I'd rather be in outer space 🛸
Andulka
NASA
"I'm Dorothy Gale from Kansas"
d e v o n
PUT YOUR BEARD IN MY MOUTH
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Xuebing Du
Origami Around
Claire Keane
Alisa U Zemlji Chuda
Sade Olutola
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@theartofmadeline
Jules of Nature
JBB: An Artblog!
art blog(derogatory)
ojovivo
tannertan36
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@detachedminxsfics
Masterlist 𝜗𝜚⋆₊˚
The Walking Dead ⟡
Oneshots
Negan
Jealous Girl
A Broad History
Ride
Punishment
Motel
Farmhand
Jeffrey Dean Morgan ⋆
Oneshots
Deaf Smith
Bluebonnet
Ike Evans
Strong Heart
JD Richter
System Error
The Comedian/Edward Blake
Bad Romance
Bloody Mess
Memories
Max
Caught In The Act
Cal McCarthy
Challenge
Teach Me
I know your life is yours and creativity and writing are beasts… but just so you know, I bet I’m not the only one who would love to have Spit back, or if you remastered it! 😁 I only caught one part of it and it REALLY grabbed me. So if you ever tried again… I think there’s some ravenous readers who would love it. (Also, keep up your fantastic work! 🤩)
First of all thank you so much wth?? It's crazy to me that the negan fanfic I cooked up when I was 16 has made that much of an impression on anyone tbh (esp from only one part 😮), that is awesome! I will never say never when it comes to resmastering Spit, considering I have a habit of revisiting a lot of old unfinished oneshots/fanfics years later and finishing them when the inspiration strikes. But truth is it's hard because I feel like my writing has changed so much since then (at least I hope so). I'm 20 years old now and have very different ideas of what makes a piece of writing feel well rounded. I feel like there would be so much I would want to rework and re-evaluate, while at the same time trying not to lose the core things that made Spit what it is. It would also be kind of difficult to find the inspiration since I started writing Spit while S11 was still airing, so that contributed a lot to my motivation and made it much easier to write.
Overall It's a possibility that will always dwell in the back of my mind, but for the moment my focus is on a second part to one of my Comedian oneshots from 2023 which I'm really enjoying, and hopefully some of you will too once I finish it. Thank you again for expressing your interest in Spit, it will always hold a special place in my heart. ❤️
trying to write a fic but i get frustrated bc i dont write like a 50+ years of experience in writing nobel in literature winner writer
Jeffrey Dean Morgan as John Winchester Supernatural (2005-2020)
JENNIFER'S BODY // (2009) — dir. karyn kusama
That Deaf Smith fic was 🔥
Thank you! ❤️
Bluebonnet
Masterlist
Characters: Deaf Smith x Virgin F!Reader
Summary: When you learn that Deaf and the rangers are supposed to be setting out on an important mission the next morning, you decide to tell him how you truly feel.
Word count: 7.5K
Warnings: NSFW - Age gap (reader in their early 20s, deaf late 40s), loss of virginity, fingering, oral (f recieving), vaginal sex, riding, praise kink, lots of fluff that'll make you shed a tear (and not just from your eyes)
A/N: Oh boy. As the story usually goes with me the start of this has been sitting in my notes since mid 2023, but I somehow managed to chip at it for these last few weeks with sheer horny willpower and the threats to my life from my beta reader who is also a Deaf lover (thank you @maxswifee). This is literally the longest thing I have ever written and I now have random niche knowledge of 19th century texas. Enjoy!
The Texas heat cruelly shrouds you as you head out from camp and make your way in the direction one of the rangers indicated Deaf had gone, small clouds of sand circling your shoes and clinging to the hem of your dress as you kick some up with every step. After a considerable amount of walking, you could spot him leaning his side up against a tree, the leaves decorating the branches casting enough shade to stop him from completely roasting, though it didn't do much.
“Deaf!” you called out to him as you approached, then muttered a curse under your breath when you realised he wouldn't hear a thing.
When you reached him, he was still staring out overhead, his hat clutched in his hand as he held it to his hip. You patted his shoulder gently to grab his attention and hoped you wouldn't startle him. He spun to face you, a little disconcerted at first, but when he saw you his eyes softened, his lips forming a gentle smile.
“Hey now, my lil' desert rose.”
You shook your head a little and laughed at the affectionate name for you that he so devotedly used. The perspiration he was usually brandished with coated his forehead, allowing strands of hair to cling to his skin, and the small spot of blood outlining the corner of his mouth that was drying in his beard made you tut.
“Oh, Deaf, you got blood 'round your mouth. Here, lemme get it.”
You reached into his pocket and retrieved the small square of linen he kept when he needed to cough, the material already littered with various old spots of blood from the many previous times it'd come flying out of his throat. You found a somewhat clear part and began wiping at the corner of his mouth, trying to get what had gotten caught in his beard out as best you could. He chuckled and closed his leather-gloved hand over the back of yours to stop you.
“It'll be back soon as I cough again, darlin'. Don’t you fuss,” he says, and you knew that he was right, but it didn't stop you from wanting to clean him up.
Hushing him, you continued in protest until it was gone, folding the linen and stuffing it back into his pocket.
“There now, that's better,” you assert.
He smiled easily and placed his hat back onto his head.
“Now, I'm sure you didn't walk all the way down here just to tend to me. What you need?”
Your apprehensive eyes met his, a nervous smile playing on your lips as you hesitated to ask him what you had been meaning to.
“Look, I know this ain't the sort of thing a lady's s'posed to be askin'.” You pause, swallowing hard. “But I was hopin' you could teach me how to shoot a rifle.”
His eyes watched your lips, reading them as you spoke before they lifted back to your gaze.
“For huntin'?” He pried.
You shook your head and sighed preemptively.
“No, I was hopin' I could help you and your boys out fightin'.”
Any other man would've laughed in your face before you'd even gotten the chance to finish your sentence, but Deaf actually thought it over, the eagerness in your eyes making him smile.
“So you wanna be a ranger?”
You nodded, idly smoothing your hands over the fabric of your skirt as you awaited his response.
“Alright, I'll teach ya. But it'll be a spell before I let you ride out with me an' the boys, ain't about to let you go get yourself killed.”
You were throwing your arms around him and repeating your muffled gratitude against his chest before you knew it, so caught up in your own excitement you hardly recognised the hand he'd placed on the small of your back to pull you in tighter, the other smoothing over your hair. When you finally leaned back to look at him, you noticed that he had his eyes closed, a look of peace on his face that you'd never seen before. A state of content he was rarely in, perhaps never. You used the arms you'd wrapped around his torso to pat his back gently.
“Deaf?”
He opened his eyes and looked down at you, his hand still drawing circles on your back. When he realised the hug had lingered a little longer than intended, he cleared his throat and lowered his hands back down to his sides.
“Right, shootin'.” He nodded to himself as he bent down to pick up his rifle from the floor and started walking, with you trailing behind him.
When he seemed to catch sight of something, he stopped in his tracks and pointed ahead.
“See that piece o' wood over there?”
After a moment of squinting, you identified the plank of wood he was referring to that was resting against a rock.
“Yeah?”
“That there's your target. Now it ain't movin' on a horse or tryin' to shoot you back, but it's a start.”
You nodded, and Deaf held the rifle out to pass it to you. You didn't realise how heavy it was until you were left to support its full weight, your arms already beginning to ache. He noticed the faint sign of struggle etched into your features and smiled softly.
“You'll get used to it, sweetheart.”
“I sure hope so,” you sighed.
You took a few steps forward and then held the gun up, attempting to aim it the way it looked like the men usually would, but it felt so awkward and foreign to you. He chuckled a little at the way you held it, not in a demeaning way by any means, but because of the way you stiffened with discomfort when you attempted to hold it correctly. You didn't have a clue.
“Alright, that ain't bad. But here.”
He started towards you, stopping just behind you and pressing his chest up against your back as his hands slid over the backs of yours, occasionally gliding down your wrist and forearms as he positioned you better. By the time he was done, the rifle was unsurprisingly better positioned, and you made a mental note of the mistakes you had made before. Deaf's hands dropped down to hold your waist when he was done, his raspy voice right next to your ear as he spoke.
“Just keep the butt of the rifle tight against your shoulder, alright? You'll need that for the kick when she fires, otherwise it's gonna hurt.”
You nodded and made sure to keep it where he'd shown you, your breath a little shaky from the feeling of his hands on your torso, whilst the front of his body remained pressed against your back.
“Relax. Don't tense up when you shoot, keep that breath nice and steady.”
You swallowed hard at the thought of him being able to hear what his being so close to you had done to your breathing, but tried to focus on the task at hand. You aimed the gun towards the plank as best you could, slid your finger over the trigger, then curled it tight and fired. The first thing you noticed was the kickback Deaf had mentioned, but you'd braced it against your shoulder correctly allowing it to absorb all the shock, though the force was unlike anything you had ever felt before. Then, the noise. It was loud, real loud. It rang out especially in the open plains, the sound of the shot carrying through the air and perhaps even to the point that it could be heard from all the way back at camp.
You'd heard plenty of gunshots before, heard the men practising their aim and messing around with their guns, but had never heard it so up close before. It was definitely something you had to get used to. After you'd composed yourself again, you lowered the gun and looked over the plank for any sort of hole or mark, but there was nothing. You'd missed completely. Your shoulders slumped a little, and Deaf could tell how disheartened you were.
“Hey now, that was a real good first shot. Shootin' takes time, and a damn near perfect aim only comes with practice. Go on, give it another try.”
Defeated as you were, you raised the gun again and positioned it as Deaf had shown you, then took a deep breath in and held it, hoping that it would allow you to be more accurate. When you thought you'd lined the shot up as best you could, you pulled the trigger. The sound pierced your ears once again, and a small cloud of gunpowder smoke burst from the barrel of the rifle, slightly obscuring your vision. When it finally cleared, your eyes roamed the plank again for a hole, and then you saw it. It wasn't centred or on point by any means, but you had managed to shoot it. You lowered the gun and could hardly contain your joy, beaming as you turned to face him and flashed him the wildest smile, his hands readjusting on your hips once you turned.
“I did it! I hit it!” you announced excitedly, so wrapped up in the moment that you'd practically forgotten that you were holding a gun.
It was only when Deaf reached out to grab the barrel and aim it towards the ground that you noticed you'd been waving it about and almost pointed the damn thing at him, a raspy chuckle leaving his lips.
“That you did, desert rose. But make sure that you keep your gun pointed towards the ground unless you're shootin' to kill, alright?”
You nodded a little sheepishly at your mistake, but you could tell that he didn't mind it. One of his hands left your waist to reach up and caress your cheek, the touch threatening to leave you more flustered than you already were.
“That was a hell of a shot for a lady that ain't ever fired a rifle before. Hell, I got men took longer'n you to shoot like that. You're a natural, I can tell,” he says, flattering you earnestly.
Even if he was somewhat exaggerating, the praise filled your stomach with butterflies and made you feel all giddy. You hadn't known whether he would be supportive or not, but the fact that he had taken the time to teach you the basics of shooting and even offered you a future place amongst the rangers meant so much to you. More than he could ever know. You set the gun down on the floor carefully and then threw your arms around him, the embrace so impassioned he had to steady on his feet a little so he didn't topple over before wrapping his arms around you again.
“Thank you, Deaf,” you whispered with your head resting on his shoulder, uttering the words next to his ear so that he could hear them.
He squeezed you tightly in his arms, making you giggle, before loosening his hold so the two of you could meet each other’s eyes again.
“So, you gonna be at the shindig tonight? I heard you and the boys might be ridin’ out in the morning. Thought you ought to have a little fun before you go,” you asked innocently, though your intent was anything but.
Deaf was a wonderful man, and to say that you weren't deeply attracted to him would be the biggest lie you'd ever tell. And though the thought pained you to even cross your mind, the possibility that he may not return after he sets off with the other rangers tomorrow morning was not lost on you.
“I'll be there, darlin'. The boys are sure they can get Sam to drink more'n he should, and I ain't never passin' up a chance to see Sam Houston three sheets to the damn wind,” he admitted with a laugh, a laugh you joined when the picture of Sam drunk as a skunk flashed through your mind. “Besides, what sorta man would I be to not accompany a pretty lady such as yourself?” he added, the comment catching you off guard, though it was far from unwelcome.
Just as you opened your mouth to reply with something equally as flirty, his hand dove into his pocket to retrieve his blood-splotched piece of linen, cupping it over his mouth as he coughed into it. The dryness of the cough and the thought of how sore his throat must be made you wince. He lowered the material and stuffed it back into his pocket only to be met with your troubled expression, but you quickly cleared your throat, not wanting him to think that you were pitying him. Bashfully, you rise on your tiptoes and peck the thin scar on his cheek, letting the kiss linger for a moment before pulling back.
“Well, I'll see you tonight then,” you say with a small smile, now too embarrassed to say any of what you had originally thought to.
“See you, sweetheart.” Deaf nodded, watching as you turned and headed back towards the camp.
Once night had fallen and the evening sky was filled with stars, the celebration began. You excitedly threw on your nicest dress, hoping to catch Deaf's eye, the fabric cinching your waist and adorning a low neckline that drew attention to your chest. You headed towards the centre of the camp only to be immediately greeted with the ambience of chatter, the occasional jovial roar of drunken men carrying through the air, and the upbeat music from a small band of men filtering amongst the noise. Scanning the crowd for any sign of Deaf, you see him emerge from Sam's tent a moment later, his searching eyes suggesting he'd had the same idea as you.
His eyes light up when they land on you, the admiration in them making the air feel thick and your head swim beneath his gaze. Gathering your courage, you beckon him over with a wave and a smile, which had him weaving through the drunkards until he reached you. He wasn't wearing his hat anymore, revealing his tousled dark hair. A loose-fitting linen shirt with rolled-up sleeves drew attention to the hair on his forearms, while a worn brown waistcoat hung unbuttoned over it, and his hands were free of gloves. Taking your hand, he guides it to his lips and leisurely presses a kiss to the back of it, his eyes never leaving yours. The dark hair surrounding his top lip, amongst the sea of grey in his beard, brushes against your skin as he does.
“Beautiful,” he mutters before letting go of your hand, though you could've sworn he’d prolonged that gesture for as long as he could.
You tried to hide how flustered that had left you, smiling sweetly and hoping to God that your cheeks weren't as flushed as they felt.
“What'd Sam have to say? Was it somethin' about tomorrow?” you ask, clearing your throat and trying not to show how much the sensation of his lips on your skin had affected you.
“He had a few things on his mind, wanted my say on 'em. We figured me and the boys'll ride out come mornin',” he replies, though the faint sadness in his eyes disputes the militant edge of his words. You decide you needn't pry.
“Well, let's make the most of it while we can. Now's the time for a little fun, I'd say.” You take his hand with a playful smile to lead him toward the small gathering of people who were dancing, allowing yourself to enjoy the moment and get swept up in the merry tunes.
You were doing a lot more dancing than Deaf was, but that didn't stop him from taking your hand and making you do a little spin, the skirt of your dress twirling as you followed his lead with a giggle. A genuine smile spread across his lips as he bathed in your joy, your faint, surprised laughter, sweeter to him than any music an instrument could produce. Though he would never pursue you or expect you to feel the same, there was no denying that Deaf was utterly enamoured with you.
You were thrust into the revolution when your father was killed defending the Alamo, leaving you the last member of your family. After the fort fell, the Mexican army let you and a few of the other surviving women and children flee to spread word of how ruthlessly they had secured their victory. Frightened and alone, you wandered the plains until Deaf and his rangers stumbled across you. It was Deaf who had gently lifted you onto his horse, told you to hold on tight and took you back to the encampment where he and the rest of Sam's Texian forces were stationed.
After arriving, you dedicated yourself to trying to learn how to take care of the wounded and helping out wherever you could, something that Deaf deeply admired about you. Despite everything that you’d endured and all the horrors you had witnessed, you still tried to contribute to the Revolution, even to the extent that you were now willing to fight for it. He would check in on you often whenever he wasn't out scouting, and in return, you would offer him clean linens, knowing whatever one he was keeping in his pocket was likely too bloodied for him to bother coughing into it. You hated that there wasn't something more that you could do for his sickness, especially after how he had saved your life by bringing you here.
When you turn back to face him again, your little dance together is interrupted by one of his typical nasty coughs, with him hurriedly retrieving his linen from his pocket and coughing into it. When he lowers it, you see there's still some bloody residue caught in his beard again, leading you to take it from his hand and start wiping it away despite the habitual look in his eye that tells you your efforts are futile.
“I'm sorry, I didn't mean to push ya too hard, Deaf. I weren't thinkin' clearly,” you mumble, abashed and feeling responsible for stirring up his cough.
“Now don't go blamin' yourself, sweetheart. It ain't on you, you hear?” Deaf assures you with furrowed brows, though you weren't sure you entirely believed him.
As you were cleaning him up, you find yourself getting lost in the details of his face. Details that you loved, like the thick, untamed white beard that became a darker charcoal colour around his top lip, and the dimples hidden beneath it. His warm hazel eyes bore into yours whilst your own eyes wandered to his lips, reminding you of how often you had imagined how they would feel. Your train of thought is disrupted by the feeling of his hand enveloping the back of yours, the motion allowing you to realise that you've been studying him for a beat too long. With a hint of embarrassment, you watch as he takes the linen back from you and stuffs it into his pocket. Although you took it as a silent rejection of how you were looking at him, the truth was that if Deaf hadn't interrupted you, he wasn't sure that he'd be able to stop himself from kissing you.
You consider continuing the night as if nothing had happened, as if your breathing hadn't gotten shallow just from the closeness alone, as if every touch or brief moment of contact didn't leave you dying and reeling for something more. But you couldn't shake the thought that you may not see Deaf again after he leaves in the morning, and how much it would haunt you were something horrible to happen to him and for you to never have told him how you truly felt. After all, you knew the weight of that all too well; your eyes opened to the cruel fragility of life after losing your father. Wordlessly, you take his hand and start leading him away from the celebrations, his fingers interlocking with yours despite his confusion.
"Where we goin'?" he asks as he lets you guide him.
Eventually, you reach your wedge tent situated towards the outskirts of the camp, pushing the material that hung at the front aside and holding it open for him, too, then letting it fall back into place once he is inside. When you're sure that you're safe from the eyes of passersby, you let go of his hand so that you can hold his face in your hands, your faces so close that your noses brush and that he could feel your shaky breath fanning against his lips. It was your way of testing the waters, but much to your surprise, you feel him gingerly lay his hand on the small of your back, the other cradling the back of your neck.
You lean forward, not enough to close the gap but enough that your lips almost brush, the closeness agonising. Your lips part slightly as you release a breath you didn't realise you had been holding, and then you pressed them against his. It was as slow and tender as you had thought it would be, as though Deaf was savouring the feel of you. You had never kissed a man before, never done anything with a man, for that matter, but it was better than anything you could have ever imagined. You break the kiss slowly, letting your foreheads rest against one another's for a moment until you lean back and place the palm of your hand on his chest.
“Listen.” You pause, drawing a slow breath to steady yourself. “Most gals my age already got children of their own, but I ain't never even lain with a man. And there's no finer man I can think of than you. I know it ain't right of me to ask, not when you're riding out come mornin', but I couldn't let you go without tellin' you the truth. I want it to be you, Deaf.” Your desire bleeds into your words, punctuating them with a hunger that you hadn't fully grasped the weight of.
For a moment too long, his expression is indiscernible, and searching his eyes for an answer only leaves you coming up empty. Just when you think you might have humiliated yourself for no good reason for a second time, his mouth is on yours again, kissing you in the way that you'd longed for since the very moment you laid eyes on him. You feel the hand that was cradling your neck move to stroke your hair as he pulls back and whispers against your lips, voice like velvet.
“It'd be an honour, my desert rose.”
Taking your hand, he guides you to your bedroll and coaxes you to lower down onto it, then joins you by sinking to his knees at your feet. Grabbing the hem of his shirt, he pulls it over his head and tosses it aside, revealing a sight that you had only been privy to when he'd strip down to the waist to give himself a sponge bath and catch you staring a little longer than you should. But you'd never seen him like this up close before. He was thin, but not too dissimilar from many of the other men on the frontier, with a coating of hair on his chest that trailed down to his stomach. Prominent v-lines sit prettily on his lower abdomen, stretching down beneath his waistband in a way that feels enticing.
Eagerly, you part your legs, inviting him to move into the space between them, breath hitching when his fingers diligently glide over the hooks running down the front of your bodice. Deaf's eyes lift to meet yours in a lascivious gaze, a silent request that you meet with a small nod. His fingers deftly undo the hook closures, the dress loosening at your shoulders and prompting you to lean up to assist him in pulling it over your head, revealing the petticoat you'd been wearing underneath. Rather than removing it and leaving you completely bare, he starts peppering your bare chest with kisses whilst his hand smooths up your leg and beneath your petticoat, his rough callused skin caressing your thigh and hiking the material in its wake.
“Ain't never laid eyes on nothin' as pretty as you,” he mumbles softly into your skin between kisses, the declaration leaving you flustered.
You're far too consumed with the feel of his lips to be nervous about how dangerously close his hand was to your crotch, especially when he started paying unique attention to your breasts, your hands flying into his hair as his tongue draws teasing circles over your nipple. Deaf stops pampering your breast to remove his hand from your thigh and spit on his fingers, setting one hand on your waist while the other disappears back under your bunched-up petticoat.
You let out an involuntary gasp when you feel his digit briefly prod at your entrance before slowly pushing inside you, his eyes burning with lust as he drinks in the surprised moan that tumbles from your lips, grasping at his shoulder in your surprise. It was a foreign intrusion but hardly an unwelcome one, as though the sensation quelled some of the fire inside you but made room for other unchaste desires. The hand he'd placed on your waist moves to cradle your neck, gaze never leaving yours as he begins to pump his finger in slow, deep preparatory motions.
“That feel alright, darlin'?” he softly asks, urging you to talk to him and hovering over you with a hint of concern lacing the famished look in his eyes.
It's hard to get your words out, your head swimming with bliss as you try to form a thought outside of the feeling that his finger was moving inside you.
“Feels real good,” you gasp out in a clipped fashion then bite down on your lip, the strained lilt in your voice driving him mad.
Not feeling as much resistance as he did at first, he tenderly adds another. The slight stretch as you tried to accommodate both digits was uncomfortable until he started moving them again. Filthy, squelching sounds emanate from every knuckle deep thrust of his fingers as he uses the hand on the back of your neck to coax your lips against his, a wanton moan spilling into the kiss when he curls his digits and hits a spot inside you that makes you shudder.
Bunching the material at your hips, he drops a few wet, sloppy kisses from the valley between your breasts all the way down to your navel, stopping just above the waistband of your petticoat and lowering down onto his stomach. Another surprised gasp is pulled from you when he buries his face between your legs and drags his tongue over the length of your sex, licking long, wet stripes over your folds and collecting the taste of you with an approving hum. He hooks his arm around one of your legs to bring you closer, splaying his hand on your lower abdomen as he turns his attention to your clit.
The licks are slow at first, teasingly dragging his tongue over you to see what made your hips jump and your breath hitch. His mouth felt amazing, the way he lapped at your cunt with his unrelenting tongue as though he were dying of a thirst that only you could quench. You try to rock your hips in time with his mouth, his tongue sweeping over your clit just right and leaving you practically fucking yourself on his mouth and fingers in your desperation to soothe the throbbing ache within you. Frantically, you gather some of the blanket you were lying on in your fist, your other hand wandering down to comb your fingers through his hair and lightly grip it, the tension on his scalp drawing a groan from him.
His eyelids were heavy with lust, every drag of his tongue and the light sucking on your clit leaving you fighting the urge to arch your back and cry out, the scruff of his beard scraping against your inner thighs as he lapped at you. You knew that you would hardly be heard over the music and chatter from the celebrations, but you still weren't willing to risk someone overhearing you if they were to pass your tent.
“Please, I need you.” The words tore from you in a desperate, hushed plea, every syllable dripping with need.
As though that was all he needed to hear, he gave one final, slow lick from your hole to your clit, planting a kiss on your inner thigh and removing his fingers. The sudden emptiness makes you whine from the way you’re left clenching around nothing. Deaf straightens his back and starts unbuttoning the fly of his trousers, drawing your attention to the considerable bulge straining against the fabric. The sight makes you swallow hard as you watch his fingers delve into the waistband and push it down his hips, his cock springing free from the confines of his trousers. A sharp breath catches in your throat at his impressive size, something that Deaf takes notice of. He tips your chin up to meet his eye again with a small smile, though there was that usual warmth swelling in his gaze, an unyielding adoration in them as there was every time he laid eyes on you.
“Am I still the one you're wantin'?” he asks prudently, trying to make sure that you were clear on what you wanted beyond the haze of pleasure.
You reach up and wipe away your juices that were still caught in the scruff of his thick, mostly white beard with a knowing smile and then rest your hand on the side of his face. His eyes close briefly as he leans into your touch, though he soon opens them again to look to you for an answer.
“From the moment I met you, you been one o' few men that has shown me kindness. You saved my life that day, and there ain't no way I can ever pay that back. But I wanna give myself to you, Deaf. I want you to know what you mean to me,” you profess, the words somehow leaving you feeling far more vulnerable than the stripping of your clothes ever could.
Deaf lays his hand over the back of the one you were cupping his cheek with and gives it a squeeze, an artless smile playing on his lips in return.
“You've been looking after me so good, always fussin' over me when I ain't well. Now you just lie back yourself, my sweet girl, and let me tend to you awhile,” he rasps before capturing your lips again, the taste of you lingering on them and a certain hunger punctuating his drawl amidst his admittance of how struck he was by you.
Hooking his fingers in the waistband of your petticoat, he pushes it down your hips and your legs, setting the fabric aside with the rest of your garments. Then he leans down to hover over you, grasping his shaft and lining himself up with your hole. You couldn't help but unconsciously brace yourself, something that he noticed as he stopped and ran his fingers through your hair.
“Easy now. Don’t go tightenin’ up. It’s gonna smart some, but it won’t last long. I got ya,” he cooed, his honest words paired with his affections just the thing you needed to calm your nerves.
You try to relax the best you can, the tip nudging against your opening for a moment until you feel him pushing inside you with a groan. Try as you might you curse and let out an uncomfortable whine, the way you were stretching around him leading you scrambling to wrap your arms around his neck, tears threatening to well in your eyes. Deaf stops to allow you to adjust to the feel of him, then presses his lips against yours while he cards his fingers through your hair, his other hand caressing your hip.
“You're all right, I got ya,” he mutters, pressing gentle kisses between the words and softly hushing you through the discomfort.
When you manage to relax, though there is still some residual discomfort, he moves again. The sharp stinging sensation makes your breath catch in your throat, but his mouth is on yours again before you can fully focus on the extent of it, muffling the shaky whimpers that follow. With some resistance, he sinks all the way into you, kissing you through it inch by inch and then stilling inside you to allow you to get used to the fullness. Deaf breaks the kiss to scan your face. The hand that had been stroking your hair moves to wipe away the tear that was slipping down the side of your face with his thumb, you hardly having noticed that it had fallen to begin with, because you were so wrapped up in how enamoured he was with you.
His palm cradles the side of your face as he starts slowly rocking his hips, the two of you unashamedly moaning in unison as he bottoms out inside you. It was fervent but gentle, filling your cunt and then pulling back just enough so that he could do it all over again. Your mouth falls open as another whine tumbles out, though it was not derived from pain this time. The unpleasant, sharp sensation had tapered off and been replaced with something else entirely. Deaf reaches for one of your arms that was draped across his shoulder and guides it to lie flat beside your hair, then takes your hand and intertwines his fingers with yours.
“Look at you, takin' me so fine. That feel right, darlin'?” he notes in a hoarse, breathy drawl, the praise making your head spin.
You can hardly muster anything beyond a nod and a squeeze of his hand, your legs wrapping around him and coaxing him deeper as he repeatedly buries his cock inside you with every rock of his hips. Strands of dark hair clung to his forehead, a sheen of perspiration on his skin from the heat of your bodies smushed against one another and the humidity that persisted even into the darkest of hours. He furrows his brows and screws his eyes shut as another raspy groan rumbles from his throat when your cunt hugs him just right.
Deaf was so attentive, you couldn't get enough of him. The way he watched for what angle of his hips would elicit that blissed out look in your eyes, that would allow him to fuck into that particular spot inside you and make those needy cries that were the sweetest sounds he’d ever heard pour from you. It was clear that he wasn't just chasing his release, but rather wanted nothing more than to give you yours. He drops his lips to your breast again, sucking and kissing your flesh in a way that can only be described as worship, as you run your hand through his hair. Just then, a thought crosses your mind that piques your filthy curiosity and leaves you flustered as you try to find the courage to give voice to it.
“Mind if I get on top of ya?” you murmur tentatively, feeling a little embarrassed when he slows his thrusts and lifts his head to meet your eye, his captivating hazel ones staring back at you.
Briefly sweeping a piece of hair out of your face and behind your ear, he smashes his lips against yours, all of your reservations melting away.
“Course you can,” he rasps with a small smile, then slides out of you with a grunt.
You sit up and move aside, allowing him to lie down in your place, then crawl over him to straddle him. His hands smooth up your thighs toward your hips whilst yours run down his chest, the hair trailing down it brushing against your palms as you get wrapped up in admiring him for a moment. You had never thought you would be in this position with him. As much as you had always wanted to be, a part of you scolded yourself for entertaining the thought that he could ever see you the same way you saw him, though it had been obvious in hindsight.
You'd convinced yourself your mind was playing tricks on you with how you were the first person he'd check in with after reporting to Sam, how he'd wait until you were in the makeshift medical station if he had an injury that needed tending to, and how he had plucked a bluebonnet for you a few days after your father's death and delicately tucked it behind your ear to cheer you up. The feeling of his thumb gently tracing your cheekbone pulls you from your thoughts, his hand cupping the side of your face as he gazes up at you.
“You been teachin' me to shoot for the rangers, guess it's time I practice my ridin', too,” you tease with a coy smile before dropping a kiss to his lips, which proves to be too brief for him as he cradles your neck when your lips part and brings them together again with a satisfied hum.
Eagerly, you reach down between you and lead him to your entrance. His cock slips inside you with ease, leaving you slowly sinking onto him with a relieved moan that was muffled by his lips. You break the kiss just barely, your lips still brushing as you take a moment to adjust to the new angle. The warmth of your walls clings around him, eliciting a grunt from him as his heavy breath fanned against your lips. The fullness from every inch nestled impossibly deep inside you left you feeling both excited and out of your depth, and you start to wonder if you've bitten off more than you can chew by taking the reins.
Picking up on your hesitation, Deaf holds your hips and softly rocks them, the guided movement catching you by surprise and making you let out a whimper that you quickly bite your lip to stifle. Lifting your hips slightly, you find yourself enjoying the feeling of moving off of him just enough so that you could take him to the hilt again, getting to know your body and what feels best for you. And judging by the sounds that Deaf was making, you knew he was relishing it too. You try your best to follow his lead, eventually finding your confidence and setting a rhythm that has him groaning beneath you as the sound of skin slapping against skin fills the tent, your hands firmly planted on his chest to support yourself.
“I'd say you'll do just fine in the saddle, sweetheart,” he praises a little breathless, the comment only spurring you on further.
The fire within the pit of your abdomen grows with every roll of your hips, your moans becoming harder to suppress. The sight of him below you was almost enough alone to send you over the edge. The way his lips were parted as guttural groans tumbled out every time you came down on him, his eyes screwing shut and brows furrowing as he slightly threw his head back, his breathing growing heavier. You lean down to smash your lips against his, the angle allowing him to thrust his hips in time with how you were rocking against him, only adding to the unbridled pleasure. The slight quivering of your legs has you breaking the kiss to release a shaky, involuntary moan, your hands moving to clutch his shoulders as you cling to him. He peppers wet, feverish kisses all the way along your jaw to your neck, the way you were clenching around him leaving him punctuating the kisses with the occasional hoarse groan.
“Damn, I can't hardly breathe watchin' you. C'mon, show me how I'm making you feel,” Deaf coos into your ear and gently kisses below it, the praise only adding to the heat swelling in your core.
You shudder as your orgasm crashes over you, your breath hitching in your throat as your eyes slam shut, and it feels as though you're seeing stars. Your release is only further heightened by how he continued his thrusts to chase his own release, bucking a few more times until he quickly encourages you to lift your hips so that he can slide out of you. He wraps his hand around his shaft and gives a few strokes, then spills all over his hand and lower abdomen, hips stuttering as he does.
Not being able to hold yourself up for much longer, you collapse onto him, his chest rapidly rising and falling beneath you as he tries to steady his laboured breathing. You bury your face in the crook of his neck as you try to catch yours, and his arm wraps around you in a warm embrace, his other hand smoothing over your hair. A comfortable silence falls as you lie like that for a moment, basking in the sticky heat from each other's bodies and the smell of sex that hung in the air.
“You alright?” he murmurs, piercing the stillness as he draws circles on your lower back whilst his chin rests atop your head.
You were more than alright. You were utterly spent, and your body would likely ache in ways it never had before come morning, but Deaf had been everything you had imagined and a whole lot more.
“Feel like the luckiest gal in the world,” you whisper, voice barely above a breath as you press a soft kiss to his neck and thread your fingers through his hair.
A pleased hum rumbles from his throat as you do, a beat passing until you speak again.
“Did you know that I was sweet on you?” you ask, the question drawing a small snort of laughter from him.
“Sorta. I took it you was lookin' up to me, is all, and I didn't wanna make a move if that's how it was.”
There was something terribly sweet about how he had picked up on how flustered you often got around him and still decided to hold back in case he had read you wrong, so as not to spoil the bond you had. The beat of his heart thrummed steadily against your ear as you lie on top of him, the distant tunes from a fiddle and someone striking spoons against their thigh creating a lively rhythm that carried through the evening air.
“Be sure to wake me when you get up so that I can see you and the rangers off, alright?” you murmur, a heavy sigh escaping as your hand runs lazily up and down his chest.
“Course I will,” he mutters, pressing a kiss to the top of your head.
The feeling of his fingers tracing slow circles on your skin, and the steady sound of his breathing, lull you to sleep.
Just before the break of dawn, Deaf woke you, with him having gotten up a little earlier than when the rangers were due to set out so that he could hold you some more. There was a lot of kissing and touching, feverishly pawing at one another as your lips moved in tandem. Not even from a place of lust, but from a yearning to spend every waking moment as close to each other as you could be. To not waste a single damned moment more with unspoken words and hands strenuously shackled to your sides.
Reluctantly, your bodies parted when the first rays of sunlight breached the opening of your tent, both throwing on your discarded clothes and making your way to where the rangers had gathered with their horses. Deaf greets his horse with an affectionate sweep of his hand over the thick, coarse hair on its mane, and then turns back to you. He takes your hand, your breath catching in your throat as he presses a soft kiss to your knuckles, his eyes never leaving yours. The man was totally besotted with you, and it gave you butterflies all over again.
“Don't you worry none while I'm gone. When I come back, we can hone your shootin' and kiss 'til our lips are blue as them bluebonnets. You got my heart, my desert rose, that's the truth of it,” he professes, his thumb sweeping over your knuckles as he does.
You can hardly contain yourself as your lips collide with his, throwing your arms around his neck while he cradles the side of yours, his thumb skimming along your jaw. You knew that you were being stared at, that the whole camp would likely know of your proclivities, but you paid it no mind. Breaking the kiss was almost painful, Deaf's body parting from where it was pressed up against yours so that he could mount his horse. He gives you one last look, your eyes alone saying everything that needed to be said before he rides off with the rest of the rangers. His horse gallops through the wildflowers, and the morning sun casts over him as he gradually disappears into the golden embers of the horizon.
The Driftwood Inn
John Winchester x hunter!Reader | SPN
NOTES: I really have nothing to say for myself. I hope y’all like it (but if you hate it shhhhhhhhh). Welcome to the blog John
TW: third person POV, smut, a little plot, age gap (legal), mid 20s reader (not explicitly stated), names used: baby girl/brat, one single very brief usage of daddy
They weren’t together.
Not at all, in fact. Didn’t want to be either.
There were no anniversaries. No late-night phone calls just to hear each other breathe. No promises.
Just motel rooms. Highway pit stops. That look across the bar when a hunt was over and his knuckles were split open and she was drunk off adrenaline. A sharp nod, a smirk, and then her following him like a habit she didn’t care to break.
It had started a year back—some Wendigo job gone sideways in the Badlands. He’d watched her take a hit to the ribs, curse through the pain, and finish the damn thing herself. She patched herself up in the back of his truck and he offered her a swig of whiskey. Next thing he knew, she was riding him in the front seat, sweaty and laughing like it was the most natural thing in the world.
She wasn’t a hunter the way he was—military precision, grit, decades of damage. She was faster. Flashier. All sharp eyes and dirty jokes, with a mouth that never stopped running until it was full of him.
And yeah, maybe she was closer to Dean’s age than his. And maybe that should’ve mattered.
But it didn’t.
Because when she called that night, all sugar and casual charm, he was already halfway hard before she even said why.
“Hey stranger, y’all still in North Carolina?” she asked.
He rubbed a hand down his face, sitting shirtless on the edge of a scratchy motel bed. “The Driftwood Inn, off 209.”
She giggled. “Sounds romantic.”
John huffed a laugh. “It’s sweaty and smells like bleach.”
He paused. “You close by?”
“Real close. Thought maybe I’d come say hi.”
There was a beat of silence.
Then—“Room 14. Door’s open.”
She showed up fifteen minutes later, denim cutoffs riding up her thighs, tank top tight enough to make a priest sweat. She didn’t knock. Just let herself in and found him at the table, shirt off, cleaning a gun.
He looked up, slow and smirking. “You didn’t waste any time.”
“You sounded lonely.” She slid the lock on the door with a soft click and started toward him.
“I’m busy,” he said, though his eyes dropped straight to her legs. “Got weapons to clean.”
She climbed right into his lap. “Guess I’ll just sit here then.”
He didn’t stop her. Didn’t even blink. Just watched, dark and dangerous, as she straddled him and rolled her hips once—slow, deliberate.
“You’re gonna kill me one day,” he muttered, hands already gripping her waist.
She leaned in, lips brushing his ear. “But not today.”
John growled low in his throat, then kissed her hard—all teeth and hunger, like she’d lit a fuse in his chest.
His hands slid up her thighs, under her shorts, finding skin and heat and no panties. “Jesus,” he gritted, pulling back to look at her. “You run around like this?”
“I figured you’d be tired. Thought I’d make things easy, slipped ‘em off in the car .”
“Babygirl,” he rasped, “I’m gonna ruin you.”
“Good.”
He stood fast, gripping her ass, and shoved the gun off the table with a clatter before laying her flat on it. The wood was cold under her back, the air hot between them.
He ripped her tank top up and over her head, mouth on her chest like he couldn’t get enough. He didn’t even lift his head from her breasts as he shoved her shorts down her legs, just far enough for her to fling them across the room with a flick of her foot.
“You wet for me already?” he asked, dragging two fingers between her legs.
She gasped, back arching. “Fuckin’ soaked.”
John didn’t tease. He undid his belt one-handed, shoved his jeans down, and lined himself up—just enough time to look her in the eye and growl, “You came all this way to get fucked?”
“It was a slight detour.” She leaned in close, voice like smoke. “I knew you’d make it worth my while.”
That did it.
He slammed into her, hard enough to shake the table, and she cried out in a way that made him bite his lip to keep from groaning her name too loud. The boys were in the next room over, he didn’t need them asking questions.
Fast, brutal, hot.
The room filled with the sound of skin and breath and her whimpering “harder” every time he dared to slow down.
“You wanted this,” he snarled, hand fisted in her hair. “Needed my cock that bad, huh?”
She nodded, wide-eyed and flushed. “Yes—fuck, yes.”
She came first, biting her lip to keep from calling him daddy, but it slipped out anyway—and his rhythm stuttered like he felt it in his bones. But he kept going, chasing his own high, hips slamming into her until he stilled with a grunt, buried deep.
“You little fuckin’ brat,” he groaned, slamming into her harder. “You know what that does to me.”
“Yeah,” she gasped, grinning. “That’s why I say it.”
When he came, it was with a low growl in her ear, hot and ragged, his breath scalding her skin as his hand clenched around her thigh. The other braced hard against the table beside her head. His hips bucked up harder into her, grinding her down onto him, buried to the hilt, and he stayed there—locked in, jaw clenched, every muscle in his back pulled so tight she could feel it under her palms.
She leaned forward, breath hitching, and bit his shoulder as he came—just to hear the sound he made. It was something between a snarl and a groan, raw and wrecked and so fucking male.
He cursed low, voice strained and wrecked, and she could feel him twitch inside her, pulse after pulse, thick and hot and deep. The table groaned beneath them with each rough thrust, her ass just barely planted on the edge, knees hooked tight around his hips, body still trembling from her own high.
For a long second, neither of them moved. His forehead dropped to her chest, sweat slipping from his temple, his heart hammering like a drum against her ribs. Her hands were still fisted in his hair, her body flushed and boneless, every nerve still buzzing from the crash.
Then, with a grunt, he pulled out and slid her off the table—strong hands steady on her hips—just to bring her down into his lap in the chair beside them. She landed with a soft little oof, straddling him again, legs limp over his, her chest pressed against his as he dragged her close.
They stayed like that for a while—his hands stroking lazy circles against her thighs, her fingers still idly playing with the ends of his hair.
“You good?” she murmured, voice still breathless.
John didn’t answer right away. His arms were still looped around her waist, chin hooked over her shoulder, both of them catching their breath in the dim motel light. Her pulse thudded against his, skin still damp, her thighs still trembling where they straddled him. The chair creaked softly beneath them.
He finally gave a slow nod, exhaling through his nose like he was trying to ground himself. “Yeah,” he rasped. “You just don’t know when to quit, do ya?”
She grinned, smug and satisfied, but didn’t say anything—just rested against him, her fingers lightly tracing the sweat-slicked nape of his neck.
A few minutes passed like that. Heavy breaths. Lingering heat. The low hum of the TV in the background.
Then, finally, she shifted in his lap, just enough to make him twitch again.
She finally broke the silence. “You still ‘busy?’”
He barked a laugh. “Desk’s cleared for the night.”
“Then I vote we do that again. On the bed this time.”
He grinned, already hauling her up. “Babygirl, you read my fuckin’ mind.”
TAGLIST: @tendertulip @n-o-p-e-never @suckitands33 @plasticflowersinahistorycemetery @lunaleah @fandomchik @tinas111 @0ccvltism
LET ME KNOW IF YOU’D LIKE TO BE ADDED <3
I love me some John Winchester 🤭
"Did you know people are masturbating to your smut fics-- 🤢" I hope they get twice as wet as I did writing it, mind your fucking business.
Did you deleted Spit? 😭 the link says it no longer exists, it was my favorite fic 😔
Yeahh I did private all of my spit related posts on here. Unfortunately there were just certain things that I grew to not like about it and wish that I had done differently. ☹️ I was also struggling to maintain motivation for it since I started writing it whilst S11 was still airing so when it ended it really affected my ideas for the story. Sometimes in my head I toy with the idea of rewriting it to be better and uploading it again but I think that's just a pipe dream and I'm not sure if people would even really want that. 🥲
Hey!!
Just had to drop a quick note to say how freaking cool you are. Honestly, your love for Negan and JDM is iconic—like, no one does it like you. You’ve got that perfect mix of badass and soft, just like him (minus the barbed wire bat… unless?).
Love you, girly. Keep being the queen you are. 🖤🧃
This actually made me feel so emotional 😭 I'm feeling really down at the moment and this made me smile. Thank you so much anon I appreciate you. 🩷
Have u ever thought of writing just Jeffrey dean Morgan smut? (Like actor)
Hey anon! I actually did write a JDM smut oneshot back in 2022 which was on here for a while but I took it down because I regretted writing it. In hindsight, RPF feels pretty weird and it's personally not something I'd feel comfortable writing or see myself writing again. But thank you for asking! ❤️
if nobody asked that PLS conquest slowburn (like we actually get to save him from mark in the comics when he died a second time) and he gets less lonely w user :3
(⓿_⓿) This is my FIRST official ask I have received for Conquest. When I tell you I fucking died and went to heaven, but I was sent back so that I could complete this. I guess you could say it’s the Lord’s work. I hope you enjoy, Nonny. 🥴
Jaded
Pairing: Conquest x F!Reader Warnings: (18+) smut, angst, fluff, hurt-comfort, blood, recovery from surgery, escape, age difference, finger sucking, oral F/M, PinV, vaginal/anal fingering, biting, choking, creampie, throatfucking Summary: You’re one of the few medical technicians monitoring Conquest’s recovery as per Cecil’s orders. With nowhere to go, and your face being the only one he has seen for months, you find yourself on a path to find out if he truly is fond of you, or if he’s merely a master of manipulation.
Read on ao3 - 9k words
Invincible Masterlist - Main Writing Masterlist
The room is freezing. It’s supposed to be that way. This place is sealed off like a vault, resting six miles below the surface, heavily insulated and enclosed with electro-magnetic doors. The tungsten steel walls and ceiling are so dense, the walk here takes nearly five minutes from one end of the hall to the other. Only a select few people are allowed into this area of the Pentagon, your security clearance granting you the opportunity to go where most are not allowed, though you aren’t sure if this is a blessing or a curse.
Each step you take echoes through the narrow hall. This period of silence effectively quiets your mind, giving you some moments of clarity before confronting one of the most intimidating persons contained on site.
You stop short of the threshold, taking in a sharp breath before inputting the code to open the door. Though, a door would be a light way of putting it. This is more of a series of precautionary hatches of different degrees of durability, all set in place to serve as an additional obstacle should he make an attempt to escape. You always find yourself laughing at the agonizingly slow yet comedic pace each one opens. If the information in the files you’ve read on him are even partially true, you know these layers are nothing more than sheets of paper to a speeding bullet. Whatever makes this organization sleep easier at night, you guess.
You enter; the space having dropped a couple more degrees. You set your digital tablet on the desk space along with your steaming mug of hot chocolate. They were all out of coffee in the break room, and it’s so wintry in here, you thought why not.
You start by conducting daily diagnostics, getting a reading of his condition by analyzing the data cached on the terminal screen. You link your tablet to it with an extension, downloading all the information you need to complete your report. Most of the time he’s asleep when you enter. Today is not one of those days.
“Mmmm…” He hums, sniffing and sighing very loudly. “Correct me if I’m wrong, but is that the decadent smell of cocoa blessing my nostrils right now?”
You say nothing, refusing to engage.
“Awww, c’mon.” He instigates, trying to get under your skin. “A sweet little thing like you deserves a treat every now and again. It’s cocoa, isn’t it?”
He continues to speak while you remain tapping away on your tablet. “It’s gotta be cocoa, unless you take your coffee extra dark.”
“Hot chocolate.” You correct him flatly, trying to follow your orders but still hoping to put an end to his pestering. It’s a little emasculating; his position currently. He is ensnared within this cage of steel, simultaneously saving his life while serving as his own special prison.
“What’s the difference?” He asks, but you cannot tell if it is a genuine inquiry or if he’s just trying to get you to breach your contract of agreement when it comes to ingratiating yourself with the enemy. After a long pause, you look up from your tablet and inspect his expression. He actually does look puzzled, no-doubt unfamiliar with human culinary properties. You suppose it won’t do any harm to tell him.
“Hot cocoa is made with water.” You clarify, almost letting yourself roll your eyes at him. “Hot chocolate is made with milk.”
“Is that supposed to make it better?” It’s clear he won’t let this subject die.
“Some of us like a creamier option when milk is incorporated.” You shrug. “It just depends.”
“But you like the creamier option, right?” He smirks, dragging out his words with a pensive tonality.
“You could say that.” You admit, taking a hefty sip to savor the fudgy flavor before setting it back down on your desk, winking at the innuendo.
“Are the marshmallows a mandatory part of the recipe?” You are surprised he is able to spot them floating about and slowly dissolving into one amalgamated frothy blob at the top of your drink.
“No, I just like them.” It is at this moment you realize you’ve been talking to him for far longer than you intended. It’s impossibly easy to chat like he’s any other person. He seems so nice. You try to resume your closed off disposition, turning your back so that you can focus on your typing, but he cuts right through it and asks for a sip.
“Hey… Don’t do me like that.” He coaxes you, hoping to get you to let your guard down. “We were just starting to get along.”
“I told you before.” You speak to him without looking, blocking the urge. “I can’t.”
“How long have you been coming to see me?” He pries, disappointed you’re showing your professional side again.
“Every day for three months.” You know he’s kept track as well, watching him nod as far as the confines will allow him.
“Exactly. And through all that, I’ve loved getting to know you.” You turn on your heels, your eyes finding him from across the room. You watch as he glances at your cup, then back to you. “Now, you can’t just talk up this tasty confection without offering me some. That’s just cruel and believe me; I should know.”
The half-empty Styrofoam cup is begging to be lifted, but you struggle to find the strength to reach for it.
“Please?” The silence shatters by his words and it startles you, not realizing you’ve been zoned out staring at it.
You heave a grumbling sigh, snatching the chocolate and stomping towards him. “Fine. Here.”
He chuckles, scoffing over the cup with ripples of his breath disrupting the marshmallows. “What am I supposed to do with that? No hands, sweetheart.”
“Urghhh…” You let your displeasure be known, realizing that you have no choice but to manually allow him to sample a taste from your cup. He smiles, the curl of his lips spreading from ear to ear. You approach him closer, perching the rim right at his lips.
You have to tilt it substantially for him to be allowed a sip, a difficult maneuver considering his current confines. He lifts his chin as much as he can, accepting the offering with a shameless purse of his lips. He drinks the chocolate, taking several gulps until it’s nearly empty. His mustache darkens when it soaks up the liquid, froth from the marshmallows sticking to each strand.
“Mmmm…” He hums again between slurps, really savoring each drop. You just stand there awkwardly and let him consume the remainder of what’s left.
Having gotten overzealous, you pull the cup away from him, creating a small stream to drip down his chin and stain the equipment. He licks the remnants from his mustache, sighing in satisfaction. Blinking twice, you cannot ignore the dirtied section of metalwork, certain Cecil would give you an earful about it if spotted. Using the cuff of your sleeve, you smudge the stain away, polishing the steel until it’s completely clean.
“Ohhh… Now that is a tasty beverage.” He exclaims gratefully, smacking his chops. “I would never indulge in something like it myself, but having smelled it on you for this long, I gotta admit that it’s damn appetizing.”
You remain in place, acting against your professional obligations. You can’t leave the very obvious residual chocolate on his chin. Its discovery has the potential to prove to be far worse than a blemish on the equipment. Conquest can sense your executive dysfunction, eyeing you up and down while you battle with your paralysis.
You clear your throat, shaking yourself out of the daze when you ready yourself to press your cuff to his jaw like you did to the recovery machine. Although, your efforts get interrupted before you could accomplish this.
“Careful. You don’t know if I bite.” He flashes a crooked-toothed smirk at you before you could get close.
“I’ll take my chances.” You dismiss his attempt at provoking you, swiping your cuff along the contours of his strong jawline. You press hard, shoving his head to the side so hard you accidentally get some of it on your hand. You pause before wiping it on your pristine white lab coat, examining the sticky smear carefully.
“Well don’t let it go to waste.” Conquest sticks out his tongue, imploring you to let him have the final taste, but you stare him dead in the eye and lick it off yourself. Your breath is caught in your throat when his expression alters, registering what you did. A low chuckle of amusement escapes him, and you feel yourself get flushed. You can’t explain it, but it tastes so much better when sampled this way. You dare not to admit how much you enjoyed this taboo act, looking for solace in the only exit.
Without another word, you collect your things and escape the embarrassment, receding back into the extensive corridor while Conquest’s laugh gets louder to mock your sudden departure. “Until next time, little pet! Ha-ha-ha!”
You have been avoiding going back all week, but you can’t put it off any longer. Despite his chamber being self-servicing, you still have to log the data for your records. You mentally prepare yourself to face him, trying to play it cool when you know you’re internally screaming.
As the last door closes, you are calmed by the sight of his closed eyes. These little blips of serenity take a load off, saving you from the social obligation. You quietly shuffle to the little desk, linking your tablet so that you can just download what you need and get out of here.
The loading bar is taunting, and you tap it a couple times hoping to encourage it to go faster to no avail. “C’mon. Just a little more…”
That familiar, damning chuckle disrupts your concentration from behind. Your nerves are shot; stomach having taken a plummet when you realize you’ve fallen for his ruse. Stupid! You feel so stupid!
“You didn’t actually think I was asleep, did you?” He asks, rolling his eyes in amusement. “Hah! You should have seen the look on your face.”
“We’ve been over this.” You pound your fist on the desk, in need of an outlet to let off some steam. “I’m not allowed to talk to you.”
“Then why are you doing it?” He’s persistent. Inescapable.
“Because you won’t shut up?” You flail your arms in the air at the same time you finally turn to face his sorry expression. He almost looks like one of those mounted animal heads you’d find at a hunter’s lodge. It strikes you with humor laden throughout your annoyance.
“Ouch.” He feigns a pout. “That actually hurt my feelings.”
“Good.” You rejoice in this passive offense he’s taken, finally yielding to your caustic vernacular. “Maybe you’ll learn a thing or two about humans.”
“Nope.” His smug expression brings you to scoff distastefully, but what he says next catches you off guard. “Just you.”
You sense yourself sarcastically smiling back, but he mistakes the annoyed expression for contentment, commenting on its beauty.
“There she is.” He announces, like he’s earned some semblance of familiarity with you in these months. “I like it when you smile.”
“I thought I told you to shut up.” You cut him off, trying your hardest to keep things professional.
“Someone’s testy today.” He growls seductively, snatching his bottom lip in his jagged maw. “I like it better when you look at me like you wanna bite my head off.”
“Quiet.” You emphasize the word, removing your tablet from its port when the downloading finally finishes.
“I sure am glad they didn’t stick me with some hobbit for a nurse.” He analyzes you from head to toe again.
“Surprise, surprise. You only care about looks.” With a cross of your arms, you approach with the objective to scold him. “Viltrumites don’t exactly look for strength in people, do they? You already have that covered.”
“Are you calling me strong?” He takes your words and twists them to his favor, mocking your choice in phrasing.
“Strong enough to get everyone’s panties in a bunch.” You spit back the response, still unamused.
“What about your panties?” He asks, licking his lips at the thought of what you’re hiding beneath your lab coat.
“Wouldn’t you like to know.” You have spent too much time talking to him, but now that you have, you are unwilling to stop. He’s charismatic in a daunting kind of way. Is this what it feels like to flirt with the devil? You shift the conversation, pursuing additional areas of his mind to see if they’re as fortified as others. “That kid sure did a number on you though. What’s his name? Mark?”
“I don’t want to talk about him.” His disposition shifts completely when you bring attention to the elephant in the room. He has nowhere to hide, chastised and vulnerable before your very eyes.
“No, you’re not gonna pull that with me.” You shake your head and wag your finger in his face to let him know you will not take his shit. “You jump at the chance to open your big mouth, now you wanna clam up?”
“Yes. Mark.” He says with disdain through a clenched jaw, looking to the floor. “He should have killed me in battle.”
“That’s not something I’d expect you to say.” You tilt your head at him, puzzled why someone with so much power would sell himself short.
“You wouldn’t understand the politics of my people.” He grumbles, dismissing your close-minded comment.
“Try me.” You gesture to your surroundings, nonverbally referencing the grandiose level of crazy you’re expected to deal with at something as menial as your job.
“I failed.” He sighs, too burdened with shame to meet your gaze.
“Failed at what?”
“I was tasked with taking over this world no matter the cost.” He struggles uncomfortably within the confines of the machine, having been able to ignore the pestering irritation up until now. “A secondary requirement was to bring the boy back with me. Alive. There’s no way I can return to Viltrum like this.”
“Why go back at all?” You pierce his logic, thinking from a completely different perspective than his.
“It’s not that simple.” He counters patiently. “My overseer will just send more in my place, lest he makes the journey himself.”
“You mean to tell me there’s someone out there who’s an even bigger threat than you?” You didn’t think such a thing would exist.
“There always is.” He lifts his line of sight and smirks. “The thing is, it’s not dying by his hand that’s petrifying. I have faced death countless times; it is no source of fear for me. I would prefer it, honestly.”
“What is it then?” You cannot fathom any fate worse than death, intrigued with what he’s going to say.
“Just the thought of being seen as a failure by my people; bested by a mere child disgusts me.” His expression contorts to that of revulsion as he speaks. “It’s a fate unfit for a warrior.”
“On the bright side, your best-case scenario would be back doing what you did before all this.” You chuckle, not knowing the damning intricacies of his culture.
“I’d hate that too.” As he tells you this, you feel yourself finding sympathy for the man.
“You know, I wouldn’t normally say this because you’re basically an alien invader intent on destroying my world, but you can literally do anything you want when those assholes keep you down in the dirt.” You almost feel like you’re giving him a pep talk. Should you be saying this? It’s best not to think about it.
“That’s not my intention anymore.” He admits, and you can actually see the sincerity in his confession.
You and Conquest share a look of understanding for a few beats too long, feeling it morph into something deeper when you receive a beep of your pager calling you elsewhere. Breaking contact, you turn it off, clearing your throat before saying your goodbyes. “Sounds like you have some time to think about whatever it is you want to do. I gotta go.”
Oh, he thinks about it. After you left, he hasn’t stopped for days. He ponders on, adding up all the possibilities at his fingertips in his head. Amidst this self-reflection, he convinced himself that Thragg values him far too much to outright kill him. You were right when you said the best-case scenario would be for him to end up doing the same old same old; given a second chance at achieving that glorious death he craves so much.
No. He shouldn’t even be humoring the indulgent thoughts racing to the forefront right now. Attachments are a weakness; useless baggage meant to control one’s mind and deviate them from their destiny. Only… what destiny does he have now?
You have been pulled off his rounds once your reports begin to show more frequent signs of lucidity and Cecil’s apprehensions to Conquest becoming a larger threat persistently reign true. Serving as a change of pace, you’re repairing high-tech spacesuits and their integrated control systems. You’ve found that the best way for you to accomplish this task is to wear them yourself while operating from the inside. You are finished with the repairs on the one you’re currently equipped with, running one last diagnostic to ensure it’s ready to be put back in circulation when a faint rumbling shakes the facility.
The slight reverberations vibrate against the soles of your feet, climbing your legs until it sends tremors down your spine. The noise in the distance gets louder, overlapped with alarmed shouts and screams. You activate the armored features of your suit, preparing to face whatever new herculean threat this place has the pleasure of taking on this week. Though, when he busts into the room, you have no idea what to say.
You brace yourself as rubble scatters and clanks against the reinforced plates of your suit. Once the dust has settled, you realize that the cause of all the chaos is Conquest, hovering without a shred of clothing to conceal his decency. “What the fuck are you doing?!”
“Taking your advice.” He positions himself slightly downward, maneuvering towards you so fast it’s like colliding with a torpedo. He doesn’t wait for you to respond, cradling you protectively despite him standing here entirely bare, shielding you from head to toe. He launches off the floor and busts through multiple levels of the building until you make it to the sky. The speed at which he travels is enough to make you dizzy, struggling not to pass out from the fierce gravitational force. You tap on the control module, increasing the power on the respiratory filter so that you don’t run out of oxygen wherever he takes you.
This bear hug of a grip he’s got on you makes you feel so small even though he’s missing his bionic arm. He navigates the heavens with precision, climbing to the stratosphere and revealing to you sights you never would have dreamed of witnessing. Your panic takes a backseat when you see just how beautiful this fucked up world is when you’re far enough away to appreciate its insignificance.
Once you’ve ascended into the void of space, Earth grows even smaller by the second. It surprises you how fast it turns into a tiny blue ball in the distance. All the commotion has completely disrupted your nervous system and it starts to catch up to you. As you thunder through the cosmos, you feel yourself succumb to the astronomical environment, everything fading to black.
You wake up dressed in a form fitting and comfortable gown, leagues more forgiving than that mechanical suit now stored in a case at the corner of the room. It is the recognizable white and gray uniform with a sphere containing the titular triad of pillars on the chest you’ve seen in Conquest’s file. You are draped in clean linen, nestled deep into a bed built into the wall as part of a sleeping nook. The ship is so quiet, you would have never thought you were traveling in a real-life extraterrestrial vessel. The minimalist design leaves much to be desired in your eyes, the deeply ingrained discipline being advertised through every inch of the space.
“You’ve got to be kidding me.” You toss the covers aside, stepping onto the cold, hard floor. That change in temperature sends a frigid sting across the bottoms of your bare feet, but you press on in search of the man who uprooted you from your life on Earth.
The droning silence is bothersome. There’s no music, no idle chatter, not even the whirring of machinery. It resides in the uncanny valley of a lived-in space and a deserted craft. Soulless. There is one attribute that is somewhat comforting and that is the smell. You are partial to incense as a cathartic source of fragrance in your own living space. It’s possible you detect a new version of spiced flora from a foreign world. The closest aroma you can pinpoint to it would be white sage. It’s pleasantly unexpected.
You move through the halls, passing through corridor after corridor and still finding no one. The farther you walk, you begin to make out directional architecture in the design of the ship where the halls taper to a point. The towering and arched passage leads you to what you believe could be the flight deck.
Your astute observations pay off and you find yourself creeping to a massive control area with a wall-sized window taking up the entire front portion of the ship. The sun shines its light directly inside warming you with its radiant glow as galactic sparkles paint the view in a rainbow of colors. The audible tap of your feet upon approach beckons the attention of the only other person you know is there, drawing the towering and stoic figure from the helm.
Your footing hastens as you get closer, once even stride having transformed into a charged sprint. Conquest turns on his heels in preparation to receive you, fists clenched tightly at his sides. Once you finally make it into his space, you try to aggressively shove him, feeling instead the abrupt impasse of his fortified stature. He didn’t submit to a single bit of your force, and you mentally compare this exchange with trying to move a wall; pointless and impossible.
“You had no right!” You shout at him, swinging your fists in a series of punches to no effect. He lets you get all your rage out. The shock. The confusion. Displaying the behavior your brain thinks you want to display. “Why!? Why did you do this?”
“I wanted you.” His answer is no excuse, narcissistic and self-serving. He lets the reasoning slip just as easily as you justify putting marshmallows in your hot chocolate.
“I’m not your property!” You spit the words at him, landing additional blows on his rock-hard physique. “Humans aren’t just creatures you can shop for! Did you even stop to think about what I wanted?”
“You can tell me if it makes you feel better.” He speaks to you, but you’re unsure if he’s actually interested or not, retaining his dismissive attitude when he clearly says he wishes to hear you out.
“It’s too late now.” You shake your head from side to side in disappointment, resigning yourself with a swift turn on your heels to look into the nebulous display just outside. “It doesn’t matter.”
“No, it’s not.” He approaches you slowly, eclipsing you with his shadow. He makes you feel microscopic in his presence when he’s this close to you. The way he looks at you, it’s not scolding, but you do feel strange as it awakens something in your heart. “I will take you back if that is what you wish.”
Finding a comfortable spot to sit away from him, you cross your arms while submerged in thought, trying to talk yourself out of this “I’m a nobody. Why would you choose me of all people? There’s no way we have anything in common.”
He says nothing, that lone eye studying you to the point of memorization while he smirks silently, waiting for you to continue
“I work a dead-end job, my boss doesn’t value my input on anything, I have no family and honestly, I just want to fast forward to retirement so that I can be a shut in and not have to interact with society at all.” You conclude your disgruntled venting, but Conquest looks around and brings attention to the fact that he actually is a lonely shut-in. The only caveat is that his retirement doesn’t involve a getaway island sipping margaritas or whatever he thinks humans do. His only respite is death, and after having spoken all these facts aloud, you determine that there may be a commonality or two after all.
“See? We’re not so different, you and I.” He levitates instead of walks, floating weightlessly in your direction with his replacement prosthetic extended towards you. “That being said, I will still return you to your home world if you decide that.”
Thinking heavily about it, it dawns on you that you have the option to choose, deciding to ask him a question first. “When you said you took my advice, what did you mean by that?”
“I thought about what you said.” He straightens his posture, taking his hand back to relinquish the pressure of you meeting him halfway. “To think about what I want.”
“And I fit into that equation?”
“Don’t look so surprised.” His laissez-faire attitude causes his face to contort, almost taking on an awkward expression that shows his apprehension to disclose his next concerns. “Not to mention, I couldn’t stand the thought of you still living on that planet when all-out war breaks out. I know it’s coming. I made an executive decision and determined that you would be safer with me.”
“What do you care about my safety?” You cannot make sense of these things, his reasoning. Your life is insignificant, at least that’s what you keep telling yourself.
“You were one of the first humans who didn’t shy away from giving me shit.” He chuckles, flashing that jagged smile at you again. “Consider it a mutual understanding.”
You want to be furious. You want to be scared and lash out again, but after getting a good look around, you come to accept that this is beyond liberating. You don’t have to work a pointless nine-to-five or worry about bills you can hardly afford ever again. You ponder the thought in your mind, weighing the pros and cons. “In light of this… mutual understanding, you don’t have to take me back, but that doesn’t mean you can just treat me like a pet and not consult me on anything.”
“I like the idea of you as my pet.” His gargantuan mitt dwarfs your head by comparison as he swoops in and grasps you by the nape of your neck, his thumb dragging down the apple of your cheek.
You politely grasp his hand with both of yours, pulling it to reduce its contact with your face. He notices your impediment, raising his brows to hear your conditions out. “Not, if you want this to work.”
“I do.” He admits, all sarcasm and cynical outlooks tossed aside. “It has to.”
You clearly detect what he means by that, letting him resume his caressing of your face while leaning into his touch. Regardless of the consideration to embark on this future, your mind still pesters you with reasons why you should turn tail right now.
“I am not your kind.” You disagree, tracing the cavernous creases in his worn-down palms. “I can’t live forever like you.”
“I don’t want you to.” His subtle smile drops, fading away to reveal his earnestness. “I’m through with it all. The fighting. The blood. The… conquest.”
He doesn’t need to say it, but you know that he is tired of the expectations pushed upon him without ever knowing if his people consider him worthy or important to the cause. He’s lived thousands of years wondering if he’s working hard enough for them, only to be avoided like the plague. His faith has only held so much hope to this point, he second-guesses if it makes a difference or if he’s just stubborn in his ways. He knows he’s built to survive the climb wherever it takes him, but he’s never once stopped to think what will be waiting at the peak, nor how his journey there will be judged.
He falls rigid, the hand at his side still balled into a fist even though he’s poised and tender as he holds your jaw in the other. You extend your arm, aiming to reciprocate the gesture but you can’t quite reach. He bends forward, letting you touch the many lines drawn across his features. The pads of your fingers find his scar, following it all the way up his skull. He closes his eyes, allowing you to explore.
It may be a weakness in the end, but he needs someone to need him. He yearns for someone who puts stock in him with no ulterior motives. While gradually opening his eyes, he smiles at you, knowing he’s found who he’s been looking for at last.
Before you could blink, you have ascended almost double your height as Conquest lifts you high above himself, pinning your back against the nearest wall. The breath is all but knocked out of your lungs, although before you could intake another, his mouth fiercely collides with yours.
His mustache is surprisingly soft. It’s thick but not wiry. His bottom lip is full and plush, forgiving as he kisses you. He forcefully opens your mouth, slipping his tongue right in to taste your sweetness. He moans when your tongues exchange beads of saliva, dripping down and glistening at your chins. The broadness of his body is pressed flush to yours, supporting you without difficulty.
He breaks the kiss to look at you, stringy ropes of saliva connecting you together. You swallow large gulps of breath, finally able to breathe after his eager attack when he does something that drives you insane.
He mirrors that move you once did with the hot chocolate on his chin, but instead, the decadent beverage is replaced with your spittle. He collects a portion of it, slurping it up much to your surprise. He additionally tests these salacious boundaries, depositing the finger he just licked clean directly into your mouth.
In a measure of tasteful defiance, you bite down as hard as you can on his digit, embracing the darker side of yourself while watching his eyes glimmer with excitement when you activate his pain receptors. It bears no more discomfort than when you were punching him moments prior, but the context of this infliction coaxes a growl rumble in his chest.
He begins to pull his finger out, scraping it hard against your teeth. His muscles and tendons shift under the pressure of your maw as you chomp even harder. The push and pull, reminiscent of something different. He bites his lip while watching you suckle until his finger starts going numb, the force cutting off his circulation.
“So, that’s how it’s gonna be, is it?” He teases you, acknowledging your willingness to explore a rougher vein of pleasure that you’ve not had the opportunity to tap into yet. Extending his reach over the rest of your face while not removing himself from your bite, he constricts you so that you’re unable to move, frozen as he sternly shoves your head to the side.
You don’t realize until it’s too late that you set him up to expose one of your most vulnerable sections of your physique. The heat of his breath wafts over your neck, steaming hot as he salivates over your sensitive human nature. It sends chills down your spine and the tiniest whimper is exhaled through your nose. “Mmmm… So pretty.”
Just as you mercilessly chomped down on his index finger, he promptly returns the favor, but across your jugular. That whimper you once emitted transforms into a shrill whine as he digs his teeth into your flesh. The blooming sensation of concentrated blood pooling beneath the surface makes you think that he actually broke the skin. You impulsively try to shove him off, aiming to create distance between you and this stroke of agony, but he doesn’t budge. After some careful consideration, you realize you are liking this. You love it. You want more.
You struggle to free yourself from the confines of the Viltrumite uniform, yanking on your collar in an attempt to pull it off. Conquest makes note of your efforts, dragging his finger out of your mouth one last time so that he can grip your collar with purpose. Making perfect eye contact with you, he slips both hands past your neck guard and abruptly rips the fabric of your clothes.
Your full chest tumbles out with a tasteful jiggle, grabbing his attention as your nipples become erect due to the cool air. Tattered shreds of what was once a complete garment dangles off your shoulders. Conquest hungrily lifts each breast to press his face into, smothering himself with your cleavage. He continues to ravage your chest, leaving hickeys and love-bites in his wake. Not a single inch is left untouched by his tongue.
“Unf … Don’t stop…” You utter the words, but Conquest seems to view that as a challenge.
“Look who’s giving orders.” As he chomps and nibbles, you cry out and whine with each provocation, knowing that with his steady increase of force, he’s wanting to hear you scream even louder. Another growl thunders through him as he tightly grips the remnants of your clothing again, ripping off what’s left of it to fully expose you. He’s still got you immobilized, stark naked now with only vestiges of your sleeves to remain on your arms. Conquest calculatingly hovers below you, floating a considerable height off the floor while securing you in place against the wall. He tosses both your legs over his colossal shoulders, diving straight in to taste your forbidden nectar himself. “Let’s see if you still feel that way after this.”
Not even your thighs are safe from his serrated fangs. Your pillowy assets hug his features, and he is on a determined course to claim every aspect of you as his. Just as he smothered himself with your cleavage, he does the same with your legs, trapping himself in the triangulated section of your limbs. His mustache comes in contact with the quaint accumulation of soft fuzz coating your pussy. He ventures a taste, lapping his tongue over your leaking slit to see your reactions. When he sees you behave in just the way he wants, he pounces like a famished animal.
“Ooh! Ffff- fuck… Oh my God…” Your vocalizations echo off the walls, filling his ears with undeniable demonstrations of pleasure.
“Your God isn’t here, sweetheart.” Conquest tells you before resuming his feast. “Just me.”
You realize you’re pushing yourself up the wall instinctively to get away. Only, you don’t want to do that, you want to stay right here and take all that he has to give you. It’s a leap of faith, but you are intent on seeing it through to the end.
You reach for Conquest instead, replacing your hold on the wall with the thread of your fingers into the sections of hair forming the ring around his cranium. His eyes flash open, staring at you in awe when he registers this kind-hearted favor. You pet his head, stimulating him each time you comb your fingers through the short length of his hair. Though, the softness takes a turn when you clench your hands into fists, tugging on the tufts with no release as you shove him harder into your pussy.
That glint in his eye broils into flames when he embraces your challenge, practically suffocating himself at the junction of your sex. He catches your clit tightly in his mouth, drinking your essence straight from its source. You are drenched with a mixture of your own juices and his saliva, you can feel the onset of dampening in his features, the muggy heat clouding around him, but he doesn’t care at all. He only wishes to see you cry out over and over from how many times he’s already made you come.
Your legs jolt in all directions, spasming like you’re being electrocuted by a thousand volts. Conquest catches one by the back of your knee, bending it upwards and out of his way to further inspect your goods.
Feeling yourself spread so wide for him while still many feet above the floor makes you feel like you’re flying. He even goes the additional mile by using his bionic digits to familiarize himself with your depth, probing your entrance with one finger, then two: really delving deep into your anatomy while paying sweet attention to that hidden bulb that’s dying to be pounded to oblivion. The texture differs from his flesh hand, offering no yield as he impales you, and even though his reach extends farther than you can fathom, you are impatient for that pounding to begin.
“Ahhh…” Conquest sighs like he just got done chugging a gallon of water. Letting you slide down the wall so that you are eye level with him. You are left panting and winded, tired but willing to see what else he has in store. He preemptively wipes his face of the excess slick, and you follow his actions, the pull of his own jaw showcasing how big a mouth he has. Once cleaned off a bit, he attacks you with kisses again, shoving his tongue down your throat to share your flavor with you only to break the kiss with a single word. “Refreshing.”
Conquest flies you over to his helm, laying you across the flat interface as the mechanic chirps and warbles of chiming controls become uncalibrated. If not for the autopilot already being engaged, you’d be on a disaster path towards the nearest celestial body. He pulls his waistband down past his ample package, letting it fall out swinging. Your mouth waters at the wreath of curly gray hairs decorating it, flowing up in a straight line towards his belly button.
He enthusiastically lines himself up with your soaked pussy, but you stop him short of slamming himself inside, tugging on his length with your hands first. You increase the force of your grip, pulling him towards your face so that you can suck him off.
“Oh …” He smiles, standing corrected while you ready yourself to be choked on his cock. You scoot so that your head is not supported by the digital platform of the helm, dangling off the edge. Conquest cradles you by the nape at the same time he grabs himself at the base. You crane your head back to bend it as far as your anatomy will allow, presenting your open mouth begging to be defiled. “I am beginning to understand why you humans are so… treasured.”
The word lilts out of him in a staggered and shaky sequence. It’s not like him to lose his composure, but the fact that it’s been centuries since he’s experienced something so benevolent reminds him that there is more to life than bathing in the blood of perceived enemies. He doesn’t have to put on these hateful airs or be so jaded anymore. You’re giving his softer side a chance to shine in the sun with you as his only audience. This is the first time he’s been able to operate without the professional bounds of his empirical motives, and he loves it.
Conquest inches his thick cock into your mouth. Little by little, you widen your maw to strenuously receive him. His girth causes the edges of your lips to burn as they stretch, but you assure him you can take it.
He doesn’t let up, pushing himself farther until the veiny contours of his length mold to your throat. You can feel drool accumulating at the roof of your mouth, so you jut your tongue to push the saliva out, ensuring your airways remain as unobstructed as possible.
With a professional dexterity, you hold onto the waistband of Conquest’s uniform, rocking his hips back and forth to show him the comfortable pace you are willing to achieve. He sees your efforts and immediately reciprocates, grasping both sides of your head to effectively fuck your face.
He loves watching you gag on his cock. He shoves himself as far as your throat will allow, flushing your features when he stalls your breaths, only to pull out completely before ramming himself back in. So much spittle is dripping down, it’s forming its own puddle between his feet. You are an absolute mess, both eyes almost bloodshot from your head having been suspended upside down for so long.
He drags himself out one last time, still cradling your head as you cough and fight for air. He pets your face with the heel of his palm, collecting and wiping away the excess saliva you’ve gotten all over yourself. It dampens your hair, your locks taking on a darker shade after soaking it up.
Conquest retains his hold on your head, supporting it as he circles you until you are able to keep it upright yourself. He stops at the opposite end, scooping you up by the backs of your legs. Once he has a steady hold on you, he jerks you down the platform so that you’re spread wide and ready to take his sopping wet cock at last. He’s so hard, poking you with his tip. It slides against the slick, missing your entrance each time he thinks his aim is true.
“Fuck …” You’re unfathomably tight for him. Your pussy is so compressed, he cannot even get past the initial breach when it keeps ejecting him. Relinquishing his hold on one of your legs, he grips the base again, pointing it directly at your pussy. The tip fights to enter you, splitting you apart with divine effort once its bulbous girth parts your walls. Once inside, your torrid heat engulfs him, and he has to steel himself so as to not get overzealous and hurt you.
It burns, but not in a bad way. Absolutely not. You’ve never known a stretch so goddamn delicious in all your adult life. He isn’t even all the way in yet and you want to scream. You clamp your hands over your mouth, unknowingly shoving your cleavage together in a bonus show for him.
Conquest’s thrusts become more rapid, throwing caution to the wind when you beg him to speed up with your eyes. He notices your intentional impasse in the form of limiting your speech, so he makes for a grope or two of your perky tits, giving them his love while on the way to remove your hands from your mouth. “There’s no need for that here. Lemme hear it.”
By his command, he pulls your arms to their sides and you let them fall, holding onto the gilded edge of the console you’re still draped over. You let your mewls and whimpers turn to screams when he pumps, his throbbing cock reacting to your heightened vocals.
Conquest pushes your knees to your chest, fucking you even harder once you’ve relaxed enough to take him for all he’s worth. That tightness still remains, even more so when you cry out and the contraction sends him outward. To alleviate this, he shoves his cock back in but keeps his hulking thumbs pointed down to secure it inside, spellbound when you assist in this by holding your own legs back. You keep your feet pointed to the sky, closing your legs and offering even more decadent compression as he fucks you.
With his thumbs keeping his cock aligned, he extends the remainder of his digits to act as clamps around your thighs and ass. You don’t have to do a single thing but lie there and take him by the inch as he rocks you just as you did to him earlier, manually moving you up and down the length of his cock. The backs of your legs smack against his chiseled abdomen and protruding pectorals, further adding to your blissful pleasure.
Confident he can keep himself in place with one thumb, he repositions the other one so that it’s circling your back entrance. He gruffly sighs when he hears you yelp from being startled, but you show him no such objection to what he’s wanting to test out next.
“So, you like that, huh?” Conquest teases you for the primal affinity of something entering your ass. You have no way to formulate words, letting out a pathetic series of mumbled confirmations while rapidly nodding your head up and down. “My dirty little pet.”
He fucks you with substantial force, the added enhancement of his bionic thumb probing you pushes you over the edge. Using this additional appendage, he can feel himself slide his cock in and out of you through the thin membrane separating these sections. Your exasperated breaths and stuttered begging strike his ears differently than screams of terror and despair. He’s the cause of your delight and enjoyment, wanting to make your songs last forever.
Conquest bends over you, folding you clean in half. He lays his brawny body weight atop yours, keeping everything still but his hips. He kisses you but not like he did before when his focus was self-centered. He’s looking through the lens of what you want for once while operating accordingly. His mustache smells of both your scents; a sweet musk that hangs around you in an aromatic cloud. The way he peers into your eyes is revolutionary, having never seen this expression worn ever before. He’s usually so bitter and cynical; a pessimist by nature. This look he’s giving you between his soft kisses- could it be a spark of love?
This embrace would classify as one of, if not the most sinful hug you’ve ever had. Once he knows for certain he’s not going to slip out of your pussy again, he extends his free arm and passionately encloses you around your head with the barrier of his frame. He replaces the metal thumb in your ass with a steel middle finger, offering a more favorable angle to fuck you in both openings. His speed quickens and audible claps resound through the ship, creating a percussive rhythm that seems to only get faster.
He growls and grunts, peppering you with kisses and bites alike. There isn’t a bracket of time where his mouth isn’t on you in one form or another. His depth is extending bounds never achieved before, spoiling you for anything less.
His tongue delves past your lips at the perfect instance. He mutes himself by extending the gratification of his own moans into your mouth. You drink them up while he likewise does the same with your insatiable mewls, but you’ll not let this transgression go without punishment.
As Conquest tries to pull away, you catch his lip in your front teeth, stopping him before he gets too far. You release your hold with a snap of your jaw closed, watching a bead of red forms at his now busted lip. “Ow! Dammit, what was that for?!”
“You didn’t let me hear you.” You pretend to pout, still riding the orgasmic waves that ripple through you with Conquest still pumping you full of his spend. It balloons inside you, far too much to stay inside, so it spills out and soils the resistant console, built to withstand messes such as these.
“Oh, you want to hear me, do you?” Conquest meets your punishment with one of his own, sucking on the wound you gave him so that he can continue to taste the blood.
He flips you onto your stomach, eyeing up the globular abundance of your jiggly ass. With you arched and lubed up so perfectly, he impales you on his cock for a second time. “I’ll give you something to listen to.”
He begins fucking you again, shoving his bionic digit back into your ass while throwing your cheeks in all directions. “Urgh… tell me you want more.”
“M-moooreee…” He has your face pressed into the console, pinning you with no mercy.
“Say again?” He asks, playing coy as he gets ready to blow another load. “What is it you want?”
“Gimmie mooooreeeee…” You toss both your limbs over the small of your back, offering them as a handle for Conquest to steady himself as he slams into you. He takes the hint, restraining you with a singular hand large enough to coil around both your forearms.
“Urgh… fuck, that’s it.” He falters slightly, his cadence gaining a slight interruption before he resumes. “My dirty pet loves getting fucked like an animal, doesn’t she?”
You’ve reached the point in this charade where you fail at making cognizant speech, blubbering while he renders you senseless. The violent jostling would send you off the console if he didn’t hold you so firmly in this spot. You can feel it in the sway of his weight. He’s coming again.
“Gah! Yes! Unf-unf-unf…” He shouts loudly, his exclamations reaching a level that puts your shrieks to shame. He continues to grunt when he ascends that pinnacle, depositing a second helping of his spend into your already brimming and swollen pussy before exiting you slowly and pumping the rest out all over your ass and back, painting you with his milky ropes. “S-s-soooo damn good…”
When all is said and done, he slaps you across the crest of your ass cheek, leaving you with a bright handprint where his prosthetic made contact. He keeps running his tongue over that break in the skin at his lip, the sweet pain sending him back to that moment.
He can see that you’re exhausted and filthy, taking you in his arms with no concerns for the come now staining his uniform. Conquest gracefully glides inches above the floorboards, taking you back to the room you woke up in.
“Sorry if I hurt you.” You tell him apologetically before grabbing his face to plant a kiss on his marked mouth, tasting it for yourself.
“You didn’t.” He scoffs, ending it with a soft laugh. He taps a code into an unseen control module, revealing a fully kitted lavatory concealed behind one of the wall panels.
“Your reaction- I just thought,” You’re confused. You very clearly heard him say ‘ow’, curse, and then basically ask you what he did to deserve that.
“I was surprised you did it. That’s all.” He admits, passing his tongue over the wound again while he runs a steamy bath for you both to lay in. The tub is a rather angular basin, retaining the cubic appearance of the rest of the ship while lacking the curved features of Earthly bathtubs.
“What?” You smile, seeing what he’s getting at. “You didn’t think I could bite that hard?”
“I’m learning not to underestimate you humans all the time.” He smirks, having gotten bested in a different league entirely. Once the tub is full and steamy, he dips you into the water so that he can ready himself to climb in, letting you get cozy on his lap. He strips himself naked and your mind flashes back to his torpedoed advance when he quite literally abducted you. Though, you are able to get a better look and admire him now than you did before.
That same line of hair that you saw meet up to his belly button now is seen spreading like vines across his scar-ridden torso. The silver embellishment makes him shine in the light. You can’t take your eyes off him. You want to just run your hands through the sterling forest while asking about every scar on his body and its origin, impulsively making grabby hands at him to join you in the tub.
From this point on, that understanding established at the start of your meeting has been strengthened tenfold by this foundation you’ve built. Conquest never counted on something like this to alter his perspective on life, and in the end, he’s glad he met you in that dreaded prison at the heart of the Pentagon.
∆∆∆∆∆∆∆∆∆∆∆∆∆∆∆∆∆∆∆∆∆∆∆∆
Taglist: @captxin-rex @gospelofme @fangirl-goes-nova @romanoffs-gf @sstarwarsss @r2d2staser @nahoney22 @ashotofspotchka @eclec-tech @art-of-the-twistedstitcher @only-a-simp-deals-in-absolutes @justalittletomato @twiggoblin @xsherryberryx @kriffclone @sweetminx @deewithani @tinker-tech @megafrost4 @freesia-writes @boontaeveboba @ahoeformando @arctrooper69 @taz-107 @lizzowinkyface @chad-something @nobody-expects-the-inquisitorius @merkitty49 @nonsenseandm3mes @id-rather-be-a-druid @storm89 @techs-stitches @the-chains-are-the-easy-part @succulent-momma @virtualexpertanchor @padawancat97 @hurtbywhisperedmuses @misogirl828 @seriowan @plushymiku-blog @the-dathomirian-jedi @ladykatakuri @mysticalgalaxysalad @talesfrommedinastation @dukeoftheblackstar @littlecrowtime
This is THE conquest oneshot I need that old man
Strong Heart
Masterlist
Characters: Ike Evans x F!Reader
Summary: When Ike comes home unexpectedly after a meeting gone awry you suggest taking a bath together to lift his spirits.
Word count: 2.8K
Warnings: NSFW - Vaginal sex, riding, creampie, praise, brief feet appreciation (it's canon, what do you want from me)
A/N: Popping in with what might as well be my yearly smut drop because I somehow managed to fight the writer's block. The scene of Ike in the bath is just too hot, this had to be done.
The sun beams down on your bare skin in balmy caresses as you lie on the sun lounger situated on the balcony, eyes closed while you try to bask in this rare moment of peace, something you weren't sure you could truly recall for a life with Ike Evans was not always an easy one. Yes, it was lavish, fulfilling, and far more exhilarating than what your life was like before him, but never easy. It always felt as though the safety provided by everything your husband had built could be ripped out from under both you and his children in a moment, and Ike knew it too. The success of the Miramar Playa hotel had placed a target on the man's back, a target that was met with a sea of vultures that wanted to take the empire he built from nothing but sand and mosquitoes for themselves. You knew it was a possibility that you could lose everything; it would be foolish to pretend that it wasn't. But you also knew that Ike would do whatever it takes to keep that from happening, come hell or high water.
Your thoughts were interrupted by the distant sound of the front door to your suite being opened, a noise that had you scrambling from the lounger to retrieve the beach towel you'd tossed on the floor beside you to cover yourself with. Considering you and Ike lived in the penthouse suite, which you had all to yourself since he had some business to attend to, and your stepdaughter Lauren was having a sleepover at a friend's house, you figured there was no harm in being nude in your own home; a sentiment that you were currently regretting. Peeking your head through the partially open sliding door, you look down the hallway to see who the unexpected visitor is. The sight of Ike standing by the door and running his hand down his face as though something was bothering him, takes you by surprise.
“Honey?” you call out, still holding the towel against your body but a little less mindfully than you were before.
He glances up to meet the source of the sound, eyes filled with bemusement as he realises that you are not only home but that you are also in nothing but a towel.
“Sweetheart? I thought you were supposed to go for lunch today with your friends,” he reminds you as he approaches you, his leather dress shoes tapping against the patterned marble flooring as he does.
When you reach him you decide to concoct some excuse for why you had cancelled, though you knew it was an answer he wouldn't be thrilled with. The truth is that they were shallow she-devils who only felt obligated to be nice to you or to do things with you because they knew your husband owned the Miramar and were probably hoping to score some kind of friend discount, especially since some of their husbands often enjoyed staying in the cabanas by the poolside.
“You know what I'm like when you have these big meetings. I like being present and in the know, so some silly little lunch that I can easily reschedule can wait.”
He opens his mouth to interject the way he usually would, but you hush him with a quick peck to the lips and offer to help him take off his suit jacket instead, draping it over the chair adjacent to your glass dining table. Ike always encouraged you to do other things to take your mind off business. Whether it be shopping, going out for a meal or even relaxing by the pool, he wanted you to do whatever you could that would stop you from being cooped up in the suite waiting for him to come home at some ungodly hour; god knows he would rather if he had the choice. You didn't mind it much, especially considering it allowed you to spend time with Ike's daughter Lauren when she wanted to come with you, but today was one of those days when you would rather be as involved as possible.
“Now, what's wrong? Because you wouldn't be up here unless you needed to get away from whatever is happening downstairs, it's written all over your face,” you observe as you return to him and reach out to stroke his cheek whilst the other hand remains planted on your towel, the gesture drawing a heavy sigh from his lips as he faintly leans into your touch.
“The meeting was going well until we were finishing up. I was walking them out of the office when Jack Klein showed up and started making threats about how he was gonna put me behind bars. Florence had tried to stop him but the damage was already done. Fucking asshole humiliated me,” Ike explained disappointedly, though bitterness began to creep in as he recalled that last part.
Jack Klein was Miami's district attorney, and he'd been goading and harassing Ike for weeks. He was convinced that he could find something that would incriminate him enough to land him in jail and destroy his reputation for good, and though you sensed that Ike was sparing some of the details of that fiasco, you knew better than to pry. He would tell you when he was ready, or when he was sure that the information wouldn't endanger you in any way. You knew he was probably just trying to protect you or keep you from worrying about him, not that that stopped you anyhow.
“It's just empty threats, Ike. An intimidation tactic to throw you off your game. But you listen to me now,” you start, placing your hand on his chest as you speak. “You're Ike Evans. You built this place from nothing, and you made it successful. And no one can take that away from you, not even Jack Klein. So call those people and apologise for the drama, but tell them exactly what they'll be missing out on if they pass up on your offer, and they'll be begging to host their event here before you know it.”
Ike places his hand over yours and guides it away from his chest, lifting it towards his lips and planting a tender kiss on the back of your hand.
“What would I do without you?” he replies with a small smile, totally captivated by you and your ability to always know exactly what he needs to hear to get his head screwed on right.
His hands find their way to your waist whilst yours gravitate towards his tie, your fingers grazing the end of his tie and dancing up towards his shirt collar until you grasp it and use it to promptly pull Ike towards you, lips smashing against his. Tightening your grip on his tie, you use it to deepen the kiss which draws a small, pleased groan from him. Eventually breaking the kiss just enough to the point where you could speak, you whisper against his lips.
“I'm gonna take a nice, long bath. You should join me. Don't want you all stressed when you make that really important call,” you tease as your lips lightly brush against his throughout your proposal, then boldly drop the towel you had been keeping wrapped around your body to the floor leaving it pooling at your feet.
Ike chuckles and leans back enough to look you up and down, taking you in and practically eating you with his eyes as they shamelessly trace every inch of your skin.
“God, I love you,” he says earnestly, a declaration that leaves you aflutter as you smile and start leading him to the ensuite bathroom by his tie.
Once you reached it you let his tie go and made your way over to the bath, the coolness of the flooring nipping at the soles of your feet as you bent down to turn on the faucet. Just as the water started to run you felt his hands take hold of your hips as he pressed himself against you, the bulge straining against his dress pants firm on your backside. You bit down on your lip as you leaned up until your back was pressed against his chest, the movement only encouraging him to bury his head in the crook of your neck and pepper it with tender kisses. A shaky breath escapes your lips as you focus on the way his mouth feels against your skin, your body melting into him as he wraps his arms around your waist.
“At this rate, we're not even gonna make it to the bath,” you joke breathlessly, the comment drawing a chuckle from Ike.
“Well you're just so beautiful, how am I supposed to keep my hands off you?” he retorts in a husky whisper, lips teasing against the shell of your ear all the while.
Just when you're tempted to forgo the bath entirely, the water reaches a comfortable level, leaving you to slip from Ike's arms and add enough cold water to adjust the temperature of the water. By the time you'd adjusted the temperature Ike had stripped and discarded his clothes, leaving you to climb into the bath at one end whilst he took the other. The warm water draws a sigh from both of you as you sink into it, your eyes closing for a moment as you try to savour the tranquillity. You feel Ike's hands dip into the water to grab one of the feet that you were resting at his side and move it to his chest, placing a quick, affectionate peck on the side of your foot and unconsciously running his hand up and down your ankle. With the gentle rustle of the sea breeze blowing softly outside the window, the steam hanging in the air, and the heat of the water that wrapped around your body like a soothing embrace, you felt your mind beginning to wander to your lie earlier. It was nagging at you and you knew it wouldn't go away unless you got it off your chest.
“I wasn't entirely honest with you when I told you that I rescheduled that lunch because of your meeting,” you admitted diffidently, not opening your eyes at first until you felt him shift slightly.
The concern in his eyes that you were greeted with prodded you to continue, to which you reluctantly did.
“Those ladies don't like me, Ike. They pretend to be nice but I know they all talk badly about me. And I know that part of it is because I'm married to you, I've seen the way they look at me when we're together.”
The confession came pouring out, though it felt good to finally share with him after putting up with it for longer than you probably should have. It was stupid, but you thought that once they got to know you and realised what you were like that you would be able to win them over. But it was no use.
“C'mere.” Ike beckoned with a sigh and straightened up slightly, letting go of your leg.
You sit up and crawl into his lap, the movement disturbing the calm of the water and creating small waves. One of his hands settles on your hip whilst the other moves up to push your hair out of your face and behind your ear.
“If I had any idea that you felt that way, I never would've encouraged you to go out with them. You shouldn't have to put up with that, baby,” he says before pausing to gaze into your eyes, completely enamoured. “Besides, what do you say that next time they come here, we give them a little show and make the kiss real long?” he offers with a wolfish grin, running his tongue over his bottom lip.
His proposal to get back at them makes you snort your laughter just imagining the look on their faces, and you can tell you that he is envisioning the same.
“Well, why don't we practice right now?” you tease as you coyly bite down on your bottom lip, your boldness making him raise his brows as the hand on your hip squeezes slightly.
“Gladly.”
He presses his lips against yours, the movement of his lips slow and impassioned as though he wanted to savour you. His hand palms over one of your breasts, softly kneading it in his hand and eliciting a pleased hum that vibrates against your lips as he did. His other hand wanders into your hair, running his fingers through it and using it to deepen the kiss as though the man could hardly get enough of you. It was intoxicating, the duality of his touch. His hands were gentle but unyielding, his kisses hungry but unhurried. When you finally pull away in search of air Ike wastes no time urging your body closer and taking your breast into his mouth, tongue circling your nipple before lightly sucking it, the sensation causing you to throw your head back and let out a surprised gasp. You instinctively wrap your arms around his neck as your hand gets lost in his hair, slightly tugging it. He removes his mouth from your breast and mumbles against your skin while placing a few more sloppy kisses from your chest to your collarbone.
“You're breathtaking,” he rasps between kisses, lifting his head and running his hand through your hair before capturing your lips again, his tongue slipping into your mouth and allowing you to taste the tobacco on his tongue as he did.
“Isaac,” you whisper, the desire to be so full of him that you could hardly think overtaking the urge to drown in his kisses. “I need you inside me.”
It was a vulgar and desperate plea to relieve the aching between your thighs, but if the man teased you any longer you were certain you were going to explode. As though he was just waiting for you to say it he reaches down to line himself up before bucking his hips, a satisfied whine spilling from your mouth as you sink down onto his cock with ease, taking him to the hilt. Steadying yourself by placing your hand on his chest, you start to rock your hips and bite down on your lip at the feeling of fullness, running your hand down his chest and enjoying the way the chest hair decorating his sun-kissed skin feels against your fingers.
“What did I do to deserve you?” Ike groans, hands moving to your ass and cupping it firmly as you ride him, his hips beginning to eagerly rut in time with your movements.
You rest your forehead against his, utterances of his name getting lost in breathy whimpers as you become enthralled by the lust in his stare, something carnal about the way he gazed at you as though the whole world around you had faded leaving nothing but you and the way you were clenching around him. His mouth finds its way to your neck again, lightly sucking at your skin just enough to make your breath hitch but not enough to leave marks. His affections move from your neck to trailing along your jaw, then to your lips allowing your needy moans to bleed into the kiss. The sensation building in your abdomen only spurred you to roll your hips faster, tepid water splashing at your thighs and leaving droplets trickling down your ass as the sound of skin slapping against skin echoed throughout the bathroom.
“Ike–” you cried out, desperately teetering on the edge of pure ecstasy until Ike firmly grasped your hips and plunged into you with a particularly hard, deep thrust.
Your legs quiver as you cling to him tightly, shuddering as your orgasm overwhelms you. The sounds you were making and the blissed out look in your eyes was enough to bring him to his own climax, his groans permeating the steamy air as he fills you with his release. Still trying to catch your breath you let your head rest on his shoulder, his arms wrapping around you and embracing you as you did. A beat passes, marked only by the sound of each other's breathing. Then, Ike takes your hand and places it on his chest, his heart pounding fast beneath your palm.
“You feel that? That's what you do to me,” he points out with a chuckle and plants a kiss on your forehead, though you just found it all the more endearing that he got so worked up over you.
“Such a strong heart,” you tease, giving him a quick peck on the lips while he draws circles on your lower back.
“Besides, would you rather have it any other way?” you inquire softly after pulling back with a knowing smile, running your hand through his hair.
“Never.”
I watched walkaway Joe last night, and Cal has been STUCK in my head. I literally have read the Cal McCarthy one-shots of yours like ten times today alone. And then I was listening to music, and Crush by Eithel Caine came on, and It feels like it's so Cal Coded. I needed to tell someone and you were the first person I thought of.
Ah thank you so much for the love towards my Cal oneshots! I also just listened to that song for the first time and I definitely see what you mean, especially the line about marlboro. 👀
Challenge
Masterlist
Characters: Cal McCarthy x F!Reader
Summary: When another avid pool player steps onto your turf and threatens to damage your hustle at your usual dive bar, you take matters into your own hands.
Word count: 3.2K
Warnings: NSFW - Implied age gap, vaginal sex, exhibitionism elements, public bathroom sex, praise, dirty talk, dilfy cowboy (damn you jdm)
A/N: Oh boy, it has been SO long since I have been able to finish writing anything, but for the first time in forever last night I returned to one my many unfinished oneshots and somehow managed to finish this one. I'm quite rusty so I do apologise in advance. 😭
Scanning the room for the third time in the last hour you look over the rowdy, mostly drunk patrons of the bar you'd been frequenting for the past month or so, idly tapping the side of your glass as your eyes settled on a particular man. You mostly came here to scope out poor, unsuspecting dudes who would confidently empty their wallets thinking there was no way in hell you could beat them in a game of pool, only for you to do exactly that without letting them shoot a single shot and then collect your prize money whilst your defeated opponent grumbled something under their breath. Rinse and repeat, though tonight seemed to be panning out a little differently. More often than not it was the same guys, a couple of regulars and the occasional newcomers that would let their arrogance get the best of them allowing you to clean them out before they even knew it, but it would seem you had some competition. Cal, as the people who murmured in disdain before handing him their money had called him, was gathering a couple of twenty dollar bills from the pool table to join the plenty of others he had already collected tonight, folding them and stuffing them into his pocket. He sets his pool cue down before picking up his cream cowboy hat from one of the adjacent pool tables, then places it on his head and fishes a pack of Marlboros from his pocket before heading to one of the doors that leads out back. You couldn't tell if it was the irritation that someone was trying to beat you at your own game on your stomping grounds, or if it was the fact that the bastard was handsome as hell too, but you needed to beat him.
Sliding off of the bar stool you'd made yourself comfortable on you adjusted the skirt of your dress that had hiked up a little from sitting down, then retrieved a pool cue and headed to the nearest available pool table, the one that your mystery man had just left. You didn't have to wait too long, Cal returning through the same door he had left from and immediately looking in the direction of the pool table he had just left, which he had also propped his cue up against. He notices you leaning up against it and locks eyes with you prompting you to give him the sweetest smile you can manage, beckoning him over with your hand. When he reaches you there's a grin playing on his lips, and you try not to let yourself be distracted by how much more appealing he is up close. He's wearing a black shirt that's unbuttoned just enough to expose some dark curls of chest hair, his sleeves rolled up to reveal some of the tattoos decorating his forearm, which sit prettily against some of the veins running up his arm too. His grey beard which mostly darkens above his top lip also didn't do you any favours when it came to focusing on the glorious win you were determined to secure. This guy was totally your type.
“Hope I didn't leave you waiting too long, darlin',” he drawls, the accent alone enough to sabotage your entire idea.
“Not at all, I was hoping you're up for a game of nine-ball. Say, fifty dollars to whoever wins?”
He playfully places his hand over his heart and exhales, “A woman after my own heart. You're on, I could never say no to some nine-ball.”
And you knew he couldn't either. In the time that you'd been observing the room, it was practically all he had played. He clearly had a preference for it and you'd need him to feel as though he had this in the bag. He rounds the table to where he'd left his cue and then chalks it whilst you rack the balls, lifting it and setting it aside afterwards. Cal positions his cue ball on the table and then passes you yours, both of you leaning down and then taking your shot to determine who goes first. Whether you got the first go or not didn't matter too much since you planned on letting him win this first game anyway. You needed him to feel confident in a rematch, to get him to a point where he felt as though he could double his winnings without so much as breaking a sweat. Yours was closest to the top rail meaning you got to start, so Cal removed his cue ball and set it aside.
“How long have you been playing for, Cal?” you ask as you lean down and position the cue, you couldn't deny that a part of you was curious about him.
“Oh, a good long while now, probably since before you were born,” he chuckles, which you pretend to find equally as funny. “How 'bout you?”
You take your shot before responding, pocketing the lowest ball.
“Four years give or take,” you reply as you move to a different side of the table and line up your shot, pocketing the second ball.
“That how long you've been playing in bars too?”
You look up at him as you try to calculate your angle, your hand resting on the surround of the pool table.
“Nope. I started in college, mostly playing at stupid frat parties. Eventually, it just wasn't challenging enough for me.”
He ran his hand over his beard as you spoke, the way his eyes were roaming over you as you leaned down to take your next shot making you feel hot all over, but you kept your composure. It was on your fifth shot that you decided it would be best to screw up, positioning the cue so that the ball would only just graze the pocket but ultimately roll back. Cal sucks his teeth as the ball rolls before coming to a stop, uncrossing his arms and making his way to your side. He places his hand on the small of your back and leans in close as if to comfort you, though the taunt that follows does anything but that.
“Well, ain't that just a damn shame. Bad luck, sweetheart.”
He softly patted where he was resting his hand a few times, and you were hoping he didn't hear the way your breath caught in your throat when he removed his hand and turned his attention back to the game. There was no denying that the man was skilled as he pocketed each remaining ball without missing a beat, maintaining eye contact with you as he leaned over and bit down on his bottom lip in concentration whilst lining up his final shot. When he'd cleared the table he straightened his back as an amused sound rumbled from his throat, a shit-eating grin on his face as he sauntered over to you expectantly.
“So, how 'bout that fifty dollars we agreed on, hon?” He reminds you proudly, the statement practically dripping with pride.
He may be one hell of a fine-looking man, but you still couldn't wait to crush him.
“Actually, I have a proposal,” you reply, the response catching Cal by surprise causing him to tilt his head.
“Go on.” He prompted, urging you to elaborate.
“I want a rematch, but this time we play for a hundred dollars.”
It was a no-brainer. Why not double your money by beating the cocky, young woman that doesn't know when to stop and can't even make it past the fifth ball?
“Are you sure? I mean you ain't half bad, but I don't want a pretty lady such as yourself goin' home empty-handed tonight. It ain't too late to cut your losses, doll,” he insists feigning concern, but there's an eagerness in his eyes that implies otherwise.
Great, not only did he pity you but now he was somehow simultaneously complimenting you and brandishing you with pet names all while stroking his ego. And yet, every little term of endearment he threw your way made it feel like the room was spinning, his eyes burning into you from beneath the brim of his cowboy hat leaving you flustered under his gaze.
“Why, too scared to put your money where your mouth is?” you taunt, knowing that would be more than enough to get him to agree to your deal.
He grins and swipes the chalk from the side of the pool table to freshen up his cue, “Oh you're on, a hundred dollars it is milady.”
After chalking up your cue as well you both position your respective balls and lean down to line up your shots, with you putting a lot more focus into it this time. You needed to go first. If you let Cal take the first shot the man would clean you out without giving you a single opportunity to play, hell you'd seen enough of that tonight to know that was exactly how it would go down. With everything riding on that very moment, you take your shots and watch to see whose cue ball ends up closer to the top rail, waiting with bated breath as they roll softly along the felt of the pool table. Yours was closest, meaning you got to take the first shot. You tried to hide your enthusiasm to not raise too much suspicion, but you were pleased that everything was going according to plan.
“Alright sweetheart, you're up.” Cal enthused, taking a seat on a nearby stool and resting the pool cue between his legs while holding it against his chest.
Cal watched closely as you pocketed every single ball flawlessly, not faltering once even when it came to the trickiest of shots. You would glance up to meet his eye now and again only to be met with the sight of him biting down on his bottom lip and a small smile playing on his lips, though his expression was hard to discern. You expected him to be irritated, and part of him probably was which was to be expected when you know you're about to be a hundred dollars down, but instead, he almost looked, impressed. When you pocketed the nine-ball you straightened your back and took slow steps towards Cal, the slightly staggered look on his face only making your victory that much more satisfying. He stands from the stool and chuckles a little in disbelief, a small sigh leaving his lips before he speaks.
“Even if you did play me for a damn fool I gotta give it to you. You sure as shit showed me,” he praises, taking one hand off the pool cue to outstretch it towards you gesturing for a handshake.
You reach out and shake his hand, desperately trying to ignore how nice the rough callouses on his hand felt against your palm and the way your fingertips grazed over the tattoos adorning his knuckles. It seemed the both of you let the handshake linger a little longer than it ought to, your eyes locking in an unwavering stare as though you were trying to read each other's thoughts. Just as you parted your lips to speak he broke the eye contact and started to fumble through his pocket, retrieving a wad of bills and counting out a hundred before passing it to you. You take it with a triumphant smile and shove it in your pocket, setting the cue on the table and crossing your arms over your chest as you turn back to face him.
“So since I won, do you mind if I make a suggestion?” you start, the drink you'd had at the bar earlier providing you some very needed liquid courage.
“Shoot,” Cal replied, his gaze filled with intrigue.
You stepped towards him, wanting to be close enough that nobody else in the bar would be able to hear the filth your mouth was about to spew. With your faces close together, his gaze appearing to flicker to your lips for a fleeting moment, you whispered.
“Why don't you take me into that bathroom, and you can prove to me that you don't suck at sex as much as you do at pool, hm?”
It was bold, but truth be told you were just speaking what had been on Cal's mind the entire time he watched you effortlessly clean that pool table. Honestly? Finding someone who could actually prove to be a challenge and beat him at his own game turned him on, it was invigorating. And he hadn't exactly shied away from checking out your ass whenever you had to bend over to take a shot from the side of the pool table he was sitting at either. Cal takes his cowboy hat off and sets it on the pool table, placing the free hand not holding his pool cue on your waist and leaning in to whisper into your ear, some of his beard scratching against the side of your face.
“Oh I will, and we'll see how cocky you are when I'm balls deep in that pretty little pussy of yours.” He discreetly pulled you against him as he rasped his dirty promise allowing you to feel the bulge pressing up against your groin, a small grunt escaping his throat as you pressed into his jeans providing him some friction.
“You talk a big game, but can you back it up?” you challenged, only hoping to rile him up even further.
His fingers curl around your wrist as he leads you towards the women’s bathroom, sparing a quick look around the bar to see if anyone would notice before he pushes the door open and leads you inside. Collectively, you scan the stalls for signs of any people and rush into the nearest available stall when it all looks to be clear, with Cal locking the door behind you both. The moment the click of the lock was heard he was on you, pinning your body against the wall of the stall and crashing his lips against yours. You work on unbuckling his belt as he slips his tongue into your mouth, the taste of the tobacco on his tongue and a hint of liquor only making you want him that much more. When his belt comes apart he doesn't hesitate in making quick work of the fly on his jeans, unbuttoning them and pushing the waistband down past his hips along with his boxers allowing his cock to spring free. The fabric pools at his ankles as he hikes your skirt up enough to reveal your panties, running a finger through your clothed slit and letting out a pleased hum at the way the material was clinging to your sopping cunt.
“All this just from a game of pool? I think you were made for me,” he remarked on how wet you were, the way his thumb briefly circled over your clit making you squirm a little.
Cal takes hold of your thighs and hastily lifts you causing your arms to instinctively wrap around his neck for support as he traps you between the stall and his own body. Letting one of your legs drop slightly he reaches down to dig his fingers into your panties and push the material aside, feeling a brief prod at your entrance until he lifts his hips, a sharp gasp escaping you as he sinks into your aching hole with ease. A drawn-out groan rumbles from his throat as you take him to the hilt, his breathing heavy as he starts to move in and out of you. He sets a fast, unforgiving pace, pounding into you so deeply that your hands scramble to grasp the top of the stall which was shaking with every thrust of his hips.
“Mm look at you, takin' my cock so good. This what you wanted, baby? Is this why you wanted to impress me?”
You bite down on your bottom lip in an attempt to stifle the cries you were so desperate to release, trying to cling on to what was left of your dignity as he plunged into your cunt over and over until it felt like you were seeing stars, his fingers digging into your thighs with a bruising grip as he fucked into you. There was no hiding it now, if any poor person were to walk in they would see the walls of one of the stalls shaking so hard that you were convinced it was going to break. The needy, unbridled moans that you were struggling to suppress spilling from your mouth and reverberating throughout the bathroom. You feel that familiar sensation building as he mercilessly buries his cock inside you, his mouth smashing against yours and muffling your whimpers whilst his moans also bleed into the earnest kiss.
“Fuck me, you're so tight,” Cal growled out, punctuating his words with a few particularly hard thrusts.
Your legs quiver in his grasp, your whole body overcome with a rush of heat as you grip the top of the stall so hard you're sure your knuckles have turned white. With a shameless cry of his name your orgasm washes over you, all the while he relentlessly fucks you through your release in a desperate attempt to reach his own. It doesn't take long before Cal's hips stutter, removing himself from you and letting one of your legs drop so he can stroke himself as he spills onto your inner thigh with a raspy groan. As you both bask in the ecstasy of your release all you hear is the way your heavy breaths reverberate throughout the bathroom, and the wet rush of his load slowly trickling down your thigh. Trying to regain his composure Cal pulls his jeans back up and starts doing his belt up, his eyes lifting towards you as he does. The tired, but satisfied look on your face as you come down from your high makes his lips curve into a smile.
“Best pool game I ever lost,” he notes a tad breathless, the comment making you snort your laughter.
“Yeah? Well, get used to it, because that's not the last time you're gonna lose to me,” you retort as you reach for the toilet paper and start to clean yourself up.
“Are you challenging me, hon?” he replies amused, running his tongue over his bottom lip.
“Oh, you bet your ass I am.” You double down knowing you've already beaten him once and that you will surely do it again.
Cal places his hands on your hips after you've smoothed your skirt back down.
“Do I get to fuck you every time I lose? Because in that case, I might have to start losin’ more often,” he crudely quips making you roll your eyes and playfully hit his chest earning a chuckle from him.
“Hey, if that's what happens when you lose, imagine what could happen if you win,” you tease, a brazen lust filling his eyes as he mulls over your words.
He grabs your hand and unlocks the stall door, a newfound motivation to beat you at a game of pool even more so than he had before.
“Shit, let's go find out.”
