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#played completely straight lmao
dapper-lil-arts · 29 days
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Starlight is funny as hell even just as a concept
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bugeyedfreaks · 7 months
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So I know you hate rrb and that's so valid but i think the funniest implication of the clip show is that teen them just like, stopped doing villainous things? Like the girls stopped fighting crime that's so lame but why did those three idiots stop being bad guys? Did Mtn Dew calm them down?
And then that got me thinking can you imagine like, if they did age up the girls we see retired villains who could rob a bank sure but it's bingo night
My only problem is I can't imagine any villain just retire from villainy as much as I can't imagine the girls older
From what I understand, that whole sequence was all kind of a lighthearted jab at the ridiculous idea that the girls would ever just be interested in boys and shopping if they got older… so clearly it would be just as OOC and ridiculous if the RRB quit being awful. But yeah, whatever could have mellowed them out? 😆 maybe they discovered weed and that calmed them down or maybe something was in their axe body spray lol idk
…to be fair, given how we’ve seen the other villains of Townsville, I’m sure they’re already doing things like that in their downtime. 😆
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If you told me someone would genuinely try to argue to me that this series is completely unserious, and everything, INCLUDING EVERYTHING IN THE FUCKING CLONE FIGHT (INCLUDING THE MAIN CHARACTER'S SUICIDE ATTEMPT) was a joke I would think you're setting up a strawman but LO AND FUCKING BEHOLD
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forcedhesitation · 5 months
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the “criticism” that larian should never have added good minthara recruitment and that that was just “pandering” to fans is so unbelievably ridiculous. what else were they supposed to do about the sheepthara exploit?? attempt to patch it out and likely fuck up plenty of people’s game files? the solution they offered literally just acknowledges the exploit without dramatically changing anything, other than the player’s ability to have both minthara and halsin in their camp. if you want to kill minthara, recruit halsin, and play an authentic good run, then do so. if you want to abandon halsin, attack the grove, and authentically recruit minthara, then do so. the sheepthara method being simplified and added into the game has absolutely zero bearing on anyone’s ability to play the game normally. some people are just making a problem out of nothing. perhaps go complain about something actually worthwhile, like the lack of content for wyll and karlach.
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whatudottu · 10 months
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Not sure if this has been brought up before, but I don’t think that there’s that significant of a secret behind the mural man. LIke? Apparently the political figures of Vinyl City are determined not by public voting (alone) or running for candidacy, but through the Lights Up competition for a combination of 1) completing the arena, 2) ‘lighting up’ the stage as the competition implies, and 3) passing the final vote from the NSRtists and the Head. If there was only 5 musicians and a head with NO vacancies, why would any of the Charters vote ‘yes’ to the contestant/s if there’s a risk in getting replaced?
I would think that the mural man filled in that 6th artist slot present even on DJ Subatomic Supernova’s satellite, and I suppose the mystery then would be if their absence was either through retiring, quitting or simply the end of their term as a Charter. Like, instead of an election season or whatever, Vinyl City holds Lights Up Auditions during a set period during that 6th Charter’s crossover or something; on the satellite again, it’s not as if we see the mural man’s name in 6th (we see Bunk Bed Junction’s), maybe they’re already gone or are archiving stuff from their district. Does Tatiana temporarily hold ‘charter’ to the district? Does she hold the platinum disc until a new position is filled? Is Festival Plaza that district that once had mural man as a Charter? Do you think with the Rock Revolution and the subsequent approval of indie bands that the position was left empty or even completely abolished?
idk, lmao-
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wickedhawtwexler · 6 months
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me: *is very bad at ping pong*
coworkers: haha morgan is drunk ;)
me: lol yes…. this lack of coordination is because of alcohol…. not an inherent weakness i have as a person……..
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thedevilsrain · 7 months
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need to show you guys the most batshit insane line i've ever read in eroica fanfic
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orcelito · 2 years
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Lmaooo and me mentioning to my coworker that I write for p5 & her being like "ooooo I wanna read!!!"
& me being like. ".....not until you get thru most of the game at Least bc major spoilers lol"
POTENTIALLY okay with her reading it bc she's openly a lesbian & pretty chill. It'd just mean I couldn't talk quite so frankly about work on here anymore lmaoo
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reineyday · 1 year
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jason's titans storyline frustrates me greatly for several reasons but i still think curran was a good casting choice for jason robin, and i just wish they didnt write it like that 💀
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arcane-strangeness · 3 months
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peak gaming happening right here
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cicadaknight · 8 months
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what do you call it when the mere thought of doing something you have to do makes your head feel like you stuffed it in a pressure cooker?
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dont u have anything for ur allergies? if not u should go to a doctor
Usually just OTC stuff, I haven't been outside for leisure in a while so I completely forgot it was even a thing. Oopsie
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gothamcityneedsme · 1 year
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i want everyone to know that i straight up hallucinated that there was a robin scene in arkham asylum
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bunny-queen · 2 months
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fake it til you make it
if you have trouble going into the 'i AM' or 'wish fulfilled' states, you can try the acting method and see how it feels
it's really simple, and it doesn't involve doing anything in the 3D—because remember, you can't change the 3D by acting in the 3D
so i'm not gonna say 'if your ideal self is that girl, start waking up at 5 am and going for 2 mile runs, stop eating processed foods, buy this thing....' like NO lmao you should only ever do this type of thing in the material world for your own fun and enjoyment, but NEVER expect it to have any impact on your outer world. all change must be achieved in your mind, period
so how do you act then?
it doesn't matter what you do in the outer world. you can keep going as you usually do if you work or if you're a student, and it won't conflict with ur manifesting, even if you think 'oh but in my dream life I'm not a student, I'm a model', k?
the acting method is simply thinking FROM ur desires instead of TO them. you should straight up act like you're playing the part of future you, in every tiny little way
pay attention to your inner monologue and think fun things! they might sound crazy or delusional at first but ur mind is the real deal, not what we see, so fuck it we ball lmao
EXAMPLE: i want to be a fashion model, even more famous than bella hadid
when i wake up, i splash my face with water and brush my teeth, thinking 'ah my skin's looking good today. i'll barely need to wear any makeup for the photoshoot later...'
when i have breakfast, i think 'my fans sometimes ask me about my diet, but i really just eat whatever i want. maintaining my weight and appearance is effortless'
when i dress up, i think 'i'm so excited for dior's next collection... I'm glad i decided to become an ambassador for them!'
and go on about your life you know. that's just it. if you do it a few times, it becomes completely natural, and you'll shift your state, and the 3D will reflect it
fairy kisses~
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moondirti · 22 days
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Hellloooo🖤 I’m the anon who asked about the Safehouse story!
My brain, unfortunately, is not nearly as wrinkly as yours so I cannot come up with creative ideas like you 😂 BUT! I have a few ideas? Maybe? If you can call them that lol.
Was the spanking the first physical interaction they had? What did the morning after that look like?
What happens if reader has a nasty mental health episode & tries to hide it from Ghost?
Does the pet thing progress? I think we all know that Ghost has a thing for the pet play. I don’t even care, that’s totally canon for me at this point.
Would you ever consider writing about the general dynamic they have? Like the “rules” Ghost might have for them?
Totally and completely a self indulgent ask from someone who just had to pull themselves out of a nasty mental health episode lmao I’m so sorry please ignore this if it’s annoying or dumb!
shh i love all of these. i have so many thoughts now / prev
cw: dubcon d/s lifestyle. petplay. controlling behaviour. possessiveness. panic attacks. toxicity. noncon collaring. financial manipulation. mention of self harm. brief fluff.
Your thing with Simon is hard to contextualise.
Or even understand, really.
Parts of it are welcome. He asserts himself in a way you haven't found in the nobodies you've hooked up with previous, happy to fuck you dumb if it means you'll surrender yourself completely. Which you do. You listen intently and follow every direction he gives in bed, and as a reward he wrings orgasm after orgasm from your squirming body. You cum more in one week than you have in the past month, never not naked and sore, wrists tender from where he anchors his hand to keep them pinned above your head. You hear puppy more than your own name, at this point. And it's a concerning because– Well...
You don't mind it.
But you still don't like him.
It isn't like you necessarily need to like your partners in order to have a good time, but it certainly helps if you can tolerate them beyond a dick-in-hole condition. Simon is an anomaly in that he is the worst person you know, whilst also serving as the best lay you've ever had.
That is to say, his habits haven't changed. He's a fucking terror to live with. Nightmare flatmate, the type you see strangers complain about on reddit forums or hear in a friends story from their sister's husband's cousin. Not something you would take seriously until you live the experience – now existing as a sore, precautionary tale you'll no doubt be pitching to anyone also considering subleasing their place as a safe house.
Perhaps it's made worse by the sexual element you share. Before, he had just been your average perverse man, stealing clothes and walking in on you in the bathroom. Now, it seems that sleeping with him has given him the go-ahead to push that behaviour to an extreme. He'll pat your ass while you go about your business, or tug your hair when you raise your voice. Treats you like a pet that has yet to be debarked; just a silly, sub-human way of entertainment.
You can't help but feel you enabled it. But no–
The pet play is cute when he's drilling your brains out – and perhaps only because you can't think straight enough to raise concern – but you're not a dog. Nor do you want to be treated like one throughout all hours of the day. The onus is on him for not catching the hint.
But of course, accountability isn't in his lexicon.
Things only get worse from there.
"An' where d'you think you're going?"
You're halfway out of the door when he catches you leaving.
If you had been more iron-willed, you would slip out and scurry away before he can continue whatever spiel he has stirring. Instead, it's instinct to shrivel in on yourself, clicking the door shut before turning to face the behemoth waiting in the foyer.
"Out." You huff, intent on cold-stoning him. But it's a fools game when your opponent in the broad-shouldered lieutenant – for he merely cocks his head, waiting your silence out with more silence, and it's all you can do to bite your tongue against the deluge of excuses that pile up. "My mates thought it would be a good idea to catch brunch. Y'know– to celebrate the start of summer break. It's a nice day out so..." You gesture to your attire, like you have any reason to justify a sundress to some man you are in no way committed to.
But you can read the possessive gleam of his eyes as they take stock of your appearance: from your expensive mules, up your moisturised legs, to the low cut of your décolletage. It's easy to connect it to that look he had when you came back home that fateful night, the look of warning before he'd taken you over his lap and slapped your ass raw.
And for some odd reason, you're compelled to dig yourself out of trouble.
"Hm. It is a nice day, innit?" You nod a bit too quick. He stalks closer. "Lots of people out." Your nod is a little less enthusiastic. He's centimetres away now. "Some bad, bad men too."
He lifts the ends of your dress, slowly. Your next words quiver on their way out your chest. It's alarming to find that they don't sound nearly as assertive as you intend for them to be, not like they do horny.
"Where are you going with this?"
Your skirt pools around your hips now, held up by one hand as the other smooths over with the gusset of your panties.
"You plan on lettin' them have at this puppycunt? Have I not been givin' it enough attention?" He mockingly coos, pressing harder against the mound between your legs. Your knees grow weak. Not of your own accord, but weak nonetheless, and you have to hold onto his wrist to keep yourself upright. "Is tha' it?"
"N-No–"
"No? But that's what they'll think seeing you walk around like this, silly thing. Poor, neglected mutt, they'll say. Don't have a firm hand to keep 'er in line." Simon tuts, releasing his grip on your dress to pull something out of his back pocket. With the way he crowds into you, you can't crane your head to see what it is. "Now we can't have tha'. I spoil my girl rotten, wouldn' you say?"
"Yes. Yes but–"
"No buts, pup. Have ta stake my claim on you somehow." Something clicks. All too suddenly, you're made aware of the new weight on your neck. It tightens against the column of your throat – not enough to constrict your airways, but enough so that it hinders the way you move. "There we go. So pretty like this."
Panic seizes you, the steel fist of paralysis capturing your muscles in a vice-like clutch. Even as Simon pulls away, you're almost scared to find yourself in the nearest mirror. Scared of what you'll find dangling between your collarbones. There's no mistaking the textured leather that presses against your skin, nor the soft clink of metal hanging from it. No fooling yourself that this is all some cruel joke, not with the sick leer of satisfaction that warps his face.
Stumbling, you navigate to the bathroom and blindly turn on a light.
That cruel fuck.
"Simon," Your voice is devoid of the anger you feel roaring through your veins, circuiting through the frenzied stutter of your heart to find new passion. Instead, you sound horrified. Near hysterical, choking on your own pleas as you run back to the foyer. Your hands tug at the collar clasped around your neck, desperately searching for a buckle that will aid you in ripping it off, despite seeing the lock latched right at the centre that tells of its permanence. What's more, he had it engraved with a crude variation of a dog collar tag. If lost, leave alone. Or else count your days. "S-Simon, Simon please. Fuck– take it off. Take it off, take it off! I don't want this, I don't want... This isn't funny. I'll change if that's what it takes. Please."
Snot bursts from your nose, cheeks wet with a hot mess of tears. You can't suppress the hiccups that interrupt your begging like pathetic shots to the chest, or the weak hits you beat across his pecs. If you could, then perhaps he would give your tantrum more weight.
As it stands, you're nothing but a feral creature resisting training.
"Shhh. Pets can' speak. Pets don't cry." His thumbs press to your under eyes, tamping the flow of brine that mark steady tracks from your lashes. "You'll ruin your makeup like this."
"Si–"
He stare hardens into something dangerous. Against your better judgment, you clamp your lips shut.
"That's it. You're s'good when you listen to me, pup." Once he's sure you've stopped crying, he removes his thumbs to instead push one into your mouth. You can taste the salty residue of your tears on his fingertips. "Now, this is the bes' of both worlds, see? You can go see your friends with this on. I know pets need their playtime, af'er all."
You arch your back in protest, but all that does is bring you closer to the lieutenant. He misinterprets that entirely, of course, and a small smile breaks his face like you've agreed to his terms. A heavy palm pats your ass.
"S'jus' so you don't forget who you belong to." He chuckles. "An' if your friends like the idea, then I have a few friends for them."
You make it one block before hightailing back home.
Nothing in you wanted to give that bastard the satisfaction, but he made it so that whatever you chose to do – stay home or leave wearing a symbol of his ownership – he'd end up triumphant. Naturally, then, you opted for the lesser of two evils: to leave his vicinity immediately. Besides, you'd promised your girls you'd see them after going AWOL the past fortnight, and you knew you'd get an earful if you decided to reschedule at the last moment.
You thought you would convince them it was a bet. That the collar is just some silly joke you have to bear for the day after a football match didn't go in your favour.
But you make it one block before a tradie on his lunch break catcalls you (you about that freaky ting, beautiful?) and decide to change course completely.
You arrive back at your flat without further incident. Ego stung from the various odd looks you received on your way, but nothing as egregious as being singled out as a freak in the midst of a crowd occurs again.
Still, your hands shake as you push your key into its slot.
Which progress to full body tremors as you turn it in place.
Thankfully, Simon isn't waiting on you on the other side of the door. He sits, manspreading on the couch instead, focus zeroed in on the telly that broadcasts Fulham v Man City. When he doesn't look away, you allow yourself to hope he hadn't heard you come in. But it's a naive pool to place your faith in. Nothing escapes the man, and soon enough, his tone of humoured indifference shatters the silence you've been precariously trying to keep.
"Miss me 'lready?"
A wretched sulk, pit of anger hollowing out anew. You swiftly snatch your laptop from the breakfast bar before storming to your room, making sure to lock the door firmly behind you.
The website is bookmarked. Taunting. Sublet your home as a safehouse for our armed forces. Serve your country and help soldiers find refuge. You would laugh if you weren't so single-minded, typing in your email and password upon being prompted to. You don't have to deal with this shit any longer, nor do you intend to. If you remember correctly, there had been a way to report any problems you face. If you phrase yours right, you might just get Simon pulled from your services.
Good dick be damned.
But when you hit enter to sign in, an error message blinks in red.
Account does not exist.
Which is fine. Shit like this happens all the time. There's no reason to work yourself into a panic, you probably just used the wrong email.
So you try your alternate. Account does not exist.
It feels unlikely, but maybe you'd created it under your school email to give yourself credibility. Only–
Account does not exist.
Your blood pressure is no doubt sky high by now. Other symptoms of stress already start to wrack through you – blurry vision, chest aches, difficulty breathing. Your hands sweat excessively as you dig for the customer care number you're sure exists somewhere, efforts impaired by the ever-present weight of the collar around your neck. You wonder if Simon can smell your anxiety like a predator does its prey. If he's in the other room, salivating, waiting for you to wobble out of your room to go for the kill. Some part of you – a needlessly paranoid part – rests on the conclusion that this is somehow his fault too.
Your phone already rings in an outgoing call once you blink back to the present. While you've been functioning on autopilot, you must have found a number to call that related close enough to your issue.
And your suspicion is confirmed when an automated voice picks up. You are currently... second... in line.
It takes five minutes. When a placating woman speaks up amidst the nauseating music they have queued, you can hardly contain yourself from word-vomiting onto her. Safehouse signup. Lost account. Need to report an issue. Please. It's urgent.
"Okay ma'am. If you could give me your name, I'll be happy to find the source of your problem today." You can't spell it out any faster. "Alright. One moment, please."
"O-okay." You sniffle miserably.
"I see. I'm sorry to be the one to tell you this, but it seems that you've been pulled from the program after a complaint was lodged against you. Unfortunately I can't provide more detail than that, but if you need anything else, I would be happy to assi–"
You hang up. The poor thing doesn't need to hear the incensed scream that tears from the deepest parts of you, or the following crack as you chuck your cell at the wall. She'd done what she could. It isn't her fault. It was that self-serving bastard that had you blacklisted from the only thing keeping you financially afloat. It is that that self-serving bastard that continues to occupy space inside your home, despite having no real right to it now.
The tantrum isn't near cathartic enough to unfetter you from your prison of aggravation, and you continue to take it out on everything in your near radius. Your duvet and pillows. The lotion you keep by your beside table. Your own skin, nails piercing into the soft flesh of your palms.
And especially the collar constricting your throat, like vines that tighten at the first sign of struggle.
You have to get this collar off. Even if you fail at everything else, you have to get this collar off.
Scrambling off your bed, you turn your room upside down looking for a bobby pin or a knife. One is unquestionably the safer bet, but you know you'll sit for hours trying to pick the lock that keeps you shackled – so when you find the boxcutter sitting at the bottom of your junk drawer, you immediately take it to your neck.
Just as Simon barges into your room.
You're so far gone, you don't even question how this must look to him. In fact, it doesn't occur to you that you locked your door, and that the only way he could've gotten in is by having a replica of your key. No. You merely twist away from the all-encompassing hold he wraps around your arms, determined to keep the boxcutter away from his confiscation until you can slice through the leather.
But you're crying. Visibly, alarmingly unstable. And Simon's breaths are a little faster than normal, faltering in a way they only do when he's close to climax. He must be worried, which is a funny thought, seeing as he's the reason you're in this mess.
"Alright thas– that's enough of that." He grunts after managing to pry the blade from your hand. You hardly mourn the loss, rather crumbling in on yourself as your sobbing escalates. No longer frustrated, nor determined. Just primed into a suffocating panic attack.
Somewhere in your auditory periphery, you hear the clinking of glass. It doesn't register until he holds a vial of lavender extract you keep under your nose, forcing you to inhale the medicinal aroma. Soon enough, your mouth opens to swallow gulps of unscented air alongside it, and the imposed breathing exercise calms you to a point of blubbering calm.
(For someone so apathetic, you admit he handled that expertly.)
That isn't the end of it, though. Moments later, you're lifted off your feet. He cradles you in both arms as he makes his way to your bed, sitting up against the headboard and placing you on his lap. Safe. Undisturbed.
You say nothing, pressing your wet face into his shirt. For comfort, first and foremost, but the makeup that'll undoubtedly stain the white fabric is an added bonus.
"Know this is hard for y'to understand, pup." Simon begins. "Hard for you ta wrap your head around ownership after bein' alone for s'long. I won't punish you for tha'."
"Y-You don't own me." You accuse.
He shakes his head in response, like your mind is truly as little as he claims. Like you're a dog, complete with two ears and a tail, and he plucked you off the street on the condition that you heel.
If anything, he's the stray.
"Oh, but I do." A large hand rubs circles on your back. Never have you been so conflicted, so torn between leaning in and biting back. "Just don't see it yet, pet. Bu' you will, in time. And in the meanwhile, we'll establish some ground rules to help you adjust."
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m-musings · 1 month
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Crawl Out Through the Fallout with Me: Cooper "The Ghoul" Howard X Fem! Reader
A/N: never played an official fallout game in my life but i still love this man so it's time to bullshit some stuff, let's gooooooo
Word Count: 1.1k
Summary: After a fight with raiders, a argument between lovers ensues when one of them gets hurt.
Warnings: typical fallout vibes, mentions of fighting, blood and wounds, pre-established relationship, Cooper being Cooper but also being a bit ooc, this is cheesy as hell and def not canon compliant lmao
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"Damnit, (Y/n), just what the hell were you thinkin'?!"
An upset voice rang out into the evening air of the Wasteland as a pair of figures rested up inside the crumbling walls of an abandoned building.
Lit by the fading light of the sun, (Y/n) hissed in pain as her irradiated companion tried to sew a sizable gunshot wound on her arm shut.
As he passed the needle back and forth through the gash, the girl rolled her eyes with an exasperated groan as a few rivulets of blood rolled down her arm.
"Gimme a break, Coop! Did you wanna be the one to be shot?! I don't- ow!- think so!"
During a journey to find their next cash-out, the partners were ambushed by a large group of raiders & fiends. After managing to get rid of most of them, one had managed to sneak up and send a bullet flying straight for Cooper.
Noticing the weapon before Cooper could even turn to see the shooter, (Y/n) dashed over and shoved the ghoul out of the path of the shot, causing her arm to be hit instead.
Now- a few hours after killing the remaining enemies- they took shelter in a decrepit shack in order to patch themselves up in peace and rest for the night.
"I'd still be better off than you are right now. I mean, for fucks sake, darlin', I'm a ghoul. I've been through worse than just being shot at."
"Well then, that's the last time I try to be helpful. Next time, I'll sit back and relax while you get absolutely slaughtered by raiders, how about that?!"
"Go right on ahead, see if I care! Now, hold still. Can't close this cut if you keep on squirmin' around." Cooper huffed as he gave the suture one final tug before snipping the end off with a pocket knife and tying it into a knot.
After he was finished, (Y/n) rolled the pain out of her bicep before reaching into her bag to grab a somewhat clean cloth to wipe up any remaining blood.
With a sputter of her lips, she got up from her spot next to Cooper to sit upon the old mattress in the other corner of the room in order to apply a stimpak to herself. It wouldn't be enough to heal the wound completely but it would be enough for her to be able to use her arm properly.
Satisfied with the sight of her flesh knitting back together, Cooper finally relaxed in his chair as he crossed one leg over the other.
"Now don't go doin' anything that stupid again, y' hear me? Don't wanna have to use any more stims than we have to."
"I just... don't understand why you're so worked up about this. Something like this was bound to happen eventually, it's literally a warzone out here. A scar or two isn't unusual." (Y/n) griped as she fell back onto the bed while crossing her arms.
"Yeah, for someone like me it isn't. But it shouldn't ever happen someone like you. You shouldn't have to get hurt like that..." Grumbled Cooper as he leaned back against the wall.
"I'm not made of glass, Coop, I can handle a few hits."
"Don't care. You're way too valuable for me to lose."
(Y/n)'s glare softened at that, realizing the true intention behind the cowboy's scolding was worry. As Cooper sets up a small lantern on the floor to combat the growing darkness, (Y/n) watches the man with a fondness gleaming in her eyes.
"Is that what this is all about? You didn't wanna see me get hurt?" Whispers the girl as she turns onto her side.
Although the action is rather subtle, the ghoul's body visibly tenses up as he fixes his gaze away from the woman across from him.
"I never said that."
"It's clear that you thought it, though." (Y/n) chuckled as she softly grinned at the cowboy.
Heaving out an irritated sigh, Cooper hunches over to look at her as he readjusts his hat.
"What do ya wanna hear from me, sweetheart? That I care about you? That I love ya? Well, if you don't know that by now, then you might be much dumber than I thought you were."
"Hey, I resent that! You'd be lost with me and you know it!"
"Sure I would. Just like how you'd do great out there if you were all alone."
(Y/n) shakes her head with a scoff before she gets up from the mattress to walk over plop herself onto Cooper's lap after he sits back down on the beat-up dinner chair.
As she shuffles into place, Cooper places his hand on the small of her back to ensure she doesn't topple over. He silently glances at her face, analyzing her now troubled expression as she fiddles with the lapel on his duster.
Mouth opening and closing as she tries to find the words to say, she presses her lips together before finally speaking her thoughts.
"Y'know, I worry about you too... I'm always so worried that there's gonna be a day where that one gunner you miss is gonna be the one that gets you." (Y/n) admits sadly as she rests her head on Cooper's shoulder.
Cooper's eyes widen slightly and peer down at her as he begins to rub a hand up and down her arm in an attempt to comfort her.
"Hey now, look at me. That'll never happen. Not on my watch."
"What makes you so sure?"
"I got too much to fight for. I already lost one family to this nonsense and I'll be damned if you get taken away from me too. I'll fight tooth and nail before I let anything touch me or you again, understand?"
"But why? What's so special about me?"
"If I allow you to get hurt anymore, I will never be able to live with myself again. I love you, so...so much, darlin'." Cooper states with a resolute nod.
(Y/n) eyes water and crinkle with a gentle smile before she leans up to place a couple light kisses upon his charred lips, which he returns immediately upon receiving.
"I love you too, Cooper..." Mutters (Y/n) as she closes her arm around his shoulders.
With a laugh rumbling in his chest, Cooper wraps both of his hands around her waist as he holds her as close as he can.
"Your sweetness is what's gonna be the death of me one of these days, doll... Not some dumbass bullet." Cooper jokes quietly, placing a kiss atop her hair & resting his head on hers as he rocks back and forth to lull her to sleep.
Listening to the calming sound of her breathing as she slumbers, Cooper thinks about how lucky a man like him is to have found a love like (Y/n) in such a desolate situation.
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