I like how ppl are freaking out that, "0h n0 H0meLaDEr GoT V1 - fs in the chat!" When we didnt just see Solider Boy burn the V1 out of Bombsight's fucking blood and take his powers away in the prior scene.
I'd not be surprised if Solider Boy gave Homelander the V1 only to possibly burn it out of him in the next episode or the series finale. Thus making the supe virus effective on Homelander as a big fuck you. Since there is no other V1 left now. Having Homelander have a taste of being a 'god', only for it to be ripped out from under him by the same person who gave him the syringe?
"I can give you everything, but I can take it away, just as easily" kinda shit. Hope that's where we're going with the last 2 episodes; otherwise, it's gonna be everyone pissed off the Game Of Thrones finale all fucking over again. 🙄
5/9/26:
Felt I needed to add this since a comment I read came off a bit...Rude.
Look. Who what the writers cooked up for the last hurrah, since they have deviated and changed things from the source material quite a few times as the series has gone on up to now. I was just putting my thoughts out there, not saying I'm right at all. At the end of the day, it's just a fictional tv show - not that serious.
Lets just have fun and enjoy this insane ride till the end, shall we?
I wrote this two years ago after I started watching The Unicorn for the first time, and it's been sitting in my WIPs folder ever since. Now I'm back on my Walton bullshit so here I am finally posting it.
It's really soft and sweet; the kinda stuff I love reading when I'm having a bad day. So hope y'all like it <3
“Rough day?” You ask, folding your arms over the fence and resting your chin on your hands.
Wade looks up from where he’s sitting, a soft smile pulling at his lips.
“It’s been… a day.” He says gently petting Linda’s head resting on his thigh.
“Well, I was just about to pop open a lovely bottle of red wine. Fancy joining me?” You offer, studying his features as he looks over his shoulder briefly.
The house was quiet, the girls probably already in bed, the only sound that of the warm summer breeze gently making tree leaves rustle.
You smile as he nods standing up and walking into the house, Linda following suit behind him. You let out a soft chuckle and head into your kitchen, taking out a couple of wine glasses and opening the bottle of wine you had bought that same evening on the way home from work. A new Pinot you were looking forward to trying.
You heard your front door open and close as he let himself in while you poured the wine, the tippy taps of your own golden retriever following behind as he walked into the kitchen.
“There you are.” You say, handing him one of the glasses. A soft “thank you” leaving his lips as he takes it.
He follows you outside, mirroring your actions as you sit on the steps of your backyard porch. He chuckles, and so do you when your dog bumps his arm with his head demanding pets.
“Hey there, bud.” He greets with a smile, placing the glass between his feet before giving in to his demands.
“He’s trying to make me feel guilty.” You explain, earning a curious look from Wade as he scratches him behind the ears. “Missed his big park visit today cause mama had to deal with some stuff at work, getting home later than usual. So, he’s been moping around all evening acting all dramatic.” Wade chuckles before taking a sip of wine.
“Is that right bud, did she really abandon you like that?” You shoulder him making him laugh, warmth spreading through your chest at the sound. “Just kidding.” He adds as your dog walks away, a bird flying off a tree catching his attention.
“What about you?” He lets out a heavy sigh, looking down at his wine glass.
“The girls and I have been disagreeing lately… “girl stuff”, and I’m having a hard time navigating how to talk to them.” He explains. “Jill would have had everything figured out by now, but… yeah.” You listen as he speaks, a sympathetic smile pulling at your lips at his words.
Raising teenagers wasn’t easy, and raising teenager girls as a single, widowed dad was even harder. You knew that well, the memory of your own dad muddling through your teenage years and doing the best he could making you sigh softly.
“Well, how about this.” You start, making him meet your eyes. “I take the girls shopping this weekend, have a girl’s day out, talk boys,” you chuckle at his expression, “or whatever it is that’s bothering them. And you get a break from dad duties. Maybe have the boys over for a barbeque.” He drinks from his glass, momentarily considering the offer.
“You wouldn’t mind?”
“Not at all.” You reassure him with a smile, leaning into him, your shoulder touching his. “But now, we should just enjoy this lovely wine, and this lovely summer night.” You add, raising your glass, clinking it against his when he mirrors you action with a smile, making your heart skip a beat.
It must be sometime around 3am when you split whatever is left of a second bottle of red wine between the two of you. Wade laughs as you stumble through the back door to leave the empty bottle on the kitchen counter before walking back out and sitting beside him again. Soft music plays through your kitchen speaker as your dog sleeps peacefully by the door.
“You’re a good dad, Wade.” You say, turning your head to look at him. A gentle smile pulls at his lips as you study his face.
“I hope so.” He replies, turning to look at you and you momentarily get lost in the gentle hazel of his eyes.
You can feel the heat on your rosy cheeks, caused both by the wine and the way he looks at you. A new song starts playing and you let out a shy giggle, leaning into him and hiding your face in his shoulder, felling his body shake as he laughs as well.
He stands up, so suddenly you almost lose your balance, then moves the wine glasses out of the way before reaching his hand out for you to take. He says nothing as you give him a questioning look but take his hand regardless, letting him help you up.
“Dance with me.” He says pulling you closer.
Your arms find their way around his neck as his settle on your hips, and you can feel your heart start beating faster. Maybe it was the alcohol, but you could swear he could probably hear it pounding in your chest. His arms wrap around your waist as he pulls you into a hug.
You welcome the warmth of his body as he holds you close, your hand finding its way into the hair at the nape of his head as you rest your head on his shoulder. You can feel your heart hammering in your chest, but he doesn’t seem to notice. Or mind.
You sway slowly, breathing in the scent of him, bodies relaxing into each other, a soft smile on your face. He buries his face in the crook of your neck and his thumb traces mindless patterns over the fabric of your t-shirt as you move together.
Neither of you says anything for the longest time, seemingly needing the feeling of being held and not wanting to let go. Your fingers toy with his hair and you can feel him smile and sigh against you.
“This is nice.” You whisper and his arms briefly tighten around you in response.
You pull apart to look at him, gentle eyes meeting yours, arms never letting go of you as you smile gently at him. He mirrors your smile before you speak.
“I mean it. You are a good d-“ You’re cut off by soft lips pressing against yours.
Your eyes flutter closed as one of his hands moves up to cup your cheek, thumb caressing your soft skin. You melt against him, unable to form a single coherent thought.
When he pulls apart, it takes you a moment to remember where you are, and then what happened just hits you like a bucket of ice-cold water.
“I- I’m so sorry.” You apologize looking down at your shoes, sobering up all of a sudden. “I shouldn’t have…” You look up at him, only to be met by an amused smile. “I shouldn’t have done that.” You finally say, though he never let go of you.
“Do what?” He asks softly, eyes searching yours.
“I- I shouldn’t have kissed you.” You explain as his arms slip from around you, allowing you to turn and busy yourself with picking up the wine glasses from the floor before heading inside to place them on the kitchen counter.
He silently follows you inside. You stare at your hands on the counter, heart hammering in your chest and cheeks burning, feeling like a fool.
“I promise this is not why I invited you over. You looked like you needed a break and I just wanted to offer you some friendly company.” His gentle touch on your elbow makes you turn but you don’t dare meet his gaze. “I swear, I-“ A gentle hand under your chin finally makes you look up at him.
“You’re rambling.” He points out, gently tucking a lose strand of hair behind your ear before caressing your cheek again. “You didn’t do anything. I did.” He reassures, gaze moving between your eyes and your parted lips as you let out a shaky breath. “I’ve wanted to do it for a long time.” He continues, and you can’t make yourself look away from him, his tone gentle but sure. “And I’d like to do it again.” He finishes, silently asking for your permission as his thumb ghosts over your lower lip and his free hand finds its way back to your hip.
You head is spinning, and you don’t know anymore if it’s the alcohol or his words as he just studies your features, patiently awaiting your answer.
After a couple beats it start sinking in that this is real, that this is happening as your eyes study the buttons of his shirt. Shaky hands slowly make their way up the expanse of his chest, settling on his neck, eyes finally meeting again before you let out a shaky chuckle, a mix of nerves and relief washing over you.
He smiles before kissing you again, slow and deep this time, making you sigh against him. You welcome his tongue past your parted lips, fingers tangling into his hair never wanting him to pull apart. He breaks the kiss when you both run out of air, his lips tracing down your jawline and onto the sensitive skin of your neck making you melt against him, only his body and the kitchen counter keeping you upright.
He places another sweet peck on your lips, never completely pulling apart as your heated breaths mix together.
“Yeah, I think I like that.” He whispers against your lips, making your heart skip a beat and he rests his forehead against yours, a soft smile pulling at his lips. “I really like that.”
I am unsure whos taking story or one-shot requests. Figured I'd throw these out into the ether for anyone to use or take a crack at. For those with original characters, reader inserted or y/n inserted writings. Most of these ideas are for cis female/AFAB characters.
Please tag me if you like the idea(s), I want to read what you create!
You get a call from AEW. They want to use one of your band's songs as the official theme to one of their PPVs. Tony Khan asks the band to perform it live at a AEW PPV to kick off the show. Your bandmates suggest to wear different wrestlers t-shirt merch, which you think is a good idea. Not thinking much of it, you decide to wear a Mox or Death Riders top (customized like how AJ Lee does her own shirts). After the performance, you're walking backstage and happen to run into none other than Jon Moxley.
You are the kid sister of which ever wrestler is feuding with Moxley. Your sibling tells you not to be near or even let alone with him. There is just something about him that draws you towards him, even though you're not supposed too. Sometimes giving into temptation can feel damn good.
[Based on a match between Swerve Strickland V Athena] At a Wrestling Revolver show in {insert city here}, one of the matches on the card is an intergender match. Yourself V Jon Moxley. Even after the match is said and done with Moxley coming on top as the winner; the chemistry between you two doesn't just end when the show does.
You haven't seen your brother, Danny Garcia, in quite awhile since you've been working indie shows overseas. So, you'd figured why not surprise him at a Dynamite taping? You ask around backstage, some staff and wrestlers look at you sympathetically while others run the other way, which confuses you. Until you run into a random female talent near the locker rooms and ask her the same question. She then thinks it's smart to run her mouth about your brother and also you. You proceed to beat the unholy hell out of her, spearing her through the door of the Death Riders locker room. But to Moxley, it might as well be love at first sight or in this case; spear.
The following prompts are based off of the 11/26/25 episode of Dynamite.
Being Moxley's girlfriend and/or wife, who's also a wrestler, and debuting in AEW as the co-leader of the Death Riders. Attacking Toni Storm or Mina Shirakawa during that promo maliciously.
Imagine being Rhea Ripley's fraternal twin sister and signing with AEW over WWE. A) For the creative freedom and B) To be in a future storyline with your boyfriend of four years - Jon Moxley. Hey, if Marina is gonna act like a bodyguard to Jon Moxley, why the hell can't Timeless Toni Storm have some muscle mami of her own in you? After the promo of Toni announcing the match stipulation, she says she has a parting gift for both Saifer and Moxley. You come from behind them and plant both into the middle of the ring with a double-DDT, the cameraman showing a shot of your face with a wicked grin. Pierced tongue raking across the top row of your teeth, pleased with spiking the duo out cold.
You work at a local hobby/toy store when Ethan Page and a few other toy enthusiasts come in; filming a toy hunt video.
Your bestie, Chelsea Green, sets you up on a blind date with her tag partner, Ethan.
You and Ethan do an unboxing video for your/his youtube channel.
After Alba Fyre fails to disrupt the match. Ethan Page takes a shot to distract you during your match for the Women's US Title against the current champion, Chelsea Green. Only for it to backfire when you kiss him throwing Chelsea off her game (and Ethan for a loop), allowing you to gain the victory and the title.
[circa March 2024, when Ethan was still in AEW ] Evil Uno has Ethan guest commentate on his wrestling show, Mystery Wrestling, as a surprise to not only the crowd in attendance but Ethan as well. You, a fellow AEW star (and Ethan's spouse), are one of the wrestlers booked in the second 4-Way match against two Canadian indie wrestlers and another fellow AEW star, Thunder Rosa. Course Ethan is gonna be bypassed as hell on commentary about you. Even more so when you pin Rosa for the 3 count. Sidenote: This 4-way was a real match on the Mystery Wrestling 7 card. It was three known indie wrestlers in the Canadian region and Thunder Rosa, who was the winner of the match. Made some changes to fit this prompt.
You celebrate with Ethan after he wins the NXT Championship or the North American Championship.
[Circa 2022] After losing the t-shirt sales for charity contest, your friend, Ruby Soho has to go with Ethan Page to Buc-ee's as punishment. For "moral support" you tag along. Even though, you love Buc-ee's just as much as Ethan. [Video from Ethan's Vlog about this]
You and Ethan do a signing at a local toy and hobby store.
You and Ethan do photo-ops for WWE with fans during Wrestlemania Weekend.
[Circa 2022] Comforting and reassuring Ethan Page in your guy's hotel room after his match with a returning Jon Moxley (a good match btw). Ethan vents to you that, while he feels like he's doing everything right in AEW. He just thinks he can't get one over on the bigger names in the company and earn chances to win gold.
Kicking Kenny's ass in a fighting game (bonus if its in a tournament in front of a crowd).
Being a cosplay model and dating Kenny.
You're a streamer on Twitch and/or YouTube. You've mentioned to your chat that, yes; you're in a relationship and that your partner travels a lot for work. During a live stream, Kenny decides to not only surprise you from returning from tour, but joins you for some Street Fighter co-op matches.
Having your ring gear inspired by Tifa from FF7 and Kenny being thirsty af seeing you in it.
Cat sitting Kenny's cat while he's on the road with AEW.
You are at a convention with your service pet, who you've dressed up as Kenny, to go meet him at a signing.
Your pet decides to play matchmaker by trying to get you and your new neighbor, Kenny, together by befriending him.
Summary: Lee uses revenge against Dr. Brown as an excuse to fulfill a fantasy of you he has had.
CW: friends with benefits, p in v, public sex, spanking, creampie, mentions of porn
a/n: changing timeline here a bit, so that Lee was going through his divorce right before Dr. Brown was hired
title track 🎶📸
~~~
“There you go, sweetheart,” Lee groaned as he bottomed out inside you. One hand grasping the meat of your hip while the other wrapped around his iPhone. He had you exactly where he wanted to. Skirt hiked up over your ass while bent over the desk.
Making sure to get everything in the shot as he began sliding in and out of you. Cock lathered in the wetness dripping from your folds.
Lee was a cocky son-of-a-bitch, there was no doubt about that. Loving to hear his own head roar, constantly checking himself out in the mirror, thinking he’s the smartest and cleverest in every room he’s in. So when the idea struck him to film himself fucking his long term work fling, he felt like a modern Da Vinci.
Taking his time to pull in and out of you. Loving the sight of his length penetrating your cunt. Especially when he would hit a spot that caused you to moan his name.
Porn never was something Lee cared all that much for. Finding himself critiquing the facial expression and likelihood of the situations that played out. Opting to just rub one out in the shower then even take the time of finding a cheap porno. Easier than trying to fake his attraction for some woman with massive, fake tits.
But, you?
You never failed to get him going.
Ever since the first time the two of you had stayed late together, you were the apple of his eye. Finding comfort in you in a time of divorce. Really, he had never been in love with Christine. Only wanting her so someone else could not have her. He was bitter that way.
Of course, he had originally seen you as competition for the Principal position at North Jackson. Hating the stupidly short skirts you wore everyday. How your cleavage hung out of your tops more often than not. But really hating how kind you were.
Gamby and Russell were hard-asses. Faking nice when it convenienced them. Always plotting someone’s demise; whether it be catching a student they knew was doing some shady-illegal shit, or a teacher they both hated. Especially hating each other. Only finding friendship at the shared hatred for Dr. Belinda Brown.
But you could never fake it. Always trying to stick up for people, especially the students. No matter how hard Russell or Gamby tried to insult you, you would simply allow it to fall off your shoulders. Unbothered.
That was until you did not get the Principal job. Fully convinced you were the most deserving amongst your peers. Enraged that the school board had just brought some random in. Unraveling and having to take your anger out in the clearing behind the school. Screaming so loud that birds flocked away.
The first time Gamby and Russell had seen you break. Not knowing you were in company when you had hid yourself away. That was when you all decided to get Belinda out.
Your bond with your coworkers had deepened over the time of mischief and questionably-legal activities. Learning that maybe they were all you needed. Even considering them friends.
So when you got some awkward butterflies when Lee would give you an “atta girl”, you got confused. Developing some kind of crush on your fellow Vice Principal was the last thing you imagined when getting involved with the two. Pushing the feeling deep down as to not get distracted.
Until you had went out for Payday Drinks and had one too many. Drunkenly confessing in Gamby’s backseat as you laid against Lee’s shoulder. Mumbling how he had overtaken your mind and how you felt a flip in your stomach every time he looked you in the eyes. Only really remembering the bright smile that came across Lee’s face when he realized you were serious. You were so drunk that Lee stayed with you, holding your hair while you hacked into your toilet. Hugging the bowl and crying because you were so embarrassed.
Next morning being greeted by the source of your embarrassment asleep on your couch. Discussing the night before over breakfast. Not that either of you ended up eating it. Too quick with connecting mouths and tangling in your sheets.
Neither of you looked back since.
Hooking up in supply closets or under the bleachers when one of you had an itch to scratch. Familiar with every scratch and scuff on his office floor. Almost having hooked up in every possible place in the building.
All except one.
Lee had suggested it as a way to “get back at that bitch, Brown.” Unsure how secretly getting fucked on her desk was exactly getting back at her. Not really caring either. Because the idea of getting railed by your coworker on the desk that should have rightfully been yours tingled inside you.
Sneaking in while Dr. Brown was off on some fake wild goose chase with Gamby. Lee had lied to convince him you would be wrecking her office while she was gone. Switching files around and shredding some. All just a ploy to get the office to yourselves.
“I wanted to ask something,” Lee’s dark tone fell along your skin as he kissed you.
“Hmm?” you hummed a response, lost in the feeling of him.
“Can I record this? That way I can have a physical reminder of this?” His big puppy dog eyes looked into yours. Chills trickled down your skin. Never having been filmed during sex. A hint of fear clouded the back of your mind. Fading when you felt his large fingers interlock with yours. Being slightly turned on by the idea.
“Sure,” you grinned. Capturing his lips with yours. Enamored by his lust blown eyes and the toothy grin across his face.
Which is how you ended up where you were now. Thick length buried inside your walls. Front flush against the Principal’s desk. Papers sliding under your palms as you attempted to brace yourself. Loving how perfectly he stretched you.
“Lee,” you whined. One of his hands gripped your ass. Swinging and planting a firm smack on the tender flesh. Gravely exhale falling from him.
“It’s like this pussy was made for me to fuck it,” his voice had dropped an octave. Snapping his hips aggressively into you. Chasing his own high, knowing he would have to pay you back later. Longing for the feeling of your walls spasming around him. Happy to have to fuck you again later to get that feeling.
White knuckles gripped the edge of the desk. Trying your hardest to not completely ruin the organization of files. But then remembering, this was Dr. Brown’s desk. Who gives a fuck if everything gets ruined?
Pencil holders and paper weights bounced against the linoleum. Previously alphabetized pages decorated the floor like a blanket of snow. Causing Lee to chuckle. Never stopping his movements into your core. Camera never leaving your backside.
Finally darting his eyes up to the clock ticking on the wall. Realizing he had been taking far too long enjoying you. Needing to hurry things along before the two of you were caught with your pants down.
“Gonna cum in you,” Lee grunted. You vigorously nodded. Loving the feeling of him seeping out of you. A gargled “fuck” fell from him as he pushed himself flush against you. Cock twitching as it sputtered into you. Coating your walls with his cum.
Sighing with a wince as he pulled out of you. Squatting down for a moment to capture the image of him leaking out of your core. Smiling ear to ear as he watched through his phone screen. Pretending he did not want to go right back and fuck you again.
“That’s it, honey,” Lee cooed. Pulling your panties back over your cunt. Making sure to keep his seed pressed into you. Sliding his phone in his pocket as he rose. Holding your position for a moment as you attempted to catch your breath. Pushing the remainder of nonsense on Dr. Brown’s desk as you stood to your feet.
Lee was quick to spin you around and plant a feverish kiss on your lips, “That pussy never quits, hmm?” Smiling with a low chuckle.
Both of you realized the time and began scrambling. Throwing stuff around, flipping her chair upside down, tipping over a filing cabinet or two. Adrenaline running high as your body shook with afterglow and nerves.
“We’ve gotta go,” you pointed to the clock. There was barely any time left before Gamby and Dr. Brown would be back. Quickly running out of her office. Composing yourselves before anyone saw you. Flattening your clothes and hair down. Both of your faces still flushed. Tucking away into Lee’s nearby office to pretend like you were having a meeting. Logging onto his computer to make sure and delete the footage of you entering and exiting Dr. Brown’s office.
Finally able to breathe when you sat across from Lee. Eyes falling shut as you grasped your chest to catch air. Lee leaned back in his chair, hands gripping the back of his head as he laughed. “That was fucking incredible,” he exhaled. You shifted in your seat feeling Lee’s seed leaking into the fabric of your panties. Still struggling to catch your breath with the adrenaline rush you were feeling.
Sitting in a comfortable silence until Dr. Brown’s scream jolted you both aware. Eyes wider than ever before as you both rushed over to fake concern. Lee stormed in first, teeth locked together as his eyebrows jumped up his forehead. Finding Dr. Brown and Gamby both standing stunned by the mess. Gamby’s eyes were huge when they met yours, clearly not expecting the overkill you and Lee had done. You shrugged right before Dr. Brown turned to look at you both.
“Who the hell would have done this to me?!” She stomped her foot on the floor with disdain.
“Jesus… I’ll go grab one of the janitors, this is just terrible,” Lee grasped at his heart.
Soft lump of guilt piled up in your stomach. Having to keep your false face as you mouthed words that did not escape. Shocked, atleast pretending so.
“We need to check the cameras,” Dr. Brown sternly said.
Pulling a smirk across your mind. Knowing she would not find anything. Knowing you had bested her again. Giving Gamby a knowing look.
Not long until you ran her off.
~~~
[END]
// Thank you so much for reading! I’ve been writing for Lee for nearly a year now, and I’m just always so overwhelmed with the positivity I receive from these. I’ve made some awesome mutuals who I get so excited to tag every single time [mutuals let’s be friends fr]. I wish there was another season of Vice Principals! As always, if you want to be tagged let me know. Reblogs and Comments are appreciated! //
{tags}
@boydcrowderapologist ~ @justme12200 ~ @toogaytofunctiondangit ~ @its-in-the-woods ~ @iwmflbb ~ @dichromaniac ~ @megangovier ~ @itsyellow ~ @hiddlebatchedloki ~ @ddlydevotion ~ (I love you guys)
I am unsure whos taking story or one-shot requests. Figured I'd throw these out into the ether for anyone to use or take a crack at. For those with original characters, reader inserted or y/n inserted writings. Most of these ideas are for cis female/AFAB characters.
Please tag me if you like the idea(s), I want to read what you create!
You get a call from AEW. They want to use one of your band's songs as the official theme to one of their PPVs. Tony Khan asks the band to perform it live at a AEW PPV to kick off the show. Your bandmates suggest to wear different wrestlers t-shirt merch, which you think is a good idea. Not thinking much of it, you decide to wear a Mox or Death Riders top (customized like how AJ Lee does her own shirts). After the performance, you're walking backstage and happen to run into none other than Jon Moxley.
You are the kid sister of which ever wrestler is feuding with Moxley. Your sibling tells you not to be near or even let alone with him. There is just something about him that draws you towards him, even though you're not supposed too. Sometimes giving into temptation can feel damn good.
[Based on a match between Swerve Strickland V Athena] At a Wrestling Revolver show in {insert city here}, one of the matches on the card is an intergender match. Yourself V Jon Moxley. Even after the match is said and done with Moxley coming on top as the winner; the chemistry between you two doesn't just end when the show does.
You haven't seen your brother, Danny Garcia, in quite awhile since you've been working indie shows overseas. So, you'd figured why not surprise him at a Dynamite taping? You ask around backstage, some staff and wrestlers look at you sympathetically while others run the other way, which confuses you. Until you run into a random female talent near the locker rooms and ask her the same question. She then thinks it's smart to run her mouth about your brother and also you. You proceed to beat the unholy hell out of her, spearing her through the door of the Death Riders locker room. But to Moxley, it might as well be love at first sight or in this case; spear.
Warnings: Mention of a slight age gap, some hints at sex, light angst and tooth-rotting fluff. Wade being a burnt-out parent, teenage angst and longing.
Word Count: 3.5k
A/N: This was originally a request (movie night with Wade) that I cannot for the life of me find in my ask box anymore but had some of it written pre-hiatus, so I turned it into a fluffy little halloween date night at home to brush off the cob-webs (hur hur) of my writing. Happy halloween, friends 👻
The living room glowed softly beneath the warm light of a single table lamp, its reach fading into the quiet corners of the room. Outside, a gentle rain tapped against the windows, a soothing rhythm that blended with the low murmur of the movie playing on the screen. After a week of constant motion and mismatched schedules, you and Wade had finally managed to steal a night for yourselves—quiet, slow, and long overdue.
Curled up together on the couch beneath a shared blanket, you melted into the easy comfort of his presence. The faint scent of buttered popcorn hung in the air, mingling with the clean, earthy aroma of rain that still clung to you both from the downpour earlier. Your boots sat by the door, streaked with mud from the hurried walk inside, abandoned in the moment he’d pulled you into his arms without a word. Now, his arm rested around your shoulders, his warmth seeping through the blanket, steady and grounding against your side.
He’d insisted on watching a movie. It’s Halloween, he’d said, we’ve got to do something fitting, nodding toward the cable guide already cycling through a line-up of slasher flicks and haunted house classics. You’d raised a doubtful eyebrow—Wade wasn’t exactly the type to enjoy anything that involved blood, ghosts, or people making terrible life choices in dark hallways—but you decided to humour him. It wasn’t really about the movie, after all. You just wanted to spend quality time with him, something both of you had been starved of lately.
During the film’s tensest moments—when the music swelled and shadows crept across the screen—Wade couldn’t resist teasing you. He’d reach over to give your side a playful pinch or lean in with an exaggerated “ooh,” his grin wide and boyish. Each time, you’d swat at him, pretending to glare, though the corners of your mouth betrayed you. His laughter filled the room, warm and infectious, cutting through the tension on-screen and turning the supposed horror into something intimate and light-hearted—something that felt entirely yours.
Now, though, as the film eased into a quieter lull, you could feel the slow, steady rhythm of Wade’s breathing against your hair. His chest rose and fell beneath your hand, the sound of his breathing soft but heavy with exhaustion. The teasing had stopped; the jokes had faded. The weight of his day, the long hours and endless demands, had finally caught up with him. You smiled faintly, tilting your head to glance at him—his lashes resting against his cheeks, his features softened in the pale flicker of the television light. Wade Felton, self-proclaimed tough guy and sceptic of all things supernatural, had been defeated—not by the movie, but by sleep.
You smiled to yourself, the sight of him so peacefully asleep softening something in your chest. Leaning in, you pressed a gentle kiss to his cheek before carefully shifting forward to reach the remote on the coffee table. The television screen faded to black with a quiet click, plunging the room into a cosy half-darkness lit only by the soft glow of the lamp beside you.
For a moment, the sudden silence was absolute—the rain outside had quieted to a faint drizzle, and the only sound was Wade’s slow, even breathing. But the change must have stirred him; he shifted, blinking himself awake with a small start. His eyes darted around the dim room, still hazy with sleep, before finding you. He cleared his throat, voice rough but touched with amusement.
“Good movie, right?” he mumbled, the corner of his mouth twitching into a sleepy grin.
“Hmm,” you hummed, eyeing him amusedly. “Did you like the ending?”
He nodded, stretching his arms above his head with a low groan that rumbled in his chest. The blanket slipped down to his waist as he moved, revealing a strip of skin — the firm lines of his stomach dusted with a trail of hair, his shirt rising just enough to make your gaze linger.
“It was predictable, but okay,” he said with a shrug, settling back against the couch. One hand came to rest casually on his thigh, the other finding its way to your leg, tracing slow, absentminded circles through the fabric of your pants. “It’s always the boyfriend.”
You laughed at his pretending, turning your head to look at him, catching the faint glint of mischief in his tired eyes. “Oh, okay? So I should leave right now before you decide to skin me alive,” you teased, your lips curving into a smile as his thumb continued its lazy path along your thigh.
He laughed—a deep, warm sound that rumbled through his chest and vibrated against you. “Please don’t, baby,” he murmured, amusement still threading through his voice. He pulled you back into his side, his arm wrapping around you with familiar ease. The kiss he pressed to your lips was soft and unhurried, carrying more gratitude than playfulness. When he pulled back, his voice had softened, low and sincere.
“Don’t want you going anywhere,” he said, resting his chin briefly atop your head. “It’s been a helluva week, and we’ve finally got the house to ourselves.”
He kissed you again—slower, deeper this time—and you melted into him, every ounce of tension slipping away beneath the warmth of his lips. The familiar taste of him, the quiet hum in his throat as he drew you closer, reminded you just how long it had been since you’d really had a moment like this. Texts, quick calls between shifts, the occasional FaceTime that always ended too soon—none of it had been enough. You’d missed him—his touch, his voice, the way he made everything else fade into the background.
Wade had been stretched thin, and you knew it. Between running his business, managing employees, coaching his daughters’ teams, and keeping up with the constant whirlwind of responsibility, there hadn’t been much left for him to give. He always tried, though—showing up when he could, sending messages that still made your heart skip despite how tired he must’ve been.
As you pulled back from the kiss, your hand lingered against his jaw, your thumb brushing over the faint stubble that had begun to shadow his skin. His eyes opened slowly, heavy-lidded and hazy, and in the soft, golden light you saw the truth of his exhaustion—the faint, purplish smudges beneath his eyes, the weariness etched into the corners of his smile. Your heart ached at the sight. For all his strength, for all the easy charm and steady composure he carried through every day, Wade Felton looked like a man running on fumes.
"That's true," you murmured, letting your fingers trace the line of his jaw, the warmth of your skin grounding him. His eyes fluttered closed at your touch, a quiet sigh escaping him as if he lost the battle to play pretend for just a moment.
"But something tells me you're a tired man, Mr. Felton," you said softly, your voice a blend of concern and affection. "Do you need an early night?"
He smiled then—a small, tired curve of his lips that still somehow managed to reach his eyes. His hand came up to rest against your cheek, thumb brushing lightly across your skin.
"No, baby," he murmured, voice low and certain. "Just you.”
“Here I am,” you murmured, leaning in toward his lips. Just as your lips were about to meet, the shrill ring of the doorbell cut sharply through the air. Wade sighed, closing his eyes as if counting silently to reclaim the calm that had settled over him.
“And the rest of the neighbourhood, apparently,” he groaned, letting his head fall back against the couch and loosening his hold around you. You carefully manoeuvred out of his embrace, giving him an apologetic smile as you reached for the bowl of candy on the coffee table.
“There can’t be that many more,” you reasoned aloud, heading into the hallway. “What little kids are out this late on Halloween?”
With a flick of your wrist, you swung the door open—and were greeted not by trick-or-treaters, but by two very grown-up, very familiar faces: Delia and Forrest, Wade’s long-time friends.
“Aren’t you two a little old for trick-or-treating?” you teased, one eyebrow arched in amusement—until your expression fell as they stepped aside to reveal Grace and Natalie, Wade’s teenage daughters.
“Girls, what are you doing home?” you asked, startled.
“Lucky we even made it home,” Natalie said with a dramatic roll of her eyes, pushing past you into the house. “Could’ve been kidnapped by a blood-sucking vampire, and you wouldn’t even know about it.”
“What’s the point of having a cell if you don’t answer it?” Grace added, following her sister into the lounge, clearly ready to deliver her own brand of teenage judgment to the poor man waiting inside. You braced yourself, knowing full well that their father was about to get an earful.
Turning back to Delia and Forrest for an explanation, you found Delia pinching the bridge of her nose, her expression tight with irritation. “The party ended early. Cops were called,” she started, glancing at her husband, who snagged a piece of candy from the bowl you were holding. He gave you a weary, apologetic grin as he followed her inside the foyer.
“Did you know college boys would be there? Drinking! I can’t believe the girls lied to us. Addie isn’t like this,” Delia added, shaking her head as if the night’s chaos had drained her already.
You quickened your pace to catch up with them before they reached the lounge, determined to steer the situation gently. It seemed best to politely encourage them to leave, or at least settle down, and try to smooth over whatever tension was brewing between Wade and his daughters—without the added, sometimes neurotic commentary of his best friends complicating matters further.
“But the girls are okay? And Addie?” you asked, gently guiding them back toward the door. “We didn’t hear from them about pickup.”
“That’s because they couldn’t get through to Wade for almost forty minutes,” Delia replied, shaking her head. “Luckily Addie saw them as she was leaving, and we were already on our way. The girls are all fine, but honestly—if you’re going to have a night alone, at least put your ringer on.”
You inwardly frowned at the suggestion that you and Wade might actually get any alone time—between him dozing off earlier and this latest interruption, the chance would be a fine thing. Still, you were grateful to his friends for bringing the girls home safely, and relieved that everyone was okay.
“I’m sorry, it won’t happen again,” you assured her, handing Forrest another piece of candy. “Time got away from us, I didn’t realise.”
“Hey, time flies when, ya know,” Forrest smiled, eyebrows raising suggestively, and then cleared his throat at the displeased look on both yours and his wife’s face. “When – When you’re doing nothing much, was what I was going to say.”
You laughed dryly at his suggestion, the humour bitter against the reality of the situation. They probably assumed they’d interrupted a steamy night of passion, where both of you were so lost in each other that the outside world ceased to exist. How far from the truth they were—earlier, you had hoped Wade’s sleepy kisses might lead somewhere intimate, but now those hopes lay dashed.
Still, you reminded yourself to be grateful. You weren’t exactly on the best terms with his daughters, who had openly declared the age gap between you and Wade “gross.” Since your introduction, you’d been trying—sometimes painfully—to earn their approval, or at least neutrality. This situation, however, with them seemingly abandoned at a failed party while you’d monopolised their father’s attention, was hardly helping your cause. You sighed, steeling yourself for the delicate balance of diffusing the tension while keeping Wade from losing what little patience he had left.
“Thank you, really,” you said with a relieved sigh, holding the door open for them. “We owe you. Wade’s going to be so mad at himself for leaving the girls stranded. I’ll make sure he gives you a call tomorrow.”
They exchanged quick goodbyes before heading off, leaving the house quieter than it had been—but only just. As you closed the door and edged toward the lounge, the low, weary sound of Wade’s voice reached you. He was already trying to smooth things over with two very annoyed, very hormonal teenagers.
“I’m sorry, girls,” he said, his eyes flicking to his phone in his hands. “I had no idea it was on silent, and I didn’t think to check. It won’t happen again.”
You paused in the doorway, taking in the scene: Wade, exhausted but earnest, and his daughters, arms crossed and expressions full of teenage judgment. It was going to take more than a few words to erase the frustration of the evening, but at least he was trying.
“You forgot us,” Natalie said sharply, voice cutting through the room. “I can’t believe you, Dad!”
You winced at the raised volume, stepping into the lounge with a slow, steadying breath and sliding onto the couch beside Wade. He offered a tight, weary smile, and you returned it with a sympathetic one, silently letting him know you had his back. He was unravelling in all the ways he tried to hide—working too hard, not enough time for you, not enough focus on his daughters—a man desperately juggling every piece of his life and feeling like he was failing despite his best efforts.
You turned your attention to the girls, offering a polite, conciliatory smile. “I’m sorry, girls,” you began, your voice gentle. “I really wanted to watch a movie, so I turned your dad’s ringer off. I forgot to switch it back afterward, and we lost track of time. It’s my fault.”
It wasn’t entirely true, but it was a small white lie that you hoped would diffuse the tension. Letting Wade take the full brunt of their frustration in his exhausted state would have done him no favours—better to absorb a fraction of their anger yourself than watch him beat himself up further. You felt him looking at you, but you kept your eyes on the girls.
Natalie scoffed, arms crossed and eyes cast downward, sizing you up with all the teenage disdain she could muster. “Of course,” she muttered, rolling her eyes as if it were obvious—you were the reason their father’s time was always sabotaged, the ever-present obstacle in the youngest girl’s eyes.
“Nat,” Wade warned, his voice low and steady. You nudged his knee gently with your own, a silent message that you had this under control and that he didn’t need to endure any more of their frustration than necessary.
“I’m just glad you found Addie at the party,” you said, voice light, feigning curiosity as you glanced at Grace with a subtle knowing. “Why did it end so early, again?”
You let the question hang, studying their faces with quiet calculation. Part of you wondered how their brief outrage at their dad—and the simmering, seemingly endless resentment toward you—would withstand when faced with truth coming out: that the “innocent” Halloween party they’d begged to attend had older boys, alcohol, and far more chaos than they had let on.
Tomorrow, Delia would fill Wade in on all of it, but for tonight, you were the bridge between the girls’ secret and Wade’s inevitable fury at their lies. At least for now, you could soften the edges, giving Wade a few more hours of peace and the girls one more day of not being grounded. Perhaps you’d even earn yourself a point towards a reason for the girls to one day accept you.
“Power cut,” Grace said, her voice cautious as she glanced at you, testing the waters. A brief pause hung in the air, and then, with a sigh of relief, she turned to her younger sister. “Forget it. Let’s go to bed.”
Natalie grumbled a dismissive whatever, shuffling after her sister as they descended the stairs. Both of them muttered a half-hearted response when Wade called after them, his voice carrying warmth despite his exhaustion. “I love you!”
Their echoes trailed behind them, leaving the house quieter once more, the tension finally easing—at least for tonight.
You watched the girls disappear up the stairs, letting a brief pause settle before turning back to Wade with a teasing swipe of your brow. “We survived that one, right?”
“Barely,” he admitted, reclining against the couch, a tight smile failing to reach his tired eyes. “I’ll be paying for this for a while.”
“I don’t know,” you said with a knowing tilt of your head, your hand settling on his thigh with a gentle squeeze. “I think it’ll look different in the morning. I’m sorry this happened tonight.”
He shook his head, tugging at your hips to pull you into his lap so you straddled him. “It’s not your fault. You shouldn’t have taken the blame.”
You cast a wary glance toward the staircase, the shadows of the room reminding you the girls weren’t likely to come back down, yet your lingering paranoia made you hesitant to upset them further tonight.
“They won’t come back down tonight,” he said with a teasing lift of his brows, watching you carefully as you settled on him. “If they did, we’d hear them—Natalie makes a point to stomp her feet when she’s mad at me.”
You offered him a sympathetic smile, leaning in to press a soft kiss against his lips. “You’re a good dad, Wade,” you said quietly, your voice tinged with sadness at the flicker of disbelief in his eyes.
“Not sure everyone would agree with you,” he replied, pointing skyward to where his daughters slept above with a finger before resting his hand back at your side, a small smirk playing on his lips despite the exhaustion lingering in his gaze.
“They know you are,” you said confidently, hands smoothing over his shoulders. “It’s something I love about you—how much you care for your family.”
He smiled, eyes soft and shining as he looked at you. “I love so much about you, baby.”
“Tell me,” you whispered, a playful curve to your lips as you settled against his chest. He pulled you closer, your thighs wrapping around his lap as he leaned back into the couch, letting you sink into him.
“Let’s see,” he teased, his hands sliding to the curve of your hips, settling over the swell of your ass. A playful squeeze earned a laugh from you, and he grinned at the sound. “I love your laugh… and your nose,” he murmured, pressing a soft kiss to the tip before letting out a contented sigh. “I love how patient you are with me… and this,” he added, tilting his head toward the staircase with a teasing sparkle in his eyes.
But then the lightness in his expression softened, and the smile faded slightly, reality creeping in like sunlight through drawn curtains. “I know it’s a lot,” he admitted quietly, the vulnerability in his voice pulling at your chest.
“It’s never too much with you,” you said gently, tightening your arms around his torso in an encouraging squeeze as you melted into his chest. He huffed softly in amusement, resting his chin atop your head.
“One day,” you continued, your voice soft and full of warmth, “we’ll have an evening alone. I’ll cook you dinner, and you’ll pretend it’s nice even though it’s over-seasoned. Then we’ll watch a movie—actually watch the entire thing—and not fall asleep, until much later, after we’ve spent every moment together, talking, laughing, making out like teenagers on your couch… until we can’t keep our eyes open any longer.”
His chest gave a soft, jolting laugh. “That sure sounds nice, baby. I hope we don’t wait too long,” he murmured, a sleepy smile tugging at his lips. His hands traced slow, lazy patterns across your back as the two of you sank into a comfortable silence, gradually stilling as his breathing deepened, the steady rhythm grounding you both in the quiet of the room.
“I’ll wait forever,” you whispered, closing your eyes, letting the steady rhythm of his breath and the warmth of his embrace carry you into the quiet, comforting haze of sleep.
Walton Character taglist: @its-in-the-woods @lolaalee @megangovier @coolranchdavidian @justme12200
Feeling stuck? The muse not musing? Here are some prompts for those who write stories for the pro wrestling fandom using original character or y/n pairings.
If you like these, please tag me in any future story or one-shot! Would love to read them!
!celebritychef or !chef
Is a Food Network star chef, [wrestler of choice] sometimes make guest apperences on their show from time to time. They could also be a competitor on one of the various cooking competition or run a well know restaurant that is a go-to spot for wrestlers when theyre in town.
!interiordecorator
They're HGTV star designer or they're hired by said wrestler to remodel their home.
!specialeffectsartist or !propmaster
Won or competed in the Syfy show, Face-Off. They also could just be a respected within the world of tv and film. They may make content on YouTube about how they make props, etc.
!comicbookartist
Exactly what the title discribes (LOL). They could be an indie webcomic author, or work at the big comic book publishers.
!tattooartist
They could be the owner their own shop. Won, competed or is a judge on Ink Master. Had tattooed other wrestlers or [wrestler of choice] meets them in order to get tattooed.
!makeupartist
Someone has to get wrestlers, actors and the like looking camera ready.
!thriftflipper
Earns their bread by finding vintage pieces priced on the low, and refurbishes them to sell high; makes creative content out of it too.
!medicalprofessional
Could be a doctor, nurse, EMT, etc. Meets [wrestler of choice] at a hospital while said wrestler is either injured, a standered check-up, etc.
!circusperformer
Side note: This one was heavily inspired by one of JacquesZeWhipper YouTube shorts. Specifically, the one where a guy taunts him with his handmade "whip" and how "easy" it is. Jacques then just owning that dude by snapping a chain whip that sounds like a gunshot, and gives the camera a looks that reads, "Bitch please. You're not on my level." They could also do side show stuns: sword swollowing, fire eating, human blockhead, etc.
Warnings: Mention of a slight age gap, some hints at sex, light angst and tooth-rotting fluff. Wade being a burnt-out parent, teenage angst and longing.
Word Count: 3.5k
A/N: This was originally a request (movie night with Wade) that I cannot for the life of me find in my ask box anymore but had some of it written pre-hiatus, so I turned it into a fluffy little halloween date night at home to brush off the cob-webs (hur hur) of my writing. Happy halloween, friends 👻
The living room glowed softly beneath the warm light of a single table lamp, its reach fading into the quiet corners of the room. Outside, a gentle rain tapped against the windows, a soothing rhythm that blended with the low murmur of the movie playing on the screen. After a week of constant motion and mismatched schedules, you and Wade had finally managed to steal a night for yourselves—quiet, slow, and long overdue.
Curled up together on the couch beneath a shared blanket, you melted into the easy comfort of his presence. The faint scent of buttered popcorn hung in the air, mingling with the clean, earthy aroma of rain that still clung to you both from the downpour earlier. Your boots sat by the door, streaked with mud from the hurried walk inside, abandoned in the moment he’d pulled you into his arms without a word. Now, his arm rested around your shoulders, his warmth seeping through the blanket, steady and grounding against your side.
He’d insisted on watching a movie. It’s Halloween, he’d said, we’ve got to do something fitting, nodding toward the cable guide already cycling through a line-up of slasher flicks and haunted house classics. You’d raised a doubtful eyebrow—Wade wasn’t exactly the type to enjoy anything that involved blood, ghosts, or people making terrible life choices in dark hallways—but you decided to humour him. It wasn’t really about the movie, after all. You just wanted to spend quality time with him, something both of you had been starved of lately.
During the film’s tensest moments—when the music swelled and shadows crept across the screen—Wade couldn’t resist teasing you. He’d reach over to give your side a playful pinch or lean in with an exaggerated “ooh,” his grin wide and boyish. Each time, you’d swat at him, pretending to glare, though the corners of your mouth betrayed you. His laughter filled the room, warm and infectious, cutting through the tension on-screen and turning the supposed horror into something intimate and light-hearted—something that felt entirely yours.
Now, though, as the film eased into a quieter lull, you could feel the slow, steady rhythm of Wade’s breathing against your hair. His chest rose and fell beneath your hand, the sound of his breathing soft but heavy with exhaustion. The teasing had stopped; the jokes had faded. The weight of his day, the long hours and endless demands, had finally caught up with him. You smiled faintly, tilting your head to glance at him—his lashes resting against his cheeks, his features softened in the pale flicker of the television light. Wade Felton, self-proclaimed tough guy and sceptic of all things supernatural, had been defeated—not by the movie, but by sleep.
You smiled to yourself, the sight of him so peacefully asleep softening something in your chest. Leaning in, you pressed a gentle kiss to his cheek before carefully shifting forward to reach the remote on the coffee table. The television screen faded to black with a quiet click, plunging the room into a cosy half-darkness lit only by the soft glow of the lamp beside you.
For a moment, the sudden silence was absolute—the rain outside had quieted to a faint drizzle, and the only sound was Wade’s slow, even breathing. But the change must have stirred him; he shifted, blinking himself awake with a small start. His eyes darted around the dim room, still hazy with sleep, before finding you. He cleared his throat, voice rough but touched with amusement.
“Good movie, right?” he mumbled, the corner of his mouth twitching into a sleepy grin.
“Hmm,” you hummed, eyeing him amusedly. “Did you like the ending?”
He nodded, stretching his arms above his head with a low groan that rumbled in his chest. The blanket slipped down to his waist as he moved, revealing a strip of skin — the firm lines of his stomach dusted with a trail of hair, his shirt rising just enough to make your gaze linger.
“It was predictable, but okay,” he said with a shrug, settling back against the couch. One hand came to rest casually on his thigh, the other finding its way to your leg, tracing slow, absentminded circles through the fabric of your pants. “It’s always the boyfriend.”
You laughed at his pretending, turning your head to look at him, catching the faint glint of mischief in his tired eyes. “Oh, okay? So I should leave right now before you decide to skin me alive,” you teased, your lips curving into a smile as his thumb continued its lazy path along your thigh.
He laughed—a deep, warm sound that rumbled through his chest and vibrated against you. “Please don’t, baby,” he murmured, amusement still threading through his voice. He pulled you back into his side, his arm wrapping around you with familiar ease. The kiss he pressed to your lips was soft and unhurried, carrying more gratitude than playfulness. When he pulled back, his voice had softened, low and sincere.
“Don’t want you going anywhere,” he said, resting his chin briefly atop your head. “It’s been a helluva week, and we’ve finally got the house to ourselves.”
He kissed you again—slower, deeper this time—and you melted into him, every ounce of tension slipping away beneath the warmth of his lips. The familiar taste of him, the quiet hum in his throat as he drew you closer, reminded you just how long it had been since you’d really had a moment like this. Texts, quick calls between shifts, the occasional FaceTime that always ended too soon—none of it had been enough. You’d missed him—his touch, his voice, the way he made everything else fade into the background.
Wade had been stretched thin, and you knew it. Between running his business, managing employees, coaching his daughters’ teams, and keeping up with the constant whirlwind of responsibility, there hadn’t been much left for him to give. He always tried, though—showing up when he could, sending messages that still made your heart skip despite how tired he must’ve been.
As you pulled back from the kiss, your hand lingered against his jaw, your thumb brushing over the faint stubble that had begun to shadow his skin. His eyes opened slowly, heavy-lidded and hazy, and in the soft, golden light you saw the truth of his exhaustion—the faint, purplish smudges beneath his eyes, the weariness etched into the corners of his smile. Your heart ached at the sight. For all his strength, for all the easy charm and steady composure he carried through every day, Wade Felton looked like a man running on fumes.
"That's true," you murmured, letting your fingers trace the line of his jaw, the warmth of your skin grounding him. His eyes fluttered closed at your touch, a quiet sigh escaping him as if he lost the battle to play pretend for just a moment.
"But something tells me you're a tired man, Mr. Felton," you said softly, your voice a blend of concern and affection. "Do you need an early night?"
He smiled then—a small, tired curve of his lips that still somehow managed to reach his eyes. His hand came up to rest against your cheek, thumb brushing lightly across your skin.
"No, baby," he murmured, voice low and certain. "Just you.”
“Here I am,” you murmured, leaning in toward his lips. Just as your lips were about to meet, the shrill ring of the doorbell cut sharply through the air. Wade sighed, closing his eyes as if counting silently to reclaim the calm that had settled over him.
“And the rest of the neighbourhood, apparently,” he groaned, letting his head fall back against the couch and loosening his hold around you. You carefully manoeuvred out of his embrace, giving him an apologetic smile as you reached for the bowl of candy on the coffee table.
“There can’t be that many more,” you reasoned aloud, heading into the hallway. “What little kids are out this late on Halloween?”
With a flick of your wrist, you swung the door open—and were greeted not by trick-or-treaters, but by two very grown-up, very familiar faces: Delia and Forrest, Wade’s long-time friends.
“Aren’t you two a little old for trick-or-treating?” you teased, one eyebrow arched in amusement—until your expression fell as they stepped aside to reveal Grace and Natalie, Wade’s teenage daughters.
“Girls, what are you doing home?” you asked, startled.
“Lucky we even made it home,” Natalie said with a dramatic roll of her eyes, pushing past you into the house. “Could’ve been kidnapped by a blood-sucking vampire, and you wouldn’t even know about it.”
“What’s the point of having a cell if you don’t answer it?” Grace added, following her sister into the lounge, clearly ready to deliver her own brand of teenage judgment to the poor man waiting inside. You braced yourself, knowing full well that their father was about to get an earful.
Turning back to Delia and Forrest for an explanation, you found Delia pinching the bridge of her nose, her expression tight with irritation. “The party ended early. Cops were called,” she started, glancing at her husband, who snagged a piece of candy from the bowl you were holding. He gave you a weary, apologetic grin as he followed her inside the foyer.
“Did you know college boys would be there? Drinking! I can’t believe the girls lied to us. Addie isn’t like this,” Delia added, shaking her head as if the night’s chaos had drained her already.
You quickened your pace to catch up with them before they reached the lounge, determined to steer the situation gently. It seemed best to politely encourage them to leave, or at least settle down, and try to smooth over whatever tension was brewing between Wade and his daughters—without the added, sometimes neurotic commentary of his best friends complicating matters further.
“But the girls are okay? And Addie?” you asked, gently guiding them back toward the door. “We didn’t hear from them about pickup.”
“That’s because they couldn’t get through to Wade for almost forty minutes,” Delia replied, shaking her head. “Luckily Addie saw them as she was leaving, and we were already on our way. The girls are all fine, but honestly—if you’re going to have a night alone, at least put your ringer on.”
You inwardly frowned at the suggestion that you and Wade might actually get any alone time—between him dozing off earlier and this latest interruption, the chance would be a fine thing. Still, you were grateful to his friends for bringing the girls home safely, and relieved that everyone was okay.
“I’m sorry, it won’t happen again,” you assured her, handing Forrest another piece of candy. “Time got away from us, I didn’t realise.”
“Hey, time flies when, ya know,” Forrest smiled, eyebrows raising suggestively, and then cleared his throat at the displeased look on both yours and his wife’s face. “When – When you’re doing nothing much, was what I was going to say.”
You laughed dryly at his suggestion, the humour bitter against the reality of the situation. They probably assumed they’d interrupted a steamy night of passion, where both of you were so lost in each other that the outside world ceased to exist. How far from the truth they were—earlier, you had hoped Wade’s sleepy kisses might lead somewhere intimate, but now those hopes lay dashed.
Still, you reminded yourself to be grateful. You weren’t exactly on the best terms with his daughters, who had openly declared the age gap between you and Wade “gross.” Since your introduction, you’d been trying—sometimes painfully—to earn their approval, or at least neutrality. This situation, however, with them seemingly abandoned at a failed party while you’d monopolised their father’s attention, was hardly helping your cause. You sighed, steeling yourself for the delicate balance of diffusing the tension while keeping Wade from losing what little patience he had left.
“Thank you, really,” you said with a relieved sigh, holding the door open for them. “We owe you. Wade’s going to be so mad at himself for leaving the girls stranded. I’ll make sure he gives you a call tomorrow.”
They exchanged quick goodbyes before heading off, leaving the house quieter than it had been—but only just. As you closed the door and edged toward the lounge, the low, weary sound of Wade’s voice reached you. He was already trying to smooth things over with two very annoyed, very hormonal teenagers.
“I’m sorry, girls,” he said, his eyes flicking to his phone in his hands. “I had no idea it was on silent, and I didn’t think to check. It won’t happen again.”
You paused in the doorway, taking in the scene: Wade, exhausted but earnest, and his daughters, arms crossed and expressions full of teenage judgment. It was going to take more than a few words to erase the frustration of the evening, but at least he was trying.
“You forgot us,” Natalie said sharply, voice cutting through the room. “I can’t believe you, Dad!”
You winced at the raised volume, stepping into the lounge with a slow, steadying breath and sliding onto the couch beside Wade. He offered a tight, weary smile, and you returned it with a sympathetic one, silently letting him know you had his back. He was unravelling in all the ways he tried to hide—working too hard, not enough time for you, not enough focus on his daughters—a man desperately juggling every piece of his life and feeling like he was failing despite his best efforts.
You turned your attention to the girls, offering a polite, conciliatory smile. “I’m sorry, girls,” you began, your voice gentle. “I really wanted to watch a movie, so I turned your dad’s ringer off. I forgot to switch it back afterward, and we lost track of time. It’s my fault.”
It wasn’t entirely true, but it was a small white lie that you hoped would diffuse the tension. Letting Wade take the full brunt of their frustration in his exhausted state would have done him no favours—better to absorb a fraction of their anger yourself than watch him beat himself up further. You felt him looking at you, but you kept your eyes on the girls.
Natalie scoffed, arms crossed and eyes cast downward, sizing you up with all the teenage disdain she could muster. “Of course,” she muttered, rolling her eyes as if it were obvious—you were the reason their father’s time was always sabotaged, the ever-present obstacle in the youngest girl’s eyes.
“Nat,” Wade warned, his voice low and steady. You nudged his knee gently with your own, a silent message that you had this under control and that he didn’t need to endure any more of their frustration than necessary.
“I’m just glad you found Addie at the party,” you said, voice light, feigning curiosity as you glanced at Grace with a subtle knowing. “Why did it end so early, again?”
You let the question hang, studying their faces with quiet calculation. Part of you wondered how their brief outrage at their dad—and the simmering, seemingly endless resentment toward you—would withstand when faced with truth coming out: that the “innocent” Halloween party they’d begged to attend had older boys, alcohol, and far more chaos than they had let on.
Tomorrow, Delia would fill Wade in on all of it, but for tonight, you were the bridge between the girls’ secret and Wade’s inevitable fury at their lies. At least for now, you could soften the edges, giving Wade a few more hours of peace and the girls one more day of not being grounded. Perhaps you’d even earn yourself a point towards a reason for the girls to one day accept you.
“Power cut,” Grace said, her voice cautious as she glanced at you, testing the waters. A brief pause hung in the air, and then, with a sigh of relief, she turned to her younger sister. “Forget it. Let’s go to bed.”
Natalie grumbled a dismissive whatever, shuffling after her sister as they descended the stairs. Both of them muttered a half-hearted response when Wade called after them, his voice carrying warmth despite his exhaustion. “I love you!”
Their echoes trailed behind them, leaving the house quieter once more, the tension finally easing—at least for tonight.
You watched the girls disappear up the stairs, letting a brief pause settle before turning back to Wade with a teasing swipe of your brow. “We survived that one, right?”
“Barely,” he admitted, reclining against the couch, a tight smile failing to reach his tired eyes. “I’ll be paying for this for a while.”
“I don’t know,” you said with a knowing tilt of your head, your hand settling on his thigh with a gentle squeeze. “I think it’ll look different in the morning. I’m sorry this happened tonight.”
He shook his head, tugging at your hips to pull you into his lap so you straddled him. “It’s not your fault. You shouldn’t have taken the blame.”
You cast a wary glance toward the staircase, the shadows of the room reminding you the girls weren’t likely to come back down, yet your lingering paranoia made you hesitant to upset them further tonight.
“They won’t come back down tonight,” he said with a teasing lift of his brows, watching you carefully as you settled on him. “If they did, we’d hear them—Natalie makes a point to stomp her feet when she’s mad at me.”
You offered him a sympathetic smile, leaning in to press a soft kiss against his lips. “You’re a good dad, Wade,” you said quietly, your voice tinged with sadness at the flicker of disbelief in his eyes.
“Not sure everyone would agree with you,” he replied, pointing skyward to where his daughters slept above with a finger before resting his hand back at your side, a small smirk playing on his lips despite the exhaustion lingering in his gaze.
“They know you are,” you said confidently, hands smoothing over his shoulders. “It’s something I love about you—how much you care for your family.”
He smiled, eyes soft and shining as he looked at you. “I love so much about you, baby.”
“Tell me,” you whispered, a playful curve to your lips as you settled against his chest. He pulled you closer, your thighs wrapping around his lap as he leaned back into the couch, letting you sink into him.
“Let’s see,” he teased, his hands sliding to the curve of your hips, settling over the swell of your ass. A playful squeeze earned a laugh from you, and he grinned at the sound. “I love your laugh… and your nose,” he murmured, pressing a soft kiss to the tip before letting out a contented sigh. “I love how patient you are with me… and this,” he added, tilting his head toward the staircase with a teasing sparkle in his eyes.
But then the lightness in his expression softened, and the smile faded slightly, reality creeping in like sunlight through drawn curtains. “I know it’s a lot,” he admitted quietly, the vulnerability in his voice pulling at your chest.
“It’s never too much with you,” you said gently, tightening your arms around his torso in an encouraging squeeze as you melted into his chest. He huffed softly in amusement, resting his chin atop your head.
“One day,” you continued, your voice soft and full of warmth, “we’ll have an evening alone. I’ll cook you dinner, and you’ll pretend it’s nice even though it’s over-seasoned. Then we’ll watch a movie—actually watch the entire thing—and not fall asleep, until much later, after we’ve spent every moment together, talking, laughing, making out like teenagers on your couch… until we can’t keep our eyes open any longer.”
His chest gave a soft, jolting laugh. “That sure sounds nice, baby. I hope we don’t wait too long,” he murmured, a sleepy smile tugging at his lips. His hands traced slow, lazy patterns across your back as the two of you sank into a comfortable silence, gradually stilling as his breathing deepened, the steady rhythm grounding you both in the quiet of the room.
“I’ll wait forever,” you whispered, closing your eyes, letting the steady rhythm of his breath and the warmth of his embrace carry you into the quiet, comforting haze of sleep.
Walton Character taglist: @its-in-the-woods @lolaalee @megangovier @coolranchdavidian @justme12200
Summary: You are the youngest sibling of the Uso’s and Solo Sikoa, never having your moment in your career because of the shadow your family casted over you, and when your family branched away to make their own names? You became great friends with L.A. Knight (YEAH!) and now…you’re risking it all for him…
Warnings: SMUT (18+ ONLY), swearing (That’s about it fr!) (Also! do not repost or translate my work. Likes, reblogs, and comments are always welcome!)
Word Count: 3k
Author’s Note: I haven’t wrote anything in forever, I miss writing for wrestling and LA Knight is my man, so I had to do it! I’m also going to make a wrestling master list, and I am also trying out a new point of view so, I hope you all enjoy! And Happy Halloween!🎃
Tag List: @demonqueen29 @peachy-satan00 @new-zealand-chic @crowleysqueenofhell @unoficialy-married-to-ace-austin @thatpanpal @melissahausen @irish-newzealand-idian-dutch @linzi-land @xxx-jazz-xxx @writtingrose @legit9thlunaticwarrior @seeingstarks @rubyred1980 (Also it’s been forever so if you want out of the tag list please let me know!)
Your whole life was about family, about your Bloodline. As the baby sibling that followed the pack, you followed obediently, your mind on that sole path, ignoring the outside world because blood is thicker than water, right…?
That’s what you thought, but with Roman dethroned, Solo seeking his own dominance, Jimmy trying to find his way, and Jey taking over the world…you began to wonder…did you ever have a path that wasn’t within the shadows of your brothers?
One person showed you that there was a path out of the huge, looming shadow that was your family bloodline.
The one and only. L. A. Knight.
What started out as an act of kindness turned into a friendship. Shared stories, becoming gym buddies, learning new things in the ring, shopping, snack runs, constant texts.
It was a change, but a welcome one. One for the better.
But all of that fell into jeopardy the moment LA Knight unintentionally let Jey take a rough hit from their common enemy in the Vision.
It was genuinely an accident, but Jey? He didn’t see it that way. Your older brother refused to listen to a soul and now?
Your best friend and your brothers were all at each others throats, and you were torn.
You loved your brothers, wanted to be by their sides like always but LA Knight carried the ticket to freedom that your heart always craved even though you ignored its call all these years.
Now? You stand in the hall, the buzz of the arena vibrating through the very walls and foundation, fidgeting with your hands to try and calm your racing heart because your brothers weren’t here. Yet. LA Knight? All alone.
This was your chance to finally speak your mind to the other half of this big mess because despite your family? You wanted to keep the bond you had with LA. It was raw, natural, magnetic, and above all else? Like a drug you couldn’t get enough of.
So, with a deep breath, knowing that it was now or never. You took quiet steps over, and the moment LA’s gaze locked with yours? He could practically feel the nerves inside of you vibrating and rattling your core, and yet, your voice still came out with an attempt at some humor in hopes to calm those nerves:
“Hey, uh…is it okay if you, let me talk to ya?”
Even that little joke earned the faintest chuckle from him, his blue eyes darting away like he was trying to hide the visible soft spot he had for you, and trying to keep up his walls with the wit he always had:
“Look at you. First you soak up all my moves, now my lines? I’ll give you credit for execution, though.”
You weren’t surprised that he was guarded right now, especially after the last few weeks of pure chaos between him and your brothers, a twinge of desperation in your next words but you at least tried to put your foot down and sound strong:
“Listen, this is my one chance to speak my mind. No cameras. No filters. No brothers. Just me. Okay?”
Hearing that mix of desperation and determination in your words, his eyebrow raised slightly. Maybe with hope? His hand gestured for you to speak your mind as he crossed his arms over his chest, and this was your moment, and your every word was raw and genuine, from a deep place inside as you spilled it all out with this one opportunity:
“I know everything is so messed up right now. You probably hate my brothers guts, you have your own dreams, goals, and schedule but I just need you to know-
You were the first person who saw me for me. Not the baby uce. Roman, Jimmy, Jey. All of them just forgot about me. No one else saw me but you did.
I’m forever grateful for that. You showed me that I’m more than my family name and all those times we had together. I know they were real. Our friendship is real and…I don’t want to lose all of that because of this beef with my brothers. Especially not when I agree with you the most.”
You needed to suck in a deep breath after spilling out a part of your heart like that. It felt like it was fist time you spoke your mind. Fighting for something that you wanted. Not what your family wanted.
And LA Knight? The way his eyes darkened showed that your words hit somewhere just as deep inside, the tension in the air growing almost thick enough to cut as he stayed quiet, until he took a step closer, his voice uncharacteristically low, like it was something only you were ever allowed to hear:
“I’m proud of you. It takes a lot…to speak your mind like that.”
That alone gave you so much hope, your eyes lighting up, your lips parting to speak until? He held up a finger, all that tension feeling like gravity weighing down as he made one thing loud and clear, it being a result of so many betrayals and the walls he just couldn’t let down right now:
“But actions speak louder than words, Y/N.”
The sound of his boots rang in your ears as he walked away with those last words. Then fear. The one thing that’s always followed you around. Fear has held you back, but the fact that he walked away turned out to be a good thing because for the first time, that fear turned into pure fire.
He wanted action? He was going to get it.
With the World Heavyweight title vacant. Bron Breakker and Bronson Reed likely giving Adam Pearce a stroke somewhere backstage, nonstop talk about the battle royal…it was the first time that the fact that no one was focused on you was a good thing.
The battle royal was everything everyone expected. Pure mayhem amongst men who all would do anything to get into that title match for the vacant title, and with Breakker and Reed not in the match and sent home? No one had anything to worry about. At least that’s what they thought.
It was down to LA Knight. Jimmy. Jey. Dominik Mysterio, who was cheating, of course.
Dominik’s cheating was the perfect distraction because now? All the referees weren’t paying attention to Jimmy and LA being tangled together on the apron. Jey seeing his opportunity, ready to take it, ready to strike.
But that’s when what everyone believed was the impossible happened. You were suddenly at ringside after bolting through the crowd, jumping and yanking LA away and to the corner where he’d be safe, Jey throwing a clothesline so hard that it knocked him and Jimmy out of the ring.
The crowd was loud that the building felt like it was shaking, ripples of shocked reactions roaring so loud that it was nearly deafening and the look on LA’s face? Priceless.
He barely had time to process everything because you pointed, Dominik Mysterio weaseling his way back in, but with far too much momentum because with a simple duck then dunk? Dominik was out. LA Knight won the battle royal. Got the world title match. All thanks to you.
As the bell rang, his name being declared the winner, the smile on his face had never been so big and for the first time ever?
You didn’t look at your brothers who were a panting mess on the floor, never looking so shocked, angry, betrayed as they watched LA Knight yank you right up into the ring, his breaths labored, his heart still racing and making him stammer out:
“You…we…Y/N…Holy Shit!”
It was rare for anyone to make LA Knight stumble on words, which made this moment priceless, but what made it perfect was the moment he let those walls drop. You proved yourself with words and actions. So, your reward was his loyalty that he seared into you with a heated kiss that made the crowd go even wilder, made your brothers absolutely pissed.
But for the two of you? No opinions mattered. The only thing that mattered was the way tingles crept up your spine and how your lips clashed with so many unspoken words, pent up desire that gave the word raw a whole new meaning.
Turning this new leaf made LA’s ego even bigger too. So, he wasn’t afraid to feel all over you while the kiss became devouring, only pulling back to keep himself out of trouble with the cameras around you, but still fired up and he made you squeal by throwing you over his shoulder, heading down the ring steps, and making sure to talk smack to your brothers.
“Stick to tag team wrestlin’! Megastars only over here! YEAH!”
You could only laugh at all his smack talk, knowing he was simply thrilled and going through the best emotional rollercoater anyone could ride and you were right there with him, shrugging at your brothers who were still in such disbelief over the fact that their innocent, baby sibling wasn’t so innocent and surely not a baby anymore, the pot only beginning to simmer as you even had the nerve to wave goodbye with a proud grin while LA carried you off into the back, planning to keep you away from everyone, especially them because right now? He needed you all alone. All to himself.
“You said, actions speak louder than words. So, how was that for some action, huh?”
You just had to tease him a little as you two were headed to his locker room, able to feel the way he was actually shaking, like he was trying to keep himself in check.
But all that self-restraint started to evaporate bit by bit the moment that door open then closed with your back suddenly smacking it, every taut muscle of his body keeping you pinned against in, in the most delicious way possible and the look in his eyes showed that he was fighting every primal urge inside, his sweat glistening chest rising and falling quicker all over again, his voice low and husky while making sure that this was all truly reality.
“You know there’s no going back after that…”
You didn’t need him to tell you that. You knew before you made that decision out there. You picked him over your brothers, over your own bloodline, and with no regret. Finally getting that freedom your heart craved, your heart craved only him now, your arms slipping around his neck with a heated smirk that only he was allowed to see:
“It’s going to be a bumpy ride, but I’m a pretty damn good ride or die so, I’m not worried.”
That last little reassurance made him smirk right back, that damned smirk he’d make when he was ready to be up to no good.
The rest of his restraint shattered in that moment, your lips clashing again, kissing like two parched beings in a desert who just found water.
The buzz of the arena was merely a distant sound now, not able to focus on anything else besides the way his hips bucked then rolled against yours, his groan mixing with your moan, he made sure that you felt that hard poke each time his hips rolled, it making all the thoughts leak right of our you, a mix of a growl and a whine slipping right out of you:
“If you don’t get us out of these clothes, I swear to god…”
Nipping at your lower lip with a grin, his hands didn’t waste time tugging at your pants while you kicked out of your shoes with it, leaving your lower lip plump and swollen as it popped free from his bite, pulling back from the kiss to tear off your shirt, and his trunks were on the floor right after, his words full of promise:
“Don’t worry, baby. By the time I’m done with you? You’re gonna forget your own damn name.”
With two hot handfuls of the back of your thighs, he hoisted you right up into his arms, taking things over to the couch, plopping down and back with you straddling his lap.
He didn’t say it with words, but his every touch and hungry gaze over you showed that he’d waited so long for a moment like this, the perfect moment and this was it.
He was damn well going to make this moment count, one hand tangling in your hair, not pulling but holding tight enough to remind you that he still held power while you were on his lap, angling your head, and his lips latching to the pulse point of your neck, getting his own rush as he felt the way your heart beat spike from the way he marked your neck with hard sucks and bite in between, drinking in every noise you made and making sure that once you left this locker room? Everyone would see just what he’d done to you. That you were his.
“Shoulda done this sooner…” He rasped against your neck, only able to stay patient for so long as his free hand that was holding your hip trailed down to your thigh, squeezing before slipping under, inward, two fingertips touching teasingly, torturously where you were most sensitive, feeling the way you twitched and ached for him.
And your body instantly caved, desperately wanting more, to cure that longing that you’ve had built and pent up inside for so long, your hips rocking into his touch, a purr rolling off your lips:
“Waited too long…don’t wanna wait anymore…”
“Me either, baby…” He whispered with a tenderness meant for this moment you’d both been dying for, your breaths mixing together, sharing a gasp as his hips lifted, sheathing himself into you with a slow, deep thrust, letting a low groan rumble in his chest as a hand returned to your hip, guiding you through slow, paced rocks that let him every right spot, making you mewl and arch for me, teeth nipping at the sensitive skin just under your ear, “Fuck…it’s like you were made for me…”
“O-oh, yes…” Your jaw dropped slightly as each guided roll of your hips made sparks of pleasure seep into your very soul, that hand in your hair tugging back, making a moan rip through your throat, so vulnerable and yet it felt so good as his lips latched to whatever inch of skin he could get to and mark.
Possessiveness never looked so good, never felt so good and he was making sure you’d never forget that you were his now, the electric in the air between you charging, every shift faster, every moan and groan louder, the sound of wet, sweaty skin clapping in the room, and the whole arena could hear for all you cared.
All that mattered was the heat in your core threatening to snap, the creaks of the couch more frequent as your body stuck to his, impossibly close and swift spank to your ass stung so beautifully and that deep, punctuated thrust mixed with it nearly made you sob, his nails scratching at your scalp and your body trembling but obeying to the growl that escaped his gritted teeth:
“Naw, naw. Don’t you come just yet…”
The whine that came out of you made his smirk down right devious, eating up every noise, every pleasurable expression and above all else, addicted to the way you couldn’t help but beg:
“D-Don’t be like tha-at…!”
Your last work turned into another sharp squeal-ish moan thanks to the second, harder spank that made your body jerk, seizing up as his strong arms wrapped around you like a vice, yanking you down into every relentless thrust that made his tip smack deeply, made you clench and cry his name, but not daring to let go just yet.
“Tell me…that you’re mine. Tell me who’s makin’ ya feel so good…”
Like he needed to say that, but the emotion along with that heated desire needed to be set free, and it mirrored in your hazy eyes that were darkened with lust and hints of something more, giving him exactly as he wished as another relentless thrust send you reeling, crying out.
“You, LA! Only you!”
That was more than enough for him, his hand latching to the back of your head, pulling you in a kiss that was sloppy, but so deep and he swallowed down every whimper and cry as you crashed into that sweet peak of pleasure, your heart beat pulsating in your head, and your nails sinking into his shoulders to keep you tethered to reality.
Making sure that you were thoroughly wrecked, a slower series of deep thrusts dragged out every ounce of pleasure, drowning you in aftershocks that kept you trembling, still seeing stars burst behind your eyelids till they opened as his nose brushed against yours, the sight of his smile…not a smirk, but a real smile, just for you, and his next words even deeper.
“You don’t have a clue as to how addicted I am to you, huh?”
The raw honesty he showed was enough to make your heart do flips and make a weak laugh leave with soft pants.
Tonight was a new beginning, one where you got to walk under a new light, all the weight on your shoulders gone now and the playful banter you had with him now was even more genuine, more real as you teased in return:
“Oh, my poor baby. I hate to break it to you but there’s no cure.”
His laugh in return was as genuine as you’d ever heard, like he didn’t have a worry or care in the world either. Right now? It was only about you and him, his hand mindlessly tracing patterns along your back and making you melt impossibly more with his last kiss:
In my never ending rotation of hyperfixations; its currently landed back to pro wrestling. And let me tell you, trying to find any form of fanfic or oneshot about certain wrestlers is a BITCH! I'm asking for help. So if you or you know a user who writes about/for:
Ethan Page
Dean Ambrose/Jon Moxley
Kenny Omega
LA Knight
Damien Priest
Please, please, please; post them in the replies? Would love to read them!
Summary: Your mother is the matriarch of one of the largest merchant houses and crime families in the state of New California. Her reach extends as far as the Mojave. She has ten children—you are only one of them—yet you dare to have the gall to steal from her for a better cause, a different future. Will you be able to make a new life for yourself? Will her hired merc, the Ghoul, turn you in for caps so that she can take her sweet revenge? Or, will you strike a bargain with the man himself?
Warnings/NSFW 18+ for: Foul language, PiV sex, doggy-style, cunnilingus, sass, brat-taming, mild non-con elements, fingering, cum eating, tit-fondling, roughhousing, face-sitting, cat and mouse chase, and use of rope as a restraint. There is a mention of you/reader having a mother and siblings.
Word Count: 6.7k
Notes: This is my first time writing for the Ghoul, though I have written for both Hancock and NIck Valentine in the past! I'm a slut for Cad Bane (Star Wars), another hot n' sexy bounty hunter with a bad attitude, so diggin' the Ghoul tracks. This reader and her backstory are loosely based on the Van Graffs from Fallout: New Vegas.
Reblogs / likes / comments appreciated! You will find the ending makes a part two entirely possible, depending on if I ever decide to write one. :D
Ao3
“Here, kitty, kitty…”
The bastard had a voice like flint—smooth, with a hard edge—a needle of frustration piercing the Ghoul’s otherwise calm disposition. He’d been hot on your trail for days, but his little plaything had always been one step ahead—until now, that is—the bounty hunter having finally cornered his quarry in a rundown, ramshackle, shithole of a town that had a bare-bones population of one—you—not countin’ the ferals.
You were cowering behind refuse outside a dilapidated warehouse, he was inspecting his top-break custom revolver, preemptively reloading after wasting shots on two necrotic roamers that had almost interrupted this little shindig. The barrel snapped back into place with a resounding crack that made you wince, convinced he wasn’t out to kill you, though he was putting on quite the show.
“Here’s the thing, sweetheart—the way you’ve been hoarding bullets for that ten millimeter of yours, I’d say you were about out of ammo. ‘Course, that won’t do you a bit of good now you’ve got five or six man-eaters just to the south, and me right here in front of you. Thinkin’ it’s about time you and I had a little heart-to-heart, whaddaye say?”
“Fuck you!” you seethed, teeth clenching as you grappled your wounded arm. The bullet hole had been placed there by none other than your pursuer some two miles back, the trek through the barren wastes taking its toll—along with a fair amount of blood loss—yet you would persist.
You had managed to lose him outside New Reno in a place that used to be called Silver Springs. A settlement had cropped up, but of course the shopkeep had been all out of stims, and there was no medical doctor on hand.
Once the streets started to clear, you knew he had arrived; you snuck out the back like a proper scoundrel before he could sniff you out, giving yourself at least one hour’s head start.
“Now, that ain’t necessarily off the table for a pretty girl like you, but one thing my momma taught me back some two hundred years…” he paused for dramatic effect, the shit-eating grin he bore edging its way into thick, mocking words, the Ghoul’s charming drawl sending unwelcomed prickles down your spine.
“It’s fine to play with your food, as long as you still eat it.”
Fear overtook you, adrenaline coursing through your veins as your fight or flight response threatened to kick in. The hunter was merciless, hounding you like a bloodthirsty dog out to appease its master—the woman had who had put the price on your head, and a hefty sum at that: your own mother, the matriarch of your dear family.
You stalled for time, attempting to concoct a plan of action in order to get yourself out of this mess. “I’m sure you’d love the way I taste,” you quipped, looking desperately to the left and right for any semblance of an escape route—you may as well have been trapped between a rock and a hard place, either forced to give yourself up, or to risk your life at the hands of irradiated zombies that would just as soon tear you apart as they would look at you; you only had three bullets left.
The Ghoul sucked his teeth, a two-stop articulation of his tongue, clucking the roof of his mouth. He found you to be amusing, a cynical shake of his head signaling he wholeheartedly disagreed.
“Ya know, the old lady didn’t specify dead or alive… We could always test that little theory of yours, if only you’d come out, come out, wherever ya are,” the demon taunted, standing to his full height as he left the cover of an old newspaper stand.
The merc adjusted his Cattleman crown, stepping over bits of debris and rotting wood, distressed leather boots dusting up dirt as he traipsed lazily toward the sound of your voice.
“I imagine what with havin’ nine other kids, she ain’t too worried ‘bout losin’ one —especially a traitor.”
“I’m not a traitor!” you shouted without thinking, voice laced with indignation. You kept your place, despite the Ghoul inching his way forward, thinking perhaps he could be persuaded to your side.
“Mother hoards resources, has anyone killed who looks at her funny, refuses to cooperate with the New California Republic, and all in the name of profits!” you glowered. “The whole family is greedy! Just waiting around for her to die, fighting over whose next in line to run our ‘Empire!’ I’m sick of it!” you emphasized, tone rising in pitch as your temper began to soar.
“Well, now I’ve heard everything…” He was closer now; you clutched your weapon so hard your knuckles changed colors, knowing you wouldn’t stand a chance against this asshole if he got his hands on you. Your mother was always hiring mercs to do her dirty work, and this was no exception.
“Sick of bein’ rich and powerful? Always gotta be one good one outta the bunch,” he lamented, tone dripping with sarcasm, the Ghoul reminiscing on pre-war oligarchs and their self-righteous offspring. He vaguely recalled a princess being a do-gooder, until the royal family had called in a hit and done her in.
He halted his trek through the sand, giving a curious tilt of his head. This would be the first time you saw the man up close, peeking out to be met with two hazel eyes, bichromatic, like radial sunbursts, blues and browns culminating together like sand and ocean in a mix you had a hard time denying was anything but beautiful.
You scowled, readying your pistol. “The world’s fucked!” you growled, “and someone’s gotta unfuck it, get it? Even if only one piece at a time!”
You bit your lip to distract from a sudden flash of pain in your bicep, your next few words riddled with ache, an audible quaver unable to be obscured, even by your anger. “It may as well be me! Someone who has something to give back,” you argued, wanting to use your family’s powerful position to others’ benefit.
The Ghoul didn’t bother to move, watching as you recoiled to take cover once more. He was well aware of your gunshot wound, thinking maybe he could talk some sense into you before things escalated, not that he cared either way—he would get paid regardless.
“Too bad about that arm,” he commented offhand, feigning concern; you thought he sounded bored, realizing he was humoring you by letting the conversation go on for this long.
That, or he liked to hear himself talk.
“Now, you decide you want to behave yourself, I got somethin’ to patch that up, and maybe you’ll just make it out of this alive.”
“Or—” he paused, what was a brief silence feeling like it would stretch on forever. You grew impatient for what you knew was going to come next: some kind of threat of intent to injure, or an appeal to any remaining gumption—you had plenty. “—I could put a bullet in that pretty head of yours and drag you back to Redding; seems like a waste on two counts, one being the ammo.”
“That’s about as far as I’m willin’ to elucidate,” the Ghoul warned, his voice decidedly calm, easily demonstrating the seriousness of your predicament and demarcating his lack of patience. “So, what’ll it be? You bein’ a good girl for me, or are ya gonna make this hard?”
It was obvious this man would only answer to two things: brute force, or cold, hard caps. You had neither, at least not on hand. What you did have were those three bullets. You dared to use one, knowing that the Ghoulification process did not make one immortal on all counts.
You had enough target practice back home to be a fairly decent shot, but the gunslinger was faster. He sidestepped for you to barely graze the edge of his tattered duster, threadbare from overwear, having nearly exhausted its utility.
A smirk played out across the Ghoul’s plush mouth, stretching his withered skin. He shook his head, not thinking you’d have the guts to go and do that, though he was impressed you still had any fight left in you. “Self-preservation must not be in your wheelhouse.”
Shit. Why hadn’t you kept any of those energy weapons on hand? You had buried them, the same as the money, far out in the desert below the cracked foundation of a crumbling homestead. You meant to distribute them, along with the caps, to disparate settlements. To buy water in abundance from roaming caravans, hoping to find yourself in some other trade—one that wasn’t soul sucking and abhorrent.
You wanted the people to be able to protect themselves from your fool of a mother and her parasitic spawn, those among your siblings who had no independent thought. She spread them out across the Mojave, made them into managers and enforcers for the various branches of her mercantile empire, directing them to do her bidding.
Unsanctioned deals were rare; no one had the gall to go behind your mother’s back. No one but you, it seemed, but she sure as hell wouldn’t let you off the hook just for being family.
“Guess that means you’ve gone and picked the latter, eh, sweetheart?
The Ghoul’s footsteps advanced as he closed in on your position. The bits of scrap and trash you were hiding behind did little in the way of shielding you, leaving you open and vulnerable to whatever it was the hunter had in store.
You were out of options; you fired your last two shots.
The first one missed, but the second nicked the bastard’s hat, the Ghoul stopping in his tracks long enough to pick the Cattleman up off his head. He observed where you had marred its brim, scowling before replacing it back where it belonged, thinking this had just become a little bit more personal.
“You’re gonna regret that,” he said, his voice dangerous and rasping, causing your spit to all but evaporate, assisted by the dry heat of this godforsaken tundra.
The time had come for you to bolt, though your odds of escape were poor. You had little faith in your ability to outrun this man, but all you could do was try.
Clutching your wounded arm, you crawled out from behind your makeshift barrier. No sooner had you turned to flee than he made use of his toys, easily snatching you around your waist by way of a braided rope.
You’d been lassoed like an untamed mare, the Ghoul determined to break your spirit, if not your legs, dragging you backward across the sand one inch at a time. You squirmed like caught prey, tugging at the length of rope that bound you. It was to no avail, as the knot was tight, this not being among the Ghoul’s first rodeos.
“Let me go!” you screeched, digging in the heels of your boots to slow his backward pull. There was no way you were going quietly without a fight, not if this might be the last thing you ever had the chance to do of your own volition.
The Ghoul chuckled wryly, finding this whole bit to be amusing. “If I had a cap for every time I heard that, bettin’ I’d be rich.”
You were angrier than a rabid Yao guai, finding unfairness in your situation, wondering why it was that bad things always seemed to happen to good people, or those who tried to be anything but cruel.
If there was one thing you had learned in this life, it was that money talked. It was a shame that it was all you had to bargain with, or so you thought, but only if the Ghoul bought into your offer and there was no telling where his morals lay.
For all you knew, he could be doing this for fun—caps might be a bonus. And it was hard to say if he'd be willing to cross your clan, even if you could match what your mother was paying him.
“Please,” you started, trying to invoke his decency, calling out to any that might be left beneath that ghoulish exterior, though your captor was known by and large to be rather rough and tumble; you would not allow yourself to get your hopes up. “We can strike a deal—I’ll match your price. Hell, I’ll do better—just tell me how much!” you grated between clenched teeth.
“Now ya wanna talk. Little late for that.”
You had been unsuccessful at your attempt to escape, the man in the hat jerking you up by the back of your shirt before he spun you around, forcing you to face him.
You were shocked at his countenance up close. Never before had you been this near to a ghoul, always making it a top priority to stay far from their kind. Maybe it was out of fear of them going feral, or the fact you did not wish to witness what you might so easily become under the right circumstance, afraid to look this precursor to death in its eyes.
And yet, this man teetering on the verge of decomposition, somewhere between a warm body and a rotting corpse, wasn't so far gone that you couldn’t make out his humanity, however twisted, lingering somewhere inside those expressive viewports to his soul.
“It’s never too late,” you replied, unable to curtail that part of you that was rebellious, “only if you say it is.”
“And I do have the upper hand,” the merc reminded you, wrapping the loose end of the rope left hanging succinctly around your wrists. He resorted to bundling the surfeit in a double knot; there was no way you were breaking out.
You bared your teeth like a wild hound as you struggled helplessly. The bounty hunter admired the tenacity by which you had held your own, the fact that you were quarrelsome, not so ready to give in. He patted your cheek like he would man's best friend; if you were going to behave like an animal, he was going to treat you like one.
“It’s a long way back to Reddin’. You may as well quit while you’re ahead—otherwise, this whole situation is liable to be unpleasant, more than it already is.”
“Five hundred caps,” you blurted out, staring at him squarely, suppressing all your innate instincts, the only things left to you that seemed like a logical response. Instead, you would assay to reason with him—he wasn’t feral … yet.
The Ghoul searched your face. He must have found something there he favored. You produced in him a small inclination of his neck, as if he might be debating your proposition.
Then, he smiled. “Your maw’s paying me a thousand,” he said in that aloof, forbearing drawl.
“Fine, two thousand,” you returned, standing up straight, though the man towered. You found your heart was pounding, but not for the reasons you had first assumed.
He eyed you then, glancing down toward your chest, studying the way it rose and fell with every trembling breath. His gaze would travel back up, the Ghoul noticing the fast, rhythmic beat of your pulse point standing out from the smooth column of your throat. Your blood pressure was elevated. You reminded him of a mouse caught in a snare.
“And just where’re keepin’ ‘em?” he asked, one hand encased in a thick leather glove patting you down, starting at your hip and working its way below your belt line, groping at the meat of your thigh. “Don’t assume you have two thousand caps just hidin’ in your underoos. Figure I would have noticed.”
Your breath caught; you could not think straight. He continued until he had reached your ankles. You were tempted to knee him in the face, but you knew you wouldn’t get far—not like this. You withheld, knowing that to make a deal might be your only chance.
“Is that the best excuse you have for touching me?” you shot back, defiant.
By this time, the Ghoul had stood back up to his tall stature. He reached for your waist, planning to grope there, too. You cursed yourself for wanting it, staring back once more into his deceptive, deep brown eyes, flecked with hints of blue.
“Can never be too careful. One, you may be packin’ somethin’ else, though I’d be sure you’d try to use it by this point. Two, don’t think bein’ a gentleman is part of my reputation around these parts, and I ain’t above doin’ what needs to be done to ensure I survive—not that you’re much of a threat.”
That riled you up. Maybe that was the point. You bucked against him, once more endeavoring to loosen your restraints. “Fuck you.”
His cocky grin returned, the Ghoul snatching you up by the point of your chin. “Now, you already said that once already. I ain’t too sure that thought didn’t cross your mind. Bein’ alive this long, somethin’ I’ve learned is how to assess my surroundings—and that includes a person’s body language.”
You shot daggers from your eyes, but a thought occurred to you. As far as ensuring your own survival, you weren’t above doing what needed to be done, either. “Would you let me go if…”
“Look at that, already makin’ suggestions, not botherin’ to refute my claim, but willin’ to bang a ghoul. Suppose there ain’t much a person wouldn’t do these days to get ahead.”
“As if you haven’t done worse things,” you snapped.
“Never said I hadn’t,” the Ghoul squeezed either side of your face before letting go to come around behind you. You stiffened, unsure of his next set of moves.
“But that ain’t one of ‘em. Killin’ ya? Now, that’s fair game, but takin’ advantage of a woman is somethin’ altogether different, and that ain’t a game I like to play,” he purred into your ear.
“The offer’s on the table,” you seethed, giving him your own nasty smirk from over the peak of your shoulder, “got some Rad-X in my jacket—better make it count.”
The Ghoul turned his head to spit in the sand, as if your words had left a bad taste in his mouth. He traipsed back around toward your front, giving you a look that equated offense, combined with a full-on sneer.
“You couldn’t handle me, little rabbit. I’d break you like a twig.” He couldn’t help himself, taunting you further, “’course maybe that’s what you want; somebody oughta bring you down a peg or two, and it sure as hell ain’t gonna be your momma.”
“I bet you couldn’t even make me cum, you fucking prick,” you snarked back, your words accompanied by the jarring sound of your laughter. It echoed across the dunes, continuing long after you had stopped. It set the Ghoul’s blood to boiling, as his fuse was short. Disrespect wasn’t something he often tolerated, even when the subject matter was figurative at best.
Time to give you a healthy dose of stark reality.
The Ghoul whipped you around, not being courteous to the likes of your wounded arm. You screamed in protest, but he simply pressed the flat of his boot against the round of your ass, pushing you forward toward town, or what was left of it.
“What are you doing?” You stumbled over your own two feet, even as the bastard jabbed his gun against the small of your back.
“Acceptin’ your challenge, rabbit.”
“Are you serious right now?”
He was silent as he marched you onward, forcing you to enter the skeletal remains of some poor soul’s squalid dream house. Once inside, he took hold of your bindings, twirling you back around to face him as he pinned you firmly against what was left of the kitchen table.
“What I wants the money,” he leered, “but why don’t you go ‘head,” the Ghoul dared, “tell me what it is you want.”
Your eyes widened as his gloved hand stretched out to palm the shape of your breast. “Freedom,” you interjected, even as your breath hitched in your throat; even as you made a little sound, a chirrup like that of a bird.
“You sure?”
The Ghoul’s hand traveled, releasing your tit to cup the flesh of your thigh. He gave it a pinch before it snuck downward, slipping up under your hamstring, coercing your groins to align with a crude jerk of his arm.
You gasped, so sudden was your closeness, staring down into the vacant pit of his nasal cavity before your eyes shot up, matching the intensity of his stare.
“Do we have a deal?”
“You gonna show me where you hid those caps?”
“You gonna fuck me, cowpoke?”
You felt something—movement inside the pocket of your jacket. The Ghoul located the Rad-X you had so brazenly rubbed in his face, then stuck two fingers straight into your mouth, forcing it wide open.
“You’re gonna need these,” he said, shoving the pills down your gullet, coaxing you to swallow by curling a knuckle against the base of your throat.
You nearly choked, gagging without water as the Ghoul grinned like a Cheshire cat, tourmaline eyes monitoring your reaction, enjoying this little moment right before he unhooked his holster, tossing his revolver down onto the ground.
“Asshole,” you hissed, coughing for good measure, trying to dislodge what felt like a rock trapped in the center of your esophagus.
“The name’s Coop,” the Ghoul jeered, “for when you need somethin’ to moan—won’t be long, kit.”
You assumed “Coop” was short for Cooper. You laughed, mocking the merc before you—he’d walked right into this one, and you weren’t about to let the chance slip by. “Won’t be long? Just like every other man,” you japed.
The Ghoul growled; it quieted you down substantially, finding yourself twisting under his hold as he raked into your hair. He bit into the glove of his opposite hand with blunt, stained teeth, spitting it out to join his holster on the ground.
“Now I think I understand,” he remarked, his temperament having changed, his disposition one of muted animosity as he strained to keep his cool, “all ya are’s a brat, and I know how to deal with brats.”
You felt a pinch at your waist, a tug. The Ghoul pulled at your zipper, shoving one hand down your newly unbuttoned pants. At the same time, he lifted your ass up onto the table with the strength of his bicep; you wriggled atop its surface, trying to scootch back out of range. He’d drag you back by clawing into your jeans, compelling you to remain eye to eye.
“Where you going, darlin’? Fun’s just gettin’ started.”
It was as if time stood still, the Ghoul’s desiccated fingers finding the protuberance of glands nestled between the folds of your labia. You meant to fight back—to kick, to punch if you could, though your arms were bound—but all you managed was to melt into his touch.
“Shit,” you whispered, as you so readily succumbed, not wanting to admit to yourself you found him anything but ugly. Instead, you angled your hips as he dipped one digit inside you, his rough thumb already swirling circles as he watched you quiver, the Ghoul’s mouth halfway parted in silent ridicule.
Then, he had to go and ruin it by talking.
“Well, well, well. What do we have here?”
You gasped as he curled his finger inside you, slipping in one extra after the fact, pressing the two together against the anterior wall of your sex. He knew exactly where to aim, sending sparks out from your belly toward your already slick loins. You moaned despite yourself, leaning forward to better meet his reach.
“If I didn’t know any better, I’d say you had an itch to scratch long before my time—maybe that’s why you’re so foolhardy.”
“Just shut up,” you fumed, rocking in time to the pace of his rhythm; the Ghoul slid right out of you with a wet schlurp, raising his hand to spread apart the sticky sheen that clung between his fore and middle finger, licking it clean with a swipe of his tongue.
You were agog with morbid fascination, yet pissed as fuck he had stopped when you felt something building up deep inside you, wanting to cum though you would have to deal with the repercussions—the fact he would never let you live it down.
“Now, that ain’t no way to talk kindly to your elders,” the Ghoul said with a mischievous lilt. “Manners’ll get you a lot further than you might think, ‘course I don’t expect much from your generation. You all ain’t right in the head.”
You snapped your teeth, nipping thin air, purposely aiming for the spot his nose would have been, had it not long ago completely rotted off. Coop snagged you by the jaw, giving your face a good and irritating shake.
“Remember, you asked for this, little rabbit.”
You heard the rustling of fabric, a shuck. The Ghoul used both hands to clasp you around the hips, having finally taken the time to discard his other glove.
“Come on, then,” you dared, ignoring the pain in your arm. The flow of blood had waned to a trickle; you would live. In reality, you wanted to touch him, grope him, feel him, but you doubted the Ghoul would bother to untie you to entertain your fantasies.
Coop had his cock at the ready; it was hard and girthy but not malformed. Yet his foreskin was as mutated by the radiation as much as the rest of him, though it did not frighten you. “You’re on my schedule, so you best just hold your horses. The more fuss you make about it, the less inclined I am to indulge you, hear that?”
Then, he smiled an infuriating smile, “and now we both know just how bad off ya are.”
Whether or not you were impatient was beside the point; the man was maddening. You cinched your legs around his waist and pulled him close, the Ghoul making a show out of holding onto his hat.
“Giddyup,” you demanded, sneering.
That did it; something clicked in the Ghoul’s brain to where he lifted you up off the table by your collar. He didn’t say a word as he roughly spun you around, pressing his palm into the curve of your lower back, pressuring you to bend over.
A solid, hard slap to your ass caused you to yelp, followed by the bastard yanking down the seat of your pants. You struggled for air as you felt the Ghoul’s cock spread you wide open, burying itself up to its hilt inside the soft, squishy confines of your cunt.
“Cooper,” you breathed, inhaling and exhaling more rapidly. You dug your nails into your palms as your cheek was slammed straight down onto the table, the Ghoul holding you resolutely by the head. He steadily pumped into you, rolling his hips hard with every thrust.
“Don’t think I heard you,” Coop needled, picking up the pace, gaining momentum so as to increase friction, determined to fuck the fire right out of you if he accomplished nothing else. Hell, he hadn’t even warned you. He’d figured there’s no need. You had been rarin’ and ready from the get-go; you just needed a little in the way of “foreplay” to loosen you up.
However, you could not deny the stretch; the feeling of fullness; the tingle that traveled from the cusp of your navel all the way down to the throb between your legs, the Ghoul’s long, deep strokes knocking against your erogenous zone with such precision you doubted you would last for long.
“Stop-don’t—don’t stop,” you whispered, unable to elevate the sound of your voice, every drive of his cock into you stealing more of your breath away. He was kind enough to let up off your face after he was sure he had you secured, nowhere for you to go between his dick and the table.
The Ghoul snickered as he dredged you backward, over and over, using the flesh around your middle as handlebars, balls flouncing against the underside of your mound. Then, he reached one arm around, gripping you by the chin; he toyed with you, running his bare thumb across your bottom lip, skimming your teeth.
“Didn’t figure I would.”
You gave a little huff, twisting your wrists against your bindings; the Ghoul glanced down and chuckled, “just gonna have to make-do.”
You pushed backward in response, your ass cheeks flush against his thighs. You brought a gasp to your own lips, feeling a tiny flare of pain as his cock nearly brushed against your cervix.
“Not fair,” you complained,” can’t touch you, kiss you,” you said, suddenly coming to terms with the fact that you wanted to. Your fingers waggled arbitrarily behind you as you floundered in reaching for him, though the Ghoul slowly slipped his arm down, trailing your breasts, stopping to cop a feel.
“No,” he agreed, “but I sure as hell can.”
You rattled out another disjointed moan, Coop’s fingers tweaking your nipple before his hand vanished back between your legs. It slid past your waist and belly, skirting your thighs, before he grazed your clit, rubbing a pattern as he let up a little, deciding to make you ride it out nice and slow.
“Just like that,” you crooned for him, arching your back, lifting your lumbar region higher the best you could at this angle, nearly slipping when Cooper kicked your feet farther apart with his boot. His free arm scooped you up around your waist in a viselike hold, stringent and rough.
He switched his thumb for his trigger finger, aided by his middle, rotating them together in unison against sensitive nerve-endings, causing you to expel a filthy, debasing sound.
The Ghoul chuckled like a deviant into your hair, his lips pressed firmly to your scalp.
“Coo-Coop—” You bit down on your tongue, the Ghoul’s grip tightening around you, pulling you backward in a poor imitation of a hug. His own teeth bore down on his lower lip, his balls continuing to slap your undercarriage as he was close to blowing his load.
The head of Coop’s prick kept diligently massaging your G-spot, the pressure inside you tantamount to a wellspring of indescribable pleasure, never in your life thinking you’d lock hips with a Ghoul.
“’Bout to make good on that bet, ain’t I?” your captor purred into your ear, whirling those fingers, all the while jouncing into and off of your haunches. Your cunt was slick and saturated in your own wetness; you were so close you could practically taste it.
“Coop! Cooper!” you yelled, the Ghoul keeping his same tempo, only increasing his speed when you called out his name good and proper.
“There’s a good girl, wha’d I tell yo—”
“—No, Coop! Ferals!” you screeched.
Out from a backroom, drawn in by the smell of sex; the clamoring of voices—two shuffling, putrid rovers wearing rags had puttered onto the scene—you getting fucked by one of their ilk as they failed to react for a hairbreadth of a second, your Ghoul ripping his hand up and off you to stretch his arm out across his back.
Strapped to his shoulder was the sawed-off vintage shotgun he always carried—backup, as it were. The Ghoul broke it free of its straps, even as he kept driving it home.
You couldn’t believe it, watching in horror as you were being pushed toward the edge of an orgasm, the sounds that ferals made, with their fried vocal cords, something that would haunt you in your dreams until you made it to your deathbed. They were only a few feet away, coming in from outside, a hole in the wall plenty of room for a body, human or otherwise, to squeeze right through.
“You weren’t invited to this party.” The Ghoul took aim and fired just as you started to cum, the echoes of your lust filling the room as blood, brain, and viscera splattered radially, adding a bit of color to otherwise drab walls.
“Fuck, shit, shit!” you intoned, unable to hold off, even as the second ghoul rasped its anger, its quick, herky movements sending itself in your direction.
With Coop balls deep in your cunt and your hands tied, you were at the mercy of whatever happened next. Luckily, your mother’s hired gun was as good as she’d hoped, sending the other roamer sprawling as your gummy walls tightened, coaxing him to bust his nut.
The Ghoul released his load at the same time he fired off the last of his slugs, unable to control himself, the flex of your cunt so snug, it syphoned out every last drop. He had let go of his concentration once his job was done, spraying down your insides with his infertile sperm.
You both took a breather, Coop lying against your back as you went limp against the table, afraid to let your guard down for if any other ferals decided to show up. He had already tossed the gun, needing a moment to recuperate, assuming you were both in the clear.
You stood there, feeling something warm oozing out of you, then Coop slid lazily down onto his knees, pushing your legs apart wider. You sucked in a breath at the feel of his tongue, the Ghoul endeavoring to eat you out from behind.
You couldn’t keep from trembling, your knees nearly buckling, the Ghoul swallowing his own spunk as he licked a line all the way from your entrance to between your folds, teasing your clit, showing you no quarter.
You made your lewdest sound yet as he sucked your little bud between his lips, the feeling too intense so soon, but that wouldn’t stop him from having his way with you.
Both his hands found your ass cheeks, spreading them for ease of access, the Ghoul’s tongue disappearing somewhere inside your pretty puss. Your whole body stiffened before it relaxed, doing everything in your power not to just fall down flat on top of his face.
It seemed he had already entertained that same idea, for better or worse, the ghoul snatching you around your waist, this time with both arms. He laid back as you came crashing down, having physically coerced you to sit right on his mean, smug mug.
The Ghoul chortled darkly as you struggled to push up and off him, your buttocks smashed up against his forehead while he dined. That snaking, warm organ slipped in and out of you until it found your clit again, paying special attention to that part of you in particular, lapping at it like he would a pre-war ice cream cone.
“Cooper!” you breathed. The man tensed until he realized, this time, his name was an exclamation of you being wholly satisfied. He did not stop, not until you were a convulsing, heaping mess, the only thing you were disappointed with, the fact he didn’t have a nose to hump.
Your wriggling seemed to have tickled some part of his gray matter, not wanting to let go until he had nearly licked you dry was it not for his own saliva. You were panting; exhausted; nothing but a pile of useless flesh and bones by the time he shoved you off, persuading you to roll over onto your back.
You suddenly found yourself to be staring up at a dark sky—the house you occupied barely had a roof left to it.
“What the hell was that?” you asked, intaking large lungful’s of oxygen, trying to regain your equilibrium while you stayed put on the cold, hard ground.
The Ghoul laughed then, straight from his belly, wiping his mouth off on his coat sleeve before both his arms stretched out to either side of his prone form.
“A good time.”
After a few minutes, Coop seemed to come back to himself, fiddling with his junk to stuff himself back inside his trousers. He turned his head to look at you, the joviality having left his voice; he took on a more serious demeanor and tone when he spoke next.
“Now, where were we?”
---
Coop had been decent enough to help you up. He’d even shimmied your pants back around your hips and waist, staring at you like an overconfident ass as he’d fastened the button, but you refused to say a word.
He knew you’d enjoyed yourself, there was no denying it—but now came the hard part. What you didn’t realize, was the deal had been more or less muddled from the start.
“So, I tell you where the caps are and I’m free to go, right?”
The Ghoul was quiet as he surveyed the million granules of sand that lay in all directions, the desert night lit up by thousands of glittering stars. It was pretty like this, he thought. Not a cloud in the sky.
He decided to voice his opinion out loud.
“Stars sure are pretty, aren’t they?” He paused, as if collecting himself. “You know, people used to use stars to navigate, before road maps and compasses. They identified patterns and movements in what they called our ‘celestial sphere.’ Lost art, I reckon. Found their way to all kinds of places; one in particular always stays true north—Polaris’ the name.”
Then, he turned to look at you, his eyes gleaming from underneath the wide brim of his hat.
“And just where are those caps?” he asked, not bothering to answer your question, but instead presenting one of his own, waiting patiently to see just how well-behaved you might wind up now that you’d been laid.
“Not too far from here, buried,” you said, “just outside New Reno about a mile or two, at a homestead with a barn out back.”
“Now, that sounds out of the way to me. Reno’s to the east. We need to be going north—can follow that star I told ya about—and we got a long way to go, thanks to you.”
“Wait, what?” you argued, jerking once more against the rope that bound you, against Coop’s hand that had a hold of your restraints, the Ghoul giving you a cold, crooked smile. He had forced you out here after you’d been made decent, quoting he knew a safe place to hunker down, just up the road, “if you were interested.”
“You’re comin’ with me, sweetheart. Gotta make sure you ain’t tryin’ to play no double-cross—if we’re going for those caps—otherwise, your momma’s out there waitin’ back in Reddin’.”
“But I thought we had a deal!”
“Need collateral—you’re it, rabbit.”
“I swear, they’re there. I’m not a liar!”
“Didn’t peg you for one, but like I said before—can never be too careful.”
You glared at him in disbelief, watching as the Ghoul removed an inhaler from out of his coat pocket. He took a hit of whatever drug, then stepped around to loosen the bit of rope that he had wound about your wrists. Once he had a bit of the excess, he circled back around, wrenching you forward this time, as if you were caught on a leash—a short one at that.
“Hey! I can walk!”
“Best get started, then,” he mused.
“Why?” you demanded, your temper flaring up again, the heat of your blood coloring your cheeks as you flashed your teeth in a snarl. “Why go to all that trouble?! Why lead me on, why fuck me, if you weren’t going to hold up your part of the bargain?”
“Never made a bargain, if you think about it.”
“Then what?” you asked flippantly, staring him down with the most wicked glare that you could muster.
The Ghoul gave you a sidelong glance, arrogant as ever, adjusting his hat so that it fit snug against his skull.
“That’s what they call ‘gettin’ sidetracked’.”
---
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