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atrueneutral · 15 hours

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Any thoughts on warlock!Tav? I don't know which would be more fun, having Raphael as a patron or Raphael being jealous of Tav's patron 🤭

They were four moves in, and Tav had yet to learn why Raphael had called her to the Devil’s Den.

She doubted it was as simple as a ‘friendly match of lanceboard’; there was always something just shy of his ambitious reach, and she was waiting for when he would be forthright about what that something was.

Thus far for their appointment, the fiend (in his mortal disguise) offered only polite pleasantries; an inquiry about how she was faring after being rid of the tadpole, a recommendation that she try a glass of ‘perfectly aged wine he’d been saving for her’, and, of course, a ‘friendly’ game of lanceboard (to ‘personally witness her strategic skills in action’).

And here they were; barely talking as she concentrated with a pinched brow on what move to make next, all while Raphael stared at her with a glint in his eye and the faintest of smirks on his lips.

She was a piece down (lanceboard was not a strong suit of hers), meaning he was in the lead.

Which was probably the main reason as to why he looked so arrogant and relaxed.

Tav bit her lip in question of whether to move her priest or send out another pawn.

“Am I correct in the knowledge that you’ve been in a pact with your patron for a few years?” he asked.

More pleasantries - so that the scales of their appointment didn’t tip towards awkwardness.

“Yes, that’s correct,” Tav answered softly. The reply was automatic; all attention was centered on the game before her.

She wanted to win - especially when her opponent was none other than Raphael.

The white priest slid to a free space, and, in response, Raphael swiftly mirrored a similar move with his black priest.

“Tell me about this patron of yours, my dear.”

Her previously focused gaze flicked up from the board to meet that oh-so-devilish glint, and, in response, Tav’s eyes mirrored his in forming a glint of their own; it was a mischievous twinkle that her fey patron would appreciate and applaud - hence why the pact was offered to her to begin with.

After all, it wasn’t every day that a mortal outtricked a trickster in the middle of a dangerous wood.

“They’re from the feywild,” Tav said, her brow pinching again in pretend consideration of her the next (literal) move. Yes, lanceboard was assuredly not her strong suit, but games involving ‘Reactions from Raphael’ were a favored pastime she excelled in. “I’d ask if you knew him, or of him, but he never gave me his name…”

She glanced up, and at the mention of ‘him’, a muscle twitched in Raphael’s cheek.

“Perhaps you could describe this patron, and I would know their name? I’m versed enough in the archfey and the dealings of their ilk,” he said with the offhanded shrug of a shoulder.

What a wonderful idea!

“That’s a wonderful idea!” At that, Tav mentally bid the game of lanceboard farewell. She lifted a foot to sit on the cushion with her and rested her elbow upon her knee. Her cheek leaned into the palm of her hand, and a wistful expression was painted upon her face. “With as often as I think of him, he should be easy enough to recall…”

Raphael’s glint was becoming lost to an approaching fire on the horizon.

“He’s tall, dark, handsome - the classic, romantic type from the stories. His hair color reminds me of yours, actually, but it’s a fair bit longer - goes past his shoulders, and not a strand is out of place. Now that I think about it, he’s about your height, too. Slightly less broad-shouldered, more wiry I’d say, but still quite muscular. Not sure what he was doing in the middle of the woods without a shirt, but, hey, that’s the fey for you…”

None of it was true; Puck was a small and sprightly creature with rosy cheeks and other impish features. His hair was not long and tidy, having been an unkempt mess adorned with twigs and leaves at the time of their meeting, and also unlike her false rendering, the fey’s childlike frame had been dressed in greenery and animal skins.

“He’s very strong! Lifted me easily - ah, forgive me. That probably doesn’t help you much…”

Raphael was battling a sneer, and his relaxed pose was becoming less relaxed the more she went on.

So Tav did the next best thing.

She continued.

“There was a…” She tried to find the correct word while miming in the air with her free hand. “Certain regalness about him. I thought he might be a part of some high court of some kind. He appeared in fog and left in fog, but not before offering me a pact - which I accepted, naturally.” Tav sighed. “The whirlwind encounter, however brief it was, left me breathless. I’m so grateful to have lost my way in the woods that day.”

Raphael looked livid, and she could imagine Puck clapping.

She pushed a pawn forward. “Do you know of any fey by that description?”

“It is unfortunate that I do not,” he deadpanned.

The glint had long been lost to the fire of his burning stare.

“I believe it’s your move, Raphael.”

The cambion worked his jaw, and his tongue ran across his top teeth, emitting a slight sucking sound.

He was determining his move, but it was not a move involving lanceboard.

Tav dropped her innocence along with her tone.

“You’re not jealous, are you?”

His tone dropped to match hers. “And if I was, Little Mouse?”

Humored, she huffed a breath and smiled.

“Why did you have me come?”

Raphael glanced at the board and aggressively (recklessly) took her pawn with his priest. “I wished to become your patron.”

Oh…

An exciting prospect that she’d thought about but never considered as being a possibility...

His interest in her… did it mirror her interest in him?

“I’ll tell you what,” Tav snatched his priest with her rook. “If you win this match, I’ll see what I can do about breaking my pact with Puck, and I’ll happily sign a new pact with you.”

Disdain drained the color from his face.

“Puck,” he sneered, and it was then that he knew he’d been played. “Like attracts like! I should not be surprised that one chaotic wretch of a creature was drawn to another!”

“On the contrary, surely you also believe that opposites attract?” Tav smiled with a tilt of her head. “Or have you changed your mind about wanting me, a ‘chaotic wretch’, to be your warlock?”

Raphael’s silence was confirmation that he had not changed his mind (though it disagreed with his contemptuous stare and scrunched nose).

A moment passed.

“And if you win, my dear?”

“I want a written and signed letter from you stating that you lost our lanceboard game and that you were jealous of Puck.”

The huff that left him was not the humored kind.

“I agree to the terms of this match, and you are to forfeit should I get the slightest whiff of any tricks.”

“Good thing my sleight of hand work doesn’t smell,” Tav said before dramatically cracking her knuckles.

Raphael’s eyes narrowed. “No cheating of any kind, you fey-touched miscreant.”

Tav’s bright laugh filled the room, seemingly disarming her fiend of an opponent.

Her poor skills in strategy were likely to lose the match for her, but Tav was not bothered by the potential loss.

She’d won the more important game.

#I had a lot of fun with this!#thanks for the prompt!#my writing #raphael x tav #raphael x tav fanfiction #baldur’s gate 3 #baldur's gate 3 fanfiction #Warlock!Tav #raphael the cambion #Raphael bg3 #Answered

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atrueneutral · 3 days

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May - June - July: Part II (Fallout TV Show - Lucy x The Ghoul) [Part I] [Link to AO3]

By the time the Ghoul returned, Lucy was sitting innocently on the dryer with the can of Cram popped open (and her vault suit zipped to the top stop). Her feet lightly swung in the air while she poked a fork at the processed meat; it was a little grayer than what she was used to eating back in the vault, and the few bites she managed weren’t settling well in her stomach.

She should have gone with the okay-looking yucca fruit.

“Find anything?” she asked, purposefully avoiding the real question of ‘find anyone’?

The Ghoul merely grunted in response as he threw his gear down near the makeshift bedroll he guessed was for him. Scrutinizing her associate, Lucy could not spot any signs of fresh blood on the exterior of his outfit, and he was seemingly in perfect health (aside from the obvious). He also had not arrived with his arms full of anything useful, thus she surmised that nothing eventful had transpired during his quest.

On the flip side, her quest of moseying around the store bore fruit - namely the pre-war keepsake that was currently in her pack (from which stemmed the crazy idea in her head). Between finding the calendar to now, she’d had a bit of time to really think about the pros and the cons of seducing her dangerous associate, but the pros of having sex with the Ghoul (if she was successful) outweighed the cons of being put through the endless torment of humiliation.

(When it came to the dramatic worry of looking like the cutout, Lucy liked to think the Ghoul liked her company well enough to not actually take her head off…)

Excitement thrummed beneath her breast and raced in her veins, but so too did nerves - especially with him here and-

“You ain’t lookin’ so hot, Vaultie,” the Ghoul said, eyeballing her from under his hat. His gaze then fell to the can of Cram she continued to absently jab and not eat. She heard him snort and watched as he collapsed into a nearby aluminum folding chair that she’d set up to make their camp more homey. Surprisingly, the seat itself did not collapse - even with its slight lean. Dogmeat was quick to trot over to dutifully sit beside his master, and the Ghoul’s gloved hand came to pat the canine’s head.

“Oh… yeah,” Lucy replied, sheepish. “I can’t say my stomach’s gotten used to the radiation that saturates every bite of food out here. I’m hoping we come across a settlement soon that has some better crops we can barter for…” She stabbed her fork into what was left of the meat (practically all of it) and held it up in offering with a lopsided smile. “Want the rest of it?”

“I’ll pass.”

“Understandable - it’s not very good, which I’m sure you already know…”

“Mm,” said the ghoul, kicking his feet out and leaning back as far as he comfortably could. He tucked his chin and adjusted his hat to cover his eyes before folding his hands across his chest. “Take first watch while I get some shut eye, will ya?”

“Not a problem,” she answered.

Metal gently clinked metal when she set the food can upon the dryer, and Lucy chewed the inside of her lip in debate; it was a problem - she needed to get the ball rolling. Her opportunity was going to slip through her fingers!

Moments passed, and she pushed herself from the appliance. “Actually, uh, there’s something I wanted to show you. But you have to promise to give me a minute or two to get everything set up, alright?”

The Ghoul grunted, not bothering to lift his head.

“And no peeking!” Lucy added, making a point to point at him accusingly as she gingerly stepped over to her pack. She crouched down just when a sarcastic response of “okey dokey” reached her ears. She rolled her eyes and slipped a hand inside her bag to grab and pull out the calendar. Swallowing her nerves to bolster herself, Lucy headed back over to the dryer. She pushed aside the can of Cram, making room for the calendar, and, with her back to the Ghoul (who did well in not-peeking) Lucy carefully (and as silently as she could) removed her Pip-Boy and leather armor.

Her stripped gear formed a pile at the base of the headless wooden woman.

“Almost ready!” she threw over her shoulder as she slowly unzipped the front of her vault suit down to her navel. She next fussed with her hair; fingers did their best in untangling the mass that hadn’t seen a bottle of shampoo in weeks, and when she determined the results to be satisfactory enough, Lucy tucked a portion of her dark tresses behind an ear. The same fingers came to pinch the apples of her cheeks, and her teeth nibbled at her lower lip.

Truly ‘almost ready’, the calendar joined the Cram towards the back of the dryer so Lucy herself could take up her previous seat. Envisioning the month of May, she positioned her body into a pose that matched the woman in her mind. Innocence was what she hoped to embody as she demurely crossed her legs, arched her back, and softly rested a hand against her cheek.

Her expression turned coy.

“You can look now,” she said, using a voice that earned some manner of reaction out of her cousin and Monty both.

The Ghoul did not rush to peek; with a sigh, he sluggishly brought a hand towards his face to tilt the brim of his hat upwards with a finger.

His head canted and eyes narrowed in assessment of the situation. Shadowed irises followed every inch of her body - notably settling on the exposed portion granted to him by the unzipped suit. Where she normally wore a what-used-to-be-white undershirt, glimpses of her bra and naked skin had taken its place.

And, somehow, Lucy saw it in his eyes - a flash of interest.

It was enough to send a welcomed heat to her lower abdomen.

“And what is it that you wanted to show me?” he drawled as he leaned forward, shooting another lance of arousal through her. “I’m not seein’ anything new.”

By not reacting, Lucy did not take the bait. Instead, she would up the ante in setting out her own fishing line.

“If you want to see something new, you’re going to have to go back to not-peeking,” she said sweetly. “Okey dokey?”

The Ghoul smirked, and returned to slouching in his chair. He shifted his hat to again cover his eyes. “Go on, sweetheart. Show me somethin’ new.”

He was daring her - spurring her with his words.

Lucy’s smile, the pearly-white kind that could have an embellished sparkle were she a wooden cutout, lost its innocence as she undid the laces of her footwear and yanked each boot off, dumping them atop her already shed armor. Needing to remove her vault suit, Lucy hopped off of the dryer, peeled her arms from the sleeves and hastily hooked her thumbs into the fabric to push the slightly-elastic outfit past her hips. She pulled her feet from the legs to leave a puddle of blue on the floor.

Habit compelled her to neatly fold the suit into a rectangle and place it as the crowned star to the pile.

She wasn’t completely naked - not yet anyway. Her dirtied and blood-stained bra remained, as well as her high waisted panties that longed for a (working) washing machine.

Feeling suddenly shy, Lucy sought to empower herself by taking another look at the month of June. She quickly flipped to the correct page, and her shoulders sagged less the more she studied the figure that coquettishly stood with a glass of lemonade held in the air.

The sound of a soft, cadenced tapping from behind caused Lucy to turn.

It was the Ghoul, signifying his impatience by drumming two gloved fingers on top of the chair’s arm.

Another deliberate action meant to poke her.

Refocusing on the task at hand and needing a prop, Lucy grabbed the can of Cram before turning around. Not wanting her front to face him entirely, Lucy angled herself and stood tall with confidence. The Cram was raised into the air to be displayed on the flat plane of her hand as she simultaneously bent a leg and placed her other hand at her waist. She puckered her lips and cheekily stared his way whilst adding the finishing touch of an eye closed in a forever-wink.

“Ready!”

The action of lifting his hat was done at a snail’s pace - a contradiction to his previous impatient drumming. Lucy couldn’t tell if the dramatic build-up was more for her benefit or his; her arousal was keen to see his response, and she wondered if the Ghoul was preparing himself for disappointment had she chosen to re-zip her suit and chicken out.

Hat removed, his head tipped forward, and yellowed teeth shone with a smirk at the sight he beheld. Same as before, his eyes traveled up and down her body - absorbing the pose and her scandalous lack of clothes. His hat hovered, having yet to be resituated on his bald head, allowing Lucy to once again see the interest brewing behind his eyes. There was an appetite there, and it wasn’t for the Cram she was holding.

“Little Miss Lucy MacLean… What would your dear ol’ daddy say if he saw you standin’ here in nothin’ but your unmentionables?” The Ghoul said lowly, causing a ripple of pleasure to spread across her body. He leaned forward with his hat in place. “And in front of a no-good ghoul like myself…”

“Surely you’re a ghoul good at something…” Lucy replied, holding her wink and feeling a burst of spunk.

His head tilted with curiosity and he looked dangerous under the brim.

“What is it in particular that you’re hoping I’m good at?”

Her loins, soaked and burning with desire, screamed ‘sex’.

Her spunk, which had arrived when needed, was now wavering when being confronted with his heated gaze.

“Losin’ your gusto, Vaultie?”

Disliking this reversion of using the derogatory nickname, Lucy bit down on her gusto - lest it become lost to her.

“I still have something new to show you,” she said.

The Ghoul chuckled, “If you say so.”

“If you want to see, you have to close your eyes again - and no peeking.”

He closed his eyes after a moment of staring her down. He didn’t bother to reposition himself or his hat, and the faint smirk that remained on his lips goaded her into losing her wink and pose, goaded her into losing the Cram she held, and goaded her into losing her bra and damp-with-slick panties (which were tossed and discarded to the side). Warm air kissed her breasts and hardened nipples and she was more than aware of the throbbing ache that sat between her legs.

Flicking her eyes to him every few seconds to ensure he was abiding to her request, Lucy maneuvered to the side of the dryer and flipped to the next page of the calendar - July. She’s perpetually seated on a towel under a red and white striped beach umbrella, body mostly in profile with her legs bent on either side of her, back arched and buttocks jutting out as she shields her breasts from view with her hands and arms, the ties of her bikini top having been undone. The woman gives the viewer a flirtatious smile.

Perhaps she herself had been the one to undo the ties.

Nodding resolutely at the image, Lucy tip toed over to the Ghoul’s bedroll. At her close and passing proximity, leather creaked and she noticed his gloved fingers tensing. She pondered if he could better smell her arousal with his cavity of a nose as she snagged a torn comforter from his ‘bedroll’ and retraced her steps back to the dryer to drape the comforter across its centuries-old enamel surface.

Her fantasies of how things would go from here did not involve her skin rubbing uncomfortably against rusted metal.

Fixing her mistake of covering the calendar, she imagined Flirtatious July wishing her luck as Lucy climbed on top of the dryer and became the embodiment of the woman who sat on the page hidden at her side.

“You can look,” Lucy said.

And the Ghoul did - his breath hitching and mouth parting.

The smirk was erased from his face, and a dark expression of hunger appeared.

“What is it that you want, sweetheart?” he asked after an agonizing wait. “I’m gonna need you to spell it out for me.”

“I, uh…” she started, her July persona faltering.

It was now or never!

“I want to...” Oh, just say it, Lucy! “Have sex.”

The Ghoul tasted her confession. “Show me the ‘somethin’ new’ I was promised.”

Lucy didn’t hesitate; she delivered his request by splitting her fingers and teasing a glimpse of a nipple only to then slide her hands away and drop her arms from concealing her chest.

“Turn and face me,” he drawled. “I’d like to better appraise what’s being advertised.”

Lucy awkwardly swiveled and revised her position so that she faced him. She crossed her ankles to stay somewhat on theme with the calendar, but she left her breasts exposed as she leaned back on her arms. The radiant, pin-up smile of hers was genuine as she observed him unblinkingly and intensely peer at her from under his hat.

He wanted her, too.

Aluminum scraped against the floor as he suddenly stood, and Lucy’s heart began to pound as spurs jangled with each slow, sauntering step the Ghoul took. Gloved fingers worked at the buckles of the belt that held his holster.

He was heading straight for her.

“Gotta admit I like the idea of my irradiated cock getting a taste of Hank MacLean’s daughter.”

His candidness didn’t bother or offend her; perhaps he didn’t want her as much as he wanted to enact any degree of vengeance against Vault-Tec.

But that suited Hank MacLean’s daughter just fine; either way, she would be getting something out of their copulation.

The Ghoul stopped shy of her - within distance that she could touch him with a bare foot should she extend a leg. His belt and the gun it carried fell to the floor with a thud, drawing Lucy’s attention downwards to the bulge in his pants - the shape of his penis clearly defined and straining fabric.

“Oh, it still works, sweetheart.”

“Show me.” She glanced up at him with her doe eyes. “Cowboy.”

That cocky smirk of his made its return as the Ghoul began to undo the belt of his pants.

“Wait,” Lucy said, halting him. “Give me your hand.”

He deliberated with himself but eventually took another step closer and offered his hand. She gently grabbed his wrist and used the tips of her fingers to carefully tug on the tips of supple leather from thumb to pinky. Loosened enough, Lucy removed the glove and tossed somewhere near her unmentionables. The Ghoul flinched when her thumb caressed along the burnt remains of his skin. He motioned to flee her touch, but Lucy held firm to his wrist. He watched her with dark eyes as she guided their hands to her mouth, and her lips encased his trigger finger - a finger that used to be hers.

She swirled her tongue around the scarred digit and sucked with her eyes on him.

“You’d better hope I don’t go feral,” the Ghoul warned.

Lucy withdrew the glistening finger from her mouth, and she looked at him with mild concern.

“You took your anti-feral serum didn’t you?”

His gloveless fingers jerked forward and gripped her by the jaw.

The urge to jump his bones was almost unbearable.

“That’s not the ferality you should be worried about.”

The Ghoul invaded her space, and in the blink of an eye, his head slanted and his lips were on hers. A current of electricity sparked at the sensation, and their mouths were quick to fall open to greedily deepen the kiss. The tongue that licked hers tasted of chems, or what she assumed to be chems. It was chalky and bitter, but nothing she couldn’t get used to. The bare hand holding her jaw slid into her hair and cradled the back of her neck as Lucy enthusiastically went to work undoing the remaining belt buckle - that which kept her from what she wanted.

She was a woman starved, and she let him know as much with a whimper when soft leather touched the skin of her hip and trailed along her thigh. Ankles became uncrossed the moment the belt came undone. Her fingers nimbly unbuttoned his pants and eagerly tugged open the waistband. Leather dug into her skin as she reached in and found his erection, and the Ghoul broke their kiss to let out a shaky breath.

She freed him, cock and balls, from the confines of his pants with a simpering smile. “Please don’t ask me to ‘hold my horses’. It’d be a bit too cliche.”

He huffed a laugh and moved back in for another searing kiss. The Ghoul bucked into her hand, and Lucy’s sex longed to be filled (with his penis that most-definitely functioned and was more-than-satisfactory in the length and girth department). She languidly stroked his length with firm pressure that worked like a charm whenever she gave handjobs, and a moan escaped her when the Ghoul bit and ran his tongue along her lower lip. Leather returned to her hip and his bare hand roamed from her neck to her chest to claim a breast. Thumb and forefinger rolled a nipple and tugged and pinched, eliciting further noises from Lucy’s throat.

Aching need spread her legs for her.

“Fuck me, please,” she gasped against his mouth, twisting the lapel of his duster with her free hand.

His touch left her breast to dig into the skin at her hip - matching the grip of his opposing hand. With a rough jerk, he yanked her forward to where she was barely sitting on the edge of the dryer. Lucy’s legs opened fully for him, and she eagerly lined the tip of him to her entrance.

Blown wide pupils stared at her. Hoping to see the good man within their depths, Lucy released his coat and cautiously reached up and removed his hat.

“Fuck me as though there were no tomorrow,” she whispered, searching and finding the barest fragment of whoever it was he used to be.

His mouth crashed into hers without warning, and the Ghoul eased the textured tip of himself into her slick sex. He groaned as he inched himself deeper with every slow and subsequent push. Lucy breathlessly cried out - pleasure was instantaneous and she braced herself with a hand behind her as he thrusted to bury himself fully inside. His hips continued to move - fucking into her with a steady, practiced pace. Their kiss verged on feral and the hat fell from her fingers so that she could cling to the collar of his duster.

His mouth began to move along her jaw, and her moans filled the department alongside the rhythmic, hollow bang that resounded from the dryer she was being fucked on. Her ankles linked, but this time with her legs encircling his torso.

He was better than her cousin and better than Monty.

“What does Hank MacLean’s daughter sound like when she comes undone?” he grunted into her ear in-between satisfying her aching cunt with each drive of his hips. He then chuckled darkly. “Well, what have we here? July, huh? I have to say… you’re much prettier than Miss July - Lucy.”

The effect of hearing her name saw her eyes momentarily flutter closed. Needing to come undone, Lucy gracefully laid down upon the dryer top, her dark hair fanning out. She cursorily worried about the condition of the calendar that was beneath her back, but the worries dissolved the second her fingers slipped between her folds. A single touch across her sensitive bud of nerves caused her to keen and arch her back.

“Tell me your name-” Lucy bit her lip, feeling delirious by the continual buildup of pleasure. “You’re more than the Ghoul, and I’d like to give credit where credit is due… oh lord!”

“I definitely ain’t the Lord,” the Ghoul replied, his hands moving to squeeze her thighs as he picked up his pace.

“Please!” She pleaded, the swirling pads of her fingers doing their due diligence in bringing her so close to the edge. Her vision was becoming spotty - her body growing taut, toes curling…

It was on the cusp of oblivion that he supplied her with something else she wanted.

“Cooper.”

“Cooper… I’m… I’m going to come!”

She came, and it was an orgasm worthy of the end of the world - the kind that she’d never experienced by herself, or with her cousin or with Monty. It was the kind of orgasm that had stars bursting behind her eyes and her muscles twitching and spasming on their own accord. Nothing but ecstasy coursed through her veins, and it lasted for a good-while of bliss-filled seconds.

“What a sight you are,” Cooper drawled, his gaze heady. Caring enough to not overstimulate her, he slowed his horses and gave her a moment's reprieve to recover.

Lucy brought a hand to her head. Dizziness had yet to wane, and her muscles tingled with numbness.

“I wish my dad could see us like this…” she muttered with a wry half-laugh.

Cooper nearly pulled out of her - only to bring himself flush against her with a thrust of his hips.

“Then let’s hope he finds himself in another cage,” came the reply as he returned to the steady pace from earlier. “And I’ll let him know how much I enjoy the feel of his daughter’s soaking wet cunt.”

She smiled, despite his lewdness.

“I enjoy the feel of your cock inside me, Cooper.”

He groaned.

“Keep talkin’, sweetheart…”

“You feel so good… Your cock is the best I’ve felt - the best I’ve had...”

He leaned over her, and his ungloved hand gripped the junction between her neck and shoulder.

“I can’t wait to watch you come all over me,” she added huskily, remembering the road she was used to one-man-in-particular traveling on their honeymoon.

“Why would I do that when there’s a nice, warm hole waitin’ to be filled?”

Lucy shivered at the arousing thought; to think that Cooper would ejaculate inside her. The risk of pregnancy was likely zero - or so she assumed was the case when copulating with a ghoul whose semen was likely sterile.

She mentally crossed her fingers.

“Fill me, Cooper…”

His eyes traced along her naked form that was coated in a thin layer of sweat, and she considered the possibility that he was maybe comparing her to the wife he had once upon a time.

As if confirming her suspicions, his eyes seemingly glazed over.

He was losing himself to memory…

In one fluid motion, Lucy sat up, grabbed the collar of his duster and pulled Cooper in for a tender kiss that a loving wife would give a loving husband.

In returning to the present, he moaned and held her close as they kissed. His release was looming judging by the way his fingers twitched and movements stuttered, and when he came-

“Fuck, Lucy…”

He spilled inside her with her name on his lips when she half expected the name of the wife he had loved. Cooper’s forehead came to rest against hers, his breath stilted as the effects of his orgasm played out.

Lucy gave him a small, close lipped smile when he pulled away a minute later and removed himself from her sex.

“You’re not going to try and kill me now are you?” she asked, making light of her wedding night.

Cooper smirked. He was once again the intimidating gun-slinging ghoul of the Wasteland. “His loss, my gain.”

Butterflies spread their wings and fluttered within the cage of her stomach.

He cleaned himself off with the at-hand comforter before tucking himself back into his pants. Lucy didn’t scramble for modesty; she felt oddly comfortable sitting naked on a dryer in a blown-apart department store in the presence of her associate who just came inside her, and the last thing she wanted was to sugarcoat the fact that she simply used him to satisfy her needs.

Which she did, but…

Remembering the calendar, and hoping she didn’t ruin it, Lucy blindly felt for it and gathered it in her hands. She frowned; the page of July was somewhat damp and warped.

“Where’d you find that ol’ relic anyway?” Cooper asked in the middle of affixing the belt of his holster.

“In the employee locker room,” she answered, beginning to kick her feet (more than aware of the mess between her thighs). “Which pose was your favorite?”

“July.”

He crouched to pick up his hat while she earnestly flipped through and took a look at the future months.

Her head tilted in consideration of pin-ups she studied.

“I think I’d make a good August and September…”

With the hat nestled on his head and his back to her, he threw a glance over his shoulder. “I think I’ll be the judge of that.”

She grinned at him.

“How does tomorrow sound, Cooper?”

#my writing #lucy x cooper howard #lucy x the ghoul #lucy x the ghoul fanfiction #fallout fanfiction #fallout #fallout show #vaultghoul

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