#cooper x reader

You can’t believe it. You’ve made it. Of course, “it” being the wasteland, completely covered in desert sand, decaying bodies and god knows what else. But somewhere out there is your sister Lucy who’s looking for your father and boy are you determined to find her. 

Preferably you would’ve entered the surface in more appropriate attire, wearing a wedding dress two sizes too small and previously worn by your sister wasn’t the most thought-out idea but hey you had one opportunity to get out of vault 33 and you took it even if it meant leaving your soon-to-be husband at the altar. Aw well, I guess you’ll stay a virgin another day. 

Your white high heeled wedding shoes pinched your feet as you made your way through the sand. The thought of walking barefoot in the dirty sand disgusted you but the shoes weren’t giving you much coverage either. 

In the distance you spot a dark figure wearing a cowboy hat and a dog walking by his side. 

“Hello! Hello! Excuse me sir!” you yell attempting to catch up to him. The figure turns to face you and as you get nearer you notice his features...or lack thereof. 

“Excuse me sir I’m looking for my sister she’s-” 

“Now why do I get the irritating feelin’ that you're some relation to Lucy McClean?” the Ghoul wonders aloud. You gasped beaming with delight. 

“Yes! She’s my sister! Do you know her? How did you know-” 

“You both have that same dumb smile,” the Ghoul stated almost annoyed. Your smile dropped. As children you and Lucy were inseparable and comparisons were often drawn between the two of you, taking after your mother of course. 

“I’m looking for her,” you stated. 

“As am I,” the Ghoul began to look you up and down. You shifted uncomfortably.  

“And why exactly is a pretty little bride searching all alone in the wasteland then huh?” the Ghoul continued.  

“Be-because I’m the only person that knows my sister better than anyone and uh it just so happened that the only day I could escape the vault was in fact the day of my wedding,” you admit.  

The Ghoul smirks at this statement, “Well then pretty lady, it must be my lucky day because you’re gonna help me find your sister. But see your sister has been causin’ me some trouble lately so I will be needing some...payment from you in return for her disobedience.”  

The Ghoul makes his way closer to you. 

You frown in confusion, “Like wha-” 

He grabs your wrists and ties them together tightly with rope. 

“Now pretty lady, I don’ know if I can trust you just yet so this is only a precaution until I know you’ll do what you’re told. God knows your sister doesn’t.” 

You struggle against the restraints. The Ghoul takes you by your waist and slings you over his shoulder. Your veil just barely holding on. 

“Hey! What the heck!” you yell. The Ghoul slaps your ass. 

“Firstly, we’ll have to consummate that marriage of yours little lady,” the Ghoul laughs walking towards an abandoned town in the distance. 

- 

The Ghoul sits you down on an old dusty table in an abandoned house with no windows nor doors and not much walls either. He places his hat to the side. You blow a strand of hair out of your face. 

“Listen sir, whatever it is my sister has done-” you began. The Ghoul places a knee between your thighs pushing them open so that he can stand between them. 

“You can call me Coop sweetheart.” 

“Coop.” 

“Yes ma’am.” 

“I’m sure there’s a more rational solution to whatever it is my sister has done. But taking advantage of a bride on her wedding day is-” 

Coop presses himself against your crotch. “Oh, it’s your wedding day, is it?” 

“Yes.” 

“Well, I think it’s only right little lady that we bless this union and consummate your marriage. Since of course your poor husband can't be here.” Coop leans in and presses himself harder onto you. A wet spot grows in your lacy wedding lingerie.  

“But my husband-” 

“He don’t have to know.” Coop's gloved hand moves up your thigh. He slips two fingers into your panties. The sensation of the leather glove causes a shiver to run down your spine. 

Oh, fudge it. Your “husband” wasn’t the best looking and hey, you’ll probably die out here in the wasteland anyway. 

Coop begins rubbing tight little circles around your clit. You gasped, whimpering as he applies more pressure and faster circles. 

“Oh, you’re a good girl alright but, like your sister you talk too damn much.” Cooper removes his hand from your panties causing you to whimper at the loss of touch. The Ghoul licks your wetness from his gloves before taking it off and shoving it in your mouth. You moan in protest. 

He leans down. His mouth by your ear. 

“You know, it’s been quite some time since I’ve done any of this. I just hope I ain’t too rusty,” he growls before licking the shell of your ear. You cringe and move your head away at the feeling causing Cooper to let out a laugh. 

“Now let’s see what we’re working with.” Cooper gets on his knees his face inches away from your soaking wet pussy. He licks his way up either side of your inner thigh before taking your “something blue” garter off with his teeth. 

“Too bad your husband wasn’t the one to do that.” He sling-shots the garter off to the side. “Or this.” 

Cooper pulls your lacy panties off before using his thumb to part your slit. Your pussy juice glistening in the light. 

“You know there are a lot of ugly things out there in the wasteland but that right there sweetheart-" flattening his tongue he licks from your hole to your clit. "-is one pretty pink pussy.” 

Cooper attacks your clit with his tongue lapping it up like a dog who hasn’t had water for days. You spat out the glove moaning louder than you thought humanly possible. Coop forces your legs to stay open with his hands digging into your inner thighs keeping them from closing in on his head. 

“God sweetheart you taste incredible,” Coop breathed continuing to lick your most sensitive area. Sure, it’s been a while since Cooper Hoffman had seen any action, but he sure had a talented tongue and knew what to do with it.  

You assumed you’d died and gone to heaven. Of course you weren’t a complete virgin, but messing around with cousins definitely didn’t involve pleasure on your end. 

As you came you saw genuine stars. Unable to comprehend all that came from your mouth was complete and utter gibberish. 

Satisfied with himself and grinning from ear to ear, Cooper stood up, mouth glistening with your arousal. 

“Now that the lady is prepared, it’s time for you and I to go for a ride.” Cooper grabbed his hat placing it back on his head. He crashes his lips into yours. His lips chapped and dry but god they taste good. Lips and tongues clashed together as Coop slowly lowered you onto the table so that you lay flat on the table with your legs dangling on the edge. 

Coop gave one last lick of your lips before reaching into his trousers and taking his cock out. He pumped himself a few times lining up with your entrance eager to let him in. 

“You do me a favour darlin’?” Coop asked, only his tip inside you. You nodded. 

“When I fuck this tight little cunt of yours, I want you to scream real loud for me.” 

And loud you were. As Coop stretched you your groan echoed throughout the empty house. He gives you a brief moment to adjust. 

“God I forgot how good fuckin’ a tight pussy is,” Coop groaned before quite literally fucking you into the table. His thrusts were fast and deep, allowing you to feel every last inch of him stretching and fucking you. 

“Oh Coop,” you moaned eyes rolling back. You struggle against your restraints wanting nothing more than to dig your nails into his back. Cooper takes your right leg placing your high heeled foot on his shoulder allowing him to get even deeper.  

Cooper laughed, “I bet your husband is one jealous motherfucker.” 

His breathing and groans become erratic as he reaches closer to the edge.  

“Please Cooper!” you beg, feeling pleasure like you’ve never felt before. 

“Oh yes darlin’ you better beg for Daddy's cum,” Cooper grunts, his thrusts getting faster. 

“Oh please! Please! I need oh-” 

The Ghoul fills you up with a loud groan before gently placing your legs down. 

Breathless you sit yourself back up on the table.  

“I don’t think my Dad will be very happy that I lost my virginity to a ghoul,” you state attempting to wipe the sweat off your brow with your tied up arms. 

“I hope he ain’t. He may have been involved in fucking up the world, but god does his daughter have a good pussy,” Cooper replies untying you. 

“Now, let’s find that sister of yours.” 

- 

Lucy’s eyes flicker open. A needle and tube attached to her arm. She winces at the sun in her eyes and pulls the tube from her arm. 

“Lucy?” You’re sitting by her side still in your white dress. 

“Oh my God! It’s you! How did you-is that a wedding dress? Did you get married without-” Lucy gushed but you cut her off with a hug. 

Sitting only a few feet away in a lawn chair the Ghoul rolls his eyes. 

“I missed you,” you whispered. You smile at each other. 

“I can’t believe you’re here,” Lucy whispered tucking hair behind your ear, grinning like a mad man.

“I know...you wouldn’t happen to have any spare underwear by any chance, would you?” you ask attempting to be casual. 

“What happened to your underwear?” Lucy questioned with a frown, confused. 

“Yeah sweetheart, what happened to your little panties,” Cooper spoke, a shit eating grin on his face. 

Lucy looked back to you still confused waiting for an answer. 

» smut includes: possessive soft & slightly mean dom!cooper, ‘pretty girl’ & baby as pet names, dirty talk i.e. + about exhibitionism (it doesn’t happen tho!), body appreciation, nipple play, spanking, fingering, a bit of edging/teasing, unprotected s~ex (p in v), bits of aftercare but overall, coop likes it nasty.

'It was worth holding back a witty remark during moments like these if it meant seeing you light up each time.' ;

It should’ve been uncomfortable; the sheen of perspiration building up along your body, despite the cooler night, albeit marginally as opposed to the day. Had it not been for the ceiling fan, no matter how slow it gets once in a while, you were indebted to its existence. 

Especially at this exact moment, throwing your head and watching the contraption spin above you as Cooper bucked up into you. 

Lucy had dozed off, you checked an hour prior, finding her asleep in the old guestroom when you stopped by. Maximus, too, snoring away on the wingback chair next to her. Whether it was because you entered with light steps or the duo were bone-tired, you had successfully spread the thin sheets over their figures before turning the table lamp off—all of which Cooper watched behind the door, feeling an overwhelming emotion brewing in him. 

You barely knew them, hell, he was there when you shot Lucy a chilling look, realizing she was the daddy’s girl, but beyond that, you also saw two souls who were… lost. A set of strangers who wanted nothing more than to do the good thing, even if you didn't agree with their beliefs. And yet, the old caring nature in you couldn’t help but offer at least some form of appreciation for their humanity. 

You held yourself back when Lucy babbled, even if—when you wanted nothing more than to cuss her father out. You didn’t lash out when she asked about your time in the shelters way before her mother was around. You acknowledged Maximus’s good intentions, even if they were a little gullible. 

Cooper noticed it all, and fuck, if your unmoveable kindness wasn’t disgustingly the sweetest and sexiest thing he had ever seen.

It all felt like a typical romance movie after that, when you crossed paths in the living room, with you on your way to the kitchen when he stopped you. Delicately (and uncharacteristically, you might add) holding your wrist and tugging you to his chest to stare into your dreamy eyes. How a smile naturally bloomed on your face as you reached for his jaw. He indulged in your cutesy behaviour, as he always does, angling his head to kiss your palm while your eyes remained locked. It was worth holding back a witty remark during moments like these if it meant seeing you light up each time.

Not that you couldn’t handle them, if anything, putting him in his place wasn’t unheard of—you knew how to shut him up with that aura of yours from time to time.

But make no mistake; he knew how to get you tongue-tied, too.

He dipped his head, and the kiss that came was nasty. Swallowing your little gasp when he took hold of your jaw. 

“Here?” You whispered incredulously between giggles when he led you to the couch. All he gave you was a grunt, falling back into the seat and pulling you with him. Your legs snugged around his as he encouraged you to sit, not hover him. The soft tune that played in the kitchen reminded you of a scene out of a cheesy porno from your old days, and when he hummed along, you knew he had the same thoughts, too.

“It's our house,” He grinned, “Means our rules.” 

“Uh-huh,” You humoured, amused as you shook your head, but the use of ‘our’ did send butterflies to your stomach, “Mind elaborating, handsome?” 

He explained all-too-happily, “It means y'got every right throw y'guests t’the doghouse if they start yappin’ ‘bout indecency.”

You say that now, but you knew he would shoot one in between their eyes for ogling you clothed, let alone in your glory. He has done it before. 

Countless times.

But you’d kick him to the doghouse if he ever got blood on your floors. And just to piss him off further, you’d allow Dogmeat to sleep on the bed with you. 

“You'd like to do that, wouldn't you?” I snorted.

His eyes lit up, taking your words as a green light, “Y'offerin’?” 

You smacked his chest. “I know your games, cowboy. Room’s not far, y’know?”

“Aww, c'mon,” Calloused fingertips traced up your legs before slipping under the skirt, alternating between kneading and smacking your ass repeatedly to hear your squeaks, “When's the last time y'and I messed ‘round in the livin’ room?” 

“Just last week.” You huffed, partially from the way his hips rolled against yours.

With any lack of action and the undeniably warmer weather throughout the day, you thought it was time to enjoy the night breeze with a slit skirt. The hems were slightly burnt off from past confrontations, involving a near-fatal experience with a Molotov cocktail, but besides that, it was relatively intact. 

And just like you, it was Cooper’s favourite piece, too.

“Mm,” He acknowledged with a grunt, “Far too long t’me.”

He leaned back, arms spread across the backrest while looking at you expectantly

“Y’gon’ take it off f’me or…?” He asked. You rolled your eyes—as if you could ever refuse him. 

But you couldn’t just give it to him, right?

You sat back, poised and coy, toying with him when you gazed up at him through your lashes. In the mood to give him a little show as it seemed like your guests were going to stay out cold for a while.

You were definitely teasing him when you popped the buttons of your shirt, only to let it droop around your elbows, just enough to get a glimpse of your cleavage and pesky black bra. 

Reaching over, you dragged your index finger from his Adam’s apple, down to the collar. His overcoat long gone for your convenience, uncovering his chest without problems.

He was always intrigued, and if he was being honest, in disbelief by your fascination—by your need to have him unclothed in some form of way, despite his condition. The wariness grew over time, and he had not only relished it in but encouraged you for it, too. 

Bunching up and pushing your skirt to the side, his fingers rubbed your pussy through your panties. He sighed, feeling the patch of wetness that soaked through the fabric. He was excited as you were, eager to feel you against him as he shifted under you.

He raised his fingers to his lips, sucking on his middle finger sloppily and groaning at your taste before dipping them under your panties. He straightened, pulling you forward by the back of your head as he prodded a finger into you. The position had you arching, chest to chest as he forced you to moan in his ear. 

At your mewls, he was more than content to give you another, sinking his ring finger in bit by bit to feel you clench desperately. 

He revelled in the warmth, the tightening of your warm walls as if fearing he'd pull out. The more you felt him curl inside you, the more useless it was to muffle your cries. The embarrassing squelch didn’t help either, but how couldn’t you, with that romantic stunt he pulled moments ago?

He tapped on your hips, silently requesting you to hold yourself up for a moment while he shoved his pants down. His cock stood with pride, twitching at the cool air and the anticipation to feel what his digits were feeling.

Pushing your panties to the side, he lined up the head of his cock to your pussy.  He was practically dreaming of feeling you sink onto him at once, already bucking his hips to fill you to the hilt. Instead, you took him in ever so slowly, bit by bit before raising your hips till there was nothing more than the tip of him in you. Taking him in little by little as he teased you with his fingers.

“Y'tryin’ t’kill me?” He gritted out.

“You can handle it.” You cooed back, already losing composure as you felt up his chest.

He groaned, eyeing you dangerously only to shudder when your thighs slammed against his. You felt full, hell, you were full, needing a moment as your fingernails dug into his skin. 

“Fuuuck,” He groaned, tipping his head back though forcing himself not to close his eyes to watch your tits bounce as you moved faster, “Look at y'go. Yeah, ride m’cock, pretty girl. Juuust like that.” 

His praises had you pulsing around him, but so did his desperation. Slowing down once again to feel him buck under you. 

But there was also something else about tonight.

Familiarity was putting his feelings lightly, unable to tear his eyes off as images of the same smile, maybe just a tad more innocent about the world, flashed before his eyes. Remembering his lucky encounters with you when you were both stars. When the two of you had dreams. When your worries at the time were nothing more than bringing joy to the people who watched you perform like you had hung the moon. 

He could never forget admiring you and your artistry, similar to how you marvelled at his productions in awe, even after when they were nothing more than a man on a horseback before it all went to hell. 

And to have him before you once more, albeit a bigger menace than you thought was possible, he was still your Cooper Howard.

Your cheekiness was wiped off when his hand dropped to your ass with a sharp smack, the slap drowning out the radio for a split second.

“‘Y'had your fun.” He growled. His hands held onto you so desperately, similar to the way you grappled onto his shoulders for support.

Your button-up was sticking to your skin just below your breasts, and as much as Cooper loved the little striptease, he wanted more. 

He pulled the article further down by your sleeves, where you shuddered at the feeling of Cooper’s lips latching onto your skin. The sensation rough as he nipped at your rib. He surged forward, salivating as he sucked and tugged on your nipple. He let out a heady groan, tasting a hint of salt while rigorously bouncing you up and down his cock. 

You were what pin-ups couldn’t emulate, what poets or authors couldn’t convey with mere words. 

Anyone, surface dwellers and vaulties alike wished they could have you.

He crept one hand in between you, rubbing tight circles on your clit. He didn’t relent when you trembled, when you tightened as you came hard. Not even when you spasm, overstimulated when he continued to thrust in and out of you.

He held you down longer than you would've liked, too obsessed with the way your walls fluttered around him. Begging for some form of friction as you clamped him like a vice. The mewls that followed were music to his ears, frustrated in the cutest way when he did nothing more than flash you an infuriating smile.

A tight one, you noticed. Unable to hide his own need for long as your juices dripped down to his thighs. He was… a little sick in the head—who would’ve thought—abstaining himself from chasing the high for just a moment, just to amp up the pleasure and feel his desperation sated as if he finally deserved the ‘treat’.

“Coop…” You mewled, nearly choking on your spit as his iron-clad grip forced you to feel each and every ridge of him up to the brim, “Coop–! Please! Please move, please—fuck.”

Oh, how cruel of him to deny you. Especially when you sang for him so sweetly.

You raised your head, lips parted as his eyes bored into your teary ones. Even when you became lost in your lustful haze, only able to churn out nothing but his name as hushed moans, he couldn’t miss the small dazed smile flickering across your face. 

He couldn’t resist, reaching up to brush across the pads of your plush lips. And as hooked as you were over the proximity, you placed your hand over his, keeping it on your cheek. 

Your eyes screamed for him to go faster, to put you out of your misery. He pitied you to some degree when he rolled his hips.

“That too much? No, y'can take it. M'pretty girl can take what I give.” 

“Gonna fuckin’ come in’ya, y’hear me?”

“Oh, you’re tearin’ up, feels really good, doesn’t it, baby?”

He slammed you down as soon as he came, thighs sticky and flushed. His grinds slowed down, chest heaving till he had his last spurts of cum in you. He traced his hands along the bruising spots he had left on your hips, then up your sides, tickling you.

The corner of his lips twitched at your tired giggle, catching your breath with your face pressed against his shoulder.

“Y’liked that?” He matched your amusement, reaching over the dry towel conveniently draped on the arm of the couch and wiping off the sweat dripping down your back. 

“Mmm.” You hummed into his skin, already comfortable against him.

“Y’really liked it,” He reiterated, finding your playful eye-roll worth it, casually dragging the cloth under your chin and the area between your breasts before tossing it to the side. He let one arm outstretched on the backrest, “Y’need some water or somethin’?” You thought for a moment; you’d need a sip or two after all that, but you could hold it off for a few minutes. 

“In a bit,” You returned to snuggling in his arms, much to his satisfaction, “Can't you just carry me to bed?” 

“I would, but…” He trailed off. You followed his line of sight when it fell to his lap, not only reminding you of the mess but also if he stood up, well, you might as well fall with him if his pants dropped to his ankles. You knew he could clean you up and buckle his pants before carrying you to your room with no problem, he just didn’t feel like it.

And, well, you understood him.

“Fine,” You sighed, feigning resignation even though a little smile was playing on your lips. You knew each other too well, “But if I hear rushed footsteps or that girl yapping about ‘my eyes’, I blame you.”

“Not the first time you’ve ever blamed me for anythin’—m’poor ol’ heart,” He pretended to weep, placing a hand on his chest, only to catch yours when you tried to smack him for it, “See? Unloved, by m’own girl.”

You shared a laugh, and when he pulled his rest on your waist once more, you knew none of you were going anywhere. 

In minutes, you were finally able to take in your surroundings, recognizing the chorus playing in the background, a classic of Dean Martin’s, one that even Cooper couldn’t help but hum to. It was soft, no more than within your hearing range, even bobbing his head to the beat. You followed, too, and to your surprise, the two of you coincidentally sang a particular line together. 

♫ Your love made it well worth waiting ♫

♫ For someone like you ♫

You turned your head to head to the side before he could look at you after spotting the knowing smile he was sporting. And as the song came to an end, eyes droopy as he instinctively rubbed your back, his hat tipped down. 

You couldn’t help it, craning your neck and planting one final kiss, to which he eagerly returned before your bodies melded into each other once more. Relaxed and protected from the dangers outside your safe haven, even for just a moment. So long as both of you were still breathing, you’d take the bull by its rotting horns in stride.  

♫ Everybody loves somebody sometime ♫

˚ · . f i n . · ˚

Your fingers tighten slightly around the steering wheel as you slow anyway.

Because despite the storm, despite the empty stretch of road somewhere outside Philadelphia, despite the unease crawling slowly up your spine—

You can’t quite make yourself keep driving.

The man turns toward your headlights.

Tall.

Broad-shouldered.

Dark curls soaked through with rain.

There’s blood on his sleeve.

Not a lot.

Enough.

And then there are his eyes.

Steady.

Focused.

Too calm.

The kind of calm that makes your stomach twist.

You stop ten feet ahead of him before your better judgment can win.

For a second, nothing happens.

Then he walks toward your car.

Slowly.

No panic. No rush.

Like he already knows you won’t drive away.

The passenger-side door opens.

He slides inside without asking.

The smell of rain and cold air floods the car.

Then him.

Something sharp beneath the damp—metal, sweat, cedar soap.

You stare straight ahead.

“…You could’ve asked.”

The man shuts the door carefully behind him.

“Would you have said yes?”

His voice is even. Controlled.

You swallow.

“…Probably not.”

“Then askin’ seemed unnecessary.”

A chill runs down your arms.

Not fear exactly.

Not entirely.

Something stranger.

Something electric.

You pull back onto the road.

“Where are you going?” you ask quietly.

“Need somewhere to lay low.”

“That’s not an answer.”

“It’s the only one you’re gettin’ right now.”

You glance sideways.

He’s watching the road ahead, one hand pressed loosely over the blood staining his sleeve.

Not tense.

Not frantic.

Just… alert.

Like a wolf sitting in your passenger seat.

The realization hits slowly.

Not all at once.

It comes in pieces.

The police sirens screaming past in the opposite direction ten minutes later.

The emergency broadcast buzzing through your radio.

The words: ongoing manhunt.

And then—

The name.

The Butcher.

Your hands nearly slip on the wheel.

You turn the volume up instinctively.

Authorities continue searching for suspected serial killer Cooper Adams, known publicly as “The Butcher”—

Your passenger calmly reaches forward and switches the radio off.

Silence crashes into the car.

You stare at him.

He stares ahead.

“…Cooper Adams,” you whisper.

“Mm.”

“That’s you.”

“Yes.”

No denial.

No excuse.

Just truth.

And somehow—

That’s worse.

You should stop the car.

You know that.

Pull over. Run. Scream. Something.

Instead, your pulse kicks harder.

Because he doesn’t look panicked.

Doesn’t look like a monster.

He looks… normal.

That’s the terrifying part.

“You gonna crash this thing?” he asks mildly after a moment.

You realize your grip is white-knuckled.

“No.”

“Good.”

“You killed people.”

“Yes.”

Your breath catches at how casually he says it.

“How many?”

Cooper finally turns his head slightly toward you.

Rainwater drips slowly from his curls onto his collar.

“A dangerous question.”

“Why?”

“Because now I’m curious why you still haven’t stopped the car.”

You don’t have an answer.

Not one you want to examine too closely.

The motel is your idea.

A rotting little roadside place with flickering lights and a bored clerk too distracted by his phone to care.

Cooper lets you do the talking.

Lets you hand over cash.

Lets you lead him upstairs.

You don’t understand why.

You especially don’t understand why he follows you into the room without a single hint of concern that you might betray him.

Until the door shuts.

And he locks it.

Then turns toward you fully for the first time.

The atmosphere changes instantly.

Not louder.

Not more violent.

Sharper.

Like stepping too close to the edge of something.

“You nervous?” he asks.

You force yourself not to step backward.

“Yes.”

His gaze drags over your face slowly.

“Good.”

Your stomach flips.

God.

There’s something deeply wrong with that reaction.

He notices.

Of course he notices.

“You scare easy?” he asks.

“No.”

“But I scare you.”

“Yes.”

A pause.

Then the corner of his mouth twitches slightly.

“Smart girl.”

You hate how much that affects you.

The wound in his arm turns out to be deeper than you thought.

Gunshot graze.

Not fatal, but ugly enough that blood keeps seeping through his sleeve.

You stare at it while he sits calmly in the motel chair like this is an ordinary evening.

“You need stitches.”

“I need sleep.”

“You need medical attention.”

“I need people to stop trying to arrest me.”

“That too.”

Another almost-smile.

Brief.

Gone quickly.

“You always this talkative?” he asks.

“Only when there’s a serial killer bleeding on my motel towels.”

“That sounds dramatic when you say it out loud.”

You laugh once before you can stop yourself.

And that—

That changes something.

Because Cooper looks at you differently afterward.

More interested.

More attentive.

Like he’s trying to figure out what exactly is wrong with you.

You clean the wound anyway.

At first, you expect him to flinch.

To react.

He doesn’t.

Just watches you quietly while you disinfect the cut.

“You’re very calm,” you murmur.

“So are you.”

You meet his eyes briefly.

“That should probably concern both of us.”

“Yes,” he says softly. “Probably.”

Over the next three days, you should leave.

Instead, you stay.

And somehow—

So does he.

You learn things accidentally.

Cooper likes black coffee with too much sugar.

Sleeps lightly.

Always positions himself between you and the door.

Keeps his emotions folded so tightly beneath the surface they barely exist at all—

Until they do.

And then they flash sharp enough to cut.

“You don’t ask many questions,” he says one night.

You’re sitting cross-legged on the second motel bed while he cleans blood from beneath his fingernails in the bathroom sink.

“I know enough already.”

“Most people would want details.”

“Most people wouldn’t still be here.”

Silence.

Then:

“No,” he agrees quietly. “They wouldn’t.”

You start moving every few days.

New motels.

New towns.

Different roads.

The FBI gets closer more than once.

Every time, Cooper stays unnervingly composed.

Even when helicopters thunder overhead.

Even when police checkpoints force detours through isolated backroads.

Nothing rattles him.

Except you.

You notice it slowly.

The way his eyes find you first whenever he enters a room.

The way he listens when you speak, even when he pretends not to.

The strange gentleness hidden beneath all that control.

Not softness.

Never softness.

But restraint.

Deliberate restraint.

One night, somewhere in Ohio, you finally ask the question sitting between you for weeks.

“Why haven’t you killed me?”

Cooper looks up from where he’s seated at the tiny motel table.

The lamp casts half his face in shadow.

“Do you think I want to?”

“I think you could.”

“That wasn’t the question.”

Your pulse skips.

“No,” you admit quietly. “I don’t think you want to.”

His gaze sharpens slightly.

“Why?”

Because if he wanted to hurt you—

He already would have.

Because every single terrifying instinct inside him seems aimed away from you instead of toward you.

Because you’ve started recognizing the difference between dangerous and cruel.

And Cooper Adams is only one of those things.

“You look at me like you’re trying to solve something,” he says eventually.

“Maybe I am.”

“And?”

You hesitate.

Then tell the truth.

“I think you’re lonely.”

The silence afterward feels enormous.

Heavy.

His expression doesn’t change.

But something behind it does.

A crack.

Tiny.

Human.

“You shouldn’t see things like that in people,” he says softly.

“Why not?”

“Because eventually it gets you hurt.”

But he never hurts you.

Not once.

The first time he touches you deliberately, it’s almost nothing.

A hand at the back of your neck while guiding you out of sight as police officers sweep through a gas station parking lot.

But his palm is warm.

Steady.

Protective.

Your entire body reacts instantly.

And he notices that too.

Of course he does.

Later that night, tension hangs thick between you in the motel room.

You can feel him watching you from across the room.

“You should sleep,” you murmur.

“You should stop lookin’ at me like that.”

Your breath catches.

“Like what?”

“Like you’re curious.”

Maybe you are.

Maybe that’s the worst part.

“You terrify me,” you whisper.

Cooper studies you for a long moment.

Then rises slowly from his chair.

Every instinct screams at you to move.

You don’t.

He stops directly in front of you.

Close enough that you can feel his warmth.

“Still here, though.”

His voice is low.

Controlled.

But there’s something burning beneath it now.

Something you’ve both been pretending not to notice.

Your heart pounds painfully hard.

“Yes.”

“Why?”

You look up at him.

At the man everyone is hunting.

The man who should send you running.

Instead, your pulse spikes for an entirely different reason.

“Because you’ve never looked at me like prey.”

Something dark and conflicted flashes across his face.

Then his hand lifts slowly—

Giving you every chance to pull away—

Before his fingers brush lightly against your jaw.

The touch is devastatingly careful.

Like he’s handling something fragile.

“You should be smarter than this,” he murmurs.

“Probably.”

“And yet.”

“And yet,” you echo softly.

When he kisses you, it feels inevitable.

Not soft.

Not rushed.

Careful in the way dangerous things sometimes are.

Like he’s restraining far more than he’s giving in to.

Your fingers catch in the front of his shirt instinctively.

His hand settles against your waist.

Firm.

Grounding.

Possessive enough to make heat curl low in your stomach.

When he pulls back, his forehead rests briefly against yours.

And for the first time since meeting him—

Cooper Adams looks uncertain.

“You make this complicated,” he says quietly.

You can barely breathe.

“You kidnapped me.”

A low huff of laughter leaves him.

“I did.”

“You’re also a serial killer.”

“Allegedly.”

You stare at him.

He stares back.

Then, somehow, you both start laughing.

Quiet.

Breathless.

A little unhinged.

The FBI nearly catches him two weeks later.

You barely escape through the back exit of a diner while agents flood the front.

Your hand is locked tightly in Cooper’s the entire time.

He doesn’t let go once.

Not while sprinting through alleys.

Not while stealing a car.

Not even after.

“You could leave,” he says hours later, voice rough with exhaustion.

You’re parked deep in the woods, hidden beneath heavy trees.

“You say that like you want me to.”

Silence.

Then:

“I don’t.”

The honesty of it wrecks you a little.

So you stay.

Not because you’re trapped.

Not because you’re afraid.

But because somewhere between the terror and fascination and sleepless motel nights—

You fell in love with the monster.

And somehow—

Against all logic—