, high on a newfound addiction – him and his taste and his smell and everything that had to do with him. The knots in your stomach ease, but you’re still absently fiddling with the straps of his vest while trying to regain composure.

“Can we…” you shrink as his heavy gaze makes your throat tighten, lower your eyes in bashfulness but your insides burn and you need that fire sated. It’s his fault you’re like this, him and his sinful vulgarities. “Can you show me again?”

He croons a laugh and bloats with pride, doesn’t even care to take a shot before he latches onto you again.

“Needy girl…So pretty f’ me.”

You’re the one with the lingering hands now, sigh in relief when he violates your mouth again as if being apart had been torture. Nimble fingers intrude on his spine, slipping beneath the loose collar of his shirt and mapping out the marred flesh like it’s a piece of art. He shudders in your hold, mouths something that gets lost among the vocal sloppiness emitting from your feverish kisses.

You’re too eager at the mixed saliva dribbling down your chin, too delighted when he pauses to lick it off and keep you partly decent as he suffocates on his passion. You cage him between your thighs like it’s only natural, nestle down on him because he’s your new throne and he shoves a hand between your bodies to adjust his straining erection before you find out how desperate he is. You’re too spread and willing, unaware of the debauchery your actions hint towards.

He’s a man gone wild beneath you, boiling and unchained and drinking in your wanton display. A blank canvas for you to paint whatever you wished on as you submit to cravings he’d unraveled. He was a perverse bastard, stole your first kiss and hadn’t even made it proper, but there was nothing right in this world anyway. You returned his advances, you were happy, the rest be damned.

You leave his scalding tongue and nipping teeth to pepper his bony face with butterfly pecks. He’s a silent enjoyer, lets you drown him now that you were unleashed, with a ghost of a smile and lazy blinks, mild and content. Time slips past in a blur until you’re finally satisfied, having pruned and memorized every inch of his face.

You’re studying his features while cupping his jaw when the haze fades and you register just how many lines you’d crossed. His hardness digs into your thigh and you wince because you’d climbed him like a mountain, sat on him like he was just a chair and not someone you held dear. You’d taken advantage of his docile form, oblivious to the fact that this was what he’d hoped for from the start. You’d treated him like a tool to cater to your horniness without ever considering how much strain you’d put on him.

Maybe you weren’t as smart as he’d thought. No, that wasn’t it. You trusted him too much. Took his every word as fact.

Your heart is pounding and the trembling returns with twice the vigor as your serene smile dies.

“Oh my God…Jeez! I’m so sorry. Wait! I– ” you blabber while prying away with clumsy movements. You’re sure you’re about to have a heart attack and die on the spot.

What have you done?!

Why didn’t he stop you? Why did he look so high when you’d forced yourself on him without even asking for his consent? All he’d done was try to ease you into drinking and you’d thrown yourself at him like a…

“I’m so sorry. I didn’t even ask you…Why didn’t you say – Sorry. I’m – ”

“Whoaw there, Cowgirl.” he springs to action, forced out of his delightful trance by the utter horror written in your eyes. He grips you before you manage to stand, coercing you in a bear hug. Opposite to your shaken state, he rounds up your skittishness with honeyed words and caring touches. “Easy now, Sweetness. All’s fine, easy…easy.”

He stuffs you in the crook of his neck as you sputter more apologies, nuzzles his cheek in your hair and coos. You’re inconsolable for a time, badmouthing yourself because you knew no better and it’s heartwrenching because it’s his fault for taking advantage of your trust. He rocks you into silence while chuckling, criminally unapologetic.

“Now if I didn’ want any o‘ this I would’a kicked you off long time ago. ‘S okay, Sweet pea, all’s fine.” he palms himself until you can’t feel the incessant poke anymore, the scowls at his meager self-control. “Damn thing got a mind of i’s own.”

You hum in response, whiney and weak. He snorts at your deflated mood, to think his boner would be the cause of worry is comical. He lets a jab slip to bait you out of the cesspool of self-bludgeoning you’d thrown yourself in. He could be truthful and lay out the entire farce before you, but that came with the change you’d never let him near you again. Cooper isn’t a good man, nor a truthful man and what you didn’t know wouldn’t hurt you.

“Now quit yer mopin’, you’re ruinin’ m’ shirt.”

It does the trick. You stiffen against him and choke because how dare he.

“Asshole!” you recoil and land a weak fist against his shoulder. “You’re the one always ruining everything. I’m thinking about your comfort and your consent and trying to be nice and all you ever do is mock me. Awful man! You don’t even use the toothbrush I gave you. And you’re horrible company too.”

He’s laughing for the countless time that night, catches your wrist, then your other one, stifling your tantrum. A grin peeks beneath your stern glare, his high spirits are too contagious, and you wrestle against his unweaving hold without much zest.

 “Too bad.” he gives you one good jerk and you faceplant into his neck, then rests his chin against the top of your head and you can hear the cocky smirk forming. “Is either me or the wasteland, Darlin’, and the wasteland don’ give no kisses, trust me.”

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i hope i am not only a mutual to you but also someone you can point at a fictional character and go "oh shit that guy on tumblr is super fucking mentally unwell about that one" about