call-me-kermit

[call-me-kermit]

✿Memories & Lessons✿ 

Hate To Love You Part 4: The Ghoul is curious about the vault she came from, and teaches her how to shoot. Word Count: 2865 Read Time: 15-20 Min Warnings: Mentions of Human Experiments, Sexual Abuse, Guns, Violence, Murder of a Soda Can Rating: M Notes: Not Proofread

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The first thing Cooper felt was the ache in his neck.

He groaned, one eye cracking open against the harsh morning light bleeding through a hole in the wall. He was sitting against the half-rotted frame of what used to be a window, revolver still across his lap. Dust cloged his throat and dried blood on his boot.

How the hell did I fall asleep?

He straightened slowly, bones creaking with the effort, and scanned the inside of the ruined house. Empty bottles littered the floor, the scent of stale liquor hanging in the air. A collapsed couch sagged in the corner, fabric barely clinging to the frame. No movement.

His stomach sank.

No Vaultie.

“Shit.” He cursed under his breath, the familiar twinge of panic curling in his gut.

He got to his feet in a slow, measured motion, slipping his revolver back into his holster as he stalked across the room. A muscle in his jaw twitched. Rookie mistake, he knew better. Sleep too deeply and you wake up robbed, or dead, or worse.

He stepped outside, eyes scanning the dust-swept front yard and the barren stretch of road beyond it.

And stopped dead.

She was there. Just ten feet from the porch. Squatting beside a makeshift fire pit, poking at something skewered on a stick. Her hair pulled up and out of her way. She looked up at him casually.

“Morning,” she said, her voice a little too cheerful for the circumstances.

He blinked.

She wasn’t tied down. Wasn’t being watched. Wasn’t even looking over her shoulder.

“What the hell are you doing?” His voice was rough, raw from sleep and irritation.

She shrugged and flipped the stick, the sizzling sound of meat hitting the fire accompanying the faint, acrid scent of charred lizard skin.

“You were asleep,” she said simply. “I was hungry.”

He stared at her, then at the fire, then back to her like she was some animal doing a magic trick. She didn’t even seem worried. Like this wasn’t some kind of dangerous game.

“You had the chance to run.”

She didn’t answer right away, her gaze flicking back to the fire as she poked at the meat again, turning it slowly.

“I thought about it,” she admitted, finally. “Figured I could make a break for it. But then I remembered I don’t know the first damn thing about surviving out here. You do.”

He folded his arms, suspicious, “So you’re stickin’ around for survival.”

She gave him a flat look. “Would you rather I lied and said it was your sparkling personality?”

That made him snort, a low, dry laugh that escaped before he could stop it. “Maybe.”

She held out the other stick to him, the charred meat dangling from the end. It was crudely done, burnt on one end and still pink on the other, but it was meat. Cooked meat.

He looked at it like it was a loaded weapon, “You’re offerin’ me food?”

“Well,” she said, leaning back and taking a bite of her own with a casualness that almost unsettled him, “you did save me from being feral food yesterday. Seems fair.”

He hesitated, studying the food in her hand like it might bite back. The idea of fairness didn’t sit well with him. He was the one with the gun. The one with the power. He was the one who should’ve had her on a leash by now, or at the very least, under control. But here she was, no chains, no threats. Just handing him food like they were old friends on a picnic.

He took the stick, grumbling as he sank down onto a rock across from her, his eyes never leaving her face.

“Y’know,” he said between bites, the meat surprisingly tender, “I expected screamin’ and runnin’. Maybe some blubberin’ about humanity and morals.”

She wiped her mouth with the back of her hand, then met his gaze. “Yeah, well…” She shrugged. “You get over that kinda stuff fast out here.”

Cooper watched her for a moment, his thoughts racing. She was learning. Adapting. Getting smarter, harder. And somehow, she was starting to look at him like he was worth something. Like maybe he wasn’t a monster after all.

The silence stretched, heavy and thick, but it wasn’t uncomfortable. Not yet.

“You’re not what I thought you’d be,” he muttered, the words slipping out before he could stop them.

She raised an eyebrow, a half-smile tugging at her lips. “I’m not surprised. Most people think I’m a lot of things they’re wrong about.”

He glanced up at her then, meeting her gaze directly. There was something there. Something human, and it made his chest tighten. Something about the way she was so matter-of-fact about everything, as if the world hadn’t been broken apart. As if it could still make sense.

The Ghoul grunted, biting into the meat. He’d never been one for long chats. He didn’t know what the hell was going on between them, and it irritated the hell out of him.

“Look,” he said, crossing his legs, “you’re alive cause I decided to keep you around. Don’t get used to it.”

She grinned like she knew something he didn’t, and her gaze didn’t waver. “Whatever you say, Cowboy.”

They ate in silence for a while, the quiet between them only broken by the occasional pop of the fire or the hiss of fat dripping into the coals. The sun had risen high, casting long, jagged shadows over the ruins of the world. Buzzards circled overhead, their dark shapes slicing through the empty sky like vultures waiting for the inevitable.

Eventually, The Ghoul spoke, breaking the stillness.

“So,” he said, chewing slowly, “why’d you leave?”

She blinked at him.

He gestured loosely with the stick in his hand, the charred meat nearly falling off. “The Vault. You had food, water, walls. Musta known the surface was hell. So why crawl out?”

Her whole body stiffened, and her eyes darted away, fixing on the fire like it might save her from the question.

“Does it matter?” she muttered.

He squinted at her. “Sure as hell does. Don’t make sense otherwise. And I hate things that don’t make sense.”

She shook her head and stood up abruptly, brushing ash off her legs like she could scrub the question off her skin. “You wouldn’t care.”

He smirked, a cold, knowing look in his eyes. “Maybe not. But I’m curious.”

She snapped, “You think I’m gonna sit here and tell you all about the horrible shit that happened to me, so you can laugh or make a joke or throw it in my face later? You’re not my friend. You’re barely my travel partner. So don’t go fishing for pain like it’s entertainment.”

He leaned back, still chewing, his eyes following her every movement like a man watching a wounded animal decide if it’s going to bite or run.

But then, that look, something in her eyes that stopped him cold. It was anger, sure, but underneath it: fear. Shame. Grief. Not for someone else. For herself.

Her fingers trembled, just the slightest tremor as she crossed her arms, like she was trying to hold herself together, fighting to stay strong.

He tilted his head, “What kinda experiments they do to you?”

She froze. The wind picked up, catching the edge of her shirt, brushing dust across her face. She didn’t speak. Didn’t blink. Didn’t breathe.

He thought for a second she might lunge at him, might bolt like a rabbit in a trap. But she didn’t. She just stood there, staring past him, past the fire, into something he couldn’t see, a place far beyond the broken world around them.

Her voice, when it came, was low. Hollow. “They called it ‘genetic compatibility testing.’ But it wasn’t about curing anything. Or making people better.” A pause. The fire popped in the background, as if the flames themselves couldn’t bear the weight of her words. “They wanted to see how long you could breed the same bloodline before it all fell apart.”

His smirk faltered.

She still didn’t look at him. Her arms wrapped tighter around herself, like she could hold in the memory if she squeezed hard enough.

“They said it was noble. Part of the plan. Something about preserving 'the ideal human genome' after the war. But it wasn’t noble. It was sick. They’d take you from your room, hold you down if needed, and-”

Her voice broke off, her throat constricting. She swallowed hard, trying to force the words out, but they felt like stones.

She turned away from him, as if the words themselves were too much to face him. “I didn’t leave. I escaped.” Her voice was thick, as if the weight of it could suffocate her. She tried hard not to let herself cry in front of him. “Before they could force me to-“

The Ghoul said nothing.

No smart remark. No smug comment. Not even a whistle. He just watched her, his gaze steady, the fire between them casting strange shadows across her face, highlighting the pain she was trying so hard to bury.

He’d seen a lot of things in the Wasteland; torture, horror, freakshow science. But he’d never seen a Vaultie stand in the sunlight with their wounds bleeding out like this. And somehow, for the first time in a long damn while, he didn’t feel amused.

He just felt something like, hell, he didn’t have a name for it. But it stuck with him.

He thought for a long while about his ex-wife, who had given the seal of approval for twisted things like this to happen in the Vaults. He remembered the moment where he heard it from her own mouth, the way her voice had twisted into something he didnt recognize, her morals all bent up in knots.

When had he drifted from the man who left her because of her shit morals? When had he adopted her gray-area thinking? He hated to think. . .

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They hadn’t spoken since she told him.

Not a word as they picked their way through the skeletal remains of the old neighborhood, scavenging what little hadn't already been stripped or rotted into uselessness. He led the way, boots crunching glass and bone-dry leaves, never looking back. She followed, eyes downcast but steps steady, like she was keeping pace with something larger than the rubble underfoot.

The air between them wasn’t cold. It wasn’t even awkward. It was just heavy.

Eventually, they reached a weathered two-story house that hadn't completely collapsed. Cooper kicked in the door, revolver drawn, sweeping the empty hall before jerking his head to the side.

“Check upstairs,” he muttered, finally breaking the silence.

She nodded and obeyed.

The second floor was mostly intact, dusty, choked with cobwebs, but solid. In what was once a child’s bedroom, a faded blue bedframe stood against the wall, its frame warped with time. She pushed aside a moldy comforter, then noticed the loose floorboard beneath.

It took effort, but she pried it up, coughing on the cloud of dust it released.

Underneath: a small metal lockbox. She dragged it out and popped the latch. Inside was a pistol, simple, pre-war. A little rusty, but not beyond saving. Two boxes of ammo were tucked beside it.

She stared at the weapon for a long moment. Fingers brushed over the grip like it might bite her.

Behind her, a creak.

She didn’t turn. Didn’t startle. Just said, “You’ve been standing there a while.”

From the doorway, The Ghoul leaned against the frame, arms crossed. He said nothing. Just watched her.

She finally turned to face him, holding the pistol carefully in both hands. There was no fear in her expression now—only a quiet resolve.

“I want you to teach me.”

His brow arched, a smirk tugging at the corners of his mouth. “Teach you what?”

She tilted the gun slightly. “How to shoot. How to not die.”

He looked her up and down, assessing. Was this a trick? An attempt to get the drop on him later? He could see the uncertainty in her grip, the way she held the pistol like it might fall apart or blow up in her hand.

Still, her voice didn’t waver.

“I know you’re dangerous,” she said, eyes locked on his, “but I’ve seen what else is out here. You can’t protect me from everything. And you won’t always try.”

A beat passed. Then another.

Maybe it was the quiet grief still sitting behind her words like a ghost. Or the dull shine in her eyes like she hadn’t slept right in weeks. Maybe it was just the fact that she looked at him like he wasn’t some rotting monster.

Like he was still a man.

A bastard. A killer. But not a lost cause.

He pushed off the doorway with a sigh, walking slowly toward her. She didn’t flinch.

“Alright,” he said, taking the gun from her hands with practiced ease. “First thing, this thing’s a piece of shit. Y’Gotta clean it, and hope it still fires without blowing your hand off. After that, we’ll find somethin’ better.”

She blinked, surprised. “So. . . you’ll help?”

He smirked, tucking the pistol into his belt. “I ain’t draggin’ a corpse across the Wastes, Vaultie. You wanna learn how to stay alive, I’ll teach you. But you better keep up.”

She smiled, just barely. “Deal.”

He turned, heading back downstairs without waiting.

“Hope you’re ready to shoot somethin’ uglier than me,” he called back.

“That’s a high bar,” she muttered under her breath, following.

The house had a backyard, if you could call it that. Overgrown weeds swallowed what was once a white picket fence. A rusted swing creaked lazily in the wind, and the skeletal remains of a doghouse sat near the collapsed shed.

The Ghoul walked out first, brushing aside vines with one hand, the pistol in the other. He found a few old cans and bottles scattered along the patio and lined them up on a half-buried bench.

She hovered behind him, arms crossed tight over her chest like she wasn’t sure if she was cold or just nervous.

“You ever held a gun before?” he asked, not turning around.

She hesitated. “No. Vault security had them. We didn’t.”

He let out a breath that was half sigh, half chuckle. “Figures. All that tech, no common sense.”

He turned and handed the pistol to her, gently. She took it, handling it more carefully than before, but still awkward.

“Alright. Lesson one, don’t point that thing at me unless you plan to shoot.”

She looked up at him, her eyes sharp. “Noted.”

He smirked. “Lesson two, hold it like you mean it. Not like it’s a damn sandwich.”

She adjusted her grip. He stepped closer, reached out without asking, and placed his hands over hers. The smell of gun oil and desert dust clung to him.

Her breath hitched, just for a second.

“See?” he said lowly, guiding her hands. “You want your stance tight. Elbows loose. Let it kick back, don’t fight it. You try to muscle it, you’ll break your damn wrist.”

He backed away, letting her settle into position.

“Go on. Take a shot.”

She squinted down the iron sights, inhaled slowly, exhaled like he told her, then fired. The shot rang out, echoing off the empty houses. She missed, badly.

“Goddamn,” The Ghoul laughed. “You tryin’ to scare it to death instead?”

She frowned, adjusting. “First shot doesn’t count.”

“Oh, it counts, sweetheart. It tells me we’ve got our work cut out.”

She fired again. And again. The shots got closer. Not good, but not useless. He didn’t say anything for a while, just watched her jaw set tighter with each trigger pull.

When she finally hit one of the cans, she gasped, shocked more than proud.

“See?” he said, grinning wide. “Not hopeless. Just stubborn.”

She turned toward him, wiping sweat from her brow. “Thanks. I think.”

He walked past her, grabbed the can she hit, “Now hit it again.” then tossed it high up into the air.

She blinked. “What?”

He drew his own revolver, spun it with practiced flair, and shot the can midair. It exploded into shards with a loud ping.

“See? Easy.”

“Show off,” she muttered.

He holstered his gun with a wink. “Damn right.”

She was breathing heavier now, adrenaline still racing in her blood. She looked down at the pistol in her hands, then back at him.

“…Thanks,” she said, quieter this time. “I didn’t think you’d actually help.”

The Ghoul’s expression shifted just slightly. The grin stayed, but there was something subdued in his eyes.

“Don’t thank me yet,” he said. “Still plenty out there waitin’ to kill you.”

“Then I’ll shoot first.”

He barked out a laugh. “That’s the spirit.”

They lingered there a while, the sun starting its descent, the ruined world painted in red and gold. And though he didn’t say it, something in him had shifted too.

He was still planning to sell her, of course he was. But now he was starting to wonder what he’d do if someone actually tried to hurt her before then.

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✿Chapter Index✿

[call-me-kermit]

✿Ghouls & Cannibals✿

Hate To Love You Part 3: The Ghoul teaches the Vaultie about life on the surface.

Word Count: 3010 Read Time: 10 Min Warnings: Language, Mentions of Cannibalism, Violence, Ghouls, Guns Rating: PG-13 Notes: Not Proofread

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She didn’t remember agreeing to follow him. Not really.

One minute, he was tipping his hat, grinning like the devil’s own bartender, and the next, she was walking beside him down a crumbling, sun-bleached road lined with the skeletons of suburbia.

Once-white picket fences slumped in the dirt. Mailboxes rusted open like gaping mouths. Half-collapsed homes, still standing in their death throes, leaned on each other like tired old men. Every now and then, the wind would toss around a cracked plastic flamingo or the half-melted remains of someone’s American Dream.

And she was in the middle of it. With him.

She wasn’t even sure why. Some potent mix of desperation, bad instincts, and southern charm laced with just the right amount of manipulation. He knew how to talk in circles, make his way sound like the only way. And now here she was—no job, no direction, no Vault, and no idea what the hell came next.

Except for more arguing.

“Let me get this straight,” she said, hiking her pack higher on her back, sweat sticking her blouse to her skin. “You’re actually saying you support cannibalism?”

“I’m sayin’ it ain’t about support,” Cooper drawled, casually chewing something unpleasant. “It’s about survival. You’re stuck in a cave durin’ a radstorm with nothin’ but a dead body and a lighter, you’ll eat the leg too, Vaultie.”

“I’d rather die.”

He chuckled, a low, rumbling sound that vibrated in his chest. “You say that now.”

She shot him a look, stepping around  the cracked remains of a tricycle. “You’re disgusting.”

“You’re spoiled.”

“I’m civilized. There’s a difference.”

He stopped walking, turning toward her with that familiar shit-eating grin, one brow arched high, the glint of mischief in his eyes. 

“Lemme learn you somethin’ about ‘civilized,’ sweetheart. ‘Civilized’ blew up the damn world. ‘Civilized’ put you in a tin can underground so they could watch your kind rot like science experiments. You think manners and morals mean a thing out here?”

Her breath caught in her throat. She couldn’t answer. Because that part still stung, it was the whole reason she left the vault to begin with. The world outside had been worse than anything they’d told her. But the truth was... it wasn’t all just the world’s fault. She’d been part of it too, hiding away in a vault while the world crumbled.

“I’m just sayin’,” he continued, adjusting the saddle bag on his shoulder, his voice grew more steady, almost philosophical. “There ain’t no right or wrong no more. There’s alive, and there’s dead. If eatin’ a fella keeps me walkin’ long enough to shoot the next bastard, well then…” He shrugged, giving a casual gesture as if debating whether or not to add more to his point. “Pass the thigh meat.”

She made a noise like she was going to throw up.

“Good lord,” she muttered, wiping her face. “You say this stuff just to get a reaction out of me.”

He flashed a wink. “Partially.”

“And the other part?”

His expression shifted, just slightly. There was a flicker in his eyes—something less cocky, maybe more resigned. He started walking again, voice drifting over his shoulder like a half-sung hymn. “The other part’s true.”

She stood there for a moment, caught between the image of his devil-may-care attitude and the subtle shift in his demeanor. She was starting to wonder just how much of this was a mask he wore.

She couldn’t help herself. “And what does that make you? A monster?”

Cooper slowed his pace, but didn’t turn around. “Could be. Wouldn’t be the first time someone’s said it.” His voice dropped, a little quieter this time, with an edge of something darker. Something... human. “But if you’re asking if I’d kill you just for the hell of it...”

He finally stopped and turned to face her. For a second, she saw something in his eyes that wasn’t cruel or distant. There was a flash of vulnerability, but it was gone before she could grasp it fully.

“I wouldn’t,” he finished quietly. “Not unless you gave me a reason.”

She swallowed hard. She’d seen that look before—the look of someone trying to make sense of their own survival, their own choices. It scared her, because for a moment, she could see herself in him, in his struggle.

But she wasn’t going to let herself get soft, not out here, not with him.

“You’re full of contradictions,” she said, lifting her chin, keeping her voice steady despite the storm of thoughts rushing through her. “But that’s probably why I’m still walking with you.”

Cooper gave her a crooked smile, a rare moment where his guard seemed to lower just a touch. “Maybe. Or maybe you’re just too damn stubborn to let me leave you behind.”

The words hung in the air between them, but neither of them spoke for a while. She was still trying to piece together what the hell was going on inside her own head. How did she find herself walking beside him like this? An unwilling companion to someone who made her skin crawl, yet there was something else too. Something she hadn’t expected to find in the wasteland.

Survival.

They walked in silence for a while, the sun baking down on cracked pavement and warped rooftops. She watched the horizon for movement, still not used to being exposed like this. Every shadow could be a raider. Every bush, a nest. She caught herself glancing at him more than once, and not with fondness.

How had she ended up here?

His boots crunched gravel as he looked back at her, catching her in the act, “You’re thinkin’ too hard.”

“I’m thinking just enough,” she replied, but her voice lacked conviction, a tremor of uncertainty creeping through her words.

He grinned, turning forward again. “Stick with me, Vaultie. You’ll learn.”

She hated how a tiny, traitorous part of her believed that.

They stopped walking at the same moment.

A sound. Soft, but unmistakable. Wet, dragging feet. And something worse—low groans, guttural, wrong. Like a man trying to scream through tar.

Before she could turn to ask, Cooper’s eyes had already narrowed, hand drifting toward his holster, like he’d been expecting this.

“Don’t move,” he said, calm as ever.

Then the groans grew louder.

From behind them, and fast fast.

A crowd of feral ghouls tore across the pavement, sprinting with rabid, jerking limbs. Their skin was leathered and peeling, eyes wild and milky. They screamed like animals on fire, clawing and scrambling over each other in their mad rush toward them.

The Vaultie froze in place, eyes wide. Her body was like a block of ice, her heart thumbing loud and hard in her chest. 

“What the-”

“House over there,” Cooper muttered, already drawing. “Window’s gone. Guess we walked into their damn backyard BBQ.”

She didn’t get to reply before he started firing.

Crack! Crack! Crack!

Each shot echoed through the ruins, sharp and practiced. The sound of it digging into her like a nail into soft wood. Cooper stood his ground, pistol steady, eyes half-lidded like this was all just another minor inconvenience. The first two ferals dropped without a sound. The third lost its arm and kept coming.

She couldn’t move. She couldn’t think. She couldn’t breathe. They were people once. People like him. People like her.

“Don’t just stand there!” Cooper barked between shots, not even looking at her. “Move!”

But it was too late. One of the ghouls at the back of the pack broke free from the cluster—leaping forward like a starving dog and tackling her to the ground. She hit the cracked road hard, head bouncing, the wind knocked out of her lungs.

The feral was on her in an instant, its face inches from hers, snarling, teeth bared like a rabid animal. Its skin was half-melted, grotesque, jaw unhinged. The air smelled like rot and battery acid. The ghoul’s hand grabbed at her collar, nails digging into her skin like a rusty hook. It shrieked, a sound that scraped at her insides.

She screamed, kicking, scrambling, trying to push it off, but it was heavier than it looked, stronger, its limbs twisted with unnatural strength. She couldn’t breathe, couldn’t think, couldn’t make her body obey.

“Cowboy!” she shouted, voice shrill with panic. “Help!”

He was still reloading.

Casually.

Calm as a man loading dice into a cup.

Her legs flailed beneath the weight of the feral, the thing getting closer to her face, its foul breath flooding her senses. Its teeth snapped just an inch from her nose. She shrieked, twisting beneath it, her hand reaching for anything, a rock, stick, bone, but nothing. She was going to die like this. And then,

BANG.

The weight collapsed on her. Headless. Blood, blackened and thick, splattered her face and neck as Cooper holstered his pistol. The feral’s body twitched for a second, a grotesque puppet with its strings cut.

She stared up at him, wide-eyed, her chest heaving as the adrenaline surged through her veins. The world around her seemed to slow down. The air tasted like iron. Blood, her blood, mixed with the blackened remnants of the creature.

“Told you you’d learn,” he said, looking down at her. His voice was flat, almost amused. 

Her mind struggled to catch up with her body, her breath coming in jagged gasps. She wanted to scream, or maybe cry, but she didn’t have the strength. She could only wipe the blood from her face with a trembling hand, her eyes never leaving the mess he’d made of the ghoul.

“I...” She couldn’t finish the sentence. The words felt too heavy, too much for her right now.

“You’ll be fine,” Cooper said, voice distant, stepping away from her as if what had just happened was nothing more than a passing inconvenience. “Learn fast enough, or you won’t last long out here. Now get up.”

He didn’t wait for her to respond, already moving toward the remains of the other ferals, inspecting them like a hunter appraising his kill.

She stayed there for a moment longer than she should’ve, staring at the twisted, decapitated body of the thing that almost killed her. The noise in her head grew louder, not with fear, but something darker, more confusing.

 Survival. 

 She didn’t know if she could trust him, but she had no choice. Not now.

“Get up, Vaultie,” he called from a distance, his voice a steady command. “You’re not done yet.”

She shoved the corpse off and scrambled to her feet, panting, wiping at her face with a shaking hand.

Her voice trembled. “You let it tackle me.”

“I was busy.” He gave her a once-over, eyes lingering for a moment before adding, “You ain’t dead. Consider it a teachin’ moment.”

“You asshole!” she snapped, her eyes wide, fists clenched, but he was already walking again, like none of it had happened.

He stopped when he realized he didn’t hear her footsteps behind him.

Turning, Cooper looked back, squinting against the sun, face stoic and unreadable.

She was still there, frozen in place, staring down at the headless corpse of the feral ghoul. Her arms hung limp at her sides, hands twitching slightly. She wasn’t breathing hard anymore. Just staring. So still, she looked like a statue. 

The wind stirred the hem of her shirt and the bloodied ends of her hair, making it look like she was caught in some kind of strange, haunting stillness.

Cooper sighed and wandered back toward her, slow and unbothered, like a man headed to check on livestock that had stopped walking.

“You alright?” he asked, though the tone said he already knew the answer, or just didn’t actallu care.

She didn’t look up. Her voice, when it came, was soft, “What… was that?”

“Ghoul,” he replied plainly.

“No. I mean…” She shook her head, just once. “I know that. But what are they? What are you?”

That gave him pause. Not because she asked, but because she hadn’t asked sooner.

He stepped around the corpse, boots squelching faintly in the blood, and looked at her face; pale, stiff, eyes shiny with the weight of something unspeakable she was trying to hold back. The emptiness in her expression was unsettling.

Cooper thumbed the brim of his hat. “That’s what happens when you get cooked too long in the radiation stew, Vaultie. If you’re lucky, and I mean real goddamn lucky, you turn into one of me.”

She finally looked at him.

Really looked.

His cracked, leathery skin. His yellowed teeth when he half-smirked. The black-rimmed eyes that hadn’t blinked during the firefight.

“I thought…” She shook her head again. “I don’t know what I thought. I was more worried about being sold than what you looked like.”

He chuckled dryly, the sound rough and unamused. “Hell, most are.”

She glanced back at the body, the sight of the gory remains almost too much to bear. “And that? What makes them like that?”

He followed her gaze. His voice dropped an octave, darker now, “That’s what happens when the sickness runs too deep. Eats your brain. Your memories. Your name. All of it. Leaves nothin’ but hunger and hate.”

She swallowed hard. “So they were people?”

“Still are, technically.” His voice shifted, just slightly, like something old and heavy moved inside him. He looked down at the body with something that might’ve been pity, or just fatigue, like he’d seen it too many times to care anymore. “But yeah. Someone’s brother. Sister. Husband. Neighbor. There’s no tellin’. But eventually. . .” He paused, eyes distant, his words coming out as cold as the corpse at their feet. “They snap. Ain’t no cure for it.”

She went quiet again. Her lip trembled slightly before she caught herself and bit down hard, like she could suppress the flood of emotion fighting to break free.

“And you?” she asked, her voice breaking the silence like a cracked bell.

He raised a brow, his face momentarily blank, and then tilted his head as if the question was a strange one. “What about me?”

“Will you… turn?”

He looked away, toward the horizon, toward nothing. He didn’t say anything for a long moment, the air between them thick with unspoken truths.

“Everyone ends up that way eventually,” he said, his voice like gravel. “If you don’t die first.”

The silence between them grew heavier. She looked at him again and for the first time she didn’t flinch. She didn’t snap at him or call him a monster or demand he stay away.

She just stood there.

Remorse pooled behind her eyes, tears barely held back. For the creature at her feet. For the man beside her. For a world she was only just beginning to understand.

Cooper met her gaze.

“Don’t get soft on me now, Vaultie,” he said, not unkindly. His voice was low, rough like a warning, but there was something underneath it, a trace of genuine concern, or maybe just weariness. She wasn’t sure.

She blinked, wiping her face quickly and trying to hide it with a scoff. “Not a chance, cannibal.”

He snorted. “C’mon,” he said, voice suddenly lighter. “There’s a place up the road with half a roof still standin’. You can cry behind it where the wind won’t see.”

She walked beside him this time, in silence.

The wind dragged dust across the cracked asphalt, whistling through hollowed-out homes and the rusted skeletons of cars that had once driven this road, when there were still people to drive them.

She was quiet now. The Vaultie. Her shoulders were stiff, her arms crossed tightly over her chest like armor. But every few steps, he caught her glancing at him from the corner of her eye. Not scared. Just… watching.

Like she was trying to see him.

He hated it.

And he didn’t know why.

Part of him, hell, the biggest part, was annoyed. That same old itch in his brain, whispering that this was all a waste of time. She was Vaultie scum. Soft. Doomed. She wouldn’t last out here no matter what rags she wore or how quick she learned to dodge a feral. Whether he sold her to some backwater bastard or left her behind at the next stop, she’d end up dead. They always did.

But the other part, the quieter one, buried deep under decades of rot and spite, was unsettled.

Because when she’d looked at him just now, with those tear-glossed eyes full of sympathy and not pity… it had felt good.

Too good.

It shouldn’t have mattered. It never had before. No one had looked at him like that in over a century. And back then, he still had a nose.

He scowled, brow furrowing.

What the hell did she know about pain? About losing yourself a piece at a time, every goddamn day, and still pretending it didn’t hurt for the sake of surviving one more day? What the hell did her soft hands and wide eyes know about watching your own reflection turn into a horror story?

Nothing.

And still, somehow, the way she looked at him like her was just anyother person made it feel less like a prison.

He gritted his teeth. That wasn’t how this was supposed to go. He was supposed to drag her into the dirt, watch her break, sell her to the highest bidder, and leave town with a pocket full of caps and a belly full of laughter.

But now?

Now she was walking beside him like they were partners. Like she chose to be there.

He could hear her breathing. Could smell her fear still clinging to her skin like smoke. Could feel her presence, warm and human, brushing up against the cold in his chest that hadn’t thawed in decades.

And worst of all?

He didn’t know how he felt about it.

So he just muttered under his breath and lit a cigarette with trembling fingers.

“Damn Vaulties,” he growled to himself, blowing smoke through cracked lips. “Always gotta ruin a good plan.”

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≪•◦ BACK    •   NEXT ◦•≫

✿Chapter Index✿

[call-me-kermit]

✿Smiles & Lies✿ 

Hate To Love You Part 2: The Ghouls is such a gentleman. Word Count: 1780 Read Time: 10Min Warnings: Threats, Cat & Mouse games, The Ghoul being nice Rating: PG-13 Notes: Not Proofread

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The sun burned a little brighter the next morning, too bright, like the sky was trying to cook the town alive. The Vaultie stepped out of the inn with her shoulders hunched, one hand shielding her eyes from the glare, the other clutching a small cloth pouch of caps the bartender had paid her with after her trial shift cleaning rooms. Her blue-and-yellow jumpsuit still clung to her like a neon sign screaming fresh meat.

She pulled at the zipper, tugging it halfway down to let some heat out, but all it did was make her feel more exposed. Everyone’s eyes seemed to linger too long. Whispers followed her down the dirt-packed street like gnats.

“Vaultie.”

“Fish outta the tank.”

“Wonder how long she’ll last.”

She clenched her jaw and tried not to flinch. Tried to walk like she belonged. Head up. Don’t act soft. Don’t let ‘em know you’re scared.

The market was already crowded, the air thick with the smell of dust, rusted metal, sunbaked meat, and too many unwashed bodies. She pushed her way between stalls, searching for clothes, anything to help her blend in.

At the first stall, she found a tattered tank top, a plunging neck line that would leave very little to the imigination. The next offered t-shirts in sizes either toddler-small or tent-huge, with holes in all the wrong places. She picked up a pair of pants that looked promising until she held them to her waist and saw they were six inches too long.

She sighed through her nose, frustrated and starting to sweat under her jumpsuit.

“Y’know,” came a slow, syrupy voice behind her, “if you’re plannin’ to reinvent yourself, sugar, you might wanna start somewhere other than the whore who got lost’ section.”

She froze. That voice. That drawl.

Turning slowly, she found him, the ghoul. Standing with one hand resting on his belt buckle, the other twirling something that looked suspiciously like a severed ear on a bit of twine. Grinning like he’d slept real well after last night’s little display.

“You again,” she muttered.

“Miss me?”

“Like a migraine.”

He chuckled. “That’s cute. You always this cheery in the mornin’, or is that jumpsuit cuttin’ off circulation?”

She glared, then looked back at the sad pile of clothes in front of her. “They don’t have anything that fits.”

“Welcome to the surface,” he said, stepping up beside her. “Where ‘your size’ means whatever ain't rotted yet.”

“I just want pants. Normal pants. Not booty shorts. Not jeans with no ass. Not whatever this is.” She held up something with fishnet sewn into the thighs.

Cooper gave it a thoughtful look. “Could pull it off. Might even distract people from your terrible personality.”

She gave him a tight smile. “If you’re not here to help, go crawl back under whatever irradiated rock you came from.”

“Now, now,” he said, mock-offended. “Just thought I’d check in. Make sure you didn’t get yourself stabbed over a stimpack and a smile.”

She turned away from him, muttering under her breath, “Pretty sure I’d rather be stabbed than be talking to you right now.”

But she didn’t walk away. Not yet.

And he didn’t leave.

Instead, Cooper tilted his head, watching her struggle to fold a shirt back onto the stall’s pile without tearing it.

Then he said, “C’mon. I know a guy, owes me. Probably got somethin’ halfway decent you can wear that won’t make you look like a radioactive hooker.”

She hesitated, suspicious.

“Why?” she asked flatly.

Cooper shrugged. “’Cause I ain’t done watchin’ you squirm yet.”

She stared at him a long moment, lips pressing into a thin line.

Then finally, “Fine. Lead the way, cowboy.”

He tipped his hat. “Atta girl.”

 The sun hung low but mean in the sky as Cooper led the Vaultie through the dusty alleys behind the market stalls, where things got quieter and a little more dangerous. He walked with his usual swagger, like he owned every inch of dirt they passed. She followed with cautious steps, one hand near the pocketknife she’d swiped from the bar kitchen last night.

She didn’t trust him.

Good instincts.

He didn’t trust her either, not yet. But he didn’t need to. He just needed her alive. For now.

Vaultie’s gotta come in clean, he thought, glancing at her jumpsuit out of the corner of his eye. The damn thing practically screamed vauable merchandise to every twisted son of a bitch in the wastes. Vault suits meant untouched organs, unmutated genes, fresh lungs. Some buyers would pay more for her intact than they would for three heads in a sack. But that suit? It’d draw fire from every raider camp this side of the deadlands. Too risky.

He needed her dressed down. Dimmed. Like any other desperate drifter clawing her way through the filth.

But he didn’t show any of that in his face. Just gave her a lopsided grin, all southern hospitality and casual mischief.

“You always scowl this much when someone’s doin’ you a favor?” he asked.

“Only when they’re doing it with a smirk with a side of ‘I’m definitely plotting something,’” she snapped.

He chuckled. “Smart girl.”

They arrived at a half-collapsed shop tucked between two rusted-out cars, where a crooked sign read: Darla’s We Got Threads (Mostly Clean).

Inside, the air smelled like old perfume and duct tape. Racks of scavenged clothing sagged on makeshift hangers. A woman with one eye and a hairdo out of a 2070’s magazine sat behind a counter filing her nails with a piece of rebar.

“Darla,” Cooper drawled. “Lookin’ radiant as ever.”

“Eat sand, Ghoul,” she said without looking up. “What do you want?”

“A favor. For an old friend.”

Darla finally looked up, eye scanning the Vaultie. “Ain’t she dressed precious,” she said with a laugh. “What, you babysittin’ now?”

“She’s new,” Cooper said smoothly. “Needs something less. . . attention-getting.”

Darla shrugged. “Pick through the back. Prices are marked. No haggling.”

The Vaultie rifled through piles of scavenged clothes, half of it shredded, most of it too big or meant for someone with three legs. But eventually, she found something: a sleeveless, button-up blouse with little red roses stitched across the collar, and a pair of dusty brown trousers that nearly fit, save for being a bit loose in the waist.

“They should be fine,” she said, holding them up.

“Mhm,” Darla hummed, uninterested. She rolled her eyes hard enough to sprain something and stomped off toward the back room to change. Cooper leaned against a cracked shelf and waited, arms crossed, one foot tapping.

She returned and silently asked for their thoughts.

“You’ll need a belt,” Darla called. “Unless you plan to moon half the wastes.”

The Vaultie frowned, then reached for a rack of old leather belts. She found one that would work after a bit of tightening, then turned to Cooper.

“Well?”

He gave her a slow once-over, resting a finger against his chin like he was judging a prize sow at auction. “You look like a schoolmarm from one of them scandalous cartoons they banned back in '67.”

She blinked. “Is… is that supposed to be an insult?”

“Wouldn’t mind gettin’ detention,” he said, smirking. She would've been flattered if she thought he was serious, and he wasn't a total prick. 

He wasn't lying about one thing: she did clean up nicely. Too nice.

He’d need to keep her from getting herself killed or caught before he could make his move. She was valuable, sure, but only if she made it far enough for him to cash in. Until then? He’d play the part. Friendly. Helpful. Charming.

They stepped back into the dusty daylight, the Vaultie now dressed in her ill-fitting but less conspicuous outfit. The blouse was faded but decent, the pants cinched with a cracked leather belt. She blended in just enough to not get shot on sight anymore. But she still didn’t look from here, and she walked like she expected a knife in the back.

Cooper noticed, but didn’t comment, not right away.

They moved through the thinning midday crowd, his long strides easy and relaxed, her steps clipped and sharp behind him. He didn’t bother checking if she kept up, he knew she would. She was watching him, though. He could feel it.

Finally, after a block or two of silence, she spoke, “What do you want from me?”

Cooper let the question hang a moment, like smoke from a spent cigarette.

“I like the company,” he said lightly. “You’re good conversation.”

“You like hearing yourself talk.”

He smirked, still not looking at her. “Guilty.”

Another beat passed.

“Seriously,” she said. “You show up, you kill a man in front of me, and now you’re helping me shop like it’s some post-apocalyptic episode of Leave It to Beaver. What’s your angle?”

That made him chuckle. “Didn’t peg you for the paranoid type, Vaultie.”

“Yesterday,” she said, cool and quiet now. “You said something about selling me. 'Highest bidder,’ I think were your exact words.”

Cooper stopped.

Not abruptly, not enough to startle, but just enough for her to notice. He turned his head and looked at her, one brow raised, eyes hidden beneath the brim of his hat.

“That so?”

She nodded, crossing her arms. “You were probably joking. You were joking, right?”

There was the pause again. Just long enough to set her nerves on edge.

“Course I was,” he said finally, flashing that same easy grin. “You looked like you were gonna cry, sweetheart. Figured I’d break the tension.”

She didn’t smile back. But she didn’t call him a liar, either. Instead, she made a show of relaxing her shoulders, shifting her pack higher on her back. “Right. Well. Thanks for the help. You’re still an asshole, but at least you’re not a useless one.”

“Flattered.”

They walked in silence again, but the air between them was different now. Tighter. Wound up like piano wire.

He knew she didn’t believe him. She knew he knew she didn’t believe him. It was almost funny. Like watching a mouse pretend it had a chance of talking the trap open from the inside.

But the thing was. Cooper didn’t mind. He liked watching her pretend. Liked how her eyes never fully relaxed, how she was always measuring the distance to the next door, the next weapon, the next mistake.

She thought she was playing him, and maybe she was trying. But Cooper? Cooper was enjoying the dance. And for now, that was enough. To let her think she was smart. To let her think she could slip the snare if she smiled just right.

When it was time, he’d tighten the rope.

For now? He just tipped his hat at her and said, “Ready to hit the road, darlin’? It’s a long walk to nowhere.”

She gave him a tight smile. “Whatever you say, cowboy.”

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≪•◦ BACK    •   NEXT ◦•≫

✿Chapter Index✿

[call-me-kermit]

✿Vaulties & Cowboys✿

Hate To Love You Part 1: The Ghouls is after a bounty, yet he sets his sights on something better.

Word Count: 2304 Read Time: 20Min Warnings: Threats, Violence, Murder, Gore(?) Rating: PG-13 Notes: Not Proofread

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The sun was a fat, angry eye above the wastes, bleeding heat over rusted rooftops and warped vinyl awnings. In the market of a no-name dust bowl town—probably called something like “Hope” or “Prosperity,” with bitter irony baked into the cracked welcome sign, people bustled and bartered like flies over a rotting carcass.

Cooper leaned against a sun-warped pole, watching.

He wasn’t here for jerky. Or Jet. Or the greasy meat-on-a-stick hawked by a ghoul cook who might’ve peeled it off his own leg. He was here for a man. A bounty. Some dumb bastard who pissed off the wrong chem dealer and vanished into the crowd like piss in the ocean.

Cooper didn’t like wasting time. He liked killing things. Fast. Loud. But the bastard was clever, hiding among the market’s chaos, maybe even bartering for cornmeal with someone else’s teeth. Cooper’s gloved hand twitched near the revolver on his hip.

Then he saw her.

Bright blue jumpsuit. Yellow stripes like a damn target. With skin so clean it looked dipped in cream. And those eyes, big, blinking, and scanning every booth like it was the first time she’d seen fruit outside of a can.

“Vaultie,” he muttered, lips curling.

Even the crowd felt it. People were giving her space, too much space. She was walking dead and didn’t know it yet. Vault dwellers didn’t last long out here. Too soft. Too hopeful. Too trusting.

He watched her haggle awkwardly over a bottle of irradiated water, like she was buying a soda at a drive-in. It was almost funny.

Almost.

Then it hit him, an idea, cold and cruel.

She was fresh. Untouched. The right scumbag would pay a fortune for a Vaultie like her, if Cooper didn’t get bored and shoot her first.

He pushed off the pole, moving with the slow, deliberate gait of a man who’d never had to rush. People got out of his way, even if they didn’t look at him.

His shadow fell over her as she counted out caps with clumsy fingers. She looked up. Big eyes. Wary. Curious.

He grinned, full of yellow teeth and bad intentions, “Lost, sugar?”

She frowned, just slightly, “No.”

“You sure? ‘Cause you smell like laundry soap and delusion.”

Her brows pulled together. “You always this rude to strangers, or am I just special?”

“Oh, you’re special, alright.” His eyes raked over her jumpsuit, the vault number stitched across her chest like a death sentence. “You’re walking around like a goddamn payday.”

She stiffened, backing up half a step. “What’s that supposed to mean?”

Cooper leaned in, lowering his voice so only she could hear. “Means I haven’t decided if I’m gonna sell you or shoot you yet.”

Silence stretched.

Then, quietly, she said, “Try it, prick. I might just take you with me.”

That caught him off guard. A grin split his face again, but this time it was different, warmer, twisted in curiosity. He didn’t know whether he wanted to gut her or keep her. Either way, it was going to be fun.

Cooper tilted his hat back just enough to let his dead eyes catch the light. “You know,” he drawled, “for someone fresh out the hole, you sure got a sharp tongue.”

She crossed her arms, shoulders squared like she’d practiced looking tough in a mirror. “And you’ve got a face like someone left a steak out too long. Guess we all have our flaws.”

He chuckled, low and gravelly. “There it is. I was wonderin’ when the claws’d come out. Most Vaulties just cry, piss themselves, or pray. You? You bite.”

“I’m not most Vaulties.”

“No,” he said, stepping just close enough for her to catch the scent of dust, gun oil, and something burnt that never quite faded. “You’re somethin’ else. Feistiest little Vaultie I’ve seen this side of the wastes.”

She rolled her eyes. “Well, bless your heart. I’ll treasure the compliment forever.”

“You do that.” He looked her up and down, slow and deliberate. “Shame, though. You’re gonna get yourself dead with all that sass and nowhere to sleep tonight.”

“I’ll manage.”

“You ain’t even got a gun, do you?”

“Didn’t need one to survive where I came from.”

He leaned in slightly. “Sugar, wherever you came from was padded, carpeted, and probably played swing music on the hour.”

Her lips tightened. “Go bother someone else.”

“Oh, but I like botherin’ you. It’s entertainin’. Might just follow you ‘round a while, see what other cute little threats you come up with.”

“You know, for someone so eager to sell me, you sure do talk a lot.”

Cooper’s grin returned, lazy, lopsided, and full of trouble. “Ain’t decided yet if sellin’s the best option. Could always keep you ‘round. Be nice havin’ someone to argue with besides the voices in my head.”

She huffed. “You’re insane.”

“I’ve been called worse. Usually right before someone’s head explodes.”

She stared at him for a second too long, then gave a mocking little smile and a stiff nod. “Thanks for the chat, cowboy. Real heartwarming.”

And with that, she turned on her heel and walked away, fast enough to leave but not fast enough to look like she was running. Her shoulders were tense. Her fingers curled into her palms. But she didn’t look back.

Cooper just stood there, hands on his belt, watching her go.

“Atta girl,” he murmured. “Let’s see how long that spine holds.”

He waited until she disappeared into the crowd, then sauntered after her, slow and steady, like a hunter with all the time in the world.

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The sun was beginning to bleed orange across the sky by the time Cooper followed her into the bar.

It was the kind of place built from scavenged plywood, dented metal, and bad decisions. The neon sign buzzed like it had a death rattle. Inside, the air was thick with smoke, old beer, and stale sweat. The floor creaked beneath Cooper’s boots as he stepped inside, though no one looked up. Folks in the wastes had learned not to stare too long at someone who wore guns like accessories.

He spotted her quick, blue and yellow still shining like a damn spotlight in the gloom. She was hunched over the bar, elbows on the counter, speaking low to a burly, half-blind bartender who looked like he'd once arm-wrestled a deathclaw and barely won.

Cooper found a booth in the back, shadows curling around him like an old friend. He slouched in the corner, letting his hat tilt low as he watched.

She was trying to play it cool. Her voice stayed low, her movements calculated. But she kept glancing at the door, fingers tapping a nervous rhythm against the counter. Whatever story she was feeding the bartender, she was trying to make it stick.

The bartender frowned. Asked something. She nodded. He scratched his chin.

Then she smiled, just a little. A practiced thing, like she wasn’t used to doing it unless she had to. The bartender sighed, finally sliding a half-empty bottle of water her way and pointing toward a worn chalkboard nailed to the wall behind him: "HELP WANTED – SWEEP FLOORS, CLEAN ROOMS, NO CRY BABIES."

Cooper’s lips quirked.

“Well, I’ll be damned,” he murmured to no one.

Most Vaulties didn’t make it a week. She hadn’t made it a day before life tried to kill her, or worse, and here she was, bartering for work like she belonged. Still awkward as hell, but she was adapting. Fast. Like a feral cat figuring out which alleys had the softest trash bags.

She took the bottle, gave a clumsy thanks, and headed for one of the empty tables near the outskirts of the room. Sat down stiffly, back to the wall, eyes flicking around the bar like she expected something to jump her.

Smart girl.

Cooper leaned back, letting the shadows swallow him deeper. There was no point rushing this. She didn’t know he was here. Not yet.

He watched her tug a ragged notebook from her bag, flipping through the pages like she was reviewing a plan that no longer mattered. Then she paused, pinched the bridge of her nose, and just sat there, quiet, still, like the day had finally caught up to her and was squeezing the life out slowly.

Something about that expression made something shift in him. Just a little. Nothing he’d admit out loud. But still. He watched.

The creak of the saloon doors was almost drowned out by the low hum of drunken voices and old jukebox static, but Cooper heard it. He always heard it.

His eyes slid toward the entrance, the lazy glint in them sharpening like a knife; there he was.

Cooper didn’t need the crumpled poster in his pocket to recognize the bastard, sharp nose, scar like a crooked river across his cheek, and a twitch in his left eye when he scanned the room. The name was Denny Roth, a two-time thief and one-time stool pigeon who sold out a chem dealer with too many friends and not enough patience.

And now the dead man was ordering a drink.

Cooper sat still as stone in the booth, tongue running over his teeth. He’d damn near forgotten about Roth since the Vaultie strutted in front of him with her big eyes and suicidal stubbornness. A rare thing for Cooper to get distracted.

He reached into his duster, fingers brushing the edge of a blade. He could stand up right now. Put a round through Roth’s skull before the bastard even touched his glass. Sever the head, wrap it in a sack, and be halfway out of town before the body hit the floor.

And maybe, just maybe, rope the Vaultie on the way out. She’d kick, scream, and fight, but she’d stop eventually. They always did.

But his hand stilled. Something was happening at her table.

He turned his head just enough to see the Vaultie now had company, a drunken idiot swaying in front of her, one hand braced on her table, the other fiddling with the end of her hair like it was a damn tassel on a showgirl's costume.

She froze. For a moment, Cooper thought she was about to bolt or panic. But instead, she smiled. Tight. Cold.

The drunk laughed, said something too slurred to make out. She said something back, something quick. Sarcastic.

The guy didn’t like that.

His hand grabbed her wrist.

Cooper sat forward slightly, eyes narrowing.

Then she moved. Not much, just a twist of her arm, a shift of her weight, and suddenly her water bottle cracked across the guy’s face with a sharp thunk. He staggered back, cursing and clutching his nose as blood poured through his fingers.

She stood up, glaring.

The bartender barked something, and a bigger man, muscle hired to keep things “civil”, appeared and dragged the drunk off by the collar, still whining about “crazy broads.”

The Vaultie sat back down. Calm. A little shaky maybe, but steady. She wiped her hand on her jumpsuit and picked up her notebook like nothing had happened.

Cooper leaned back again, a slow grin spreading across his face.

“Well, hell,” he murmured, low and amused. “Might not need the rope after all.”

His gaze flicked back to Roth, who was halfway through his drink and none the wiser to the gun-toting corpse watching from the shadows.

The decision came quickly.

Cooper stood, silent as a rattler, and strolled out from the shadows like he was just another patron going to stretch his legs. His boots thudded on the wood with deliberate rhythm, each step drawing eyes, and hers most of all.

The Vaultie spotted him as he passed her table, her brow knitting. She tilted her head slightly, watching him with that same half-curious, half-wary look she gave him before. He didn’t look her way. Didn’t need to.

His eyes were on the back of Denny Roth’s head.

The bastard was still hunched over the bar, lifting his glass when the sound of Cooper’s revolver cocking made the whole place hold its breath.

BLAM.

One shot. Clean. Right through the skull.

Roth's head hit the bar with a wet thunk, blood spraying in a messy halo. His drink toppled over, soaking into the counter as his body slumped forward like a puppet with cut strings.

The Vaultie flinched hard. Cooper finally turned to look at her, deadpan, as if he’d just stepped over a puddle instead of murdered someone.

The bar erupted in shouting.

“What the fuck, man?!” the bartender bellowed, grabbing for the sawed-off under the counter.

Cooper, unfazed, reached into his coat and tossed a hefty bag of caps onto the counter. It landed with a metallic clatter.

“Cleanup fee,” he said casually.

The bartender stared, blinked at the bag, and then, like a switch had been flipped, grunted and started pouring himself a drink.

"Next time, use the alley, y'jackass," he muttered.

Cooper tipped his hat like he'd just bought a bottle of sasparilla and turned to the body, grabbing Roth by an ankle and dragging him through the bar. The corpse left a streak of blood across the floorboards.

He passed the Vaultie again on his way out, pausing just long enough to flash her a sharp, crooked grin. “Remeber what I said ‘bout heads exploding?”

She stared at him, eyes wide, lips parted like she wanted to say something, but no words came.

He winked.

Then he was gone, shoving the swinging doors open with one hand, corpse in tow. 

Outside, the air was cooler. Flies were already starting to gather. Cooper dropped Roth’s body behind a crumpled old truck, pulled a hunting knife from his belt, and got to work. Quick. Efficient. Messy.

He whistled an old tune as he did it, something jazzy and sweet that clashed horribly with the sound of sawing flesh.

Inside the bar, the Vaultie was still staring at the door, pale-faced and still.

Welcome to the surface, sweetheart.

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≪•◦ BACK • NEXT ◦•≫

✿Chapter Index✿

[call-me-kermit]

✿Hate To Love You✿

Cooper Howard/The Ghoul • The Ghoul has found himself an insufferable Vaultie fresh out of the box. Chaos ensues.

Series Warnings: Enemies to Lovers, Slow Burn, Conon Violence, Guns, Murder, Drinking/Drugs, Human Experiments, Suicidal Thoughts, Depression, Loose Mentions Of Sexual Assault/Harassment, Sexual Content

Notes: I had no direction when starting this, so it's whatever. !One Part Will Be Released Daily!

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Chapter Index:

✿ PART 1 • Vaulties & Cowboys ✿

✿ PART 2 • Smiles & Lies ✿

✿ PART 3 • Ghouls & Cannibals ✿

✿ PART 4 • Memories & Lessons ✿

✿ PART 5 • Friends & Foes ✿

✿ PART 6 • Bluffs & Betrayal ✿

✿ PART 7 • Regret & Take-Backsies ✿

✿ PART 8 • Guilt & Tears ✿

✿ PART 9 • Denial & Promises ✿

✿ PART 10 • Vials & Coughs ✿

✿ PART 11 • Deals & Relizations ✿

✿ PART 12 • Understandings & Confessions ✿

✿ PART 13 • Bets & Bonding ✿

✿ PART 14 • Cults & Fruit ✿

✿ PART 15 • Drinks & Mistakes ✿

✿ PART 16 • Hangovers & Gunfire ✿

✿ PART 17 • Screaming & Crying ✿

✿ PART 18 • Stims & Campfires ✿

✿ PART 19 • Graons & Moans ✿

✿ PART 20 • Smooches & Threats ✿

✿•·······························•●❀✿❀●•·······························•✿

✿Kermitt'sMasterlist✿ 

[call-me-kermit]

Fancy Seeing You Again

Word Count: 6351 Read Time: 20-25min Warnings: Flirting, Canon Violence, Insinuated Smexy Time, OOC Cooper Summary: The Ghoul keeps meeting this woman; the last time was on purpose. Rating: PG-13 Notes: I made up some towns; these don't exist. Not Proofread

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Rust-Tin was the kind of place everyone passed through. Right smack dab in the middle of nowhere, a stepping stone town. A melting pot of every kind of folk in the wasteland. 

The wind smelled like rust and dried blood, one of the reasons for the town's name, sweeping low through the dirt-blown main road, past crooked fences and hollow-eyed buildings held together with rusted bolts and stubbornness. A crow sat atop a broken radio antenna and didn’t bother to caw — it just watched, patient, like it knew something was about to happen.

The shithole town was bustling and busy at all hours. The main market sat at the northern side of the town, by the main gates. There was a stall for anything and everything, an inn for travelers to rest, a bounty board, and a single doctor who made a killing off everyone who came through. 

At the heart of the town sat The Graveyard, the only saloon still standing after the last shootout left half of the main market as ash and memory. Its swinging doors creaked like a warning. The sign above it — a bleached jawbone nailed to a plank of driftwood — hung at an angle, still catching the sun.

Inside, the air was thick with sweat, smoke, and the low murmur of tired men too dangerous to bother. There were only two rules in the Graveyard: pay upfront, and if you're dying, no bleeding on the floor. The barkeep enforced both with the kind of calm that made even the most ruthless killers nervous. She always smiled, even when it didn’t make sense. Maybe especially then.

She stood behind the bar with a slight limp, one hand polishing a dusty glass, the other resting near the old revolver she kept under the counter — more for show than use. Her face was open, gentle in a way that didn’t make sense out here. Her kindness was a scar she wore proudly like the faded bullet wound visible above her bootline. 

No one knew her name, and no one asked. Folks just called her “the girl behind the bar” or “her.” She served drinks with a nod, stitched wounds when someone staggered in bleeding, and otherwise minded her own damn business.

But today was different. Today, the door creaked open slowly. And in walked a ghoul in a cowboy hat.

Spurs jingled with every slow and deliberate footfall as the ghoul stepped inside, long duster coat dragging dust in behind him. He walked with the purpose of a man who had nothing to prove and less to say. His skin was cracked, sun-baked, and pulled tight over bones like leather gone bad. His mouth twisted in a grin that was mostly teeth and malice. The stink of blood clung to him like a second shadow.

Heads turned. Then quickly turned away. He didn’t make a scene. He didn’t need to. 

He walked up to the bar, tipped his hat, and leaned on the counter. A ghoul, clearly — the kind people crossed the street to avoid.

She didn’t flinch. All kinds of folk came through here, she’s seen shit and doesn't spook easy.

He slid a few caps across the wood. “Whiskey,” he rasped, his drawl was a surprise to her. Anyone can find a hat like that, she hadn’t expected him to be a proper Southern cowboy. The supra on his boot should’ve been a dead giveaway. Either way, she was intrigued by the stranger. 

She gave him a smile like it was the first one he’d seen in years — warm, easy, maybe a little stubborn.

“Sure thing, stranger,” she said, voice bright. “You look like you’ve had a long walk or a short fight. Maybe both.”

She poured the drink smoothly and slid it his way. Cooper didn’t reply. He took the glass, drank, and stared at the shelves behind her like they might answer some question he hadn’t asked.

She tilted her head, resting her elbows on the bar. “Not the chatty type, huh?” He looked at her. Just a flicker.

“Nope.”

“Well, that’s okay,” she said. “I talk enough for two.” He said nothing. She grinned. “Three, on a good day.” 

The silence stretched — but not in a bad way. More like a thread being tied instead of pulled. He didn’t tell her to stop. She took that as permission.

“Name’s yours to ask, if you want it. Or not. Up to you. Folks mostly just call me ‘the bartender’ or ‘hey, another round.’”

Still no reply.

She chuckled softly, brushing her fingers across the bar. “You’re a mystery man. I like that. The loud ones usually have nothing to say.”

The ghoul finished his drink, set the glass down, and gave the faintest nod. Almost approval. Then he slid more caps forward, “Another.”

She poured it, careful not to spill. “You got it, cowboy.” And for a second, just a second, the edge of his mouth moved — like maybe, just maybe, he was thinking about smiling.

The second whiskey went down smoother than the first. The ghoul said nothing. Just listened — not to the music, not to the creak of the ceiling fan, but to her voice, threading its way through the bar like sunlight through broken blinds. 

She talked about nothing. The weather. How the jukebox only had six songs that still worked. How she once traded two shotgun shells for a jar of real peanut butter and still regretted it.

He didn’t laugh. He didn't respond. He didn't encourage her, or try to anyway. But he didn’t leave. He didn't tell her to stop. And that was something.

Then came the shift. A man approached the bar, heavy-footed and half-drunk, with sunburnt skin and a bad idea clinging to him like sweat. His smile was crooked and sour. He leaned in close — too close — elbows on the counter.

“Well hey there, sweetheart,” he said. “You got a name, or should I just call you mine?”

She didn’t even blink, “I’ve got a name. But I’m not in the habit of giving it to people who smell like boiled socks and piss.”

The man chuckled, either too thick-headed to take the hint or too drunk to care. “Come on now, don’t be shy. What’s a pretty thing like you doing wasting her time on that”—he thumbed toward the ghoul without looking—“rotted-out husk? You want a man with warmth, don’t you?”

She smiled. Still sweet. Still calm. But something in her eyes sharpened, like the glint of a blade just before it’s drawn.

“Friend,” she said, “you’ve got about three seconds to back up before I stop being polite.”

The man smirked. “What’re you gonna do, darling? Throw your rag at me?” His drunken hand reached to cop a feel. 

She moved like lightning. One second her hand was on the counter, the next it was under it, and then there was a revolver in his face — hammer cocked, barrel steady, her expression still unreadably calm. There was a subtle wave of laughs and whispers of “What a dumbass” and “Learned the hard way”. 

“Try that again,” she said, voice like cold steel under velvet. “See what happens.”

The man froze. His smirk wilted. The rest of the bar went dead quiet.

He raised his hands, chuckling nervously. “Hey now, no need for dramatics—”

“Two,” she said.

He backed away fast, nearly tripping over his own boots. He muttered something and staggered toward the door, too humiliated to be angry. The silence lingered for a moment longer.

Then she slipped the gun back under the bar, picked up a rag, and went back to wiping the same glass, like nothing had happened.

Cooper, who hadn’t moved an inch, finally spoke.

“…Not just sweet, huh?”

She looked up meeting his gaze, “Not when I don’t have to be.” She wore a victorious grin after getting him to say something. 

He studied her for a moment. Something shifted behind his ruined face — not quite a smile, not quite surprise. But his next sip of whiskey was slower. More thoughtful. She gave a small shrug as if to say That’s life in the wasteland.

He tipped his glass toward her, just slightly. “That your way of saying y’don’t need protecting?”

She grinned. “That's my way of saying I don’t like being touched.” He nodded, once. “Unless I give y’a written invitation that is.” She teased.

He finished his drink and stood straight, adjusting the saddle bag on his shoulder. She watched him, arms crossed lightly now, a lazy smile teasing the corner of her mouth.

“You sure you’re done for the night?” she asked, voice low and teasing. “Could always pour you one on the house — say, as a thank you for the company.”

He squinted at her, head cocking just slightly. “That so?”

“Mm-hm.” She leaned forward, elbows on the bar. “I mean, between your charming silence and that delightful face, it’s been the highlight of my day.”

He snorted — almost a laugh. “You flirtin’ with a ghoul, sweetheart? You know what they say about us, right?”

She tilted her head, pretending to think. “Yeah. That you’re bad for the health, stink of trouble, and ruin good bar stools.”

Cooper raised a brow ridge. “That’s what they say, huh?”

She winked. “Still think you’ve got a nice voice. Like gravel in honey.”

That caught him off guard. He covered it with a grin — wide, crooked, yellow, cocky as hell. “Careful now. You keep talkin’ like that an’ folks might think you like me, darlin’.”

She shrugged. “Maybe I do.” Her hand slid across the bar and brushed against his. “I’m an optimist. Figure anyone who tolerates my rambling and who drinks that much whiskey without flinching’s got potential.”

 “You don’t scare easy, do you?”

“Not anymore.” Her eyes dance over him with a sense of wonder.

He lingered. Just a second too long. Then pulled himself back behind the wall he always walked with.

“Well,” he said, turning toward the door, “I ain’t one for flirtin’. Gets folks hopeful.”

She smiled at him — warm, but not pitying. Confident. “That’s okay. I’m not one for hoping.” Their eyes locked. Something silent passed between them. Not a promise — something rarer in the wasteland. Interest.

“You planning to stick around long?”

“Just long enough to get the dust off.”

“Shame,” she said. “You’re growing on me, cowboy.”

He stood set a few extra caps on the bar, “Then don’t get too used to me.”

She didn’t flinch. Just smiled. “Wouldn’t dream of it.”

But as he walked out the door, she watched a little longer than she meant to. And outside, the ghoul paused, for a heartbeat longer than he should’ve, before disappearing back into the wind.

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The Graveyard didn’t get a lot of return customers — usually just the ones who lived in Rust-Tin or the ones who hadn’t learned their lesson the first time. 

The desert sun was bleeding out over the horizon, painting the sky in burnt oranges as the ghoul rode into town with a bounty’s head in a bag and a fresh crust of dust on his coat. The sack swung in pace with his steps, leaking just enough blood to make a statement.

After ridding himself of the head, and retrieving his caps, he stepped slowly through the markets. He didn’t come back for glory, or rest, or even the whiskey. But he still turned and walked straight to the Graveyard.

The saloon doors creaked as if they remembered him, swinging wide to welcome in the smell of blood, leather, and old regret. But what waited inside wasn’t the quiet hum of conversation or the lazy strum of music from the jukebox as he remembered. 

It was chaos.

A full-blown brawl had taken over the bar — chairs were broken, bottles flying, and one guy swinging a pool cue like it owed him money. Two grizzled scavvers were locked in a headlock-turned-dance, while someone else was trying to strangle a man with a dirty bar rag.

And there she was. Behind the counter, leaning on one elbow, sipping a Nuka-Cola from a cracked glass bottle with a bent straw — watching it all unfold like it was a boring rerun on the radio.

Unmoved. Unbothered. Perfectly relaxed.

The ghoul stepped just inside the threshold and stopped, hairless eyebrow raising slightly. He took in the chaos, then her — and despite himself, the corner of his mouth twitched upward.

She didn’t see him at first. She was staring at one guy trying to crawl over the bar and getting yanked back by the ankle. Then, she sensed him.

Then she turned, laid her eyes on him, and lit up like a fuse had been lit under her skin.

“Well, look what the dust blew back in,” she called, bright as ever, lifting her drink in a half-toast. “You miss me, cowboy?”

The ghoul stepped inside, slow and steady, avoiding a rolling bottle with a lazy sidestep. “Didn’t realize I’d be walkin’ into a rodeo.”

She gestured at the chaos with her bottle. “Oh, this? Just a minor disagreement. A couple of fellas arguing over who cheated at dice. Got a little out of hand.”

“A little?” He glanced sideways as a man was thrown into a wall and slumped down with a groan.

She shrugged. “I was gonna break it up, but you know… it’s been a slow week.”

He chuckled. Low and rasping. “You always let your bar turn into a battlefield?”

She grinned. “Ain’t my bar, just work here for now.” Another chair crashed nearby. She didn’t flinch. He noticed.

“Place ain’t changed,” he muttered, stepping up to the bar like the fight behind him was background noise.

She leaned in, one arm still lazily slung over the bartop. “You back for the whisky, or you just missed my sparkling company?”

“Maybe both,” he said, reluctantly, like it physically pained him to admit he enjoyed her company. 

She smirked. “Well now… if I’d known you were into sparks, I’d’ve worn my best boots.”

From behind him, a body flew past and crashed into the jukebox, which finally gave out with a wheeze. He didn’t look back. He was looking at her now — this smiling, unbothered, trigger-happy woman who ran her bar like a halfway house for the barely civil.

“Oh, I’ll break it up in a minute,” she said. “Was waiting on you.”

“Me?”

“Figured you’d enjoy the show.”

He barked a short laugh. “Might be right.”

She reached beneath the bar, pulled out a sawed-off shotgun, and placed it calmly on the counter.

“Hold this,” she said, slipping out from behind it.

Cooper took the gun without question. Watching amused as she crawled over the bar and took it back with a quiet and polite, “Thank you, cowboy.” 

She stepped into the middle of the chaos, raised two fingers to her lips, and whistled sharp.

Everyone stopped. Mostly because she’d cocked the shotgun like she'd done it a hundred times before. Which, Cooper figured, she probably had.

“Alright, that’s enough! Last man to keep swinging’s buying everyone drinks for a week, and I will be charging top shelf!”

The crowd groaned, muttered, and scattered. Like children after being scolded by mommy. She turned back to the bar satisfied as men began cleaning up the mess. The ghoul leaned on the bar and watched her with a grin. 

“Whisky?” She asked, jumping up to sit on the bar, swinging her legs to the other side, and hopping down. 

“Please, darlin’.” He sat himself down at the bar with a grunt and leaned back, letting the tension roll off his shoulders. He didn’t fully relax — he never did — but something about the chaos, now stilled, seemed to amuse him more than irritate.

She poured him the drink and slid it toward him with a flick of her fingers and leaned across the bar again, chin resting lightly on her knuckles.

“Y’know,” she said, eyes dancing, “you’ve got a real ‘stand there and smolder’ thing going on. Anyone ever tell you that?”

He gave her a sideways look, one corner of his mouth tugging up. “Smolder’s just rot by another name, sweetheart.”

She laughed. “You’re so dramatic. It’s cute.”

“Don’t call me cute.” His face twisted in offense. 

“I’m just sayin’,” she said, sipping her drink. “You walk in all tall and silent, people stop what they’re doing. You brood like it’s your job. And you’ve got that whole ‘don’t get too close or I’ll shoot you’ thing going on. It’s very… intense.”

He raised a brow. “You into intense?”

“What do you think?” She gave him a pointed look. 

He snorted into his whiskey. “That supposed to flatter me?”

She shrugged, a sly smile tugging at her lips. “Nah. Just figured if I flirted long enough, you’d loosen up.”

He gave her a long look. Not guarded, but curious. She held his gaze, slow and steady, inviting — not pushing. Just offering. And for a moment,  just a flicker, the lines around his mouth eased. His shoulders dropped a notch. He leaned just a little closer.

“You always this mouthy to your customers?” he asked.

“Only the ones I like.” Her voice dropped just slightly. “You planning on being one of those?”

He looked down into his glass, then back up at her, “Depends.”

She smiled, slow and bright. “You know,” she said, voice casual, “if you ever get tired of bounty hunting, I could always use a strong, silent type around here. Real broody ambiance.”

Cooper gave her a dry look over the rim of his glass. “That right?”

“Oh yeah. I could pay you in drinks and lingering stares.”

He chuckled under his breath and shook his head.

Undeterred, she kept going. “Besides, I hear ghouls make great heat sources. All that radiation. You warm in the night?”

“I’m warm enough,” he muttered.

She grinned. “Sounds cozy. Might have to check for myself sometime.”

He tried not to smile. He really did. But she was laying it on so thick it looped right back around to charming.

“You always like this?” he asked. “Or is this special treatment?”

“Only for the ones I like,” she said sweetly. “Did I mention that already?”

“You did.”

“Well, I’m not subtle.”

“Figured that out when you pulled a gun on a guy while smiling.”

She winked. “You liked that.”

He huffed a laugh and took another sip of his drink. “Not used to folks flirtin’ like this.”

She leaned forward, elbows on the bar, voice dipping into that smoky drawl again. “Not used to folks flirtin’ with you, or just flirtin’ in general?”

Cooper gave her a long look, then exhaled slow through his nose — a half-sigh, half-laugh. “Both, maybe.”

She leaned over the bar, eyes admiring his lips for a moment, “Well, better get used to it, cowboy. I’m persistent.”

He set his glass down, amused despite himself. “You’re somethin’, alright.”

She tilted her head, beaming. “Is that your way of saying you like me back?”

“I’m sayin’ I haven’t left yet, ain’t I?”

She grinned. “Damn right, you haven’t.”

She didn’t say anything more — just went back to her glass, humming to herself as she cleaned a line of cracked cups. And the ghoul, the bounty hunter, a man with no home and fewer friends, sat at her bar longer than he meant to… watching her hum her little tune like the world outside wasn’t on fire.

And when he did finally leave, he looked back once.

Just once.

And she was already watching him go — smile still tugging at the corners of her mouth.

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The ghoul wasn’t sure what excuse he’d use if someone asked why he was back in Rust-Tin. Didn’t have a bounty this time. No scum to drag in by the collar. No job waiting for him, no debt to collect. Nothing to prove or settle.

But here he was.

His boots hit the same dirt streets, the fringe of his duster trailing sand like breadcrumbs, and his face just as cracked and weatherworn as always. But his eyes — they were looking for something now. Someone. 

He pushed open the saloon doors and stepped inside, half-expecting to hear her humming, half-expecting a glass to be set out for him before he even asked.

But the bar was quieter than usual.

And someone else was behind it.

A skinny man with an overgrown mustache and nervous hands. He sat at the bar anyway. Didn’t ask for a drink. Didn’t leave. He waited for her shift. But hours passed and she never showed. So he sat there, still and silent, like a ghost haunting a memory.

Behind him, two regulars were chatting lazily, “Crazy, huh? That girl finally lit out. Said she was headin’ east — somethin’ about seein’ the old highway, maybe findin’ her brother.”

“Figures. She wasn’t the stayin’ type. Too kind for this place.”

Cooper's jaw clenched slightly, the only sign he’d been listening.

“Where is she?” he spoke for the first time in hours, voice low.

The man behind the bar blinked, confused. “Who?” He didn’t answer — just stared until the man backpedaled. “Oh — the girl? Bartender?”

Cooper didn’t nod. Didn’t move. Just waited.

“She’s gone,” the man said, looking down as he wiped the bar with a greasy rag. “Doc cleared her last week. Leg’s good now. Said she was fixin’ to travel.” He didn’t feel much, usually. Not in the way folks meant when they talked about missing things. But hearing she was gone? That did something.

The bar felt wrong without her in it. Too quiet, too stiff. No teasing. No flirting. No cheeky grins from behind cracked mugs. 

He could ask around, sure. Could follow her trail. There’d be people who remembered her — she left impressions like footprints in wet cement. Too kind, too bright, too damn present to vanish clean.

But he didn’t move.

Didn’t ask.

Because he knew something about people like her.

They left. They didn’t stay in shitholes like this one, and they sure as hell didn’t stick around for folks like him. She was just passing through — healing her leg, pouring drinks, dodging creeps, flirting with dead men. That’s all it was.

A flicker. A warm moment in a cold life. And now it was gone. For the first time in years, he felt like something had been taken from him — not stolen in the way the wasteland usually took, but… gently. Softly.

He stood, dropped a few caps on the bar — more than the drink he didn’t order was worth — and walked out without a word.

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The wasteland didn’t know how to rest. Even in the dead heat of midday, with the sun hanging like a noose over the cracked dirt, trouble always found legs.

The ghoul was walking a back road—  just the rhythm of boots on the ground and the occasional buzz of something dead in the brush. He kept his revolver close and his hat low, and didn’t bother wasting water unless he had to. The dust clung to him like a second skin.

He spotted them before they spotted him— four of them, scattered like lazy wolves. Raiders. Not the smart kind. The kind who laughed too loud and walked like they owned everything they could see. When one of them finally noticed the ghoul, he grinned like he'd just found a new chew toy.

“Well look at this crispy bastard,” the lead one said, swaggering forward with a spiked bat resting on his shoulder. “What’s the matter, freak? Radiation catch up with you?”

He didn’t flinch. Didn’t stop.

Another one flanked him, pistol loose in his grip. “You out here alone, ghoulie? Or are ya just lookin’ to get put down?”

He exhaled slowly. His voice came dry and even. “You boys always this mouthy?”

“Aw, listen to that. He thinks he’s scary,” the first one sneered. “Tell you what — drop your pack, drop your gun, and we might leave you a few teeth to chew on.”

The ghoul finally stopped walking. Slowly, he looked up.

His eyes weren’t angry. They weren’t anything. Just that cold, patient emptiness that always came before something ugly. They laughed. He only had a moment to consider reaching for his revolver to drop these ugly bastards before—

“Cowboy?” The voice came from behind the raiders, light and surprised. “Fancy seeing you here.”

His head snapped toward it — a flicker of recognition flashing behind his tired eyes.

She was standing on the road a little ways off, backpack slung over one shoulder, pistol holstered, wind in her hair. She looked just as dusty and sunburnt as the rest of the world — but there was that same unmistakable brightness in her, like a campfire refusing to go out.

One of the raiders turned. “This yours?” he jeered. “You got a fan, rot-boy.”

She stopped walking and took in the scene, eyes scanning the standoff, then landing on the ghoul. She grinned, eyes dancing over him just as pleasant as he remembered. 

“Oh,” she said cheerfully, “you idiots really don’t know who you’re messing with, do you?”

The raiders laughed again — ugly, mean. He didn’t move. Didn’t blink. Just listened to the wind rattle the scrub.

“You hear that, ghoul?” one of them sneered. “She thinks you’re somethin’ special.” 

He tilted his head, cracked his neck, and let out a small sigh. She just crossed her arms, a smirk on her lips, and waited for the show to start. 

Then the world snapped into motion.

Bang.

The first raider’s head jerked back — eyes wide — before he crumpled into the dust, dead before he hit the ground.

Bang.

Bang.

Bang.

Three more shots, fast and precise. One through the throat, one through the eye, the last clean through the chest. They never even raised their weapons. He didn’t bother giving them time to realize they were about to die, didn’t give them time to make their peace. 

Then silence. Just the soft click of the cowpoke spinning his revolver’s cylinder and sliding it back into its holster. The bodies lay still around him, dust already beginning to settle on them like a burial shroud.

He turned toward her. She was still standing with a playful smile curling at the corner of her lips, “Well damn,” she said, grinning. “You are good with your hands.”

He gave her a long, dry look as he stepped over a body. “You make a habit of flirtin’ over corpses, or am I just lucky?”

She shrugged, walking to meet him like they’d run into each other at the general store.

“You bring out the best in me,” she said sweetly. “Besides, you shot four guys in about two seconds. That’s hot.”

He couldn’t help it — his lips twitched upward into a crooked, reluctant smile. “You’re somethin’ else.”

She stopped a foot away from him, tilting her head, expression softening just a little. “Didn’t think I’d see you again.”

“Didn’t think I’d want to,” he admitted.

“That sounds dangerously close to romantic, cowboy.”

He looked down at her, quiet for a second.

Then: “You always vanish after sweet-talking a man, or was that just for me?”

She smiled wide like it was a game she already knew how to win. “Only the ones I want to chase me.”

“Yeah?” His voice dropped, dry and low. “What if I did?”

She leaned in, mock-serious. “Then you better keep up.” They stood there a moment longer — the sun baking down, buzzards circling somewhere far off — and for once, he didn’t feel the need to keep walking.

She bumped his arm with hers. “You gonna buy me a drink, or are we just gonna stand here and pretend we didn’t miss each other?”

“You see a bar ‘round here, darlin’?” 

She hummed in defeat, “Suppose we’ll have to find something else to occupy ourselves.” Her hand smoothed over his chest. Her hand smoothed over his chest, fingers brushing the worn leather of his duster like she was testing whether it was real — or maybe testing him.

Cooper’s breath hitched just slightly. Enough for her to notice. His smirk faltered, shifting into something warier, almost… nervous. Like he wasn’t sure if this was a trap, or worse — something genuine.

“You flirt like you’re trying to start a fire,” he said, low.

She leaned in a touch closer, voice honey-thick. “Maybe I am.”

He met her gaze, trying to stay stone-faced — but his eyes betrayed him, flicking down to her mouth just once before he forced them back up.

“You don’t even care what I am, do you?” he asked.

She raised an eyebrow, fingers still idling against his coat. “A pain in the ass, mostly.” He huffed a laugh. “But a handsome one, with the best scowl I’ve ever seen.”

His voice dropped a notch. “You know I ain’t a good man.”

She tilted her head, thoughtful. “Not asking you to be.”

There was silence for a moment — not awkward, but heavy, like the kind that came right before thunder. Then, abruptly, she stepped back, teasing grin back in place as if she hadn’t just knocked the wind out of him. 

“You heading east?” She wondered, brushing dust from his shoulder. There wasn’t any, she just wanted to touch him, and he knew it. 

He shook his head. “North.” He didn’t elaborate.

She hummed. “I’m going south. Caravan escort.” He nodded slowly. That was that. Paths split. Again. “Hate how fast it all passes. Every time I see you it feels like you’re gone just as quickly as you appear. .”

He looked at her, long and steady. “I could meet you,” he said at last. She looked up at him. “There’s a place, ‘bout three days from here,” he continued. “Crossroads Station. Half a town built into an old overpass. I’ve stopped through before.”

“Sounds charming,” she said with a small smile. “And crawling with bandits, I’m sure.”

“Wouldn’t be the wasteland otherwise.”

She gave a soft laugh, then reached out, fingers brushing his hand — not teasing, not playful this time. Just there. Present. Real.

“I’ll meet you,” she said. “Three days.”

His thumb grazed hers in return. Just enough to acknowledge it, something shifted between them then — something heavier, slower, charged. The kind of thing that didn’t need words. 

“Say,” She sighed leaning closer to his, hooded eyes locked on his. “You don’t have to leave right this second do you?” 

His hand found her hip, a cocky smirk on his lips, rough and deliberate, fingers curling against the worn fabric of her clothes, “Nope.”

Her breath caught, just a little — not in surprise, but in anticipation. She tilted her head, smiling like she’d won a bet only she knew they were playing.

“Well then,” she murmured, letting her hand slide up his chest, slow and teasing. “Guess we’ve got some time to kill.”

He leaned back a little, giving her space to make the next move — not because he was shy, but because watching her work was more fun than anything else on this cursed earth.

“You always this bold?” he asked, voice rough like gravel but warm beneath it.

“Only if you want me to be,” she purred. “Anything you want.”

He chuckled low, the sound deep and almost disbelieving. “Darlin’, you flirt like you’re trying to rob me.”

“If I was robbing you,” she whispered, lips brushing the shell of his ear, “you’d be thanking me for it.”

He groaned, head tilting back, eyes briefly fluttering shut.

“Hell,” he muttered, “what are you?”

She bit her lower lip, smile turning coy. “Trouble.”

He pulled her closer, voice a low rumble against her throat. “Lucky me.”

The corpses lay cooling and rotting beside them. Their lips met — not with fireworks, not at first, but with the quiet surety of two people who’d been circling this moment from the second they laid eyes on each other. It was rough, hesitant — his lips were cracked and dry, hers soft but daring.

Then her hand slid up his chest and around to the back of his neck, tugging him closer and something tipped. The kiss deepened. Grew hungry.

He pulled her closer, arms circling her waist like he was trying to memorize the shape of her. She kissed him like she didn’t care what he was like none of it mattered — not the skin, not the scars, not the reputation.

Just him.

When they finally broke apart, breathless and tangled, she rested her forehead against his, his hat tipped back slightly. 

“That was overdue,” she whispered.

He nodded, still catching his breath. “Way overdue.”

She grinned. “Don’t be late meeting me.”

He brushed his thumb along her jaw, rough touch achingly gentle. “Wouldn’t dream of it.”

✿•····•✿•····•✿•····•✿•····•✿•····•✿•····•✿•····•✿

The cracked sign hanging over the inn at Crossroads Station swayed in the wind, its paint mostly gone and its letters barely legible. But it still stood, like most things in the wasteland — half-broken, half-useful, and just enough to survive.

He wasn’t one to show up early to anything. He was a man of bad habits, worse timing, and an ego that insisted the world could wait for him. But he’d wrapped up the bounty work north of Crossroads Station quicker than expected, and by the time the dust settled and the caps hit his hand, he was already halfway to the place they’d promised to meet.

He told himself he wasn’t in a rush. Just wanted to beat the heat. Get a room before the drunks fill the inn. Maybe grab a drink.

The settlement was little more than scrap and stubbornness — an old highway overpass with concrete bones still holding up rusted metal and makeshift shanties. A few traders milled around, bartering loudly. A pair of guards gave the bounty hunter a second look as he passed but said nothing.

The ghoul’s boots clunked against the old floorboards as he stepped inside, eyes adjusting to the dim, flickering lantern light. It was dusty and disheveled, but it had walls doors, and a bed. 

The innkeeper gave him a nod from behind the desk,  “Looking for a room?”

The ghoul dropped some caps onto the counter. “One night. Maybe more.”

“Second floor. Far left.”

The stairs creaked under his boots as he climbed. His fingers brushed the brim of his hat, adjusting it out of habit — or maybe nerves. He told himself it didn’t matter if she was here yet. Wouldn’t be surprised if she changed her mind. Maybe she got a better offer. Or maybe she just didn’t take it as seriously as he did. 

He didn’t expect to smell the subtle scent of sun-warmed flowers and gunpowder, something he found made him think of her. He definitely didn’t expect to hear her voice behind one of the doors.

“…not like I showed up early or anything,” she was saying, muffled but unmistakably hers. “Totally normal to get to town a day ahead of time. Very casual. Not at all eager.”

He stopped dead in his tracks, eyes widening just a little as he blinked at the door in front of him. His lips twitched.

She was here. Already here.

He knocked — once, sharp and slow.

Then the door creaked open, and there she was — same dusty boots, same disarming smile — frozen mid-motion, surprise plain on her face. For a second, neither of them said anything.

“Cowboy?” she blinked. “You’re early.”

“So are you,” he said, smirking. “Worried I wouldn’t show?”

She crossed her arms, feigning indignation. “No. I was just—”

“Eager?”

Wordlessly she opened the door wider and he stepped inside. It was a small room — a bed, a battered table, a window cracked open to let in the dry air. Her pack sat on the chair. A holstered pistol on the nightstand. She’d made herself comfortable.

“You didn’t think I’d come,” he said softly. Not a question, an observation.

She turned toward him, something raw in her smile. “I didn’t think you’d think I would.”

“Guess we’re both idiots,” he muttered.

“I don’t mind being an idiot,” she said, taking a step toward him, “so long as I’m not one alone.”

They stood inches apart, heat rising between them. He could smell the dust in her hair, the worn leather of her jacket, the ghost of something sweet — maybe soap, maybe her.

“I kept thinking about that kiss,” she admitted, eyes locked on his. “Tried to convince myself it didn’t mean anything.”

“How’d that work out?” he asked, voice low.

She shrugged. “Terribly.”

He reached up, rough fingers brushing a curl from her cheek. “Same here.”

They kissed — slower this time. Not rushed. Not desperate. ust certain.

It was a quiet claim. The kind of kiss that said I found you in a world where people vanish like smoke. Her hands curled into the front of his shirt. He touched the small of her back like it was something sacred.

When they broke apart, he mumbled, “You expecting me to sleep on the floor?” He referred to the one bed.

she whispered, “I got the bed.”

“I figured you’d earn your spot,” she said, lips curling. “One way or another.”

He pressed another kiss to her lips, before, “You missed me, didn’t you?” 

She tilted her head. “I missed your dumb hat.”

He grinned. “Liar.”

Then she kissed him — hard this time, hungry, fingers tugging at his coat like she’d waited a hundred days instead of just two.

When they finally came up for air, her voice was breathless against his mouth, “You’re sleeping in the bed, cowboy.”

He kissed her again, slower now. “That a promise?”

“It’s an invitation.”

He gave a gravelly laugh. “I wasn’t planning on sleepin’ much.”

✿•·······························•●❀✿❀●•·······························•✿  

 •Kermit’s Masterlist•

[call-me-kermit]

So Long Reputation

Word Count: 2611 Read Time: 10min Warnings: Swearing, Insinuated Smexy Time, Canon Violence, Cooper is a Cutie-pa-Tootie Summary: The Ghoul's reputation is slipping, all because of his lady. Rating: PG-13 Notes: Just a little lighthearted blurb. Not Proofread

≫ ────── ≪•◦ ❈ ◦•≫ ────── ≪

The saloon door creaked open like it hated being disturbed. Every head inside took a turn turning to look as the pair walked in—him first, boots thudding slow and heavy, her just a step behind, smiling like she didn’t notice the silence that followed them.

The ghoul cut a grim figure: long coat dusted in ash, mottled skin tight over sharp bone, lips dry and cracked from too many days in the sun. His eyes—bright, cold, calculating—scanned over the drums and brutes littering the place. A few patrons shifted uncomfortably, not too welcoming to ghouls in these parts. One reached for a weapon and thought better of it.

She didn’t notice or pretended not to. Just nudged him toward the bar with a hand on his back like she was steering a mule.

They slid into their seats. The bartender—a kid, who couldn’t have been more than twenty—stared a second too long before trying to play it cool.

“What’ll it be?” He hesitated. 

She leaned in, smiling. “Two whiskeys for me and my Snugglebones here.”

The bartender blinked. Looked at the ghoul. Blinked again.

“Your… what?”

The ghoul didn’t move, but his jaw clenched tight enough to creak. “She’s drunk,” he said flatly.

“I’m not,” she added helpfully.

The kid behind the bar looked from one to the other, clearly recalibrating everything he thought he understood about the world. “Right. Okay. Snugglebones. Got it.”

He poured the glasses with slightly shaking hands.

She clinked her glass against the ghouls with a grin. “To dying  men that our bills.”

“Woman,” he growled, “I swear on my damn boots—”

She downed her glass before he could finish, face scrunching at the burn. He followed suit, less for the drink than for the excuse to stop talking. Around them, the bar began to relax—slightly. People still stole glances. A ghoul wasn’t rare in the wasteland, but one being flirted with like a prize hog at the state fair? That was new.

Cooper leaned in close, voice low and dangerous. “Call me that again in front of strangers and I’ll start callin’ you names. See how you like bein’ Sweetmeat.”

She grinned at him over the rim of her glass. “You got yourself a deal, Coop.”

He didn’t smile—but the look in his eyes said he wasn’t quite as mad as he claimed.

≫ ────────────────── ≪

They didn’t need anything.

The ghoul had made that clear half a dozen times between the gates and the stall-lined road that called itself a market. “We’ve got food. We’ve got ammo. You just like touching junk we don’t need.”

She’d just smiled and said, “So?”

Now they strolled side by side down the dusty aisle, past traders hawking dented cans, scorched clothing, old tech, and broken dreams with a fresh coat of polish. Cooper’s coat flapped behind him like a threat. He radiated ‘don’t talk to me’ energy and most folks listened.

She, on the other hand, made herself welcome wherever she went. Even in a place like this.

“Oh wow,” she said, stopping at a stall stacked with twisted old circuit boards, scorched vacuum tubes, and a toaster modified into a makeshift radio. “You’ve got some good stuff here.”

The vendor was an older woman with weather-beaten skin and sharp eyes. She eyed Cooper warily, then flicked her gaze to the woman. “Ain’t good, but it’s better than the garbage three stalls down. You know what you’re looking at?”

“Not really,” she admitted cheerfully. “I just like to see what the world used to look like before it turned into a bone pile.”

The woman grunted. “That toaster still plays jazz if you kick it.”

She laughed. “I love that. Hey, baby—Cuudle-bug, come look at this!”

Cooper froze mid-step. He turned his head slow, deliberate, like a predator deciding whether the noise behind it was prey or just something to ignore. “You call me that again,” he said, “and I’ll put that toaster where the sun doesn’t shine.”

The vendor blinked. “Cuddle-bug?”

“He’s shy,” she said, still smiling, ignoring his vulgar yet empty threat. 

“Pretty sure I’ve heard about you,” the vendor said, squinting at Cooper. “You the ghoul who shot up Filly?”

Cooper looked irritated by the reminder. “Wasn’t the first time, probably won’t be the last.”

“Thought you’d be taller,” the vendor muttered.

He sighed and rubbed the bridge of his nose—what was left of it. He grabbed his lady's arm and pulled her along despite her protest, “But the toaster.” 

“Screw the damn toaster.” He muttered through a tight jaw. “I got a reputation to uphold, darlin’.” Cooper gave her a look that said she was both exhausting and irreplaceable. She just frowned in response letting him drag her away. 

She wanted that toaster. He was gonna pay. 

≫ ────────────────── ≪

They’d made camp in a hollow out of the wind, the fire crackling low and mean beside them. The stars overhead looked bruised��clouded by fallout, maybe, or just the way the world worked now. Cooper didn’t much care.

He had her in his lap, one hand tangled in her hair, the other resting on her thigh like it was always meant to be there. The air was warm from fire and whiskey breath. Her smile was lazy, languid—something rare in the wasteland. She sighed feeling the hum of his kiss on her neck. She teased him with a rock of her hips and he sighed in approval. 

Then came the sound of boots. Not one pair. Several. Too loud to be animals, too casual to be soldiers.

Cooper stiffened. “You gotta be kidding me.”

She sighed, head dropping to his shoulder. “Every time we’re about to get naked…”

“Apparently, I’m not allowed to be happy.” He grumbled, easing her off his lap, and stood, brushing dirt from his coat like he wasn’t about to kill someone.

Five of them. Raiders, by the look. Wore spikes and bone, shouted too much and smelled like they’d bathed in rot and blood. The lead one stepped forward, rifle slung over his shoulder like it was a fashion accessory.

“Well, well,” he said with a grin full of crooked teeth. “Ain’t you two cozy.”

Cooper didn’t bother answering. He just rolled his neck until something popped.

“You look like you crawled outta a grave, man,” another said, snickering. “That your girl or your caretaker?”

The woman leaned back against a log, lounging in wait, checking the dirt under her nails like they were an inconvenience. “If you boys are here for our gear, I’d reconsider.”

“And if you're here for a show,” Cooper added, Pulling back the hammer of his revolver. “you’re interruptin’ the wrong damn performance.” 

That got a laugh from the Raiders. They circled closer, half-serious now.

Then she said, “Snookums, be a dear and shoot the loud one first?”

The laughter doubled. One of them nearly dropped his machete.

“Snookums?” the leader gasped, cackling. “Is that what you call him? What the hell kind of ghoul love story is this?”

Cooper didn’t smile. Didn’t blink. Just drew his revolver and shot the loud one straight through the teeth.

Silence fell. Then the leader screamed. A couple of others dove for cover.

“Thank you, sweetheart,” she called, casually ducking behind a rock as bullets started flying.

“You’re welcome!” he shouted back.

It wasn’t a long fight. Raiders had numbers, but not tactics. Cooper moved like a ghost with a grudge, and she flanked them with the precision of someone who’d learned survival was just a faster kind of kindness.

When it was over, smoke curled off hot shell casings. Blood stained the dirt. One raider crawled away on a shattered leg, but neither of them chased him.

She dusted ash off her pants and walked back to the fire, where Cooper stood reloading.

“You okay, Snookums?”

He gave her a flat look. “I’m beggin’ you.”

She kissed his cheekbone, warm and unapologetic. “You’ll live.”

He holstered his gun, sat back down, and patted his lap.

“Now, where were we before the circus showed up?”

She smiled and curled against him again. Finding her place back in his lap she wasted no time kissing him silly, rocking against him until he was breathless, his hands holding tight on the plump curves of his hip.

She pulled away enough to say, “Just admit it.”

“Admit what?”

“You’re a little fond of Snookums.”

“I will feed you to a deathclaw.”

She just laughed. And Cooper—though he’d never admit it—almost smiled. He just pulled her back in.

This time, no interruptions.

≫ ────────────────── ≪

The old rail stop was half-collapsed and mostly forgotten, baking under the sun like everything else in the wasteland. The rusted sign overhead read “YIELD” in peeling letters, though what you were supposed to yield to out here was anybody’s guess.

They stopped for water.

Or rather, she stopped for water.

Cooper leaned against a twisted steel beam, arms crossed, watching her barter with the wiry trader who’d set up shop in the shadow of the station’s skeletal roof. He didn’t trust the guy. Slick smile. Clean hands. Too many teeth still in his head for someone who lived out here.

But she was already smiling, all warmth and friendly curiosity, hands on her hips, head tilted like she was listening to the most fascinating man alive.

“Your filters actually work?” she asked, nodding toward the battered water purifier on the table.

“Guaranteed clean,” the man said, patting it like a loyal dog. “You won’t grow any extra fingers. Unless you want to.”

She laughed—actually laughed—and Cooper’s jaw tightened. She did that with people. Drew them in. Made them forget what the world was really like.

“Tempting,” she said. “But I’ve already got ten fingers and a Sugarfangs over there who might get jealous.”

The trader’s eyes went wide. “Your what?”

She jerked her thumb toward Cooper without looking. “Tall, broody, looks like a mummified outlaw. Big softie when you scratch behind his ears.”

Cooper didn’t move. Didn’t blink. Just stared.

The trader followed her gesture, mouth half-open. “Him?”

She turned and gave Cooper a wink. “Come on, sweetie. Show the nice man your smile.”

“I will skin and eat you for breakfast,” Cooper scowled. 

The trader took an actual step back. “Alright. Okay. Didn’t mean anything by it.”

She handed over some scrap, grabbed the bottle of water, and strolled back to Cooper like she hadn’t just detonated a social minefield in the middle of the transaction.

“I hate you,” he said, taking the bottle.

“No, you don’t.”

“I could leave. Right now. Disappear into the dust.” He threatened, she pouted in response. 

“You wouldn’t last a week without me. Your interpersonal skills are a war crime.”

He scowled, unscrewing the bottle and taking a long drink. “Stop giving me names. I had a reputation before you.”She just smiled innocently.

Pecking his lips, “Poor baby.” She mocked. 

≫ ────────────────── ≪

Cooper kicked the saloon door open hard enough to shake splinters loose.

Inside, five men froze mid-drink. The one he was after—Tanner Crow, a twitchy bastard with a crooked jaw and a bounty poster thicker than a Bible—stood from the table in the back, hand going for the revolver at his side.

“What the fuck is this,” Tanner spat. “Ugly, irradiated bastard.”

“Aw, I’m flattered.” Cooper mocked.

The room went quiet. No one moved. Just the whisper of wind through broken shutters and the slow creak of the saloon’s swinging doors behind him. The dust settled like tension in the air.

Tanner’s hand hovered over his gun.

So did Cooper’s.

“Don’t make this messier than it needs to be,” The ghoul said. “I only need your head. What happens to the rest is your choice.”

Tanner sneered. “Big words for a half-rotted sack of meat.”

Cooper’s eyes narrowed. “Draw.”

Tanner went for it.

Cooper’s gun cleared leather first, his arm a blur. The bullet caught Tanner’s weapon mid-draw, shattering it in his hand. He screamed, and staggered, blood spraying the floor. The room held its breath.

Cooper stepped forward, boot grinding on glass.

He pointed the barrel at Tanner’s forehead, calm, final.

Then, “Oh my god.” The voice was unmistakable. He didn’t turn. Didn’t have to. “Look at you!” she said from the doorway, breathless and utterly delighted. “All murdery and broody—I could just eat you up.”

The room blinked. Cooper blinked.

Tanner, still clutching his mangled hand, looked from Cooper to her like he’d stepped into the wrong damn universe.

“I swear,” she continued, stepping inside like this was a casual brunch, “you’re cuter when you’re threatening someone’s life. It’s the little wrinkle right here—” She reached up, traced the deep scowl line above his brow. “—so cute, doom muffin.”

Cooper said nothing. His gun was still pointed at the bounty.

Tanner tried not to laugh—and failed. Cooper just shot him. Not for the bounty.

“I hate you,” he muttered out the side of his mouth.

“You say that a lot,” she replied, planting a kiss on his cheek. “I translate it as: please keep talking, you make my life better.”

“I am going to bury myself alive.”

“You’d miss me.” She shook her head. “Plus, you said you got bored the last time.” 

He said nothing, just grumbled. But he let her kiss him before she got her hands dirty removing the bounty’s head. 

≫ ────────────────── ≪

Cooper wasn’t a happy camper. She’d ruined his reputation after her stunt in the saloon.  The whole bar had been laughing behind their hands while she cooed at him like he was some adorable blood-streaked stray. So today, he was going to get her back.

While I’ll tell you something if you can keep it secret; he doesn't actually mind. If someone pisses him off he just kills them and makes them into jerky. In fact, if you think tactically people underestimating him just makes it easier for him. 

Plus, she's adorable when he looks up at him with those lovesick puppy eyes. Not to mention the sex is great.

But if she gets to have fun fucking with him, he should have a turn. It’s only fair.

As they walked through the market of whatever this settlement was called—he forgot the name—he waited for the right crowd to form. Vendors, wanderers, bounty hunters. Good. Plenty of ears. Plenty of eyes.

She was walking ahead, humming, looking so damn pleased with the world. Perfect.

He stepped up behind her, looped an arm around her waist, and pulled her in close—dramatically—like some pre-war romance poster. He was Hollywood’s poster boy after all. 

Then, loud enough for everyone nearby to hear, “There she is, my little killer. My dusty darlin’. My sweet pile of radiated sugar.”

Heads turned. The blacksmith actually stopped hammering. Somewhere, a gecko made a confused chirping noise.

She blinked, paused— Then beamed.

“Oh, are we doing nicknames now?” she said, grabbing his duster lapels and practically melting against him. “God, I love when you get romantic in public. Say it again, but with feeling.”

Cooper froze. “Wait—what?”

“You’re so sweet when you’re trying to be mean to me,” she said, cupping his face. “My big angry pumpkin. My leather-wrapped chainsaw. My little apocalypse cuddle bug.”

There was laughing now. Real laughing. From every direction.

“Cuddle bug,” someone snorted behind them.

Cooper’s jaw twitched. “I will end you.”

She just kissed his cheek. “No, you won’t. You started this.”

“I was trying to humiliate you.”

“And I loved it,” she whispered, practically glowing.

A young scavenger nearby clapped like it was a stage show.

Cooper stared into the sky like he was praying for a meteor.

He turned and started walking away while she hung from him,  “I hate you.”

“You love me.”

“…Unfortunately.”

≫ ────── ≪•◦ ❈ ◦•≫ ────── ≪

 •Kermit’s Masterlist•

[call-me-kermit]

You Be The Daddy

• Part 1 • Part 2 • Part 3 • Part 4 • Part 5? • Word Count: 4849 Read Time: 20min Warnings: Sick Cooper, Canon Violence, Cooper Gets Angry, Dead Dudes Everywhere Summary: Cooper is running low on vials, and the girls have to save the day. Then Copper returns the favor. Rating: PG-13 Notes: Not sure if I'll continue this, unless people want more, lmk. Not Proofread

≫ ────── ≪•◦ ❈ ◦•≫ ────── ≪

The sun beat down as they made their way across a stretch of cracked highway, the asphalt faded and buckled from decades of heat and neglect. Empty cars sat like bones along the edges, sun-bleached, stripped bare, rusted into place. Sally walked between them, occasionally hopping from one faded line to another like it was a game. The adults kept pace behind her, eyes sweeping the landscape, voices low.

“We can’t stay in the lowlands,” She said. “Too exposed. If they’ve got their blimps making rounds, they’ll sweep the obvious routes.”

Cooper nodded. “Agreed. There’s a safe route through the ridgebacks west of here. Old scavenger trails. Remote. Fewer eyes.”

“Supplies?”

“There’s a depot two days out. I’ve got it marked. Might still be usable.”

She frowned. “And after that?”

Cooper glanced at her, serious now. “There’s a town. Small. Quiet. No bounty boards, no contracts, and plenty of people willing to keep secrets if you pay 'em right.”

She studied his face. “You sure?”

“No.” He huffed a humorless laugh. “But it’s the best shot we’ve got.”

Before she could reply, Sally suddenly called over her shoulder, “If you could only eat one thing for the rest of your life, what would it be?”

They both blinked.

Cooper cleared his throat. “Uh… What?”

Sally turned, walking backward now, grinning. “Come on. One food. Forever.”

She sighed. “Sally, we’re trying to—”

“Peanut butter,” Cooper said. She shot him a look, grin on her lips.

He shrugged. “Goes with everything. Sweet, savory. Can’t beat the versatility.”

Sally nodded, satisfied. “Yummy choice.”

“Glad to have your approval,” he muttered, then turned back to the woman. “Anyway, that town—”

“Wait,” Sally interrupted again. “What’s the weirdest thing you’ve ever eaten?”

She exhaled slowly. “Sally.”

“Jerky made from mutant goat,” Cooper replied. Wasn’t goat, but an eight year old doesn’t need to know he’s become fond of “ass jerky”.

Sally made a face. “Ew.”

“It was that or starve.”

“Did it taste like goat?”

“It tasted like chicken.” Sally laughed at that, trotting ahead again, satisfied.

She lowered her voice. “You really think this town of yours will protect her?”

“I think it’s a place to breathe,” he said. “And right now, that’s what she needs. What we need.”

She looked at him for a long moment. “You’re really in this.”

“I don’t half-ass things I care about.”

“Do you care about her?”

His eyes softened. “Yeah. I do.”

There was a pause.

She looked at him again. “And me?”

Cooper opened his mouth—but Sally shouted again: “Wait! What about the cutest animal you’ve ever seen?!”

He groaned, laughing. “Dog.”

She gave him a look, amused despite herself. “That sounded like a dodge.”

Cooper grinned. “What can I say? Timing’s always been my strong suit.”

And as they continued down the fractured road, danger still ahead and shadows behind them, they walked like something that almost resembled a family—battered, strange, imperfect.

By the time the rusted sign of the depot came into view — half-sunken into a dune, scrawled over with warnings in faded red paint — Cooper was lagging behind.

He didn’t say anything at first. Just adjusted his saddle bag on his shoulder, kept his head down, kept walking. But she saw it. The way his steps started to drag. The roughness in his breath. The cough he couldn’t quite hide anymore.

By the time they reached the cover of a broken rail car on the edge of the depot grounds, he was leaning against the metal like it was holding him up.

“Coop,” She said, sharp now. “What is it?”

He waved her off. “Just… long walk. Don’t worry about it.”

She stepped closer. “Cut the crap.” Sally stood watching, unsure of what to do or what was happening. 

He didn’t answer. Just reached into his coat and pulled out a small glass vial, nearly empty. A faint yellow liquid clung to the bottom. He held it up to the light, jaw clenched.

Sally’s eyes widened. “That’s your medicine.”

He didn’t look at the girl. “Yeah.”

“You didn’t tell me you needed—”

“Didn’t need to. Not until now.” He finally looked at her, something raw behind his eyes. “I’ve been stretching the doses. Got maybe one left. After that…” His voice cracked, and he coughed hard, stumbling a bit. She caught his arm.

“You start to go feral,” she finished quietly. He nodded, eyes low.

From beside them, Sally’s voice piped up. “What’s feral?”

They both turned. She was watching, brows knit, sensing the tension even if she didn’t fully understand it.

She crouched down beside her. “It’s…like the other ghouls we saw. When people like Cooper get really sick, they lose control. They forget who they are.”

Sally looked over at him, eyes watering. “You’re not gonna forget me, are you?”

Cooper gave her a tired smile. “Hell no. You’re unforgettable.”

“Than lets keep moving.” She ushered, wrapping and arm around him. He stared in offence that she’d asume we wanted, much less, needed her help to walk.

“I’m fine.” He objected, however he did not removed his arm from around her shoulder. She just stared at him blankly, unimpressed, until he coughed again. “Let's go.” He grumbled.

Sally, ever the lady, came up to hold his free hand, insisting silently that she was helping carry his stumbling weight. 

While they drew closer to the old trainstation, Cooper grumbled, “They fortified since last I’s here.” 

“Somthing spooked them.” Sally, ever the detective, thought out loud. He hummed and gave her hand a squeeze.

Three of them stood at the main entrance, spirits slung low, a faded sign hung above the gate:

NO GHOULS. NO EXCEPTIONS.

Cooper coughed again, doubled over for a moment. “Yeah. Charming, aren’t they?” They crept back behind a wrecked cargo hauler, out of view of the gates. She scanned the perimeter again, jaw tight. 

“That sign’s not bluffing. They see you, they shoot.”

He nodded grimly, already sagging against the rusted metal. They stood in silence for a beat.

Then she dropped her pack and started digging through his pocket. She took his inhaler, removing the empty vial from the gadget to look it over, hoping for a label. 

Cooper blinked. “What are you doing?”

“Going in.”

He tried to straighten. “No—”

“You can barely breathe,” she snapped. “You’re in no shape to walk, much less negotiate with back-alley chem dealers!” 

“Some—” He coughed, allowing her to come closer to balance him. “Some ‘bout you yellin’ at me is nice.” He smirked. She rolled her eyes and forced him to sit.

“Keep it up and there’s plenty more where that came from.” 

“Promise?” He teased, typing to lighten the mood for both their sakes. She was having none of it right now. 

“Flirt when you’re not dying, Coop.” Her stare hardened. Her gaze flicked toward Sally, who watched like it Cooper would drop dead any second, then softened. “You lose control, she runs. Got it?”

He nodded weakly. “I’ll be good.”

Sally took his hand — not with fear, but with determination.

She hesitated one more moment, eyes scanning his leather skin, the way his jaw clenched between coughs. They way his eyes looked over her face like he as memorising something. The way his lips moving like they wanted to say something. 

As her silhouette disappeared against the shimmer of the sunbaked dust, Sally sat beside Cooper and leaned gently against his arm.

He didn’t look at her, but his voice was rough and raw. “You scared, Hun?”

She shrugged. “I’m used to scary.”

He managed a dry chuckle. “You’re tougher than I am.”

She glanced up at him. “Promise me you won’t go weird.”

“I’ll do my best.”

There was a pause.

“You okay?”

He smiled faintly. “Ask me again when y’mama gets back.”

Another pause. 

Then she added, “If you do get weird, I’m hitting you with a rock.”

He smiled, a wheez on his breath.

“Deal.”

≫ ────────────────── ≪

The depot stank of sweat, fuel, and tension.

She moved through the maze of stalls like a shadow, one hand on the pistol at her hip. The people here had that edge — hollow eyes, sun-split skin, twitchy fingers too close to triggers. Trust was as rare as clean water.

She reached the perimeter, where a boxy, olive-drab vehicle squatted between two dead generators. A crooked sign above it read “Meds & Chems – Discreet Rates.” A wiry man leaned in the hatch, skin sunburned and peeling, goggles pushed up onto a sweat-slick forehead. He eyed her like he measured threats for a living.

“You got vials?” She asked, tone firm, as to say ‘I dont have all day’.

“Who’s asking?”

“Someone with caps,” she said, pulling a pouch from her coat and letting it jingle.

That softened his stare, but not by much. “You sick?”

“Not me. He’s waiting outside.”

“Then he can come buy it himself.”

“He’s a ghoul,” she said flatly. “And this depot’s about as friendly to his kind as a sledgehammer to the skull.”

He snorted. “Oh yeah.” A look on his face like thinking of a fond memory. 

“He’s not feral.”

“Yet.” He seamed uninterested to help, but seemed keen to waste her time. 

“You gonna sell or what?” She shook the pouch like you’d shake a box of treats to lure out your pet cat. He Said nothing and waved her off. 

Her jaw tightened and she glared the man down, downsizing him to nothing more than roach between her and what she wants. Her grip on her pistol tighening as she imagianed shooting him and just taking all of what he had, but a place like this would tear her apart before she reached the gate. 

Her grip moved from her gun to the inhaler she’d taken with her. Looking down at it, longing for a vial to magiacly appear in it for Cooper’s sake. She turned to go back in hops there was another chems stall to buy from. 

“Where’d you get that?” The man asked, face like he’d seen a ghost. She followed his eyes to cooper’s inhaler. 

“Belongs to my friend.” She watched closely, puting in away in favor of a the gun on her hip. 

“You’re pals with the ghoul?” His eyes were wide with a terror she never seen.

“The ghoul?” She questioned, head tilted, eyes trained on him for any unsavery movement. His eyes snapped from burning a hole in her pocket to her eyes. 

“The bounty hunter. The sharpest shooter. The Ghoul.” He gulped. 

“The cowboy?” She clarified with an amused smirk. So Cooper was a revered bounty hunter this side of the waetland, huh? Yet, he plays cookie thief with little girls behind his reputation’s back. 

He was so gonna get an earful. 

“Say,” She nodded, using the mans fear to her advantage. “We were playing nice with him waiting outside and all. If I go back out there without his shit,” She shrugged. “It’s not gonna be nice for either of us.” 

“Well—” The man, thought for a moment. The color drained from his face like someone pulled the plug. “Please just go.”

She frowned, “Why are you so afraid?” She stepped closer, eger and growing afraid herself. “Tell me.”

The vendor licked his lips. “He’s called The Ghoul, no name— not just any ghoul. People whisper it like a curse. Said he took down a whole raider clan after they stole a bounty from him — burned their camp to ash. They say he left the leader alive, just enough to scream. Another time? Mercenary crew tried to cheat him on a bounty. He sent their heads back in a mail crate.”

She blinked, but didn’t move.

“He’s quiet,” The man muttered, “but when he snaps, he doesn’t stop until the ground’s red. I've seen dogs go feral slower than him. Been around so long, I heard ghost stories of him when I was a kid.”

She swallowed that. Didn’t let it show.

“So give me the medicine,” she said, voice firm.

He hesitated.

“I’m not him,” she added, stepping forward again, “but if he dies because you got stingy, I’ll make sure the last face you ever see is mine.”

He flinched.

Then, slowly, he turned and pulled open the hatch. He came back with a dented tin case and held it out with trembling hands. She cracked open the box and smiled at the sight of what must have been fifteen vials layed neatly on cloth. 

“Smart man,” she muttered, tucking it into her pack.

He stared at her like she was radioactive.

“I didn’t think anyone could stand being near him,” he whispered.

She looked back briefly. Then she was gone. 

≫ ────────────────── ≪

Cooper leaned against the wall, wheezing softly. His fingers twitched now and then, the tremors harder to hide. Sally had tried to distract him by pointing out clouds that looked like animals. He’d humored her for a while. Now, he just watched the road, trying to keep his mind from unraveling.

“She’s taking a long time,” Sally murmured.

“She’ll be back,” he said, though his voice was dry and faraway.

“You think people are scared of you?”

He looked at her. Thought about it.

“Yeah,” he said finally. “Sometimes they should be.”

“Why?”

“I did things. Before this. When the world ended, I didn’t. And for a while… I was angry that I didn’t.”

Sally didn’t say anything. Just reached over and took his hand. They sat like that for a while — his hand trembling in hers, her grip small but steady. 

Sally saw her silhouette first, budding Cooper to look. She was walking fast.

“She’s back,” he said, and something close to relief cracked through the weight in his chest.

Sally’s hand squeezed his. “Told you.”

Her boots crunched against gravel as she approached, and the moment Cooper saw the tin case in her hand, the tension in his shoulders sagged like a punctured tent.

“You made it,” he rasped.

“Of course I did,” she said, kneeling beside him and opening the case. “You owe me something sparkly and impossible to find.”

“Got box of ammo and one more peanutbutter meal bar.” He offered with a cheery grin. 

“Romantic,” she muttered, but her smile broke through anyway.

She popped the seal on one of the vials and helped guide his shaking hands to the inhaler. He fumbled the first time — she steadied him without a word. He loaded a vial and lefted it hungrely to his lips and hissed as the serum hit his lungs. A beat of silence. Then a slow exhale, like someone letting go of a breath held for too many years.

Life bloomed back into his face. Not much, but enough. The twitch behind his eye eased. His shoulders stopped coiling like wires.

“Hell,” he whispered. “That’s better than sex.”

“Wouldn’t know,” she replied smoothly, but there was a teasing tint to her voice.

His eyes found hers, a sly smile on his lips, “Shame.”

Sally crawled over from her sun-bleached perch, arms thrown around Cooper’s midsection like she was tackling a tree trunk. “You’re not dying!”

He grunted, still a little weak. “Give me five more minutes, I might reconsider.”

She giggled into his coat.

She sat beside them, watching the two — the scarred hunter and the orphan girl — curl into each other like they’d done it a thousand times. A strange knot loosened in her chest.

It was almost peaceful.

Almost.

And yet…

Her eyes drifted to the used inhaler in his hand. The way he held it so casually — like a man used to managing his own damage. Like this wasn’t the first time he’d walked the knife’s edge.

She thought of the vendor stammering with fear.

“He took down a raider clan.”

“He left the leader alive just to scream.” 

“Sent their heads back in a mail crate.”

She hadn’t asked if it was true. Didn’t want to. She looked at Cooper — now gently ruffling Sally’s tangled hair, whispering something that made the girl smile through her dirt-streaked cheeks.

He didn’t look like a monster.

But monsters usually didn’t.

“Hey,” he said, glancing at her. “You’re staring like I grew a second head.”

“Just wondering how many people you’ve scared half to death.”

He shrugged. “Define ‘half.’”

She rolled her eyes, but the grin tugging at her lips was involuntary.

They watched the sun drop behind the depot. For a little while, they didn’t speak — just let the silence fill with warmth and the scent of scorched wind.

“Thank you,” Cooper said eventually. His voice was quiet. Real.

“For the vials. And for… y’know. Not bailing.”

She didn’t look at him when she answered, “Don’t make me regret it.”

He gave her a crooked smile, “No promises.”

≫ ────────────────── ≪

The fire crackled low in the hollow of an old highway drainage ditch, the flame flickering inside the rusted ribcage of an overturned trash barrel. Beyond the circle of light, the wasteland stretched in all directions — cracked and cold under the violet-blue twilight sky.

They were three days out from the depot now, moving steadily toward a town Cooper swore would take them in — a quiet place tucked up in the hills, where ghouls weren’t shot at on sight, and people didn’t ask too many questions. Supplies had been gathered, precautions taken, and hope... cautiously rationed.

Now, with a modest camp set up and dinner finished, Cooper stood up with a quiet grunt and stretched.

“Be right back,” he said, grabbing his sidearm with a yawn. “If anything attacks, scream like your life depends on it.”

“It usually does,” She muttered. He winked and disappeared into the gloom.

Sally waited until he was out of earshot, then scooted closer to her, wrapped in a threadbare blanket. Her face was half-hidden in the hood of an old sweatshirt two sizes too big for her, but her eyes were wide and sparkling.

“Hey, mama,” she whispered conspiratorially.

“Hmm?”

“Do you like him?”

She blinked. “What?”

“Cooper.”

Her brows lifted, caught off guard. “What makes you think I do?”

Sally grinned. “You look at him all soft.”

“I do not.”

“You do.” She giggled. “It’s okay. He looks at you like that, too.”

She glanced toward the trees, where Cooper had vanished, then back to Sally with a sigh and the ghost of a smile. “He’s… complicated.”

“That means yes.”

Shelaughed under her breath. “It means ‘not now.’”

“But he’s nice. In a grumpy, funny way. And he always gives me the bigger piece of jerky even when he thinks I don’t notice.”

She smiled again, gentler this time. “He is nice. To the people he cares about at least.” Her mind wonders back to the things she’d learned, the expect of his cruelty as a bounty hunter. 

Sally leaned in, her eyes big with excitement. “He told me once that your glare scares him more than raiders do.”

Her eyebrows shot up. “He said that?” Sally nodded, giggling. She covered her mouth, stifling a laugh.

“Okay, okay, that’s enough,” she said, shaking her head. “You’re way too young to be this nosy.”

“I just notice things, mama,” Sally said proudly.

They fell quiet for a moment, the crackle of the fire their only company. Crickets chirped in the distance. A soft breeze carried the dry scent of sagebrush and old metal.

Then she leaned close and whispered, “...But yeah. I think I might like him.”

Sally beamed, her entire face lighting up, “So he’s my daddy?” 

“Sally Kane.” She warned, her eyes wide in shock. 

“What?” Sally pouted. She shook her head and tried not to laugh.

A faint rustle in the brush snatched her attention. Then another. Too soft for Cooper’s boots. Her spine stiffened. Her arm closed around Sally, drawing her close and reaching for her pistol.

“Stay still,” she whispered. Sally sat up fast, alarm flashing in her face.

That’s when a hoarse voice broke the stillness, “Well, well... would you look at this.”

Three shapes emerged from the dark — smeared in ash and grease, armor stitched together from bone and scrap metal. Yellow teeth flashed beneath blood-crusted scarves and bandanas. One had a jagged axe made from an old streen sign across his back. Another clutched a rusted rifle like a toy.

The third — older, thinner, and crueler-looking — stepped forward and leered at Sally.

“Did I hear that right?” he asked. “You say the kid’s name was Sally Kane?”

She rose in a smooth motion, pulling Sally behind her with one arm, pistol gleaming in her free hand.

“Walk away.”

But the leader grinned wider. “Nah. See, that name? It’s worth a lot of caps. Dead or alive.”

Behind him, one of the others chuckled.

“That name’s been on the boards a lot lately.”

She raised her pistol. “Final warning.”

They didn’t listen. He gestured, and the two others started to fan out. She hissed, eyes darting for cover — none. The fire had made them visible. Sitting ducks.

“I don’t think you know who you’re messing with,” she warned. Eyes watching the trees for Cooper’s return.

“Don’t care,” the leader said, raising a pistol.

The second raider lunged left. She swung the pistol toward him, aiming to kill—but the third rushed right, too fast.

A blur. A flash of pain.

She cried out as a rusted pipe cracked against her side. She hit the dirt hard, her pistol skidding out of reach into the dark.

She rolled, reaching for it—but a boot slammed down on her wrist.

The leader grinned down at her. “Should’ve stayed quiet, sweetheart.”

She twisted, kicked, but another boot came down on her chest, pinning her. She could only watch as Sally screamed. One of the raiders had her by the arm, dragging her back into the dark. She kicked wildly, clawing, shouting Cooper’s name.

“Mama! Cooper! Help me!”

“Let her go!” She screamed, voice raw, thrashing under the weight of the raider on top of her. Sally’s screams echoed in the night as she was held tightly in the raider’s grip, pulled from her line of sight. Her vision blurred with fury and fear, her fingers scrabbling at the dirt, reaching for anything—

“Shut her up and bag her—”

Click.

That sound froze the air like winter wind.

A single revolver hammer cocking back, slow and deliberate.

The leader turned.

There, just outside the ring of firelight, stood Cooper.

Wide-brimmed hat low over his eyes. Duster coat flaring in the midnight breeze. His six-shooter leveled steadily in his hand.

“Boys,” he said, voice calm as a still pond, “I’d let go of my girls if I was you.”

The raiders hesitated.

“You The Ghoul?” Their leader growled. “The bounty hunter?”

Cooper stepped forward, spurs jangling with every bootfall. “That’s what they call me.”

“You’re dead, freak.”

Cooper didn’t blink. “Only on the inside.” A dark look in his eye as he smiled.

He fired once. The bullet took the first man through the eye, spinning him backward into the dirt. The body fell to the dirt, releasing the pressure on her chest allowing air she didnt know she was lacking to return to her. 

“Easy, Darlin’.” He warned as she sat up, searching the dark for sally. 

The other two bolted—one pulling Sally, the other raising a rifle. Another shot. Precise. Measured. Cold.

The rifleman went down twitching. The last raider — the one holding Sally — stumbled, panicked, fumbling with a knife.

Cooper holstered his revolver, then walked toward him.

Slow.

Deliberate.

Predator.

The man dropped Sally and tried to run. Sally stumbled to her feet, tripping and crawling towards Cooper, who never took his eyes off the man. 

“Get to your mama, hun.” He grabbed him by the back of the neck and slammed him against the wreck of an old guardrail. “You don’t touch her. You don’t look at her. You breathe in her direction again—”

He put force on the man’s windpipe, watching with gritted teeth as his eyes bulged and tears flowed. Then, with a sharp twist and crack, let him fall. A beast made of rage and ruin.

Silence.

The wind carried dust across the bloodstained dirt.

Sally ran back to her side, collapsing in her arms, sobbing. She held her tight, eyes still wide, breath ragged.

Cooper came back into the firelight, jaw clenched, hands bloody, breathing heavy.

He didn’t say anything. He didn’t need to.

She looked at him — really looked — and saw the man the vendor had warned her about.

And yet he knelt beside Sally, wiped his hands on his coat, and brushed her hair from her tear-streaked face.

“You okay, hun?” 

She nodded through hiccups.

“I’m sorry,” he murmured. “I shouldn’t have left.”

Sally reached out, grabbed his hand, and clung.

She watched them, her heart racing.

She’d seen the monster. But she still didn’t know if that made him less human or more.

The fire had burned down to soft embers, casting long shadows that danced across the camp.

Sally was nestled tight between her and Cooper, her tiny hands still shaking, but she was safe now — breathing slowly, pressed close. Cooper held her like something sacred. One arm around her, the other wrapped protectively over Sally, as if his body alone could keep the world out.

He didn’t speak for a long time.

She rested her head on his shoulder, blood still drying at her temple— hers or a raider's, she didn’t know. She didn’t push him to talk — but when she looked up, his jaw was tight, his eyes distant. Somewhere else.

“I had a daughter,” he said finally, voice low, like gravel in his throat. “Long time ago. Before the radiation got in me. Before the world… changed.”

Her hand slid across his chest, resting gently, “What was shelike?”

Cooper smiled faintly. “She was a whirlwind. Smart. Too smart. She used to boss around kids twice her age — had this look, like she could stare right through you and find the truth hiding in your bones. She looked justa beautiful as her mother, acted just like me most’a the time.”

Cooper looked down at Sally, asleep from the adrenaline crash, curled against him like some small ember of light.

“I thought I was done. Nothing left to fight for but the pay and the gun.” He pulled them closer. “I ain’t leaving again,” he murmured. “Not this time. Not unless someone puts me in the ground for good.”

She spoke, her voice soft. “You don’t have to promise that.”

“I already did,” he said. “Every time I looked at her.”

The wasteland had gone still. Even the wind seemed to hush around their small camp, as if the desert itself knew better than to intrude. Sally mumbled something in her sleep and pressed tighter against Cooper’s side. He shifted slightly, careful not to wake her, one arm still wrapped around the little girl, the other resting at her back.

She smiled faintly. “You’re good with her. Sally.”

“Just doin’ what I wish someone did for mine.” A bittersweet smile twitched at his lip. Then, Cooper turned his head, meeting her gaze in the low firelight. His voice dropped, rough but gentle, “You’re good with her, too. And me.”

She quirked a brow. “Are you saying you require parenting?”

“Not… not exactly,” he said with a smirk, life coming back to his eyes. “But I reckon I wouldn’t mind someone keepin’ an eye on me now and then.”

She laughed, low in her throat, and leaned in, her voice barely a breath, “You trying to flirt again, cowboy?”

“Tryin’?” he murmured. “I thought I’d been pretty consistent.”

She reached up, her hand brushing his jaw, rough and cold, but familiar now. Steady. She looked at him for a long moment, her expression soft. She looked at him, and there was a long, fragile moment where neither of them spoke. Then she leaned in, resting her forehead against his. The contact was light. Careful. Like touching a live wire. He didn’t flinch.

“Yeah,” she said. “You have. Since the moment we first met, even though you planned to kill me.” She grinned, feeling like that was years ago now.  And before he could say another word, she kissed him — slow, careful, as if afraid the moment might break.

He didn’t pull away. His eyes closed as he leaned into it, savoring something long-forgotten. Something real.

Part of him felt guilty for wanting his. The other reasoned that after his two hundred years spent alone and longing, with how strained his relationship with Barb was towards the end, that he deserved happiness. 

When she pulled back, their foreheads touched, and for a breath, neither of them moved.

Sally stirred again, shifting against his chest. Cooper smiled down at her, his voice just above a whisper, “Think I’m startin’ to remember what it feels like to be alive.”

“You’re not alone anymore, Cooper,” she whispered. The stars stretched overhead, bright and cold, but around their little fire, there was warmth.

≫ ────── ≪•◦ ❈ ◦•≫ ────── ≪

≪•◦ BACK   •   NEXT ◦•≫

 •Kermit’s Masterlist•

[call-me-kermit]

You Be The Daddy

• Part 1 • Part 2 • Part 3 • Part 4 • Word Count: 4862 Read Time: 20min Warnings: Mild PTSD, Codenames, Anti-Ghoul Hate Speech, True or Dare, Canon Violence Summary: Cooper opens up more; he really is starting to like having the girls around. Rating: PG-13 Notes: Not Proofread

≫ ────── ≪•◦ ❈ ◦•≫ ────── ≪

They made the mad decision to try and get further along before dark. Traveling through the city of rubble, they kept their eyes peeled for danger and shelter for the night, as it was coming soon. 

The wind was dry and sharp, carrying flecks of ash and grit across the street, making them cough when it blew into their faces. They walked single file — Cooper at the front, eyes sweeping the horizon, hand resting on his revolver. She stayed close behind, one hand resting lightly on Sally’s shoulder as the girl trudged in silence between them.

The sun hung low, casting long, warped shadows. Every few steps, Sally flinched at nothing. Her head would jerk toward a sound that wasn’t there — a crunch of gravel, the wind whistling through a fencepost, a creak of Cooper’s boots.

She didn’t say much. But she didn’t need to.

They saw it.

The slack in her shoulders. The way she gripped her caretakers  hand a little tighter each hour. Her wide eyes.

Cooper, tense like never before, approached what resembled an old apartment building, waving her to keep at a distance. They followed him through the building, upstairs and down hallways, about ten feet behind at all times. He opened a door down the hall, searching the space and waving them along. 

They settled into the dusty rubble of a half-collapsed apartment, making do with a couch, a coffee table, and, surprisingly, a fireplace. The  windows were all shattered, glass laying scattered on the cracked and creaking. Cooper made quick work of starting a small fire, not one meant to keep them warm, but rather for some light.

She took Sally's bag and set it beside hers, pulling Sally against her on the couch. The little girl curled into her side and watched Cooper start the fire and get settled, tossing his saddle bag beside him on the arm of the couch. 

“You’re safe now, Sally,” she said gently. “No one’s gonna hurt you. Not while we’re here.”

Sally stared into the fire, not moving, even blinking for a long moment. Almost as if she were so lost in thought, she didn’t hear. She hadn’t spoken since the incident. 

Then she whispered, “I keep seeing it. That... thing. The way it moved. The sounds it made.” Her voice cracked. “I see it when I close my eyes.”

Cooper exhaled slowly. She turned to look at him, eyes asking for answers. 

“Sally,” The woman prompted gently. 

“It looked like you. . .” Her eyes were sad, almost mournful. Cooper nodded, reaching for his bag, sorting through and retrieving a tin box. The girls watched him closely, Sally transfixed on every move he made. 

He opened it and pulled a vial of yellow-orange fluid, the name of which was unknown to the girls. He didn't look as he loaded the vial into his inhaler, tossing the old, empty one into the corner— nobody flinched as it smashed. 

“It’s the radiation, Hun.” He explained, voice softer than either of them had ever heard. “The bombs— when they fell, they made lots of folk sick. If it didn’t kill you, well, you’d end up like me.” He flashed an empty smile. 

“You’re sick?” Sally’s voice trembled. He chanced a look and gulped, watching hir bottom lip quiver. 

He took a long drag of his inhaler before answering, “Yeah.” He swallowed. “Mutated, Hun. I ain’t quit human anymore, not for a real long time.”

“That person today—”

“That's just what happens when the radiation makes y’sick,” He sighed, gesturing to his inhaler, the fluid almost glowing as the light from the fire reflected through the glass vial. “This keeps me from becoming what y’saw out there today.”

Sally scooted over and against his side. Cooper looked at the two of them — saw the tension in the woman’s jaw, the effort it took to stay calm, the sympathetic gleam in her eye. Then he kicked his feet up on the table and let his free hand lie across the back of the couch, inviting them both to get cozy against his side. 

“You know,” he said, voice hushed, “I used to talk to ghosts.”

Sally blinked up at him.

“After the war—  the bombs,” he added. “Things I saw. Things I did. They’d crawl into my dreams, whisper to me while I was awake. Couldn’t shut ’em up.”

“What’d you do?”

He stared into the fire, “Tried drinking. Didn’t help. Tried fighting more things. Also didn’t help.”

“What did help?”

His head turned, looking straight into the woman's gaze as her head lay against the back of the couch, against his arm, “Pretended.” 

“Huh?” Sally frowned, shifting to get cozy between them. 

“Pretend the monsters don’t scare you. Pretend you’re brave.” He ruffled Sally’s hair lightly. “Eventually, you forget you’re pretending.” Sally didn’t say anything. But her hand found his and squeezed it.

There was a long silence, long enough the the fire to die and for Sally to start snoring away. Sally slept soundly now, her head tucked into Cooper's side, her hand clutching a fold of the woman’s sleeve like an anchor. Neither adult moved for a long while. The wind whistled outside, soft and low, like it didn’t want to wake the dead.

“She’s tougher than she knows,” Cooper said eventually, voice quiet in the dark.

“She shouldn’t have to be,” She replied.

Silence again.

“She reminds me of my sister,” She added after a moment. “Same age, before... everything.”

“What happened?” He asked softly. “What made you wander the wastland?” 

She looked up at the stars through a gap in the broken concrete wall. “Wrong place. Wrong time.”

Cooper didn’t press.

“I told myself I’d never be responsible for another kid again,” she continued. “Too much to lose.”

He looked at her — understanding that sentiment more that she realized. “But here you are.”

She gave a weak smile. “Guess I’m a hypocrite.”

He glanced down at Sally, curled up between them, her brow finally smooth, her breathing soft and even.

“Nah,” he said. “You’re human.”

She turned her gaze on him. “And you? What’s your excuse for playing hero?”

He shrugged, but the weight behind it didn’t feel light. He said nothing, and she didn’t press. 

She looked down at Sally. “She trusts you.”

“That’s terrifying,” he said, then added more quietly, “but it means something.”

Another pause. The quiet was thick and strange — not uncomfortable, just unfamiliar.

And for the first time in a long while, neither of them felt the need to keep watch.

Because for one fragile moment, they weren’t bounty and hunter.

Not fugitives. Not ghosts.

Just two broken people lying in the dark with a sleeping child between them, and the slow, terrifying realization that they might finally care about someone again.

≫ ────────────────── ≪

The desotlet town blended seamlessly into a well defended settlement, guarded by men in matching armor with guns. It was a patchwork of crumbling buildings and rusted prefab shacks huddled between them, with a still-functioning water tower. But it was alive — and that made it dangerous. Gutted vehicles had been turned into storefronts, peddling ammo, food, trinkets. Children ran barefoot down the cracked pavement, laughter echoing like ghosts that hadn’t learned the world had ended.

They entered from the west road, Cooper’s hat brim low, coat pulled tight. The woman walked beside him, a subtle lean in her posture that kept Sally tucked between them — not too obvious, just enough.

Sally's eyes were wide, darting from food carts to a man juggling knives on a crate, “Whoa…” she whispered. “This is… almost normal.”

“Normal’s the most dangerous thing there is,” Cooper said without looking.

“Don’t ruin it,” the woman chided gently. “This place smells like hot socks and beans.”

“Can’t be picky, Darlin’,” Cooper muttered.“Better than dead bodies and ash.”

“Barely,” the woman said.

But Sally wasn’t listening. She had stopped in front of a vendor selling dusty pre-war toys, staring at a cracked doll with tangled yellow hair. Cooper eyed the crowd, checking faces, movements, exits. Every instinct in him screamed to keep walking.

Both the adults shared concered looks. They knew they had marks on their head if anyone figured Sally was the girl from the bounty. Cooper scowled at the bounty board across the way, four men debating which was worth hunting next. It was dangrous for them to be passing through right now, get here they were. Trying to play it cool, and failing, her more than him.

Sally noticed and turned, arms crossed, “Alright,” she said. “New rule.”

“Oh?” Cooper grunted. He found himself amused by the “intimidating” pout on her face and the impatient tap of her foot. 

“We need code names.”

The woman raised a brow. “What?”

Cooper didn’t slow. “No, we don’t.”

“Yes, we do!” Sally cut in, hurrying to keep up. “A  cool fake name like the Silver Shroud on a mission!”

“I already don’t use my real name,” Cooper protested. He stopped and turned to look at the girl, “The what-now?” 

Sally nodded, agreeing with her own words, deadly serious. “We’re hiding, right? That way, if someone’s listening, they won’t know who we are.” She whispered, looking at them like they were dumb for not understanding what a codename was.

Cooper’s mouth twitched. “Y’think anyone’s gunnin’ for a tiny outlaw who’s five apples tall?”

“I’m not that small.” Sally whined, glaring at the ghoul. Cooper teaseingly put his hand on top of her head and pulled it across to his body, showing with a cocky grin how she just managed to reach his navel. She whacked at his hand and grumbled something about him being mean, to which he just smiled and let her.

“They don’t know our names,” The woman grinned watching them argue like Cooper himself was an eight year old.. “Just yours, honey.” 

“Sheriff.” Sally ignored her and pointed at Cooper with a glare that could only melt hearts.

“Ha!” The slapped a hand over her mouth, Cooper glaring her way half heartedly. “Well, howdy, Sheriff.” She mimicked his drawl, giggling at the way his face twisted in response. 

“You think thats funny, doll?” He tilted his head, sucking his teeth. She couldn’t help but laugh, Sally giggling along, not really understanding but just happy to be involved.

“Fine,” He gritted his teeth, taking a step closer. “If, I’m sheriff, you’re Vixen.” His eyes swept over her form hungrily. Her laugh dying in her throat, clearing it and convinently finding something interesting to look at away from him. He hummed, cocky and satisfied. 

“Oh, oh,” Sally jumped excitedly. “Whats mine?”

“Princsess.” He said flatly, like it was the most obvious thing in the world. 

“Yay, cool!” Sally declared, clearly pleased, “See? Now we’re invisible.”

“You got a real generous idea of what that word means,” Cooper muttered, the girls following along as he started walking. He relaxed a little as they moved deeper into the market — maybe it was the small joy Sally carried, maybe it was the way the woman laughed again, just under her breath, like the weight of survival had lifted for one afternoon.

The market meandered like a lazy river through crowded streets, winding between broken foundations and rust-bitten awnings. The sun hung low, bleeding gold over the cracked pavement, and for once, the shadows didn’t feel like they were crawling.

Cooper walked with a measured pace, his eyes darting through the crowd while his hand stayed near his hip. But for all his practiced caution, there was something different in the way he moved — not stiff or guarded, but relaxed in the way a man might be before flanked by people he trusted.

They stopped at a food stall manned by a scarred old woman who sold dust-covered potatos and carrots out of faded ammo crates.

“Ten caps for the five,” she grunted, not bothering to look up.

Cooper grunted back, digging into his coat. “That ain’t food, that’s compost with ambition.”

The woman shrugged. “Still better than radroach jerky.”

Sally grabbed an carrot, wrinkling her nose. “It’s squishy.”

“You’re squishy,” Cooper muttered, taking it and setting it down where she found it.

The woman finally glanced up — and her eyes lingered. On Cooper’s hand, resting protectively near Sally’s shoulder. On the woman beside him, watching the interaction with practiced calm.

“You folks passin’ through?” she asked, voice a little warmer now.

“Just pickin’ up supplies,” the woman said evenly.

The trader smiled faintly, eyes crinkling. “Nice to see a family like yours still stickin’ together out here. Sweet girl you got there.”

Cooper opened his mouth, but Sally beat him to it, “He’s my daddy!”

Cooper blinked. The woman stiffened. The trader looked delighted.

“Oh! Well now, that makes sense,” she chuckled. “She’s got your eyes.”

The woman turned her head — to hide the smile, maybe. Cooper gave Sally a look, but she just beamed up at him like she'd declared a universal truth.

“I always wanted a dad who shoots stuff and smells like a campfire,” Sally added cheerfully.

Cooper coughed. “That ain’t— I mean, I—”

“He’s a little grumpy,” Sally whispered to the trader. “But he’s just shy.”

The trader leaned in, amused. “Ain’t nothing wrong with a quiet man who takes care of his own. You hold onto him, sweetheart.” The woman was definitely hiding a laugh now. Cooper looked like a man who’d rather be anywhere else — but he didn’t correct the old woman.

As they walked away, Cooper tried to shake the awkward heat rising under his collar. “I’m gonna leave you in a ditch, y’know that?” Sally giggled, not taking the threat seriously. 

The woman walked beside him in silence for a moment, then leaned close — just enough for her shoulder to brush his.

“Sheriff,” she murmured, “you make a pretty good dad.”

He glanced at her, “You laughin’ at me again, Vixen?”

“No,” she said. “Not this time.” She gave him a sideways smile — not mocking this time. Something gentler. 

They didn’t get far before Sally tugged on Cooper’s coat, her mouth puckered in dramatic suffering.

“I’m starving,” she groaned, dragging her boots with exaggerated weight. “My tummy’s trying to eat itself.”

Cooper exhaled through his nose. “Fine.” He spotted a brick building with two flickering neon letters left of its old name — now just "AR." The front was dark, the windows hazed with grime, but the low murmur of voices inside and the faint scent of cooking meat wafting into the street promised at least some kind of food. He motioned them toward the door. “Stay close. No names. No trouble.”

The interior was low-lit and smoky, the kind of place that made you instinctively count exits. A few patrons sat hunched over drinks and bowls of stew at rust-bitten tables. A radio crackled from behind the bar, some pre-war ballad playing low and ghostly. 

Cooper guided them to a booth in the far corner — back to the wall, clear view of the room. He let Sally slide in first, then the woman. He sat last, still watching the room.

A server drifted over, tired and disinterested.

“Three bowls,” Cooper said. “Whatever’s hot.”

The server, a ghoul, grunted and walked off.

Sally leaned over the table. “This place is amazing.” She watched with exited eyes the world of the bar, drunks drinking, men arguing over a game of cards, shouting and laughing in the air, and a random drunk man circiling the room midlessly dancing to the music. 

“It’s a dump,” the woman muttered, though amused by Sally’s wonder and admiration for this place.

“Yeah,” Sally grinned. “Like a secret hideout dump.”

Cooper leaned his elbows on the table, glancing between the two of them. For a second, the tension drained — replaced by something quiet. Something almost warm. It was the kind of moment he used to ignore. He felt it settling in his chest like a stone.

The food came in dented metal bowls, steaming and probably unidentifiable. Sally dug in like she hadn’t eaten in weeks. The woman eyed hers suspiciously.

“Meat?” she asked. 

“Technically,” Cooper said, stirring his with a cracked spoon. He dug in, never one to turn down the mercy of a hot meal. 

She took a bite, “This is criminal.” Though other than her comment, and a slight grimice at the texture of the meat, she ate like it didn’t bother her.

“I’ve eaten worse,” Cooper said.

“You are worse,” she shot back, but her smile undercut the insult.

Sally giggled between bites.

From the corner of his eye, Cooper caught the woman watching him. Something in her eyes wasn’t mocking — it was careful. Thoughtful. She looked away when she noticed him noticing.

“Vixen.”

She sighed. “What?”

“You got soup on your chin.”

She wiped it, scowling. “Do not make that your new nickname for me.”

“No promises, darlin’.” He said, sipping his.

The scrape of the door opening barely registered at first — just another drunk looking to drown out the wasteland. Cooper’s eyes flicked up anyway, as they always did, and landed on the man in the threshold. He was broad-shouldered and sunburnt, with a face like a kicked-in wall and the kind of expression that usually came with a knife behind it. He scanned the room once, zeroed in, and started walking toward their table.

“Incoming, darlin’.” Cooper's bowl hit the table with a soft clink. His hand slid low, fingers brushing the grip of the revolver beneath his coat. The woman stiffened beside him. Sally looked up, still chewing.

The man stopped a few paces away, posture tense.

“Funny,” he said. “Didn’t expect to see you three again.”

Cooper didn’t blink. “That so.” His hand griping ready on his revolver. 

“I saw you earlier. Talkin’ with that old bat at the veggie stand. Thought maybe I was seein’ things. But here you are. All cozy.” Cooper didn’t respond. Just stared him down, still as stone. “Figured no one’d be dumb enough to keep a ghoul around a kid.”

The woman shifted subtly, her body between the man and Sally. “You following us?”

“Nah,” he said, scratching at his chin. ““Guess you’re dumber than you look,” the man muttered. “Ghoul stink all over that girl. What, you get off on pretending to be daddy?”

His eyes locked on Cooper. Then on the woman. Then Sally. The woman stiffened. Cooper still didn’t move. Not a word. He just stared. He’d heard worse. A hundred times over. Idiots like this came baked into the bones of the wasteland. Not worth the bullet.

“Y’don’t look like no family to me,” the man said, voice growing harder. “I get it now, though.” A few patrons turned their heads, curious and nosy. 

The man snorted. “She’s real friendly, ain’t she? Cozyin’ up with rotbags like you. Gotta be real desperate for company.” The woman’s hand curled into a fist on the table. Sally next to her, hiding behind the table.

The man kept going, voice rising, drunk on his own cruelty. “Disgustin’. Letting a freak like you hang around a little girl. Letting him touch her stuff, sit at her table—like he ain’t crawling with radiation and disease.”

Sally went quiet, nothing but a quiet whimper felt fer, her shoulders curling in. The woman’s hand gripped her thigh under the table, tight. Still, Cooper didn’t react. Not yet.  But the woman was shaking now—not from fear, but fury.

The man grinned, misreading the silence for permission, “Bet you even share a bedroll with it. Ain’t you just proud of yourself, lettin’ a corpse crawl between your legs?” Sally’s face crumpled. The woman looked like she’d stopped breathing. “You oughta be ashamed,” the man turned to her. “You look like one of us, but you’re worse. Ghoul-fucker.” He spat, venom in his voice, distust in his eyes. Cooper, hearing that ths man wasnt after the bounty, lost interest, choosing to ignore him. But to her the word hit the air like a gunshot. 

That’s when the server appeared — a tired-eyed woman with mottled, sun-leathered skin and the faint shimmer of old radiation scarring. A fellow ghoul. Her apron was stained, her sleeves rolled.

“That’s enough,” she said, stepping between them. “You’re done here.”

The man glanced at her, gave a short, cruel laugh. “Course it’s a ghoul bar. Shoulda guessed. Whole damn place reeks.”

“Out,” the server said, voice like sand and steel.

The man turned to the woman — a mean little spark in his eye. “You think this freak’s gonna protect you? You and that brat? That thing won’t even last another year. Rot’ll catch up eventually.”

Cooper heard a soft sob from Sally and thats when Cooper moved.

He stood with the sudden force of a storm front, his hand flashing forward—not to draw, not yet, but to slam the man back a step with the weight of his presence.

The room held its breath.

Cooper’s voice was low. Dead calm, “You think I won’t hurt you because I look like this.” The man stumbled, faltered. “I’ve buried better men for less, and I won’t warn you again.”

The man looked around, expecting backup, but the rest of the bar had gone still. Even the server stepped back, sensing what was about to snap loose.

“You talk about her like that again—” Cooper’s voice dropped lower, into something colder, “—and I will peel you apart slow enough to hear every bone break. Make some good o’fastion ass jerky outta ya’.”

The man backed up, hands half-raised. His bravado shriveled under the weight of something older, meaner than his hate.

“You’re all freaks,” he spat, weak now. “All of you.” Cooper didn’t move. Just stood there. Waiting.

He sat back down slowly. Didn’t say anything. Didn’t need to.

The server cleared her throat gently. “His tab’s mine tonight. You three… stay as long as you like.”

“You know an inn?” She spoke up, voice cracking. 

“That you gotta pay for, this ain’t a chairty.” She nodded. “We got a room, it’s yours if you want it. Round back, up the stairs, second door on the left. Pay in the morning.” She walked away without another word.

Cooper glanced over at Sally — then the woman.

“Let’s go.” She stood, ushering them to move along. 

“I’m not done eating,” Sally softly protested, as if afraid of making anyone anymore upset. There was palpable tension between the three, seeds that man sowed. 

“Bring it with you.” Was all she said. Cooper stood, head hund like a dog being sent outside for digging in the trash. He helped sally out of the booth and made sure to grab the bowls that were left behind. Nobody spoke as they followed her up the crooked staircase. 

The room was plain — a single steel-framed bunk, an old dresser, and a cracked mirror hanging crooked on the wall. A moth-eaten curtain hung half-drawn over the only window. It miracuassly had a lock on the door. But it was clean. Safe. Quiet.

The woman started pacing by the bed, arms folded tight. Sally sat on a chair in the coroner and resumed her soup. Cooper kicked the door closed and set down the bowls on the table by the window and returned to the door to lock it. 

As soon as she heard the lock click into place she turned on Cooper, her voice low but sharp as a blade.

“What the hell was that?”

Cooper leaned against the doorframe, arms crossed. “Which part?”

“You let him talk like that,” she hissed. “You sat there and let him say those things—to you, to me, to Sally—like it didn’t matter.”

He shrugged. “It didn’t.”

She stepped toward him, furious now. “It mattered to her. Did you even look at her face? She thought he was right.”

Something flickered behind Cooper’s eyes, but he kept his tone flat.

“She’s seen worse. She’ll forget him.”

“No, she won’t,” she snapped. “Because you didn’t stop him. You just sat there like you didn’t care.”

Cooper’s jaw worked for a moment. Then he exhaled through his nose and looked away.

“You think I ain’t heard that kind of bile before?” he said. “You think I haven’t seen men like him, hundreds of ‘em, shoutin’ the same filth with guns drawn, pitchforks, and torches lit?”

She stared at him, breath caught.

“I learned a long time ago,” Cooper said, quieter now, “there ain’t no fixin’ ignorance that deep. Not with words. Not even with bullets. And it sure as hell ain’t my job to bleed for every asshole who don’t like the way my skin peels.”

She softened, but only a little. “But you didn’t deserve it. And neither did she.”

He looked at her then. Really looked.

There was something like pain in his expression, but dulled. Fossilized.

“I’m used to not getting what I deserve.”

For a second, she didn’t know what to say.

The anger bled out of her slowly. Replaced with something heavier. Something that sat behind her ribs and didn’t have a name.

She took a breath. “You didn’t have to protect us.”

“Didn’t do it for you,” he said. “Did it ‘cause he crossed a line.”

She watched him for a beat. “That’s a lie.”

He looked away again. “Yeah,” he murmured. “It is.”

Her lip trembled like she wanted to say something but didnt have the nerv. 

​​Then Sally spoke up suddenly, “I think,” she burped, “we should play a game.”

The woman blinked. “Sally—”

“You can’t stay grumpy to long,  need to laugh or your faces will stay like that forever. That’s a real thing, my Nana said so.”

Cooper arched a brow. “That so?”

“Yup,” Sally said, dead serious. “It’s science.”

Sally scurred over to her bag, giddy with notbeing told no. From it, she produced a deck of cards — the edges soft with wear, some corners chewed from old boredom or bad storage.

“War? Go Fish?” she offered, fanning the cards with dramatic flair. “Or…” she narrowed her eyes like a storyteller revealing a twist, “Truth or Dare.”

Cooper raised a hairless brow, amused. “Ain’t that one a little grown for you?”

Sally beamed. “I only pick good questions. No kissing stuff. I’m not that old.” The woman covered a snort with the back of her hand.

Sally patted the floor like a little general. “C’mon. No one’s allowed to be sad. Those are the rules.”

Cooper narrowed his eyes. “You just made that up.” He accused.

“Opps.” She lasughed. They couldn’t help the hopeful twinkle in her eye, joining her on the floor. The uncomfortable tension fading as they sat behind teacher with sally smiling so brightly infront of them. 

Ladies first,” Sally declared. “Mama, truth or dare?”

The woman hesitated, then glanced at Cooper and raised a brow. “Truth.”

Sally’s face lit up like she’d been waiting for it, “If you could make one wish come true, right now,” she said, “what would it be?”

The woman blinked—clearly expecting something more childish. Her eyes dropped to her lap.

“To keep you safe,” she said softly. “No matter what.”

“Boo, thats boring, mama.” Sally frowned. She didnt have time to let out more than an offended scoff before sally moved on. “Your turn, Cooper. Truth or dare?”

Cooper grunted. “Truth, I guess.”

Sally’s eyes gleamed with mischief. “Have you ever had a crush?”

The woman coughed, nearly choking on nothing. Cooper, to his credit, didn’t flinch—but he did shoot a half-lidded stare at the girl.

“I ain’t twelve, squirt.”

“That’s not a no,” Sally said sing-song.

Cooper sighed, “…Yeah, I have. Once or twice. I’ve lived a long time of you recall.”

The woman arched a brow, watching him now with open interest.

Sally wiggled her brows. “Is it someone here?”

Cooper narrowed his eyes. “Next question.” Sally cackled.

And just like that, the weight in the room shifted. The shadows didn’t disappear, but they leaned back into the corners where they belonged — giving the three of them room to breathe again.

The game stretched on, filled with soft laughter and badly whispered dares. Eventually, Sally sagged sideways mid-question, too tired to stay upright.

The woman scooped her up, laying her gently in the bed again. She pulled the threadbare blanket up over Sally’s small form, brushing hair from her face.

“She always like this?” Cooper murmured.

“Too clever for her own good,” the woman said fondly.

He nodded once. “Takes after you.”

That surprised her. She smiled quietly to herself. Then turned to him.

“Truth or dare?”

He smirked. “Thought we were done.”

“Humor me.”

“…Truth.”

She held his gaze. “Why’d you really step in tonight?”

His eyes softened, just for a moment. Then he looked away, voice barely above a whisper.

“Because when I heard her cry. . .I remembered what it used to feel like to be talked to that way.” She said nothing, only nodded. “Before my skin first started— I grew used to it, it hasn't hurt me in a long, long, time.”

Then she whispered, “Thank you.”

They didn’t say anything else that night.

≫ ────── ≪•◦ ❈ ◦•≫ ────── ≪

≪•◦ BACK    •   NEXT ◦•≫

•Kermit’s Masterlist•

[call-me-kermit]

You Be The Daddy

• Part 1 • Part 2 • Part 3 • Part 4 • Word Count: 3351 Read Time: 13-15min Warnings: Canon Violance, Guns, Cooper gets his flirt on, Feral Ghouls, Cooper is a father at heart Summary: The Ghoul doesn't seem to mind spending time with Sally; her sexy caretaker is also a bonus. Rating: PG-13 Notes: Not Proofread

≫ ────── ≪•◦ ❈ ◦•≫ ────── ≪ As the sun rose outside, peaking through the crack of the cellar door, the woman stirred awake to the sound of giggling. Not loud, but real. Small and bubbling, like water breaking through cracked stone.

It was dark, her eyes took a moment to adjust, looking towards the noise. She stared towards the Ghoul who sat on the floor, long legs stretched out in front, ankles crossed. He wore a ragged piece of cloth tied around his head like a crown, where his hat was, she did not know. Sally sat across from him with a stick in her hand like a wand, chin held high and proud.

“Sir Skullface,” Sally declared, pointing her stick-scepter at him. “You are arrested for stealing the royal cookies and hiding them in your pocket.”

“Objection,” The Ghoul said, raising his hands dramatically. “That pocket is private property and not subject to kingdom's law.” His drawl was sweet like honey, his voice deeper than normal. 

“You’ll answer to the queen!” she said, giggling.

“Fine, but know this: I only stole the cookies to save the realm from hunger and despair. Also, I was very hungry.” He raised his hand solemnly to his chest. “I’d do it again.”

 He bowed low with theatrical flair, then held the "crown" up to her, “All hail the Cookie Queen.” He placed it gently on her head. She giggled like that was the funniest thing she’d ever heard, making him crack a smile.

 The odd things children play pretend had always amused him. Janey had forced him to be her horse, sitting on his back as he crawled around making horse noises, saying ‘giddy-up’ and ‘yee-haw’. Another time, even more bizarre, she had demanded they play pretend doctor—but rather than being doctor and patient, they were doctor and stethoscope. She told him to listen to things and tell her what it sounded like, diagnosing the refrigerator with a fever after he described the hum of the machine. Children are weird, they have weird imaginations— he’s learned not to question them. 

She watched him closely, softes in her eyes. This wasn’t the Ghoul she’d fought in the storage room or bargained with by candlelight. This was someone else — someone buried beneath layers of grit and rot and loss. Someone who was remembering how to make a child smile. 

He noticed her watching.

The shift was instant. He stood, cleared his throat, brushed invisible dust from his coat. The toys clattered to the floor.

“Well, well,” she said. “Didn’t know ghoul bounty hunters had a talent for court drama.”

Sally beamed. “He says I’m royalty now.”

“I say she overthrew me in a bloodless coup,” Cooper corrected. “Very efficient.”

The ghoul stood as Sally crawled away to play with her bear. “Here,” He tossed a can of fruit her way, she caught it and examined the label absentmindedly. Her thoughts still loom over The Ghouls' stunning soft side for kids.

“Thanks for keeping her busy.”

He shrugged, moving around the room to search for supplies to stash in his saddlebag. “Figured she deserved a morning that didn’t start with running for her life.”

When the woman didn’t respond, he turned to look at her, watching as she cradled the can under her chin and started into the empty space between him and Sally. He could only guess what was going on in that pretty little head of hers.

He sighed and walked over to her, his voice softer. “She’s tough,” he said. “She’ll make it.”

“You don’t know that.” Her voice wavered slightly in uncertainty. 

“I don’t know anything,” he said, smirking. “Except that you snore. Loudly.”

She shoved him lightly. “Do not.”

“You do,” he insisted, grinning. “Like a drunken Deathclaw.” She shook her head, but the warmth in her eyes betrayed her.

“Thank you for maing her smile. After everything… that matters.”

He gave a slow, humorless, tired chuckle. “That’s the problem with you,” he said, straianing. “You see worth in people like me.”

“Maybe I see the parts you don’t want to.”

There was a pause and a soft yet guarded look between them.

 “You’re different in the morning.”

“What, handsome and charming?”

“Soft,” she said, more serious. “Like you care.”

He didn’t answer right away. Just looked at her, expression unreadable.

“I care enough to get us to the next sunrise,” he finally said. “Then we’ll see.”

They stood there for a moment, close, the air between them heavy with unspoken things.

Sally’s voice broke the silence, “Are we gonna travel again today?”

The ghoul looked to the girl before turning back to search through the rest of the room.

“Yeah, hun,” he said. “Pack your royal treasures. We’ve got a kingdom to escape.”

The woman watched him carefully as he and Sally danced around eachother, grabbing anything useful and shoving it into their bags. He approached the wardrobe, pulling it open and scanning the shelves.

 “Lets see. . .”

“You have kids?” She found herself saying, mouth moving before her brain could gauge whether it was a good idea to ask. His shoulder fell as he pulled out a pair of boots. He didn’t answer, didn’t look her way. His silence was answer enough for her.

“Come’er, squirt.” He said instead. Sally galloped over, standing in front as he bent down to slide the boots on her feet. “Let’s give these a try, huh?” 

Sally held his shoulders for balance and she raised on leg at a time, letting him slip the boots on her little feet. She smiled down at them with a tooth-bearing grin. The Ghoul pressed his fingers to the toe of the boot, feeling for the fit of them. 

“How they feel?” He mumbled, watching her admire the new shoes. “Walk around in ‘em a bit.” He stood up and examined how she moved, they were obviously alittle to big, but at least its room to grow. 

“Thank you!” She danced. The woman laughed, sharing in Sally’s joy. 

“Uh-huh, get back to work.” He motioned to the shelf, and Sally ran over with a gasp, having forgotten her very important job of stuffing her bag.

“Hey,” The woman said, turning to put her armor back in place on her body. “What do we call you?” 

“Nothing.” He said stone cold, contrast to his demeanor a second ago. Defensive walls being put back in place rather quickly. 

“You don’t have a name?” Sally asked sadly. “Your mommy and daddy didn’t name you?”  She tilted her head with a wobble of her lip. 

The Ghoul hissed, closing his eyes for a moment, caught between a rock and a hard place. He didn't want to get attached, he didn’t want to feel anything more than surface-level— he knew it wouldn't end well— but he couldn’t fight those watery puppy-dog eyes staring into his soul. 

“Cooper,” He said quietly, as though if they didn’t hear it, they wouldn't bother to ask again. 

“Been a while?” The woman gave him a knowing look. He turned to her, watching closely as she approached. Her voice was soft as she spoke her name to him, “Been a few years since I used it. Doesn’t really feel like mine anymore, yknow?” 

His eyes searched hers, scanning over her face. She was such an enigma to him. First, she was brave and feisty, taking him on without a second thought— a brave face that fooled him well enough. Then she switched on a dime into this fragile and scared woman, relying on him. Now she had the nerv to look at him like she knew the secrets he kept between himself and the ghosts in his dreams. 

“Yeah,” Is all he said, soft and solemn—almost suspicious. He looked at her — really looked — and for a moment, something unguarded flickered in his ruined face. Then it was gone. The wall slammed shut.

“Pack up, we move in ten.” Turning away and grabbing his bag, placing his discarded hat on his head, “I’ll be outside when y’all are ready.” 

Sally, still sleepy and content, tugged at her hand. “He’s funny,” she whispered. “I like him.”

The woman glanced toward where Cooper left, then down at Sally, brushing a hand over her tangled hair.

“Yeah,” she murmured. 

“Me too.” But she didn’t say it out loud. Not yet.

The wasteland rolled on for miles—ash-colored hills, crumbled highways, the occasional skeleton of a world long dead. The sun beat down like a punishment, and the wind smelled of rust and old secrets. 

They had walked for hours before they came across the remains of a town— the hollow bones of a civilization long gone. Cracked pavement stretched out beneath their feet like a faded scar, splitting empty storefronts and weather-worn houses. Sunlight filtered through shattered windows and rusted signs — Diner, Hardware, Pharmacy — now just names clinging to time like ghosts of a world Cooper once thrived in.

Now he thrives within its corpse. 

Strolling down the streets with Cooper leading the way. Sally skipped along behind him, sandwiched between them, hopping from crack to crack with the kind of energy only a child could summon after a long day on the run.

As they walked, Sally asked questions, about a million of them, while she couldn’t keep up, Cooper seemed to have no trouble. 

“What's the knife for?” Sally asked, eyeing the one on his belt.

“Cutting things.” He answered simply. 

“Like food?” She wobbled along, coming up to walk next to him. 

“And throats.” He supplied. 

The woman snorted a laugh, earning a glance over the shoulder from Cooper, a smirk on his lip.

“Not mine, right?” Sally hopped, unflinching. 

“Not unless you steal my boots.” 

She looked down at his boots, spurs spinning, “Too big— I have my own!” She defended. 

“Smart girl.” 

There was silence for a moment, then, “Why do you always squint when you’re thinking?” She looked up at him, squinting herself from the sun. 

“If I glare hard enough, problems tend to go away.” He said with a smirk. The woman watched, amused by his banter with the young girl. 

“Cooper?” She asked, and he hummed. “Did you always look like this?” She reached her hand for his, her thumb touching the place inbetween his glove and wrist. His jaw tightened just slightly be fore he looked down at her with a playful smile. 

“No,” He glanced at the woman who was staring intently, with a soft look in her eye. “I used to be pretty.” 

Sally laughed, shaking her head. “You’re pretty now.” 

“Easy tiger,” The woman spoke, a chuckle on her breath. Cooper grinned. 

“Thank you, kindly, hun.” 

“Cooper,” Sally skipped along beside him. “Are you old?” 

“Define old.” 

“Dinosaur old.” The woman offered.

“What's a dina-sour?” Sally scowled, butchering the foreign word.  

“Like a Deathclaw, but from a time long before the war. Not even humans existed yet.” He explained. 

“Oh,” She nodded. “But you can’t be that old! Humans didn’t exist yet.” She exclaimed, confused. He grinned. 

“Not dinosaur old.” He nodded. “But, I stopped counting after a hundred and—” He trailed off, doing math in his head. 

“A hundred?” Sally gasped, eyes wide. “You have dust in your bones.” That earned a laugh from both of them. “If you're that old, were you there when the bombs fell?” She asked curiously. 

“Sally,” The woman warned with a sigh. 

“Yeah,” he nodded, his voice quieter. “I was there.” A dejected moment passed. 

“...Did you have cake?”

He stared at her, “What?”

“On your hundredth birthday.”

“She’s got priorities.” The woman grinned, closing in as Cooper and Sally walked more slowly.

Cooper shook his head, almost smiling. “No cake. Just whiskey and bad decisions.”

Sally frowned. “That’s a terrible party.”

She watched the exchange, her smile quieter now. She let herself absorb the strange softness of it—the way Sally saw Cooper, not as something broken or scary, but as someone safe, hers. And the way Cooper—guarded, grizzled, a lifetime of death behind him—kept letting her in, inch by inch.

Then Cooper noticed her look, as she came to walk beside Sally’s other side, he gave her a look as if to say What? She just shook her head with a glimmering admiration in her eye. A look that made something in his chest tingle pleasantly. 

They passed a collapsed overpass, half-buried in the earth. That’s when Cooper stopped.

He raised a hand. She froze, instinct locking her into place, pressing Sally close to her side.

Movement ahead. It shuffled.

No. . . dragged. 

Out from behind a rusted truck came a creature, once human, now with mottled flesh, pealing skin, deformed and hungry. A feral ghoul.

Sally, never having seen one before, smiled, waving before being dragged to a place behind Cooper, shielded by the adults. 

“Cooper,” Her voice hard, pleading. 

“I see it.” He murmured, drawing his revolver. “Stay behind me.” 

Its head spun to look at them, charging as soon as it spotted the humans behind the Ghoul. It moved too fast for something rotting, closing the distance quickly. Yet it fell a few yards short of them at the sound of Cooper's fire. Cooper was surprised to feel Sally jump and press into his back as he shot, and when he felt the woman’s hand on the back of his shoulder, her breath on his nape. He was even more surprised when he found himself liking the feeling. 

Having not only an attractive woman, but sweet little Sally, so close and trusting him for protection. It is a gentleman's role to have a wife and family to provide for and protect, a staple of the area he was born. Something he longed for, something he had then lost. A woman and a child, to have and hold—it reminded him of the man he was and the things he used to want. 

He waited, listening, when he heard nothing else, he shifted. He’s never come across just one feral ghoul at a time. Never. He felt an unsease he’s never known— they were here, they could get hurt.

His head turned, watching her draw her pistol, moving closer together, Sally trembling between them. As Cooper turned back, a flash of something passed his vision, and a scream filled his ears.

A feral collapsed onto her, her pistol skidding away. Her voice called for him, struggling to keep the thing’s jaws from snapping too close to her face. Cooper scooped in, too close to shoot it—not with her face right there—and jammed his knife into the side of its skull. He pushed the corpse to the side. He looked down at her with a subtle grin.

“You good?” he asked, already offering a hand.

“I had it,” she mocked, brushing hair from her face.

“Sure you did,” he said with a grin. “You were just lulling it into a false sense of security, right?” She rolled her eyes but took his hand anyway. He pulled her up—closer than he needed to.

“You like landing on your back around me, or was that just a happy accident?”

She glared at him. “I’ll stab you.”

He smiled wider. “Wouldn’t be the first time y’tried, darlin’.”

“You always this mouthy after saving someone?”

“Only when they look that good gasping for breath,” he said smoothly, voice low now. His eyes wandered over her chest as she breathes deeply. “You make a near-death experience look... weirdly attractive.”

She blinked once. “You’re unbelievable.”

“And yet—” he glanced at their hands still touching “—you haven’t let go.”

She did, immediately, crossing her arms as Sally peeked out from behind the old barrier nearby.

“Is it gone?” the girl asked timidly.

“Gone,” Cooper called back. “You alright, Your Highness?” Sally nodded, eyes wide.

Sally rushes out from her hiding spot and right into her arms, sniffling but otherwise okay. She held tight as Cooper watched their surroundings, ushering them both along.

“Let's find some shelter. Somewhere with four walls and a door, hm?” She suggested, shooting Cooper a look to ask his approval. He gave only a curt nod before taking the lead and moseying along. “We’ll have a rest and eat something. How does that sound?” Sally said nothing but a whimper and a nod against her hip. 

The shelter they found was barely standing — the cracked remnants of a pre-blast supply station half-buried in sand and silence. But it had four walls, a dented roof, and a steel door that still locked. In the wasteland, that was luxury.

Cooper kicked a crate aside and checked for hostiles. Nothing but dust and some long-dead rodents.

“We’re clear,” he called. “For now.”

Sally settled into a corner, sitting on a crate with a worn label, digging into the meal bar the woman handed her. She ate quietly, cheeks hollow, eyes still flicking to shadows.

The woman crouched beside her, brushing a hand through the girl’s hair. “Eat slow. You’ll get a cramp.” She pulled her canteen from her bag and handed it to Sally with a soft smile before grabbing another bar for her and Cooper. 

As she stood, she heard Sally mumble, “Yes, mama.” She froze for a moment, then began slowly turning away. These last few months with Sally have been the most meaningful of her life— taking care of her had given her a purpose she’d never known. And while Sally had quickly become a part of her family, she had never addressed her by anything other than her name. Until now.

The acknowledgment gave her a boost in confidence. Made her feel good. She felt energized all of a sudden, like an adrenaline rush hit her out of nowhere. 

She joined Cooper by the door, holding a bar out to him. He took it, eyes still on Sally stuffing her face. They said nothing for a long moment, not while they unwrapped their snacks and drank some water. 

“Thanks. For earlier.”

He tilted his head. “Saving you or the flirting?”

She smirked. He just can’t help himself. “You’re really proud of that line, huh?”

“I’ve got a few good ones, sweetheart. Want to hear another?” That devilish smile graced his features, eyes wild with something she couldn’t think about with a child in the room.

“I’m good.” She took a calming breath to keep those wild thoughts from her mind.

Cooper chuckled, brushing a thumb over the edge of his belt. “Still, you were looking at me different afterward.” He pointed out, watching as she took a bite. 

“Because I was surprised you didn’t trip over your ego while charging in.”

He grinned wider, but there was a faint color rising to his cheeks. He tried to hide it by looking away. 

She stepped closer, voice lower now, teasing, “Didn’t know you could be the knight-in-ghoulish-armor type.”

He cleared his throat. “Well. Don’t go falling for me now. I’m complicated.”

She arched a brow. “That so?”

“Yeah,” he said, half-laughing. “Mysterious past. Troubled soul. Excellent jawline. The whole cursed romance package.” He tilted his head with a smirk and a wink. She leaned in, just enough that her nose ghosted against his skin, enough to make him stiffen slightly.

“Well, lucky me,” she said, voice like smoke. “I have a thing for disasters with nice cheekbones.”

The tension between them lingered — tight, unsaid. Something smoldered between them — not quite a full blown romance, not yet. Just a recognition. A pull.

She said, smirking now,“It’s like watching a cactus pretend it’s not blushing.”

“Don’t let it go to your head.”

“It’s already there.” . He shook his head with mock disapproval, but there was warmth behind his squint — a grin trying to sneak past his gruff mask. Her eyes admired his features shamelessly, as he found his eyes doing the same of hers.

That stopped him. He blinked. She just smiled, turned on her heel, and walked back to check on Sally. Cooper stood there for a few seconds too long, staring at the spot where she’d been. Then he exhaled hard, muttering under his breath.

“…what the hell just happened?” ≫ ────── ≪•◦ ❈ ◦•≫ ────── ≪

≪•◦ BACK    •   NEXT ◦•≫

 •Kermit’s Masterlist•

[call-me-kermit]

You Be The Daddy

• Part 1 • Part 2 • Part 3 • Part 4 • Word Count: 4783 Read Time: 20min Warnings: Swearing, Canon Violance, Excessive Firting, Bounties, Cooper is a bit of a horn dog Summary: The Ghoul takes up an interesting bounty, but it's not at all what he's expecting. Rating: PG-13 Notes: I wrote this whole series in one go and realized it was way too long for one thing, so parts, tada! Not Proofread

≫ ────── ≪•◦ ❈ ◦•≫ ────── ≪

The wind howled through the wasteland, picking up grit and dust in endless spirals over the dead landscape. The fading green mist of a passing Rad storm hung in the air. The Ghoul strutted across, head held high, proud of his detective work tracking down his target. His silhouette is a smear on the horizon in the mirage heat. 

He was not alive in the way most people understood it. The flesh beneath his duster was scarred, tight against his lean muscles and bones, a leather texture, the color of old bruises and charred bone. His face was gaunt, nearly lipless, teeth yellowed with age— and a lack of dental insurance in the wasteland. His duster flapped like a worn-out flag, and the soft jingle of spurs was the only sound besides the wind threading through jagged ruins. His long coat smelled of gunpowder and grave dirt. The kind of scent that made smarter people vanish from his path.

A ghoul—The Ghoul, they called him. He was a monster, a freak, a rot-walker. Cooper didn’t mind. He liked it better that way. People talked less when they were afraid.

Tucked away in his duster, among a knive and chems, was a wanted poster. A fresh printed bounty— an intriguing one. No picture, no age, no known affiliation, no crime. Just a name and a bounty so high he did a double-take. 

He’d carried this poster with him for nearly three months now, carrying out many side jobs to keep metaphorical food on the metaphorical table. This was his end goal, his holy grail— Sally Kane. Wanted dead or alive.

He tracked the name everywhere he went since taking up the bounty. Asked everyone he met or traded with. Everywhere, folks shook their heads, went quiet, or relayed what little they’d heard from other people after the bounty. The limited information led him to a town out north of no-man's-land. Yet the folk there said that raiders came through and attacked—some fled into no-man's-land in desperation. His target was among them.

Now, no-man’s-land was a long stretch of desolate wasteland. Nothing but sun, sand, and deathclaws for miles. A place folks rather travled around rather than through,  halfway between nowhere and a grave.

The Ghoul however, was intimidated by nothing that aint his own reflection. He sawndered through that hellish landscape like it was a stroll through the park. Just on the horizon sat a building, a rusted husk of what was once a shopping plaza. 

As he approached, it became apparent there was a settlement made secure inside. Guards of spikes and barbed wire littered the parking lot. Likely ment to detture deatthclaws, he didn’t think they get a lot of human visitors around these parts. 

He approached the main doors, at least the only entrance not covered by wooden planks. He chuckled low, an amused grin settling on his lips as he knocked twice— rather polite of him, you should note. There was an awkward moment he stood there waiting before the door raddled with hushed whispers behind it.

“State your name.” A voice demanded.

“Sally Kane.” He huffed a laugh. “The only name need knowin’.” He tilted his head as the door shook, the sound of chains clinking, then cracked open. A man poked his head out, a panicked look on his face. How curious.

“We don’t want trouble.” The man begged, an almost angry look about his features. 

“Y’already got it.” The Ghoul smirked, amused, and the man shifted and looked to hushed voices behind him. “Now, I suggest y’give me what I want— ain’t no reason anyone else need be hurt.” 

The man seemed to have a battle within himself deciding what to do. The ever-so-patient cowpoke twiddled his thumbs and swayed in wait. 

Despite the frantic opposing voices, the man pushed open the door to allow the ghoul passage. His boots thumped on the floor as he strolled in and passed by frustrated and frightened settlers. 

“Thank y’kindly.” He grinned, tipping his hat towards them. The place was dark, illuminated by oil lamps and the limited electricity they had. He walked by people who spoke too quietly for him to hear and flinched away when he got too close. Whether that be because most folks were scared to touch a ghoul or because he was an imposing man, we’ll never know. 

He walked with slow purpose, revolver at the ready, every footstep echoing through the maze of aisles and makeshift tents and houses. He didn’t ask questions. He watched. Listened. Eyes in the dark always gave away more than mouths ever would. And then, a flicker of motion—a figure slipping between shadows, too quick, too deliberate. Not a settler.

Prey.

He followed.

He followed the figure through the back of the store, a large storage room with vaulted ceilings, with tall shelves filled with old boxes. The figure had stopped and was leaning against an old desk, waiting for him. He approached and assumed this was Sally, looking over the woman's body. 

“I know what you are,” She spoke firmly, without looking, in an accusatory tone. Venom in her voice like he was the bane of the earth. 

“I bet you do, Sally.” He stood in front of her relaxed and cocky. Legs spread slightly, hands resting on his belt, leaning back on the balls of his feet. “Shame you're a dead woman, y’ awfully pretty.” His smirk showed his yellow teeth. 

“She said nothing, just watched him with the kind of stare that could pick locks or slit throats. Her hands stayed on her lap.

“You’re hiding something,” he said, tilting his head. 

She shifted her eyes to meet his. Her gaze was hard and distrusting, sharp like flint. She wasn’t scared, the ghoul was almost impressed. She stepped forward, close enough he could see the scar on her lip in the dim light. A little too close for comfort, or maybe just close enough to confuse the difference. She was trying to intimidate a beast— it wouldn’t work. 

If she weren’t a dead woman, he’d half a mind to offer to buy her a drink. The thought made him hum pleasantly, looking down at her. Her resolve almost crumbled in confusion when she noticed his eyes wandered over her face, her lips, and down to her chest as if she’d invited him to. When he looked back up, he gave an expression that said Oops, being caught. 

She leaned back, folding her arms. “You always flirt with your targets, or am I just lucky?”

“Oh, I flirt with the pretty ones.” He swayed closer, drawl thick. “The dangerous ones. The ones who might kill me or kiss me— depending on how I phrase the next sentence.”

A reluctant flicker of amusement passed over her face. “You’re insane.”

“No,” he said. “Just dead inside. Big difference, darlin’.”

There was a pause.

“You won't find her.” 

“You ain’t Sally then?” He groaned, turning his head with an unamused sigh.

The woman narrowed her eyes. “There’s nothing here for you. Turn around, walk out the way you came.” Her words are chosen carefully, guarding something. 

“Listen, pretty lady,” He stepped closer, voice dropping low, head bobbing as he spoke. “I don’t like wastin’ time. You’re standing between me and a payday.” She rolled her shoulders uncomfortably while he waited for her to give,  jaw tight but smiling like a man two steps from violence.

“Then maybe you ought move along then,” she said, her voice a touch colder now. “Whoever this Sally is… you find her, you better ask yourself why there’s no picture. Why someone wants her bad enough to bury her in shadows. You don't understand what you’re getting yourself into.” She warned, clenched jaw.

They stared long and hard for a few beats. The tension thick between them, humming with something halfway between threat and attraction. Watching each other.

She moved first, bringing a concealed pistol against his chin, and he grinned widely. “Oh good.” His calm demenor unchanging. “We’re doing the flirting-through-violence thing now. I was hoping.”

“I’m gonna count to five,” she said. “And if you’re still standing there, I’m gonna assume you’ve made peace with dying.”

He chuckled. “You flirt like a bullet to the gut, sweetheart.”

She didn’t smile. “One.”

He sighed and took a moment to ponder the shame of having to kill such a fine woman. Tsk tsk.

“Two.”

“You sure you wanna do this?” he asked, voice casual, southern drawl sweet like sugar. “'Cause I haven’t even bought you a drink yet.”

“Three.”

Then he moved, dropping low and rolling behind the metal shelving to hide just as her first shot cracked through the air and punched a hole in the wall where his head had been.

 The Ghoul drew his revolver, wicked smirk plastered to his lips,  popped up and fired once — high, intentionally. She took cover behind a large stack of creates and boxes.

“Gotta admit,” he called out, crouching again, “most of my dates don’t shoot first.”

“I’m not most women.”

“Ain’t that the truth.” She could hear the amusement in his voice.

Another shot came from her side, close enough to chip splinters from the wood beside him. He winced, still grinning.

“I get it, you’re mad. But how ‘bout we talk this out over some whiskey instead of lead?”

“I don’t drink with men who try to kill me.”

“Then we’ll call it professional curiosity, darlin’!”

She didn’t answer. The next thing he heard was her boots thudding against the ground — fast and close.

Cooper turned just in time to see her vault the trough, tackling him hard to the ground. They crashed into the dirt in a tangle of limbs, his revolver skittering out of reach. He was stronger than he looked, but she was fast.

She straddled him with a knife at his throat, her breath ragged, her hair in her eyes.

He looked up at her, not scared — just amused.

“You sure this ain’t the part where we kiss?” he asked, voice low.

She tightened her grip on the knife. “Keep talking and I’ll give you a second smile.”

“Worth it,” he said, grinning wide.

She stared down at him, her face unreadable. Not fear. Not hate. Something heavier. Something sad.

And then, she stood, backing off with the knife still drawn. Not running — not surrendering either.

“Walk away, cowboy,” she said. “You really don’t know what you’re walking into.”

Cooper stood, dusted himself off, and picked up his gun.

“I never walk away, darlin’. Especially not when someone makes an impression like you.”

Her eyes narrowed. “You’re not the first bounty hunter to come sniffing.”

“I’ll be the last,” he said, walking toward her. “That’s either a threat or a promise. Depends on what you tell me.”

She moved quick — a feint with the knife, then a real strike. Cooper dodged, barely, the blade grazing his jacket. She followed up with a punch to his ribs, sharp and trained. He grunted, staggered a step, but kept smiling.

“You throw hands better than you shoot.”

He caught her next swing, twisting her arm and stepping into her — too close for blades, close enough to smell the sweat and tension on her skin. She jerked her knee toward his groin; he blocked it with a thigh and drove his elbow into her side. She hissed but didn’t fall.

She grunted, kicked free, and slashed at his shoulder. The wound barely slowed him down.

“You don’t get it,” she growled, panting as they held for a moment. “You’re making a mistake you can’t come back from.”

Cooper licked his lips. “I’ve made worse.” Then they went down together, grappling in the dirt, trading blows, sweat and dust coating their skin. She fought like someone who’d survived worse than him, but The Ghoul had something she didn’t: cold purpose. He wasn’t in it for anger, or protecting secrets like her. He was in it for the love of the game. To win.

And he did.

With a sharp twist and weight behind his shoulder, he pinned her beneath him, one arm locked behind her back, his other hand pressing his recover to the back of her head, letting herbpanting and the click of the hammer set the tone for the coming negotiation.

She writhed under him, furious, breath hot against the ground.

“Tell me where she is,” he growled.

“I don’t know,” she snapped.

He pulled her arm tighter. Not cruel — just enough to make the point.

“You're lyin’. You know her. You’re protectin’ her. Maybe she’s family, maybe she's your damn shadow, I don't care. But I’m not leaving this shithole without the truth, and you ain’t walkin’ away unless you give me a reason.”

She gritted her teeth, rage boiling in her eyes, but her voice cracked just slightly.

“You don’t understand what you’re hunting.”

“Y’said that before,” Cooper said. “And I still don’t care.”

“Bite me.”

“Not opposed,” he murmured, eyes flicking over her hips he had pinned under him. “It’ll cost ya’.”

“You’re enjoying this way too much,” she snapped.

“You’re the one playing dress-up with a bounty’s name, sweetheart,” he said, smirking. “You wanted attention. This is how I show it.”

She glared at him out of the corner of her eye,  but there was something else behind it now—uncertainty, heat.

He leaned in close, letting his voice drop to a purr. “Tell me where she is. I’ll owe you one.” He raised a hairless brow, waiting for her to comply. She blinked, breathing deeply before she shook her head. “One more chance, darlin’.” He watched the panic fill her eyes. He pulled back the hammer as she braced herself for death.

“Please, stop!” A voice cried, high-pitched, and trembling, childlike. 

The ghoul sat up, gun pressed mercilessly and firmly between her shoulder blades, head turning towards the voice. Climbing down from a top shelf, panting, trembling, and pleading for him to stop, was a little girl. Her light footsteps padded over, messy dark hair, tan skin, frilly dress below her knees, with filthy white socks but no shoes—no more than eight. 

“Please don’t hurt her,” the girl said, her voice trembling but clear. “She’s not bad. She’s just scared.”

“Sally— stay back.” The woman warned, shifting under his weight. Something flickered behind the Ghoul’s eyes, a memory of someone lost but never forgotten. 

“What?” His voice was soft, unsure. “You’re Sally Kane?” He asked pointedly at the teary-eyed girl. She gave a meek nod before looking to the woman under him. 

“What the fuck.” He said plainly. He stood, holstering his gun, and approached the girl who faked a brave face. The woman stumbled to her feet, watching cautiously. “Who the hell puts a bounty that fuckin’ high on a kid?” 

The woman lunged forward, putting the girl behind her as the Ghoul lifted his hand to touch her. Her posture was ridged, untrusting, he studied the way the girl clung to her and buried her face in the woman’s back. He watched her, chin up, waiting for an explanation. 

“Y'let me fight you over a child?” He scowled. She gulped, unsure of him. “I don’t kill kids, darlin’. Not my line of work.”

“No,” Her lip trembled, her resolve slipping under the stress. “But you deliver them to people who do.”

Ouch.

“What the hell did she do?” he asked, voice now lower, dead serious.

“She saw something she wasn't supposed to.” The woman said vaguely. 

“Saw what?” He pushed, trying to gauge the situation. The woman looked hesitant, almost like she wanted to tell, but was afraid to. He stepped closer, reaching around to run a hand over the girl's hair. The woman watched his gentle show of allegiance.

Sally looked up to him from around the woman's back, a small smile appearing on her face, unafraid of him. The woman sighed, shoulders relaxing. 

“Her village was raided.” She shook her head. “Brotherhood— by the sounds of it— slaughtered everything that moved. Blamed it on the raiders when people asked questions.” 

“Brotherhood is going around slaughtering settlers?” He scowled, not understanding why those self-righteous pricks would gun down a village and put a bounty on a little girl. A sweet little girl who was looking up at him with a twinkle in her eye, like he was a superhero.

“The settlement was called Eavesdown. Quiet place. Honest folk. Traders, scrappers, builders. They found something buried in an old military silo — tech from before the war. Real old-world stuff. Not weapons. Not bombs. Just… potential.”

The Ghoul tilted his head. “What kind of potential?”

“Clean energy. A power core. Self-repairing systems. Maybe something that could’ve turned the tide for every starving settlement out here.”

He gave a low whistle. “That’s the kind of thing the Brotherhood pisses themselves over.”

She looked down at Sally, then away.

“They called it a ‘containment breach.’ Said the tech was unstable. Dangerous. So they burned it. The houses. The people. Everything. No survivors.”

“But she survived,” Cooper said quietly.

The woman nodded. “She saw it. She watched them line up the elders and shoot them one by one. She hid in a crawlspace under the floorboards while they torched the clinic above her. And when they left, she crawled out with soot in her lungs and blood on her shoes.”

Sally was quiet. Her little hand reached for the woman’s.

He grumbled, eyes moving to the girl. He kneeled down to eye level, smiling as she gave him a shy grin. “What can you tell me ‘bout the folks who attacked you, hun?” Her grin flattened. 

“Big and shiny.” He spoke low. “They were looking for someone. They lined everyone up. Nana made me hide under the floor. Um—” Her lip trembled at the thought of what happened next. 

“That's enough, hun.” He sighed and stood straight, making eye contact with her guardian. He knew what kind of bounty this was now.

Not power. Not crime. Not revenge.

It was cleanup.

“What now?” She asked. Without the anger and edge in her eyes, she seemed as scared and fragile as Sally. The ghoul groaned, knowing he’d never see that beautiful bounty. 

“I don’t know, but can’t keep her here.” He backed away. 

“Why?” 

“Cause I was dumb enough to follow you into no-man’s-land—someone else will too.” He watched Sally peek her head out from behind the woman, and stare up at him. “Someone who doesn't care she’s a kid.” 

He didn’t like the way the girl was looking at him — those too-big eyes, quiet and haunted, but still full of something resembling hope. Hope that maybe this scarred old ghoul wasn’t the kind of man who'd trade a child for caps and call it a day.

And worse than that… he hated the way the woman looked at him. Not trusting, not really. But waiting. As if she already knew what he was going to say. Like she saw something decent under all the leather and rot and gun smoke, and was just daring it to come out.

“Damn it,” he muttered under his breath.

≫ ────────────────── ≪

They left before dark, trying to get a head start on anyone who was potentially following. The Ghoul led the way, eyes on the horizon. Moving quickly and as quietly as they could. The girls stayed close to their defender—though he will argue he was guilt-tripped into the role. In reality, as brutal a man as he’s become, the thought of a suffering child made his blood boil and stomach twist. 

It hadn’t mattered if it was boy, girl, older, young— every child made him think of her, his lost little cowgirl. Janey. 

If Janey were ever in trouble like Sally is now, even as the good man he was before, he would shed blood to keep her safe. A part of him was only helping because he hoped he was making up for not protecting her before. The other part of him liked how she looked up at him— unlike how everyone else in this world looks at him—like he’s just any other person. 

In her eyes, he’s not a ghoul, a monster, or a freak. 

They came across the shell of an old farmhouse, by the looks of what's left, just in time for Sally to start yawning. Half of the house had collapsed into heaps of rubble, leaving most of the interior exposed to the elements. It was better than nothing.

The three approached the building, the adults scanning for a place sheltered enough to set camp. They shared a deflated look when all sides of the house were laid bare for attack from raiders or Deathclaws alike. The ghoul looked down with a raised brow at the girl tugging on his sleeve. The women stopped pacing around the building to watch amused. 

“There,” Sally pointed with droopy eyes at a storm cellar door, covered by minimal rubble. He shared a look with her before approaching with a shrug, pulling the debris from the door. 

He checked their surroundings and entered first, revolver drawn. The woman took out a flashlight and lit the way for him, following with the girl held close to her side. The steps were steep and rickety. When the ghoul decided the place was safe, he holstered his gun and turned to close the cellar doors behind them. The woman looked around and spotted a shelf littered with a stock of candles, fiddling with a litter from her pocket until the candle flickered to life. The candles lit the room better than the flimsy little flashlight did. It surprised them both, looking around the small room, a jackpot. 

There was a shelf of canned foods—completely stocked, a wardrobe in the corner, two bunk beds, and a couch. There was a makeshift kitchen with a hot top, a large jug of water,  and pots and pans. Other than a thick layer of dust lying over everything and the smell of rust, it seemed untouched by the world outside. 

“Holy shit.” He let out slowly with a grin. 

“Bad word,” Sally warned, voice slurred by drowsiness. 

“Okay,” The woman laughed, urging the girl towards a bed. “You get cozy, I’ll get you something to eat before you sleep, hm?” She took up the comforter and shook out the dust, settling over the girl as she climbed in, dropping her bag next to her on the floor. As she did this, the ghoul turned to the shelving and reminisced over the foods he never thought he’d see again. Canned fruits, sweet corn, French-style green beans, soups— he took so much for granted before. 

He grabbed a can of corn and beans, stalking over and holding up the options over the woman's shoulder as she tucked Sally in. “Y’like corn or beans?” 

“Corn,” Sally giggled and nodded. The woman smiled at the sound. He had a soft smile of his own as he turned to the kitchen and grabbed a bowl and spoon and he carved the cans open with his knife. He poured the corn into the bowl and handed it over to Sally who sat up to eat. As she got comfy the ghoul sauntered over and helped himself the can of beans. 

The woman sighed as she kicked off her boots and peeled off her outer layers, coat and armor falling to the ground. She settled on the couch with a can of her own, digging in. 

“How'd y’end up looking after her?” He asked quietly, leaning against the couch, watching the girl eat her corn in bed. 

The woman swallowed, then said, “Found her wandering the wasteland not too far from town—covered in blood, in shock.” She sighed, taking another bite before continuing. “I walked her back towards town—the closer we got, the worse the smell was.” She grimaced at the memory.

“They’d been dead a while?” She just hummed in response. 

“Why’d you really help us, Cooper?” she asked, quieter now. “I know you’re not doing this out of charity.” He looked at her— really looked, eyes shaded and tired. Then he sighed and ran a gloved hand over his weathered face.

“I’ve done things I’m not proud of,” he said. “Walked away from people who didn’t deserve what was comin’. Maybe this is me tryin’ to balance the scales a little.”

She studied him, curious of who he was really. While he debated internally why the hell he was sticking around. He never took company for a reason, why was he breaking his own rule now he didn’t understand— yet the thought of this little girls blood being spilt made his stomache turn. 

They both turned to the sound of the pitter-patter of footsteps.  

Sally invited herself to spread across his lap and lay her head in the woman’s. Comforter dragging behind her, the corner of it covering her body as she settled in. He was more amused than annoyed, warmth in his chest from the innocence of the girl. 

They sat in silence, eating their food, until there was the soft sound of snoring, making them both chuckle. The Ghoul watched her, noting how she looked as peaceful as a child untouched by the wasteland. He was glad she felt safe enough to sleep so soundly. 

“She saved me, y’know.” She offered. “After everything that— I just didn’t have anything left. Then I found her, that night she crawled into my arms and wouldn't let go.” She smiled softly. She guarded her story, steely eyes locked with him, and he understood. 

He didn't talk about his past. Yet sometimes, when he was alone, he’d whisper names into the dark. Names buried with his old face—the man he was. They were quiet, considering each other carefully. 

She spoke quietly,  “She trusts you.”

He didn’t look up. “I didn’t ask her to.”

“She doesn’t do that easily.”

“I don’t either.”

Another pause.

Her jaw tightened, fears and what-ifs plaguing her mind. He saw the dance in her eyes, going back and forth between grateful trust and violent skepticism. 

“You still think I’m gonna sell her out?” he asked finally, voice low.

She didn’t look at him. “You’re a bounty hunter. It’s in the job description.”

He snorted. “Flattering. And here I was thinking we were bonding.” A grin tugged at her lips for a while before those haunting thoughts crept back in during the peaceful silence between them.

“She’s all I got.” Her voice trembled. 

“I’ve killed more kinds of folk than I can count, darlin’,” He tilted his head. “I ain’t ‘bout to start adding children to that list.” 

She nodded, looking down shamefully. “Sorry, you just—you seem like you’ve been doing this job long enough for that line to blur.” He let out a sigh through his ‘nose’, tight-lipped and with a frown in his brow. 

“What do we do?” She asked. The resolve of the hardened, independent woman he first met melted away into this soft-eyed lady, asking questions and looking to him for advice. 

“Keep moving— take a page out of those robots’ book, maybe.” He shrugged sucking bean skin from his teeth. “Hide her somewhere safe.”

“She's not just something to guard, y’know.” Her scowl was soft, accusing, but not angry. “She’s a little girl. She needs to live, not just survive.”

“I don't know how to get her that.” The ghoul's eyes showed a weak man for a moment as he watched the sleeping girl. 

“Neither do I,” She smiled. “But I’m gonna try.” 

She grinned widely with a knowing look in her eyes, and he stared curiously, waiting for her to spit it out. 

“Why are you helping us? You decided to let her live, thats enough. You’re going above and beyond now.” 

“Y’fault.” He defended. “Y’followed me.”

“You never told us not to.” She chuckled, and he decided he liked the sound. “But really, why?”

He thought for a moment. Then shrugged. “Maybe I figured you’d pay me back someway way or ‘nother.” His eyes drifted over her.

“Or maybe you saw her face and felt something.”

“Guilty,” he said, raising his hand in mock surrender. “Turns out I got a soft spot for wide-eyed little girls who know too much.”

“And for reckless women who lie to you?” She gave a pointed look. 

“Oh, especially those.” He flashed a devilish grin her way.

They sat in silence again, the air between them lighter with a little uncertainty and something else—unspoken. Not quite trust. Not quite fear. Something that lived between those things. His mind wandered to Janey then, and he wondered what she would say if she saw her daddy now.

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≪•◦ BACK    •   NEXT ◦•≫

•Kermit’s Masterlist•

[call-me-kermit]

Namless

Word Count: 3902 Read Time: 15min

Warning: Hurt/Comfort, Depression, Misunderstandings, OOC Cooper, Sad Cooper, Softie Cooper Summary: She was left for dead. He thought she was dead already. Rating: PG-13

Note: Not Proofread

≫ ────── ≪•◦ ❈ ◦•≫ ────── ≪

The wind cut across the desolate plain like a blade, hot and sharp, dragging dust and sand in its wake. The nature of this world was hungry— the sun, sand, creatures hiding in said sand, the silence. The world took more than it gave—especially the people. She learned it the hard way.

She lost her name somewhere in this wasteland. She has not needed it in the past few years. Names were for people that were going to be remembered. She was nothing but a lone drifter— scavenger, bounty hunter, gun for hire— anything had earned enough caps for her next meal. She knew nobody who cared to ask for her name, all just wanted whatever goods she could trade or her caps. She was alone, aside from her rifle, a rust-colored duster coat, and a severed head that would pay for a real meal and a bed for the night.

She didn’t know his name either. It didn't matter.

The settlement ahead shimmered under the sun, reflections dancing on tin roofs. Makeshift sanctuary and solitude made from the crumbling corpses of the only proof other lives lived there once. Blinking neon lights and painted arrows pointed toward the best traders and inns. A junktown on the edge of nowhere. Just like the last she saw. Just like the next.

She wasn't chasing redemption, revenge, or a dream. No point. Just survival was good enough for her.

The head dripped congealing red down the hip it hung from, she paid no mind. Her focus is on making it to the shade for a rest, then to the agency to get her caps. Her body needed food and sleep, but it all seemed so pointless nowadays. Her mind was always so exhausted, too tired to think too deeply, to remember— hurt too much— she’d wander until her body caught up to how tired her heart was. Then sleep and repeat.

She reached the town, watching strangers pass, eyes searching for a shady place to sit and catch her breath. There was none by the time her eyes were set on the agency office, and with a sigh, she approached. Shuffling towards the building, her head hangs lightly, the weight of her life pushing her down for a break. A whisper in the back of her mind whispered those thoughts, trying to convince her to give in and fall, to never get up.

Her mind and body froze at the sing-song of spinning purs and a voice she’d not heard in nearly three years. Her eyes looked to the man in question, congratulating himself on his fresh bounty, walking from the place she was heading. Her eyes widened, backstepping and ducking into the first alcove in between buildings she reached, hiding from the confrontation. She waited a beat in silence, praying silently he had not heard or seen her, that he was simply walking far in the other direction.

She tried to not be scared, to let the ach back into her numb heart, to cry—but it was creeping in. She waited a beat in silence, then chanced a look out of her hiding spot. The man, a ghost of a happier time, was gone. She watched his hat disappear into the busy market.

She groaned moving back into her spot to smack the back of her head on the wall behind her, cursing under her breath. Frustration filled her head, for letting the feeling in again, and him for having the nerve to still affect her so much.

He’d left her in a hole she’d fallen into after taking a bullet from a raider, in an ambush, covered in blood and dirt, with tears that stung. He left her to crawl out of it, only for her to watch him swaggering away on the horizon. Walking away with the payload they’d normally split right down the middle, and the remains of her heart on the sole of his boot.

He had been everything, her hero, her leader—a true north— her lover. A man who once cradled and cherished her as the most valuable thing in the world left her for dead.

The image of him walking away burned into her mind. His walk— slow, calm, the kind of walk you only have when you know nobody is coming after you.

She wanted to be angry, wanted to hate him— hunt him down and make him pay— she did at one point, before she could act on anything a sickening numbness took her mind. A numbness that made it so hard to care enough, made it hard to want anything. She had chased a purpose, a dream, once, but it was all gone now.

He left her for dead, and in a way, she did die.

≫ ────────────────── ≪

It was supposed to be an easy bounty. It was supposed to be quick. In and out, then they’d collect their pay, stock up on vials and ammo, find a bar for a drink, and he’d fall into her arms for the night. Just like every night since he first scooped her up and kissed her breathlessly.

Instead, he sat there, at the lip of a ditch, staring at her bloody mangled form. His hands shook, blood in his mouth and hers on his coat from the spray when she fell back and rolled away limply. Her scream echoed in his mind.

She was still. Too still.

She loved the chase, he loved watching her eyes light up after a successful hunt. She’d once been just a face he’d seen in passing, over and over, until she stopped him for a chat, and had all these curious questions for him. She’d asked about his work until he told her to collect a bounty so she could answer her “own damn questions”. And she did, a natural talent for sharpshooting, a killer so sweet nobody expected it. She had been faster than him, he had all those years of experience but she had the fire. They were unstoppable. They were the new world's very own Bonnie and Clyde.

Were . . .

He stared at her— curled, broken, unmoving— he didn’t dare to breathe. He called her name, voice cracked and ghostly.

“Come on,” He rasped. “Come on, darlin’, don’t—” His breath shook, ripping his voice from him as a panicked cry felt him. He reached down, gulping as his hand found a place on her hip, hesitant and flinching. He shook her. Nothing. He pulled away like her body was a snake trying to nip his flesh.

“Darlin’,” His voice begged, raspy and louder than ever before. Desperate to hold onto what little he had to live for— she was the biggest reason. His everything. He never thought he’d find hope anywhere in the wasteland. Let alone find it in a woman so sweet yet so feisty. A woman who made the blood and dust feel like purpose.

Everything she helped him rebuild shattered all over again, all at once.

I did this. I brought her here. I killed her.

He stayed like that for hours. Watching, waiting, praying to a god he didn't believe in that she’d move—cough, flinch, call out for him, anything— prove him wrong. She never moved.

So he left.

He clawed at himself in the night when the images of her form in the dirt haunted his dreams. She died but she never left him.

He became nameless once again. No living soul knew him as Cooper Howard, she was the last. The human in him was revived by her gentle hands and tender love— and that man died with her.

The market was loud— too loud for the man who preferred silence now. His body is on autopilot. He’d been cheering for the caps in his hand, a momentary show of shameless ego, for bringing in a rather elusive and bothersome bounty. The moment died very quickly when he’d seen her face in the crowd.

Blurry in the corner of his eye, but no doubt in his mind. He’d spend hours looking over the details of her face when it was his turn to take watch at night— his only entertainment on those long nights as she slept soundly. He saw her and felt her eyes on his skin. He’d seen her ghost before, but never so vividly.

He pocketed the caps and moved quickly towards any trader who could replenish his stock of vials. His mind was slipping away from him if he was seeing her ghost in his waking hours now. He felt his throat tighten and his chest ache, it was becoming hard to breathe.

≫ ────────────────── ≪

The bar had no name. Just flickering lights and a buzzing sign for an old brand of beer foreign to this world. It was the kind of place that looked like it smelled like piss, rust, and regrets—and it did— but at least the liquor was cheap. A place where voices never rose above a whisper, the walls only know the secrets of its patrons. Peaceful quiet for anyone looking for just that with a drink to accompany their looming thoughts.

A dreadful, depressing place.

She stepped in, fresh bounty hidden in her belt, her duster dragging behind like a shadow. Her eyes were heavy, half dead, life drained from her expression, a ghost of someone once so joyful. Her body slumped into a stool and ordered whatever had the nastiest burn.

He was already there. Tucked in the back, slouched like a broken man, with a drink he hadn’t touched—ice melted—letting his mind wander through her memory.

When he saw her walk in, everything stopped.

It was her— not a ghost. Not a hallucination or a nightmare, her. Alive.

She was older, leaner— he wondered how well she’d been eating. She lost that fire in her eyes he loved so much. He watched the way she walked, feet dragging and shoulders slumped, pulled into herself. She sat at the bar and ordered a drink, drinking it like it didn't matter what it was. She moved like a corpse, like someone used to being alone. Someone waiting for death.

He didn't breathe. What could he say?

“I thought you were dead.”

“I waited for you to move. I should've checked.”

“I didn't mean to leave you.”

He could see the mystery in her eyes from where he sat. She thought he left her, betrayed her. And he did.

She sat with her back to the room, unaware. He studied every line of her. Every movement. And saw the truth: she had been broken. She had survived. And she had rebuilt herself into something even harder.

Not the woman he had loved.

Something born from what he’d done to her.

He almost called her name. Almost got up. Almost walked over and begged for a second chance he didn’t deserve.

But he stayed seated.

Because if he was wrong… if she turned and looked at him like a stranger, or worse—like prey—he didn’t know if he’d survive that. He felt tears burn his eyes.

She finished her drink, her voice faint from where he was, and asked about inns from the bartender. She got up, turned, and walked to the door.

Still didn’t look his way, she barely lifted her head to see what was in front of her. But as she passed the exit, she paused for half a heartbeat for just a moment, he thought maybe she knew. Maybe she felt him watching.

Then she left, the silence she left behind swallowed him whole. Before he knew it, his legs were dragging him up and after her.

She felt him before she heard him, the stranger stalking her at a distance. She didn't look back, knew better not to. She kept walking lifting her head to be more actively aware of her surroundings, hand hovering close to her gun.. She heard his footsteps, too careful, too quiet, faint. A professional. The streets beyond the bar were quiet as the sun set and traders packed up their stands. She turned a corner, tested him with a pause at a vendor, then walked on. He matched her pace. Slowed when she did. Didn’t try to pass.

She didn't know where she was going but she needed to get away. The streets thinned into alleyways and she ducked to the left, a dead end. Trapped by two collapsed tenements. She cursed under her breath, turning at the sound of his footsteps slow but firm.

She pressed her back to an old green power transformer. She waited.

She saw the shadow of him at the entrance of the dead end, she moved like lightning and didn't give him time to think. A twist, a pivot, elbow to the throat, a boot behind the knee. She had her knife at his neck before she saw his face.

“Easy, darlin’,” His voice made her freeze, breath quickening, eyes widening. “It’s me.” He looked up at her with wounded, longing, eyes. He swallowed feeling the press of the blade.

She said nothing and backed away. She didn't have it in her to see him, to confront what he did, to talk to him.

“I saw you in the bar,” He frowned as she moved away. “I wanted to say something. I just— I couldn’t—” His words failed him.

Without a word and panicked eyes, she stepped around him and tried to flee.

“Please darlin’,” His voice called, as desperate and broken as when he sat staring at her corpse. It made her shiver and swallow. “Don’t leave me.”

“You left me.” She found herself snapping, her voice harsh. She stopped and turned to look at him, his hat lay on the ground where it fell in the scuffle and he stood and slumped her way. Her eyes watered as he got closer.

“Y’were dead.” His hands came up to cradle her face like they used to when he kissed her so sweetly. “I—”

“What the hell are you talking about?” She shoved his hands away like they burned her flesh. A knife twisted in his gut. Why didn’t he wait longer? Why didn’t he man the fuck up and check for a pulse?

Silence settled between them. Heavy. Thick with everything unsaid.

“I thought you were dead,” he said, voice rough. “I didn’t check—I should have fucking checked—I was scared. I blamed myself. Every day.”

Her grip on the knife didn't relax, but her stance shifted— less hostile and more unsure. She thought for a few moments. She shook her head and turned her back to him, almost turning right back around when she heard his voice plead her name.

“Don’t follow me coop.” She walked away, and he felt for those long few moments he was watching her die all over again. Until she stopped just shy of the end of the alley, “I’ll be at the bar again tomorrow before I leave town. If you still wanna—I just want to be alone.” And she was gone. He grabbed his hat from the ground, waited long enough to keep her from thinking he was following, and went back to the bar, he sat and waited.

≫ ────────────────── ≪

It was nearly noon when she showed up. The bar was dead silent; the only other people other than them were asleep on their tables, drunk, or sitting alone around the room.

Cooper waited, back slouched, perking up when her boots came into view.

“You sleep here?” She asked with an unreadable expression on her face.

“Huh?” He swallowed, eyes searching hers for forgiveness. “Uh, no.” Not a lie—he didn't sleep. She saw through it and sighed, not knowing what to say next. She looked like the years had dulled her— burned away the parts that could be hurt.

She sat opposite him and shifted uncomfortably. He studied her like he used to do but in a new light.

“Glad you came, darlin’.” He tried to smile, but her eyes were void of joy, drowning any hope blooming in his chest.

“I crawled out of that ditch and watched you leave me behind.” She skipped pleasantries, eyes falling to her lap. He shuddered to think all he had to do was wait ten more fucking minutes. A violent self-hatred boiled in the pit of his stomach watching her eyes tear up and her hands begin to shake. “I lay there thinking all you needed to do is turn around— just change your mind and come back. I’d forgive you, like nothing happened. You—” She pressed her lips together and took a deep calming breath.

“Sugar—” He tried.

She forced a laugh empty of any real emotion, “I thought if I ever saw you again you'd put a bullet in me, mock me— laugh at me— I,” She cut herself off trying to stop the trembling of her body to keep her composure in front of him.

“I never stopped loving you,” he said. No hesitation. No defense. Just the truth. His attempt to comfort her only made her flinch as the words hit her harder than a bullet.

“I wanted to stop,” she admitted. “But you were the only person who ever saw me and didn’t look away. I wanted to stop loving—to hate you so much.”

“I’m sorry darlin’, please.” He knew what he was begging for, and she had an idea. She gulped and braved a look into his eyes. Once she did she felt the pull of his warm gaze, those eyes still looked at her the same way they did before.

The same fear as the time a feral ghoul had tackled her, and he looked her over for injuries afterward. The same longing as when she split off to visit home since they were passing by— only separated for two days before they met up in Filly— but he missed her by his side. The same fragile hope as when he told her his name for the first time, after being just The Ghoul for so long. The same love and joy as when she killed a man for shooting him—not yet realizing the resilience of ghouls— and he scoped her up and kissed her breathlessly for the first time.

“I buried you,” He sighed, deflated. “In my mind. Couldn’t bring myself to touch your corpse— I—” He faltered, sucking in air between tight yellow teeth. “I just couldn’t face it. I waited for hours for a sign you were breathing—anything darlin’—I gave up waiting.”

She’d never seen him cry, not even when he told her of his little girl. He’d had a far-away stare, firm jaw, glossy eyes—but never a tear. Yet now, a broken man pleasing for one last lifeline, he cried.

“I buried you in a grave, in my mind, in a field of lilies—right next to Janey.”

She crashed against him, his hat falling off and she wrapped around him shushing his crying and soothing his breathing. He buried himself in her arms, holding on tighter than he ever had before. He talked about wanting to find her, holding out hope she—like him— had survived. He’d clearly lost that hope.

The press of her warmth left a buzzing feeling in his heart, like a rusty old machine stirring back on after years. She was real, and she felt so warm and soft it felt too good to be true. Just as he remembered— better even. His hands searched over her body, feeling for a place his hand would fall through, a crack in the illusion, proof he’d gone mad. All over her back, waist, hips, nape, and nothing.

His apologies her muffled against her body, face buried in her chest, pleading her name over and over. Despite the anguish of his voice, dancing in his eyes, she found herself smiling ever slightly. A joy blooming in her chest she’d not known for a long time.

It felt good to have a name again.

She pulled away, as he spoke “—love you.” His mumbles became coherent as his face left her body. She stroked along his face and sighed feeling his arms trapping her against him. She doubted he’d let go anytime soon.

“Yeah,” She signed softly, pausing as he moved hair from her face. “You’re pretty when you cry.” There was a stirring in her chest, something coming back to life. Knowing he’s suffered as much as— possibly more— than she has these past three years eased the ache. Seeing that she had died, been remembered, and missed so dearly somehow made her feel even better. She’d spent so much time looming over the idea that she’d be a skeleton in the wasteland someday, dust in the wind, never thought of again. She knew now that he’d never let that happen.

“Don’t leave me, darlin’.” He pleaded, mouth hung open looking up into her eyes. Insecurity and uncertainty were evident both on his face and in his voice. “I’ll make it up to you— whatever y’want.”

“That's gonna be a lot of work.” She found it easier than she thought to find that feisty tease she used to be. Having a taste of the life she lived once stirred those dreams she abandoned, bringing a part of her long-buried to the surface.

“Anything.” He offered firm. She had half a minute to mention how she technically still had the room at the inn for a few more hours, but she could tell it was too soon to make a move like that. Yet she thought he wouldn't find falling into her arms as he once did often, though she decided to wait until the wounds weren't so fresh; for both their sakes.

She didn’t mean to lean in while considering this. But when she did, and he didn’t pull away, it felt like something ancient finally shifting back into place. She looked up at him then, eyes locked on his, searching for a lie. There wasn’t one, she kissed him. Soft at first. Testing. Then harder — not desperate, but solid. Like grounding after a long fall. Like coming home to something she never thought she’d see again.

She settled into the spot beside him as they pulled away, setting his hat back on his head. His smile was soft, his eyes searching hers for something.

“I still love you, Coop.” She answered his unspoken question. He let out a breath he didn't know he was holding. A kiss to her lips as a thank you before he pulled away and sighed contently, just enjoying her weight against him. Part of him felt he’d wake up soon.

There was a laugh, a hoot, and a holler taking them away from each other. Their heads turned to two bandits approaching them, faces neither of them recognized.

“Well, if it isn't The Ghoul.” His grin was uneven and grimy, as ugly as the rest of him. “And who’s this?”

“He got himself a little ghoul fucking whore.” The other answered laughing like it was the funniest joke in the world— or it was the chems he was obviously on.

“You’re not so tough,” They shared a scheming look between them, “H—”

Two shots were fired, one after the other. She watched the idiots fall blowing the smoke from the end of his revolver as he brought it back in.

“Thank y’darlin’.” He holstered the weapon and she found herself grinning.

Bonnie and Clyde were back in business.

≫ ────── ≪•◦ ❈ ◦•≫ ────── ≪

•Kermitts Masterlist•

[call-me-kermit]

Always

Word Count: 1366 Read Time: 5-6min

Warning: Morning after cuddles, Established Relationship, Softy Cooper, Cooper is a love-sick dog, Plenty of smooches

Summary: Who knew the stone cold killer, The Ghoul, Cooper Howard had a soft side.

Rating: PG-13

Note: I’m a slut for cuddles and butterfly kisses.

≫ ────── ≪•◦ ❈ ◦•≫ ────── ≪

The air is cool in the early morning, only the warmth of the comforter and body heat warms The ghoul's flesh. Dawn only whispered its approach. The wind moaned against the side of the inn. The room was dark except for the dim lamp on the bedside table.

Cooper's nerves were eased by the slow breaths beneath the flesh against his chest. His hand wrapped around resting just under her ribs, the edge of his palm laying over her stomach protectively. His face pressed closely to her shoulder, he hadn’t moved in thirty minutes. Didnt want to.

Every now and then she makes a soft sound in her sleep, a hum or mumble, and he smiles ever so slightly. Every sigh— even snores— made something tight in his chest soften. His finger traced a patch of rougher skin between her breast, gently. A patch he remembered putting there lastnight, remembering rather fondly the sweet way she spoke his name while he did.

She knew him. Knew more than what the wanted posters, and the men in border towns—whispering of The Ghoul— or any living soul, could ever know. She knew his heart and how it bleeds. She held it in her delicate hands and kissed it so sweetly his knees would buckle just thinking about it.

She held him close and whispered promises she’s yet to break. Poured out all the love she had to give, all for him, even when he was too chicken to say it back.

She loved him through the dirt. She loved him through the blood. She loved him through the betrayal at their first meeting. She loved him through his shellfish moments— lord knows she’s had some of her own. She loved him through the pain and sorrow. She loved him through the good, bad, and downright hideous.

She shifted in her sleep, and he loosened his grip letting her settle before holding close again. Her face now turned towards him, he was able to admire her face instead of imagining it with her back turned.

Cooper raised his hand to graze over the bone of her cheek, pressing butterfly kisses, gentle enough to barely feel, over her cheek and nose— everything he could reach in this position. His hand found her waist when he had his fill.

He lay there, not knowing how much time had passed, etching every inch of her face into his memory. Her plump pink lips that taste like peaches in the summertime. Her soft skin, mostly safe from the scars of the wasteland. Her lashes over rosy cheeks, so pretty when they flutter.

“Y’stareing.” The ghost of a smile on her lips as she stirred, pushing closer to his warmth.

He grinned, caught in the act. “And?”

“You ever sleep?” She teased, giggling at the tickle of his hand running up and down her side.

“Don't like to waste my time, it's very valuable, y’know.” He leaned closer, kissing access her face, gently like handling expensive glass. “Especially when it’s with you.”

“Ever the charmer.” She hummed pleasantly, opening her eyes finally. He sighed contently, feeling her eyes grab hold of his as real as the press of her flesh on him.

She was drifting into sleep again, eyelids heavy, lazy smile on her lip. She was having trouble keeping her eye open, he could tell. He’d spent years studying her face for lies, fear, for the look just before one reaches for a hidden blade meant just for your back. He knows her like the back of his leathery hand.

There was a scar, a discolored line, faint on the arch of her brow— from a nasty swing from a raider with brass knuckles, long before they met— he kissed it a thousand times and it still felt like a secret only he knew of. Only he had been close enough and long enough to notice, to admire. He loved that scar—the man who put it there was the victim in all his fantasies when rage overwhelms him.

His slow gaze fell to the curve of her soft lips, the urge to taste them strong as he watched them part with a twitching sleepy smile. He reached, leisurely, to stroke along the side of her face, pushing away stray hairs. She didn’t stir, didn’t flinch, just basked in the warmth of his hands.

“You’re beautiful.” His voice was barely there, a ghost of his thoughts. Though he knew he never had the words to fully delineate her gace. She was beautiful, not in the way poems say— nor the way men boat about women in saloons, with beer, bad breath, and metaphors. She was a kind of beautiful that warmed even his bones and made him feel like a child discovering the concept of beauty for the first time. The kind of beauty that has no words.

He didn’t deserve her grace and he knew it. Knew it like he knows how to reload in the dark, slit a throat without making a sound, and skin a man into the perfect— not too thick, not too thin— jerky all before he’d even dead.

She deserved better.

“Love you,” She mumbled, sleep evident in her soft tone. “S’much.”

He sighed, a shaky breath forcing itself from his chest. He leaned closer, pressing his cheek against hers, his ear aligned with her mouth. She grinned lazily, repeating herself. He hummed kissing her cheek and down her neck, almost as a thank you.

She sighed, a low hum encouraging him to keep kissing. The kisses were as sweet and gentle as her hand that came up to the nap of his neck to tenderly stroke and scratch. Her body wrapped around him, holding on and giggling at the needy and loving behavior of The Ghoul, her Cooper Howard.

Those giggles undid him.

This was the part nobody saw. His bounties and foes would never believe. The Ghoul, the man who’d slit a man's throat in front of his wife just for blinking wrong, was now a puddled mess in the arms of his lady. Watery eyes from overwhelming delight, and a tightness in his chest almost too sweet to bear.

“You ruin me,” He sighed, kissing his way up to her lips. He spoke it like a confession— like worship. Peppering kisses around them before pressing into them.

“Your poor reputation.” She mocked with a playful frown when he pulled away.

After all these years she still manages to take a sledgehammer to the walls inside his chest. Every day it crumbles more and more to make more room her nothing but her. He thinks someday, she will consume him.

He looked down at her again. Her hair was tangled from sleep, a little wild. One hand was curled up under her chin like a child’s. Her lips twitched in a half-dreamed smile, and it hit him — hard — how deep it all went.

Every hard edge he’d built over his two hundred years of wastelanding melt right from his bones when she smiles at him like that. No one would ever see him like this. Not the other bounty hunters. Not the bastards who feared him. Only her. Only here. This bed, this light, this quiet.

“You’re always like this before you go.” Her voice was cold, almost scared. He sighed, stroking her cheek and settling into her arms, refusing to go.

“Vials running low, darlin’.” He didn't need to explain further, she understood.

“Do whatever you need to do.” She nodded, eyes working to memorize the euphoric expression on his face. “Kill a thousand men, just—” She let out a shaky sigh, “Just come back to me.”

“Always, darlin’.” His lips found hers again, and she pressed in closer, breathing in his scent. Then he kissed her—slow and unhurried. Sweet, not desperate. Like he had all the time in the world, even though they both knew he didn’t.

His lips moved against hers with a reverence he didn’t show for anything else in this life. One hand cupped the side of her face, his thumb tracing the arc of her cheekbone. He pulled away just a breath, forehead resting against hers again.

“Always.”

≫ ────── ≪•◦ ❈ ◦•≫ ────── ≪

•Kermitt’s Masterlist•

[call-me-kermit]

Here Kitty Kitty

Word Count: 3362 Read Time: 10-15min

Warning: Canon Violence, sexual tension, mild bump-&-grind, Slightly OOC Cooper Summary: The Ghoul is hired by a man to keep him alive. To bad for the man, the woman hunting him has a charm The Ghoul can't resist. Rating: PG

Note: Not proofread

≫ ────── ≪•◦ ❈ ◦•≫ ────── ≪

It all happened so quickly.

One moment the infamous Ghoul sat back in the corner of the bar, hat-tipping over his face, feet kicked up on a man slumped over—either passed out drunk, or dead, he didn’t care to know— nursing a whisky.

There was a radio somewhere distant, songs drowned out by the music of the bar. Laughter and chatter bounced off the sheet metal walls. Distant gunfire poured in from the cracks in the patchwork of the shack. He blended in and stood out all at once. Sitting quiet and watching, the last thing to be noticed in the hustle of the atmosphere. Yet, he sat away from the chattering crowds of the other patrons— one who saw him couldn’t not notice and wonder. It was peaceful, as he was left unbothered to enjoy the spoils of a fresh paycheck.

The next moment a frantic man was sitting in front of him, talking and talking, ruining that peace.

“You’re that bounty hunter, right? The one everyone's talking about?” He spoke almost too quickly and quietly to hear. As if he was afraid of someone listening. “I need your help, man. How much do you cost? You ever done bodyguard work before? I can pay. How much? I don't have a lot on me now, but you can get me to Shady Sands, I get you whatever you cost. You need to keep me alive. I need to get to—”

“Shut up.” The Ghoul groaned, rolling his eyes.

“Please, man! Their gonna get me, I—”

“Shut. Up.” He gritted his teeth, yellow teeth peaking through his tight lips. “I don’t care, who’s gets you. Now get.” He vaguely motioned to the other side of the bar, shooing him away. The nameless man glared, frustrated with the rather rude Ghoul. His life was on the line after all.

“A thousand caps.” The man gulped watching the Ghoul lift his head meeting the man's eyes, a wicked grin across his face. “I uh— I got a partner in Shady Sands, he’s waiting on me. We made a deal, and we got good money. I’m good for it, Ghoul. You get me to Shady Sands alive and I’ll pay you good.”

“Hmm,” The Ghoul considered his options, looking the man over. He didn’t seem like the shifty type, more of an uptown vibe. He had half a mind to be suspicious about why someone wanted him dead so much he’d be this desperate. On the other hand, who the hell cares? A thousand caps is a jackpot, and if this sucker can pay up, well, he’ll be sitting pretty for a while.

“What y’got on ya’?”

“I’ll pay you in Shady Sands.” The man defended, getting antsy.

“Call it a deposit on my serves.” His grin widened and the man huffed, shuffling through his bag.

“It's all I got.” He handed over a small pouch. The Ghoul counted through the caps, sighing when it was only about three hundred. Caps was caps, he wasn't gonna complain.

“You got y’self a deal.”

“Good.” The man stood. “Let’s go then.” The ghoul didn't appreciate being rushed, but if it got him closer to that money he’d let it slide.

The Ghoul downed the rest of his drink as he stalked behind the panicked leaving the bar, tossing the empty glass to the side. He chuckled seeing the man jump ever so slightly at the sound of the glass shattering.

The sun outside was sweltering, barring down on them the second they stepped out of the bar's comforting shade. The streets of this little town were nearly empty, everyone hiding in the bar or elsewhere, from the heatwave.

Despite the heat, the name shook, almost shivering. Not cause he was cold, no, the cause was fear. The kind of fear that settles in her bones when you know your time is near and there is little you can do.

His nameless client, a rather thin man in a dusty suit, spoke low, “It’s about two days to Shady Sands. We ain't stopping til I'm safe and they're off my trail.”

“If you say so.” The Ghoul just grinned to himself, thinking of all the things he’d buy with those caps; mostly just vials and a nice neat whisky.

They were on the edge of town when The Ghoul heard the sound of a whistle. It was one note, let out slow, eerie, echoing on the wind— chasing them down the road. He paid no mind until he saw his client turn, eyes wide and running around their surroundings, searching.

“That's him,” He gasped, picking up the pace, urging The Ghoul to hurry along. The bounty hunter was already moving, keeping a hand on his gun, keeping an eye on the town as they put it behind them.

Then he saw it. A figure in the distance, hooded and masked, duster swaying ever so slightly in the scarce breeze. It stood, still, watching. The whistle is not to give away an attack, just simply to remind the fearful man what's coming.

“Well,” He found himself chuckling. “That's as ominous as it is dramatic.” He tipped his head the the figure, surprised when they returned the gesture.

He turned and sighed at the sight of his client quite literally running for the hills, arms flailing like those silly cartoon characters he’d seen on Sunday mornings. His shoulders dropped and he shook his head, briefing one more look to the figure who had not moved. He was even more suppressed to notice the shake of their shoulders as if they were laughing.

“Yuck it up while you can.” He followed his client. Nothing was getting in between him and those caps.

≫ ──────────────── ≪

The angry sun had long gone, the night giving them both reasons to shiver. The wind started wild enough, then only got worse. They held up in an old building, it had no name, no roof, and barely even had walls. It stood like the bones of a beast long dead, flesh eaten away by time. There was no way to tell what the building used to be, yet now it was a shield. The angry sun was replaced by angrier winds, lifting and carrying sand and debris across the wasteland.

They had no fire for warmth, even if they could keep it alive with the wind, it was too much risk— they could be spotted in the dark.

“We should be moving.” He hissed at the bounty hunter, paranoid and frantic.

“You wanna test your luck in the storm?” The Ghoul grumbled, motioning to the hole in the wall. The hole they climbed in through, through so they watched the desert. What they could see of it anyway, the sand flew past at speeds that made the man dizzy when he watched too closely. “Or whatever is out there waiting? We’ll go when it stops.”

“But—”

“Sleep.” The Ghoul snapped, annoyed. “While you can.”

The man nearly argued back, when they both turned to look into the sandstorm, hearing a call out in the mess. They strained their ears to listen. There it was again, the whistle.

“Wh—why? He stood, breathing quickening. “Why doesn’t he just—?”

“He wants you to run,” The Ghoul stepped closer to the hole, watching the shadows of the storm. “He’s enjoying the chase.”

This didn't seem like the hunt for a bounty, this seemed personal. Which made the Ghoul shift, eyeing the man who was now hyperventilating.

“What did y’do?” His voice hardened, dangerous. His drawl grew thicker. The Ghoul didn’t care either way, he was simply growing curious. After all, he was probably guilty of worse things than his man.

The man opened his mouth but no sounds came out, he weezed, shaking his head. The Ghoul stepped closer to him, one hand on his gun, the other on the lasso that hung on his hip. He waited, watching the flicker of fear and guilt in the man's eyes.

“Shit!” The man cried eyes over The Ghoul's shoulder. He turned and looked, through the shadows of the storm was the figure slowly approaching. The Ghoul grumbled like the imposing figure of death was nothing more than an annoying pre-war mosquito.

They were cornered in their shelter and he knew it, so he stayed put. Waiting for the figure to climb the sand and into their shared space.

For a heartbeat everything was still but the wind. The Ghoul studied the figure, more accurately the unmistakable curves trying to hide beneath mismatched armor and long coat.

“Wait, it can't be—”

“She is.” The bounty hunter cut him off.

The figure raised a hand to the mask, a blank armored slate, and dragged it over their head, pushing off the hood in the process. Her eyes wandered invitingly over The Ghoul, who stood watching curiously.

“What is a pretty thing like you doing in these parts?” He teased shamelessly. He liked the way her eyes took their time deciding where to stare first, making a map of his whole body. He liked the way his skin burned under her gaze.

“Are you serious?” His client exclaimed. The woman just smiled slyly at him not rushing into anything, enjoying the interaction.

"That's a nice piece you got there, darlin'.” He eyed the sawed-off plasma rifle that hung from her hip, the tip just past her knee. “Y'plannin' to kiss me goodnight or blow my head clean off?"

"Depends." Her hips swayed as she stepped closer, teasing with another look trailing over his body. "You here to flirt or interfere?"

"Can't I do both?" His hands found a comfortable place on his belt.

"Aw, you're cute." She sighed, tilting her head with a shake. "Shame, I don't wanna have to kill you."

"I was just thinking the same thing. But," His turn sighs, motioning to his client huddled trembling in the corner. Neither of their eyes looked at the man, staring into each other's instead. "I'm getting paid a pretty penny to keep that man alive." The tension was thick enough to taste.

For a minute, they stood still, both debating how to get out of this without ruining the odd—admittingly horny— dynamic festering between them. Both killers in their respective regards, retraining themselves for the sake of distrust in strangers, yet testing the line. She watched as The Ghoul licked his lips, her lips parting in response.

Then everything exploded.

The client made a break for it, not wanting to witness his life be put at risk because his guard wants to get his dick wet. As soon as he moved she moved. Her coat flared out as she drew her rifle, plasma bolts blasting after the man who stumbled and rolled down the sand and out of the shelter. The Ghoul, instead of taking his revolver to her skull, as easy as it would be, threw his lasso around her as she moved to chase the man down the sand mound.

The lasso fell low, tightening around her knees, yanking her to the ground. He pulled the rope, keeping her from crawling away. Watching her target running off into the storm, she groaned, rolling over and raising her gun to aim right between his eyes. He held her gaze for a few moments, concluding that she was waiting for a reason to shoot. He figured he’d given her plenty, he certainly would’ve had the roles been reversed.

Unbeknown to him, she knew she’d get her target, she had all her life to hunt him. Yet the cowboy who had a hold on her seemed like something worth saving him for later. Like a sweet dessert after a long day of grueling work.

“How much?” She asked, steeling her grip as he approached.

“Pardon?” He sighed getting down to her level, letting her press the gun to his head, watching her with hungry eyes. He was in no rush, his client was not going to get very far in this weather.

“How much did he offer you, cowboy?”

“Y’wanna offer me some’n better?” He grinned, eyes leaving hers to greedily look over the curve of her hips, up to her breasts. Her armor unfortunately leaves plenty to the imagination. She gave him a pointed look, akin to tugging the leash of a rowdy labrador. “Why’s it matter to ya, sweetheart?”

“Cause he ain’t got it.” She smirked. Something told him not to believe her. “Fair warning.”

“Oh yeah?” He raised a hairless brow, pressing against the barrel on his forehead, his hat tipping back a little. Her hand fell, laying back on her elbow holding her up, an untamed Ghoul looming over, hungry and practically salivating— her legs still bound.

“Yeah,” Her voice was firm and quiet. He unconsciously leaned forward to hear her better, grinning when her eyes fell to his lips as he did.

“Got a name, sugar?” He was as quiet as her now. His drawl was thick and sweet, making her viably shiver.

“You can just keep calling me that,” She sighed breathlessly as he leaned closer, their lips brushing together. A groan rumbled from his chest when he felt her kitten lick at his top lip, hand finding grip on her waist—the other tugging her closer by the rope. She dipped her head closer, her lips ghosting along his, up his cheek, and along the shell of his ear. “Come here, cowboy.”

He groaned pressing forward, pressing his lips against her, letting his guard slip as he heard her moan. His tongue ran along hers, dancing to the song of her muffled noises.

A mistake, he learned.

He had no time to think before she shifted, and something struck the side of his head. He hit the ground and saw darkness.

When his eyes opened, the storm had settled and the sun peaked over the horizon. He bolted up, adrenaline filling him as he remembered. He made a move to stand, being tugged back. He looked to see, his feet tied up tight as hers had been, except the knot was large and complicated, and the other end of the rope was tied to the middle of a large beam sticking out of rubble. He’d have an easier time cutting himself free, however, A, he was hesitant to part with his very useful lasso, and B, his belt and pockets were empty. He looked at the pile of his things, set nice and tidy for him.

Despite the annoyance, he grinned. A game of cat and mouse has started.

≫ ──────────────── ≪

When The Ghoul caught up to her he almost laughed until there was a gun in his face. She stood, eyes focused and nearly annoyed. Her target was dangling, tied by wire, from an old radio tower— a human pinada.

“Oh sweetie,” She groaned. “I, really, need you to take the hint, baby. Back off.” She held him at gunpoint yet again, something he thought maybe would become a content in their relationship.

“What's the plan here?” He grinned watching the man sway and spin slowly. “Beat him until his slides spill out?”

“Nah,” She shrugged. “Was just gonna let him roast— an’ if a hungry Deathclaw came by. . .” She trailed off.

The tower groaned in the wind behind them, casting a long shadow across the sand. The client swayed bound and dazed, breathing through split lips and dust-choked fear.

“Turn around and walk away.” She warned.

“No.”

Her grip tightened. “Don’t be a fool.”

He found himself chuckling when the client started crying, “I’m gonna die.”

“Quit whining, y’baby.” He gave the man a pointed stare before returning to her. “Now, darlin’, I don’t particularly care about this man—I care about that paycheck.”

“Oh god—”

“Shut up.” They both cut the whimpering man off. Grinning ever so slightly at each other.

“I’m gonna need you to cut him down and hand him over so I don’t have to kill you.” He shrugged, watching her closely as he drew his revolver, aiming it at her.

“How could you aim that thing at me while looking at me like that?” She scoffed in mock offense, a smirk pulling at the corner of her lips.

“Like what?” He tilted his head at her adjusting his aim to remain trained on her.

“Like you’re remembering what I taste like.”

The Ghoul’s grin faded into something quieter. More dangerous. “I am.”

Her breath caught for just a second—but she covered it with a laugh. “You’re terrible.”

“And you’re stalling.”

“From what?”

“From admitting you want me to kiss you right now.”

She tilted her head. “That confident?”

He shrugged.“Maybe,” he said, tilting his head the other way. “Or maybe I just don’t want to shoot someone who kisses like you do.”

"Flattery won't stop a bullet." He laughed at that.

She had half a mind to laugh herself, mostly at being in a standoff with a proper cowboy, a once-in-a-lifetime event. Though her composure never slipped despite the obvious amusement on her face, one slip and this would be her downfall. He had the same thought, smirking playfully while his sights were shown right over the scope of her gun, in between her eyes.

“So,” She said, shifting her weight, “this is the part where we shoot each other or kiss, isn’t it?” He said nothing, only grinned.

“Say,” she smiled, raising her free hand defensively while the other unholstered her iron. The Ghoul's eyes never leave her, ready to draw and fire any second. “I’ve got a proposition if you're interested.” She offered.

“I’m listening, darlin’.” That smirk turned teasing.

“No guns.” She lifted her gun into the air, a wide gripe showing her fingers away from the trigger. The cowboy pondered momentarily then followed her lead, he walked closer.

“This your way of sayin’ you wanna get your hands on me?” He shook his head. “I know better now, ain't’ trusting you in a scrap, y’fight dirty.”

“Ha,” She forced a laugh with a sly grin, “You liked it.”

He was close now—close enough to see the flicker of something softer behind the fire in her eyes. Close enough that it would’ve been easy. Too easy. But instead of kissing her, looked at the client, now unconscious from the heat and blood rushing to his head.

“Let me take him,” He said. “I get him to Shady Sands, he pays me, then you kill him.”

“You’d do that for me?” She teased batting her eyelashes.

“An’ a whole lot more.” His hand found her waist pulling her flush against him. She sighed, holstering her gun and dragging her hand up his chest and around his neck.

“Unless, what y’were sayin’ is true?”He pulled back before she had the satisfaction of kissing him finally.

“The bastard’s loaded. His daddy’s a loan shark.” She explained stroking his smirk with her thumb, hooded eyes never leaving his lips. “Was just trying to get you to leave without having to shoot you.”

“How romantic.” He mocked.

And then she kissed him.

No warning. No hesitation. Just heat and desperation, lips crashing into his like she’d run out of reasons not to. He tightened his grip around her waist, pulling her all the way in, mouths meeting with moans of longing behind them—raw, real, impossible to fake. She broke the kiss first, just barely. Her forehead pressed to his.

“We’re going to regret this.”

“Maybe,” He murmured, shifting his hips against her with a pleased sign. “But not tonight.”

She kissed him again—slower this time. Like a promise. Like maybe, just maybe, they’d survive what came next. The second kiss lingered—slower, deeper. Her fingers tangled in the collar of The Ghoul’s shirt like she was holding herself together with the seams of him. His hands slid down to her hips, anchoring them in place like the storm might come back and try to sweep her away. She rocked against him, humming at the groan rumbling in his chest.

She pulled away, grinning at the saliva chain between them, licking it up and smirking and he shuddered. He was totally and completely hypnotized.

“I’ll meet you in Shady Sands, baby.” One last peck and she was gone.

≫ ────── ≪•◦ ❈ ◦•≫ ────── ≪

•Kermitts Masterlist•

[call-me-kermit]

A Hog-Killin' Time

Warning: Cursing, Suggestive Conversation, Implied You Know What, Slightly OOC Cooper Summary: After turning in a bounty, the Ghoul hopes to get a drink. He gets a lot more than that. Rating: PG Note: Didn't really know where I was going with it, oh well. Hope y' like! NOT PROOFREAD

≫ ────── ≪•◦ ❈ ◦•≫ ────── ≪

If you asked him if there was a bar in this town he'd tell you you were full of shit. This 'town' was morso a single street, in the middle of what was once a town. The only population can be found by the only four buildings still standing, including an information post, a single farm house, a trades store, and the farmer's store. He's passed through here countless times.

Hardly anyone out this way nowadays with how far south it is. It's a pitstop town in the middle of nowhere. The kind of place nobody sticks around. He's surprised it's sustained itself this long.

Yet there it was, 'Hack's Saloon', painted in bright red along the wall of old brick. An arrow pointed around the corner to where he assumed a door would be. With a bag, now one severed head lighter, fresh caps to splurge, and a 'why the hell not' attitude, he strutted his way in.

The doors were really just a curtain, which he assumed used to belong to a shower. An amused chuckle left his lips as he slipped inside, spurs singing a song with every step.

Inside was hardly what he'd call a bar. Packed down dirt floor, mismatched tables and chairs—one made of an old refrigerator door—and at least what remained of an actual bartop. One single pattern was passed out on top of a table in the corner, and an old man was behind the bar. An old radio on top, humming old songs. He saw a shelf of booze, and that was good enough for him.

"What y'like?" The old man, back like a question mark, asked. The Ghoul eyed the selection as he approached a stool, paying mind to the cold drink that sat lonely on the other side of the bar.

"Finest y'have, compadre."

"Y'couldn't afford it." The man scoffed, waving him off.

"Try me, Hack." He dared the man with his glare.

The man shuffled out behind a half-collapsed wall, practically giggling to himself. The sudden amusement of the old man almost made the Ghoul crack a smile.

At this point, the Ghoul turned to the figure coming into view in his peripheral vision. He watched a woman, the like he'd never seen before, take a spot in front of the lonely chilled liquor. Her posture was straight and proper, skin clean and scar-free, with an impressive iron on her hip. And my, now that he was looking at her hips—

"Here you are." The man cackled, setting the bottle down before him. The ghoul peeled his eyes away from the woman who's yet to notice him.

He eyed the man briefly before looking down at the bottle in front of him. The Ghoul almost did a double-take before grinning widely. Before him sat a perfectly preserved 2010 Macallan Fine Malt Scotch. Tan paper bindings, brass cap, and beautiful golden liquor inside, untouched by this cruel world.

Hell, if he'd bought a bottle of this the day the bombs fell, he'd of spent enough money to buy a house. The Ghoul didn't even wanna think about how much value it has accumulated over the past two hundred years. If the world hadn't ended, this bottle would be worth near millions, most likely.

His ear perked at the sound of a slow and smooth whistle. The woman took notice and understood that this was indeed a sight to behold. Though her eyes never went to him, but rather stayed on the bottle until she turned away in favor of her glass.

"How much for the whole thing?" The Ghoul purred, hoping this man's a fool.

"Fifty caps!" The man nearly yelled in laughter, proud of the bottle he pulled. A fool indeed.

The Ghoul counted out his caps and took his prize. The man sauntered off feeling he had pulled the greatest con. When instead that title goes to the Ghoul.

With the man finally out of sight and earshot, the woman piped up, "Congrats, fella." She had a drawl like sweet honey on a breezey summer's day.

He simply grinned and nodded her way before taking a glass and pouring himself a neat drink. Sipping so slow to feel every bud that begins to tingle, then burn as it slides back and down his throat. A wicked grin came up as he finished the rest of the glass in one long gulp.

"That's ace-high scotch you're wasten' there." Her tone was unimpressed, yet still like a song. "Y'gotta be a sap-headed fool to waste a prize like that."

He pondered a moment, eyeing her soulfully. She did not look to him as she scolded him, and the tone of her song was so sweet, like she was telling a joke. Something about her presence itched his gut. To say he was interested would be an understatement, but this cowboy is a lone rider, so he schooled his expression and buried it deep down.

"Where y'from?" His lip curled just slightly. Her tone set a fire in his belly, intrigue, and a little something else.

"South," She put simply. He hummed, pouring himself another drink and finally taking a seat.

"Sticking 'round?" A slow sip.

"What's it to ya'?" She sneered, finally turning to look at him, not much to see with what was hidden away under his hat. He lifted his chin to look her in the eye and he watched as she took in his features. Somthing in her demeanor shifted then.

"Easy, darlin." He let out slowly, with almost a chuckle on his breath. Eyeing her with that something else in his gaze. "Just one poke to another here."

"Hmm," She nodded, unbelieving of his statement. "You ain't cowpoke. Y' a mail-order cowboy." There was no venom in her tone, but those were fighting words.

"The hell you know about me?" He grinned, almost forgetting he should be offended.

"I seen you're movies, fella." She sipped, and his grin dropped. "Ain't no way I'm taking you for real poke, maybe a hunter, but not poke. No," She shook her head with a chuckle. It was light, void of heat, unmatched by her words. As if she were talking to a friend she's known for years. Blame the liquor. "You's a pretty movie star."

"You think'n I sold my saddle, huh?" He gritted his jaw, nodding along. He had, and it's a shameful thing for a cowboy. He abandoned the brands of Texas for the big screen. He wasn't expecting to be called out for it over two hundred years later.

"How—" She laughed suddenly. "How are y'still kick'n?"

He watched her shoulders shake as she laughed and swept her hair from her face.

"Secret." He sighed, taking another long sip of scotch.

"Fair enough." She turned to him fully, her body on display by the way her armor and duster settled against her curves. If his mind hadn't been plagued by unwanted memories surfacing, he'd have half a mind to ogle some. "You got a name, fella?"

He found himself unable to say anything. Just eyed her, almost brought right back out of his funk by the way she looked at him with twinkling eyes.

"You fixin' after a bounty, then? I get that feelin'." She stated, pausing to leave room for him to say something. When he didn't, she continued, "I'm tenderfooted in the game. See, only been off the homestead a year or so—stopped counting the days— you seem to know a thing or two 'bout it."

"A thing or two," He hummed, bringing the glass to his lips. Ever so humble. "You raise brahmin on that homestead of yours?" He found himself asking, even though he didn't really care to know. But something about answering her pressing questions right now made him shifty.

"Largest herd in the Commonwealth." She beamed with a pride only a Cowboy could know. He knew that pride himself, at one point.

"What brings y'up this way?" She deflated at his question, shoulders slumped, and posture curving, and she leaned back.

"Suppose I'm selling mine too." She shook her head shamefully. "It's a good life, but it doesn't offer much in the wasteland. Only so much to do."

"Hypocrite." He teased, she laughed, that twinkle coming back. She nodded and watched him carefully. He found a weight coming off his shoulders as she looked him over, head to toe, as he had done to her.

"So," Standing with her glass in hand, she strutted over, taking a seat with just two feet between them. "Bout that name o'yours?" Slowly sipping her watered-down liquor, noticing the way he watched the press of glass on her lip and the wet it left behind.

He said nothing again and just buried his gaze into her soul.

"Fine," She perks a grin, "We'll both be nameless than. You always drink alone, Fella?" She leaned back and slammed back the last half of her drink— figuring she'd need it to liven up the mood.

"Yep," The Ghoul sighed, turning away to follow her lead and downing the rest of his scotch. "Ride alone, too."

"Poor baby," She purred in a teasing tone. "Ridin' 'lone might keep things simple, but it ain't always better." She offered.

"What would y'know 'bout ridin' alone?" He tilted his head ever so slightly and let his gaze dance over her form.

"Been doin' so this whole time!" She exclaimed like it was obvious. "But I'm serious, fella. What's the lay o'the land 'round here?"

"Why are you so keen to takin' up bounties?" He pushed.

"Been kill'n men all my life, might as well get paid for it." She spoke as a master of fact. He just hummed and poured a third glass.

"You this friendly with all you're company, or y'just save it for special occasions?" She grinned wildly, watching his eyes dance between emotions.

"You think'n youre a special occasion?" A curl of his lips made the cowgirl chuckle.

"Certainly hoping."

"Well," He found himself smiling, "You got a way about you, darlin', I'll give you that."

She watched him and waited expectantly. He groaned, his smile faltering only slightly.

"Fine," She interrupted with a cheer. "Don't think this is a favor, I don't do anything for free."

"I'll be sure to make it worth your while." She leaned forward.

"The only real advice I have to give, if you're set on takin' bounties 'round here, don't touch mine." His smile turned dark in warning, before turning to his drink. He'd killed many for much less. People understand the risk of taking on a bounty over a certain threshold, fully aware The Ghoul doesn't waste time on low-paying jobs, and will let nobody get in the way of him and his caps. It is one of the many reasons for his infamy in the wastelands: his mercilessness.

"Was that supposed to be intimidating?" She chuckled.

"You'll learn, darlin'." He sighed. "You'll learn."

"You," She draw out slow, eyes moving away, pausing to debate completing her train of thought. "You wanna teach me?" Her hand found it's way to his knee, sliding upwards ever so slightly.

"You always this kind to strangers?" He smirked wickedly, watching her rise to her feet and place herself between his knees.

"Only the ones I wanna be more than strangers with." She let out a breathy laugh, watching him take deeper breaths, and her hands slid further up.

"You are a dangerous woman." His hand left the glass and found its way to her hip. Her hands passed over where he was hoping they'd go, up his stomach and chest, and her index finger stroked the base of his neck. A rumble came from his chest as he pulled her closer, pressing her against him.

"Come on, cowboy," She toyed with him. "I'm itchin' for a ride."

"Well, that's one way to make it worth my while, Sugar."

≫ ────── ≪•◦ ❈ ◦•≫ ────── ≪

•Kermitts Masterlist•

[call-me-kermit]

CALL ME KERMITTTTTT

I CALL UPON YOU, FACE ME YOU COWARD, I COMMAND YOU TO RISE ONCE AGAIN AND FACE ME (please feed your children we yearn for gow headcanons)

Oops, I did it again. . .

Prompt: They constantly have to repair things that you've broken, including you. AKA Very clumsy reader. Note: Not Proofread

≫ ────── ≪•◦ ❈ ◦•≫ ────── ≪

Kratos

You are one lucky bastard.

If he didn't care about you as much as he did, you, your clumsy hands, and lack of self-preservation would be out the door.

Somehow, you managed to rip the head off an axe while helping him chop wood.

He never let you chop wood again.

Somehow, you broke a damn broom while sweeping!

He had half a mind to wrap you up and keep you away from the world to protect you from yourself.

He had half a mind to tell you to sit and stay while he takes care of everything, but what good would that do?

Instead, he just huffs when he hears a crash, thud, or snap, and checks you for injuries.

He'll make you fix whatever is broken unless you're hurt.

He'll tend to your wound and force to to rest while he takes care of it.

Make no mistake, he'll still be grumpy.

Atreus

Anytime something breaks, even when he knows it wasn't you, he'll give you a taunting look.

"Just can't help yourself, huh?" He'll tease.

He knows you're clumsy; he's hyperactive enough to be able to keep up with it sometimes.

Sometimes.

Grabbing you before you slip.

Holding onto any fragile loot you find- "I'll give it back, promise."

He laughed the air from his lungs when you tried so hard to be careful but still managed to bump a vase and watched it shatter on the ground.

The hopeless stare on your face was priceless.

Always, always, has plenty of healthstones and bandages.

Mimir

What the hell is he supposed to do, huh?

All he can do is beg and plead for you to be careful.

All he could do was sigh when he heard something snap, and saw the wild look in your eye as you looked over your shoulder, trying to fix it before someone noticed.

All he could do was groan in sympathy when he watched you stumble, lose your balance, and fall on your face as you were putting boots on your feet.

"Deary, please," He'd plead. "Let the boy do that."

You're a mess, and if he weren't so charmed, he'd call you a lost cause.

Sindri

Stop.

Please stop.

He can't keep up.

He doesn't know how you manage, how you've lived this long.

He's as surprised as he is horrified.

How do you manage to break everything you touch?

It baffles him, and he's growing tired of fixing everything.

Of course, he won't scold you too bad, he can tell you feel guilty enough already.

But he's close to snapping and locking you away to protect his stuff.

All you have to do is pout and apologize the way you do, bring him something you made and he's right back to swooning over you.

He knows you can't help it, but please, for his sake, be more careful.

Freya

She's ever one to fret over you.

At first, she was at your beck and call whenever you needed help fixing something or wrapping a wound.

As she got used to having you around, she genuinely wondered if you had been cursed with how often you trip, stumble, and fall over.

Now, she'll just sign and tease you for being a handful.

She won't tolerate you not helping to fix what's broken.

She'll help fix it, but she didn't break it, so she won't be doing all the work.

That won't stop her from smiling and giving you a kiss on the head after cleaning you up.

Heimdal

It was the one thing about you he couldn't stand.

Of course, you never think about tripping or accidentally dropping and smashing a glass; it just happens.

It's the only thing that catches him by surprise.

As entertaining as it is to watch you flail and fumble as often as you do, it's become more of a bother than anything else.

At least once a day, he'll watch you, as graceful as you are, doing your horse, only to eat shit a second later.

No warning, just flat on your face.

At least he gets to coddle you and play hero, loving the grateful affection he receives for it.

So he'll tend to your wound, tell you to be more careful, and if you're lucky- if he's in a good mood- he'll kiss it better.

But for the love of God, get it together.

Baldur

He pays no mind to it.

Hardly notices.

Well, that's a lie; he notices everything about you.

He hardly cares.

Unless you're hurt, he doesn't give a fuck of you broke a vase.

You get away with it too, cause he's Odin's favorite and you're his.

If someone wants to yell at you for stumbling and knocking over their produce cart, it's their fault for being in your way.

It's a little toxic, but who cares, right?

He'll just throw some money down and usher you along.

Now, if your clumsy nature gets you hurt, yikes.

He can't feel pain, but he sure as he'll will tear the world apart to keep you from feeling it.

Ironic, huh?

As jealous as he is that you can feel, he hates the look in your eye when something aches.

≫ ────── ≪•◦ ❈ ◦•≫ ────── ≪

•Kermitts Masterlist•

[call-me-kermit]

Fallout Masterlist

The Ghoul/Cooper Howard

A Hog-Killin' Time • PG

Here Kitty Kitty • PG

Always • PG-13

Nameless • PG-13

You Be The Daddy • PG-13 • Part 1 • Part 2 • Part 3 • Part 4 •

So Long Reputation • PG-13

Hate To Love You • Series

Kermitt Masterlist