Negan isn't the type of man to focus on a girl, to go down on her, he just wants to get laid and get it done and over with
But Jesus H. Christ if your cunt isn't the sweetest thing he's ever tasted in his whole entire damn life. He swears it's the best damn thing he's ever felt and tasted
He isn't sure if the way you writhed, squirmed under his rough hands, the way you buck your hips into his mouth, pull and push at his head, the way you tighten around his large digits, make those pretty little whimpers n whines made it better or not
I mean you're already in your nth orgasm just cause his tongue and fingers, as he has his hand on your abdomen holding you down as his other hand is moving three fingers in and out you can't help but drool and weakly and hopelessly push his head away from overstimulation despite wanting more n more
“God, just gotta taste so sweet, don't ya?” His voice muffled as he shoves his face farther in your cunt, the vibrations of his rough voice making you more sensitive
“Mhmg-..oh my god, Negan, please–” you let out in a squeaky tiny whiney voice as he continues to lap at your folds
“Fuck, baby, wanting more, huh? Shsh, you'll get it, just be patient.. yeah, you can take more? Hm. Good girl” He mutters in your sweet slick cunt
There is like NOTHING for conquest 😭 nsfw alphabet for my favorite old man? Or just any crumbs in general I'll take it
NSFW Alphabet - Conquest
Here are the headcannons for my old man! I love him so much. Sorry if these are choppy or seem rushed, I really need to get back into my groove, man😭 I had a hard time writing these. I tried to keep this as gender neutral as possible, since I wasn't sure if you wanted a specific gender! Also, to give myself a little more of a direction to go in, this is Conquest x human reader. Enjoy!
Not proofread, sorry for any grammatical errors and or spelling mistakes!
18+, minors do not interact, please! - you are responsible for your own content consumption, the media below the cut will contain nsfw themes and explicit description of sex.
Aftercare - what they're like after
Conquest might not be too adapted to how soft humans are in comparison to viltrumites, so he might need some time adjusting—a gentle nudge in the right direction from time to time. Overall, he's generally like a huge cat. If this man could purr, he would; in fact, he can manage a hum so low it actually does really sound like one! He's a cuddler. Big, rough hands grab you as soon as he's down on the bed next to you, pulling you close and inhaling your scent like like the faint smell of your sweat is the most heavenly thing to him. He's scared he might hurt your body, so little compared to him even if you are tall for the average human, but the urge to pull you close and smother you in his big arms is something akin to cuteness agression. If you ask, he'll fetch you water or a snack, maybe a heating pad or an exrta blanket. Over time, though, he'll get used to what you usually desire after a few rounds, and after cleaning you up, he'll get them without a specific request needed.
Body part - whats their favourite body part? Theirs and yours
It might sound cliche, but if you were to ask him what his favourite part of you was, he would jump at the opportunity to say everything. The soft skin he can nuzzle his face into, the limbs that try to tangle themselves around him in a hug or the hands that scratch at his skin when he's so focused on your pleasure that he gets lost in it all. Your favourite part of him would probably be your hands, though. How gently they can handle him even when there really is no need. How soft they feel all over him and how you love to hold his big, calloused palm in yours. It grounds him, calms him down when needed, and he'd die a happy man if your hands were on him while he went. His favourite part of his body? His arms. How such muscular, big sources of power that have blown through civilisations could now cradle you so gently. How easily he could pick you up and carry you where you needed to go or throwing you up into the air like a little child to hear you laugh.
Cum - anything to so with cum, really
His loads? Huge. Downright terrifying because where has this poor man been storing all of this? He prefers to come inside, liking the sense of intimacy it brings him, the idea that some piece of him will be with you at all times for a few days at least. He definitely had a breeding kink that just goes wild at the sight of you on his dick. If it's not inside you, he'll cum all over your stomach, your face if you let him. He loves seeing you streaked in something so innately his, marked by the evidence of what you do to him. If it comes time to clean up the mess, he'll lick it all up himself without a single complaint to be heard. You don't prompt him to, you're just laying there, still coming down and catching your breath when you feel that hot tongue strace over the lines painted on your stomach, up to your chest and neck.
Dirty secret - whats a dirty secret of theirs?
Secrets? Not this mans thing. He'll blurt out anything that comes to mind no matter how vulgar it is. Honestly, it gets you blushing and embarrassed most of the time because it just comes out of nowhere! He doesn't even try to make it sensual. It's just him still getting used to the fact that humans aren't as direct. It's just a remark here and there, in the middle of you and him minding your own business, cuddling, or anything that might be happening.
Experience - how experienced are they? Do they know what their doing?
Conquest has gathered lots of experience over his.. what? Five thousand years of life? He's not ever really had a partner, or maybe has, but had never really been in love—hence his lonliness. Despite that, his experiences are plenty. Tons of hookups over the years from planets he's conquered (I mean, who could resist him? Even if he's murdering their people with a smile on his face? I couldn't.). Maybe one or two other viltrumites in his earlier years, but none in the later ones, since not many are even willing or daring to get close. He knows exactly what you need, even if he unintentionally handles you a bit rougher sometimes. He's attentive and more than eager to please you. There's never a one to one ratio on orgasms, which 100% of the time works out in your favour, even if unintentional. He just loves to have his hands on you, and he gets plenty carried away sometimes.
Favourite position - self explanitory
It depends on the sex. In his desperate, rough days, he enjoys doggy a lot. It gives him plenty of curves to grab, limbs to restrain and skin to lick and bite. It allows him to reach deep, to be able to push and pull you away, and to him, it lets him move your body to a way that feels good for the both of you. On his gentle days, when he really wants to savour the moment, he prefers missionary, maybe something with you on top. In these positions, he can really admire you, watch you move and react to all the sensations he's making you feel, and be able to press his skin to yours. He enjoys the contact and intimacy of it, revels in the way you cling to him, and move against him. Your pleasure is his, and it only heightens his excitement to know and feel that you're having a great time. He lives for it. If he could see it all day every day for the rest of his life, he would.
Goofy - are they more goofy or serious in the moment? Do they make jokes?
Jokes, maybe, but he's mostly more serious during. He wants to be focused on you and your pleasure, as well as his. His intensity usually doesn't leave a lot of room for cracking jokes. On the other hand, he is a huge tease. Some days (the rougher ones), he's relentless, taunting and teasing non-stop, driving you mad with touches without getting you anywhere. He'll sneer when you whine and beg, making remarks about the fact that you have to be patient for him, taunting you for being so desperate, all the while not letting up on any of the shit he's pulling.
Hair - how are they groomed? Do the carpets match the drapes?
It's all grey. Everywhere. Obviously. He's got a nice amount of chest hair that matches the remaining ones on his head and his moustache. His forearms have a nice coating, too, that looks absolutely amazing when he rolls his sleeves up. The muscles with a dusting of grey body hair absolutely gives him some sort of greek god look that he really pulls off. The hair on his chest conects a trail down his softer stomach to his pubes, which are very much there, but he keeps them trimmed nicely. He's definitely not shaven, but he's neat and tidy. It honestly looks nice, framing him just right.
Intimacy - how intimate are they in the moment?
There's always a sense of intimacy with him, rough or gentle. Either in way he looks at you, caressing over the planes of your skin softly or the ragged breaths in your ear as he lays himself over your back, his face over your shoulder as he grunts out praises to your fucked out body, his firm hands keeping you in place and his pace showing absolutely zero signs of faltering or stopping any time soon, no matter the rounds you've already gone. His hands are so big, either very capable of grabbing at each and every part of your flesh, groaning about how good you're doing and how nice you feel around him, or how they cradle your body as he moves so slowly, cherishing you like his most prised posession, looking you deep in the eye as he commits the sight of you right to his memories, to keep this piece of you with him always.
Jack off - anything to do with masturbation
That piece of you leads him right to here, preserved for when needed, for the occasions where one of you is away. He doesn't really enjoy masturbation as much, since he rarely sees need to if he can't spill anything into you or feel your warm, soft touch or the scratches along his arms, sides and back whike he's so engrossed in the pleasure of it all. It just doesn't feel as good; his hands could never recreate the feeling of yiu around him or your hands caressing him, your mouth moving over and around him till he's all happy and sated. If he really is that messed up over the fact he can't have you, and he really can't stop thinking about it, he'll frustratedly take himself in hand and just force everything out of him over the span of fifteen minutes to an hour, depending on how desprate he is.
Kink - a kink of theirs. What are they into?
He has a huge breeding kink. Huge. Most viltrumites don't need or desire sex outside of breeding urges. They don't see the need to look for a partner who will only slow them down or make them soft outside of missions. If they do have one, though, it's on. Conwuest would do anything to keep you stuffed full of him all the time. Whether it is indeed for breeding perpouses or judt the thought of you being so full of him, he wants you to drip it when he's done with you, so to speak. Because he will indeed not let you drip it. If it's not quicky, he loves to stay buried inside you even after he's softened, letting you rest in a position that will allow it, keeping everything he's poured into you firmly there with no escape. It fills him with a sense of pride and duty, even if it is just for himself.
Location - what's their favourite place to get into it?
He mostly just prefers a bed, where he can take his sweet, sweet time with you and enjoy you thoroughly. Though, if we're being real, he would take you anywhere. In the kitchen, outside, on the floor, in the air.. the list goes way on. If it is indeed in a bed, he loves it because he can pound you silly into the soft surface, watching you bounce with the movements his heavy build is forcing on the mattress.
Motivation - what turns them on? Gets them going?
Everything. The way you walk? His dick is hard. Give him one wrong look? He'll absolutely pound the thoughts out of you. Caress his face just right? He wants to take care of you and make you cum till you go deaf and blind. He's just an absolute sucker for you, as serious about you as he ever has been and ever will be about another being. He wants you always, all the time, everywhere at once. He knows how to reign himself in of course, but when it comes time for that sweet release, he will ravenge you for just about anything that you do.
No - something they won't do / turn off.
Outside of the morally messed up shit, even if his morals are kind of messed up, absolutely nothing. Your wish is his command; this man is a freak and is proud to let you know it. You want to try something new? On it, boss. He's ready. From vanilla things to stuff that would make the devil break out a sweat, perhaps a little blush. He's all yours, opwn to experimenting snd switching things up. Positions? This man can bend you into whatever shape you want. You taking charge? Go right ahead. Even if proportions are off or you are nervous about things, he'll do his absolute best and try his hardest to make everything judt as enjoyable for you as he can. I mean, he'll enjoy it regardless.
Oral - preference in giving / receiving, skill, etc.
He doesn't mind receiving head, though with his size, it's hard for anyone to fully take him. Even half would be more than enough for the average person, so he doesn't really expect it or request it a lot. Giving, on the other hand? This man will slobber over you aaaalll day. Sucking, licking. Just nuzzling into you and nudging with his nose, he's got it. He's messy with it, but it's intense and pleasureful. He'll have you coming with his mouth plenty of times before you even get to the big event if you let him. He'll keep going till you try to tug him up or whine for him that it's too much. He loves overstimulating all your nerves till you beg him to go easier, to at least let you catch your breath. Sometimes, though, as much as he loves hearing you beg, it falls on deaf ears anyway. He blames it on his age. Yeah, right.
Pace - are they fast, slow, stamina, etc.
He varies, but boy when he switches it up from one to the other? Slow, deep, more grinding than anything turns to your hips being lifted off of whatever surface you were on an held up by him as he plummets your depths like a man on a mission. He can be relentless, so quick and hard you'll definitely not be walking straight if at all tomorrow, but at the same time, he can be so slow, sometimes barely moving yet still so intense it gets you where you want to go, less intense than usual, it's a slow and rolling sensation that lasts a while, something that you feel you'll never come down from, so opposite from the harsh, quick snap and bursts that usually take place, though even that varied in it's levels of intensity.
Quickie - their opinion on them, how often, etc
He definitely prefers to be able to take his time over anything else, so quickies aren't really his deal. When you do have them, though, they're usually in a fit of desperation. Maybe squeeze one in one last time before saying goodbye for something like a mission or trip that the other can't join on, maybe after an argument of any kind.
Risk - are they game to experiment? Do they take risks?
Conquest gives absolutely no fucks when it comes to risking a lot of things, even his life, as we've seen. It exitedls him, gives him a rush. Getting beat up with thr risk of very bad bodily injury? Bring it on. Toying with people to bring out the absolute worst in them and taunt them till they snap? Definitely his dead. Something he doesn't like to risk, though? Is you. Seeing you in any type of trouble or danger would send him mad, so he doesn't like to risk anything dangerous, even if you are the type of person who gets a thrill from it just like him. A place where you risk being seen is okay with him, of course, since there is something so exiting about that, but anything that crosses his line of danger is off limits. Somewhere public, like a bathroom stall of storage closet? Have at it! He's more than happy to oblige you if that is something you're into or would be willing to try. Despite that, he couldn't bare seeing anything bad happen to you, especially if it could be partially caused by him. So, he'll play it safe with you, make sure everything you do together is something that could easily be fixed by him if something were to happen.
Stamina - how many rounds can they go for? How long do they last?
All viltrumites have great stamina, since that was insured when only the most virile of the species were allowed to reproduce. Conquests stamina is something that never seems to run out, bred and trained for long and hard battle, sex is at the least of his worries when it comes to a workout. He can take you round after round after round until you're so spent you're barely awake, and he'll barely have broken a sweat, if at all. He'll let you rest when you're clearly too tired or you ask, of course, but trust me when I say that when you wake up, he's ready to go right back at it again.
Toys - Do they own toys? Do they use them?
I don't think he'd really have any at home, but if you suggest it, maybe give him some, he's eager to try it out. On you, on himself, whatevers possible. He wants to appreciate your gift to the fullest and is more than happy to do so. Things like vibes, he'll tease you for hours on end and try and figure out every single way to make you come using them. He enjoys seeing them used on you more, but if you want to he'll let you try whatever you want on him, just content to have you paying him such close attention, to have your hands on him making him feel so good in that way just you do.
Unfair - how much do they like to tease?
As mentioned before, Conquest will tease and edge you till you're begging and in tears if you let him. He loves seeing you desperate, hearing all the noises you make for him. The way you squirm and whine for him to just let you come already is just music to his ears and plenty of strokes to his ego. Knowing that this is the way he can make you feel, no one else, just exites him more than anything. He's infuriating. The endless taunting is so frustrating, yet somehow it still manages to brighten that fire inside of you. You desire it, his hands endlessly roaming with no intention of taking you any further for a good while.
Volume - how loud are they? What sounds do they make?
He's fairly quiet in terms of noise, but he loves to talk. Taunting, teasing, praising, remarking about how good you feel, hell, he'll tell a story or to to your absolutely fucked out body after multiple rounds, all while he's still moving into you relentlessly. He does make the occasional noises, rough and fairly hushed; hell groan out his words or give a grunt here and there. He just can't possibly keep completely muted with the way you feel around him, like he's wrapped up in heaven itself. Sometimes, he muffles the noise by shoving his face to whatever skin he can reach from that angle or kissing you till you're even more out of breath, if that was possible.
Wild card - a random headcannon
He has a thing for his size. Naturally, most(all) of his partners are smaller than him, even if they're tall for whatever species they are from. If he's relieving oral from you, he likes to just see the size of him against your face. The difference gets him going, how easily he can manhandle you even if you're strong. It makes him feel strong, powerful—which he loves. It's never at the expense of you feeling useless, but the way you're so small next to him is just a huge turn-on.
X-ray - whats going on underneath them clothes?
He's big for his size, and as a man of around 7 feet or taller, that's absolutely huge. He's around the girth of an average human fist, just a bit skinnier when flacid. The length of it is definitely enough to struggle with, but you make it work together. It's got a couple of veins along the side and underside, a colour just a bit darker than his usual skintone, and it turns a more reddish colour when hard, the more desprate, the more colour. It's pretty, which is weird to say of an old, weathered conqourers uncut dick, but it's true. The dusting of nest grey hair compliments him well—he's definitely an eyeful, and his naked body in all its glory is something to blink at. The source of attraction, though? It's definitely the junk he's packing. You just physically cannot stop yourself from sneaking a peek whenever you can.
Yearning - how high is their sex drive?
All day, every day. If he has the chance, he'll keep you to himself multiple hours a day, if not the whole day. For him, of course, it's the blink of an eye. In his 5000 years, you are the brightest thing that's happened, and he just wants to keep quaking those memories and moments with you like there's no tomorrow—including plenty of orgasms and then some.
Zzz - how quickly do they fall asleep afterwards?
He doesn't sleep that quickly afterwards. Sex just seems to wake him up more. Eventually, when you're asleep, he'll likely end up just watching you, so peaceful in his bed after the romp you've had. He's smitten, and he'll just sit or lay there for hours, watching. He'll never get tired of it, but it does help him calm back down, have him settle in with you, and scoot your body to his so he can tangle you up in his strong arms. He listens to the sound of your breathing until, inevitably, he too falls asleep.
Thank you for the request, anon!! It took me a while to get to it, sorry for that. I'm still getting back into writing but if anyone has more requests, please let me know! See my pinned post for the guidelines to my writing.
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Please support your writers! Reblogs and comments are much appreciated.
|| Characters: Conquest/ Kindquest x Female reader
Rage was all Conquest had. Thragg had ripped out whatever light was left inside him, leaving nothing but an empty hole where his soul used to sit. Conquest stood over the shattered king, staring at the mess—not with fury, but with that cold, unsettling calm of someone who’s forgotten what emotions even feel like.
•••
Back before his life ever had light
Conquest spent centuries completely alone. He floated in this sterile, white space, trapped by military orders, with nothing left except stubborn loyalty to the mission.
He wasn’t like the others. While his Viltrumite kin bonded over their shared superiority, Conquest got nothing but raw, animal fear from them. No one talked to him. No one teamed up with him. Even Grand Regent Thragg refused to see a man behind all that brute strength—just a weapon, ready to be aimed wherever he wanted.
With that aching emptiness gnawing at him day after day, desperate for something—anything—to break the silence, Conquest finally turned his attention to Earth.
•••
On Earth, Conquest fit right in—almost too well. He slipped into the life of an old farmer, and honestly, he just took over. The man’s clothes, his home, his name. If Conquest remembered right from the license, the guy had been called Carl.
Well, now that was him—Carl.
The first time Conquest stepped into the bar, the place lit up. Everybody knew Carl, it seemed, and they greeted him like they always had. The real Carl had been the kind of neighbor people relied on, someone with a friendly face and a quiet routine. But even with all that, he’d been lonely. Deep down, so was the man wearing his skin now.
Conquest sat at the end of the counter. The woman behind it caught his eye, smiled, and slid a hot coffee his way.
A little while later, you showed up. Your day had dragged, the migraine still pounding behind your eyes, and you practically dropped into the seat next to him. You asked for a drink.
“Rough day?” His voice came from your left—gravelly, raspy.
You turned. It was Carl—at least, he looked like Carl. But something was different. He’d always been missing an arm, but now he seemed bigger, more solid. His presence almost threatened to spill over out of his seat.
“Yeah… Carl… you look different,” you said, squinting through the ache.
He gave a dry, quick laugh. “Old age sneaks up on you, doesn’t it?”
You shrugged. “Guess it does.” Then you reminded him, “Hey, you said you’d show me around your farm, remember?”
The man calling himself Carl hesitated. Just for a second, his eyes flickered with something you couldn’t read. Then he put the neighbor mask back on. “Yeah, I remember. Tomorrow work?”
You agreed, not realizing he saw the world in terms of conquest, not crops.
•••
The morning was brutal—sun blazing through mist over Carl’s fields. The farm felt deserted. No cows, no tractors, nothing. Just wind whistling through the barn’s battered boards.
You rolled up the driveway, your migraine now a low buzz, and got out. That’s when you saw him.
He stood at the edge of the wheat, his silhouette huge against the sky. Flannel shirt, sleeves rolled up; the stump of his missing arm dark against his side. He wasn’t working, just staring at the dirt like it might challenge him.
"You're here," he said. He didn’t look your way, but his voice was loud and clear.
"I said I’d come," you replied, walking over. Up close, whatever had felt odd in the bar was stronger now. He smelled like earth and metal, sort of electric. "Nice spot, Carl. Hard to run alone, though."
He met your gaze, eyes bright and icy, deep wrinkles branching out. Somewhere inside, you shuddered—like a rabbit sensing a fox.
"It’s… quiet," he replied, his voice lower. Glancing at the farmhouse, he went on, "The old man here—he spent his whole life making things grow. Trying to pull life out of the ground."
He reached down, fingers thick and rough. He didn’t just pluck a wheat stalk—he crushed it into dust between his thumb and fingers.
"I’ve spent my whole life doing just the opposite," he muttered, almost too quietly.
You raised your eyebrow. "What do you mean?"
He caught himself. The mask was back. A smile, stiff and careful.
"I mean I was a soldier," he said. "Destruction always came easier than farming. Maybe that’s why I’m here—to learn something new."
He nodded toward the barn. "Come on. Guess it’s time for your tour."
Heading toward the barn’s shadow, you noticed something weird—the dirt around his boots wasn’t just disturbed, it was cracked, like the ground broke under his weight.
"So," you tried to lighten things, "how long have you really lived out here? Feels like you’ve seen more than just this farm."
He glanced at you. "Further than that," he said quietly. "A lot further."
Conquest led you deeper into the barn's shadows. You moved past rusted tools and the dry, almost sweet smell of old hay, and your gaze caught on a mounted deer head. Its glass eyes just stared at the rafters.
“You still hunt, Carl?” you asked, your finger drifting along the antler.
“I did,” he said, flat as stone. “I stopped.”
“Why? You had a knack for it. You should teach me—I want to learn from someone like you.”
Your words hung in the air. Thick. Uncomfortable. Conquest froze. For you, maybe the buck was just some trophy, proof of patience. For him, it was something else—a stinging reminder of how small everything here was, how fragile.
He turned to you, planting his hand on a rusted old tractor. The metal actually creaked under his weight, and for a second, it looked like he could snap the thing in half without meaning to.
“You want me to teach you?” His voice had this deep scratch in it, like stones grinding together. “Hunting’s not about the trophy. It’s the chase that matters. It’s the second you know you’re faster, stronger—more worthy of breathing than whatever’s in front of you.”
He stepped closer. The floorboards didn’t just creak—they gave a sharp, breaking sound under his boots, way too heavy for just an old man.
“I stopped because the challenge died,” he said, low. “Once you know exactly how the heart beats before you pierce it, there’s no thrill. It’s just… chores.”
His eyes swept over you—all the way down to the pulse at your neck—then locked on your face. For a split second, the “Carl” mask slipped. You saw something ancient, battered, stained with blood—a conqueror who’d crushed kingdoms and split worlds.
“But you,” he said, and there was a dark edge to his voice now, almost hungry. “You still think the world’s a soft place.”
His big, calloused thumb touched your sleeve—so gentle it was jarring, but the strength just under his skin was like a warning, humming there, barely held back.
“If I teach you,” he warned, his voice dropping low, heavy enough to rumble in your chest, “you won’t be just following tracks. You’ll learn what it is to be a predator. Everything out there, everything—it’s either hunter, or it’s meat.”
He searched your face, waiting for you to flinch or look away. You didn’t. That seemed to change something—his mouth twitched up, just barely. Not a friendly smile. Not even close. More like a commander noticing grit in a fresh recruit.
“Tomorrow at dawn,” he said. “Wear clothes you don’t mind getting bloody. We’ll see if you’re up for what I have to show you.”
•••
Conquest’s “white box” days were gone, replaced by the hush of an old farmhouse. The silence now felt different—less like absence, more like holding your breath for a pulse.
He sat in Carl’s battered old armchair, which barely held him. He stared at his one hand, the one that had done everything from ending empires to breaking bones on distant worlds. It felt unbearably heavy.
Not old, exactly—just full of something heavier than battle.
For the first time, something inside him pulled in a way that wasn’t about orders or gravity.
He remembered how you looked at him. Not with that frozen fear his soldiers had or the cold math of Thragg. You actually looked like you saw him. He didn’t even have a word for the feeling when you said “Carl”—just this strange, sharp warmth burning through him. But the truth was settling into his heavy bones.
It was love. Really. A wild, impossible thing for someone like him, someone with a soul blackened by centuries.
Can a monster change? That question whispered somewhere in him, a tiny flame flickering in a vast dark space. He’d destroyed everything for eons. He wasn’t sure he could make anything at all. But now, some hunger started to grow inside him—a wanting that not even conquest could satisfy.
He didn’t want to conquer you. He wanted to shield you. He wanted to be worthy.
He stood and the boards groaned, house-old and weary. He went to the window. The sky was getting lighter—dawn wasn’t far. The hunt was coming, but all he cared about was how soon you’d show up, headlights cresting the drive. He realized he wasn’t looking for a student. He just wanted a reason to keep being “Carl.”
He leaned his head against the glass, breath leaving a patch of fog. The fields beyond were dark, endless. And for once, the old predator started to wonder if he could ever just be a man.
•••
The woods felt quiet, wrapped in a thick, silvery mist that made everything feel just a bit unreal, like the world wasn’t ready to open its eyes yet. Conquest moved ahead, somehow impossibly quiet for someone his size. Every time a twig snapped under your boot, it sounded huge and dangerous, but he just slowed down a little, steady and unbothered, grounding you without a word.
When the buck finally showed itself—a beautiful animal, just grazing in a patch of open ground—Conquest’s hand found your shoulder. Even through your jacket, his touch sent warmth straight through your body, and you felt your wild heartbeat start to settle.
He stayed silent. Instead, he nudged the rifle into your hands.
You took the weight of it, and he moved in, close enough that he was everywhere behind you—his chest pressed solidly against your back, his scarred arm reaching around so his hand could wrap over yours on the barrel, big enough to nearly swallow yours whole. He cast such a big shadow over you, it felt like you’d stepped into some private bubble that nothing could get in or out of—just the two of you, breathing the same cold air.
Conquest had seen centuries of emptiness, violence, and blood, always holding himself apart from everything around him, out of pride or just to feel superior. But that distance was gone now.
Standing there, so close, almost hurt.
He tilted his head the tiniest bit and breathed in.
He expected the woods—the dirt, the pine, the heavy wet rot. Instead, what came to him was just you. Warmth, life, something soft and breakable. The scent of someone who’d never even seen a Viltrumite warship or felt the kind of cold that lives forever in your bones. It was sweet, impossibly delicate, and so human it hurt to notice.
All at once, the mission, the empire, all that ugly history on his hands—gone, like none of it was ever real. He felt a jolt of wanting so strong it nearly swept him away. For a second, he just wished he could freeze time with you right there, keep you safe from this brutal universe he’d helped break.
His hand tightened on yours, just for a breath, then he forced himself to focus.
"Breathe," he whispered, his breath hot and close to your ear, and you could feel it go right through you. "Wait for the beat. Right between breaths—that’s when everything goes quiet."
But he wasn’t watching the buck anymore. His eyes were on you, his heart pounding. He realized it then—you weren’t the student and he wasn’t the teacher. He was the one in danger, hunted and helpless against a feeling he didn’t know he could survive.
The rifle cracked. The deer dropped where it stood, collapsing into the grass without a sound. There was a moment—just a heartbeat—when everything held still, and then you whooped, that half-wild, triumphant sound blasting away all your aches and doubts.
You spun on him, your cheeks flushed, eyes blazing with lovely, honest pride. "I did it! Carl, you saw that, right?"
Conquest barely glanced at the deer. The truth was, killing didn’t matter to him—he’d killed more things than he could count. All he saw was you, shining in the morning sun, alive, all energy and joy.
A slow, almost awkward smile pulled at his lips—not the feral grin he’d shown on a thousand battlefields, but something uncertain, heavy, and out of practice. It felt almost alien on his face, like he was hunting for an old memory and only just finding it.
"I saw," he said, deep voice rumbling out, soft for him.
A wave of wanting rolled through him so hard he thought his legs might buckle. He wanted to scoop you up, hold you hard enough that nothing could touch you, tell you he’d torch galaxies as long as you kept looking at him like that.
Instead, he just stepped up, dropping his huge hand on your head for a moment, a clumsy, honest gesture that meant more than he’d ever say.
"Your hands don’t shake," he said, his thumb brushing your hair. "And you face things head on. Not many do."
When you turned, all eager to catch another glimpse of your prize, Conquest held back, one pace behind. He watched the way you slipped through the brush, and he couldn’t tell anymore if wearing "Carl" was just an act. For the first time since forever, the Viltrum Empire’s deadliest soldier wasn’t looking for a fight.
He was just looking at you, and feeling, maybe for the first time, like he’d finally come home.
•••
The farmhouse glowed with soft amber light. It made the place feel safe, warm—a world apart from the endless night pressing against the windows. Dinner was nothing fancy. Just solid, simple food. But there was a charge in the air between you and Conquest, something heavier and quieter than adrenaline. It drew the walls in, made the kitchen feel a little smaller.
He watched you across the table, barely touching his meal. For a man used to scraps and war spoils, food hardly mattered. What he noticed more was the way the lamplight curved across your smile.
"You're quiet tonight, Carl," you said as you leaned back, swirling the last of your drink. "Is something on your mind, or are you judging my aim again?"
A short, dry laugh rumbled out of him, barely there. He leaned forward, huge elbows on the table, the wood groaning under his weight.
"I’m thinking about how much of my life I’ve wasted," he said, voice turned low—intimate, grounding.
You tilted your head. "Wasted? You’ve seen everything. You’ve lived harder than anyone I know."
He shook his head, eyes locking onto you, sharp enough to catch your breath. "I’ve seen destruction. I’ve seen things end. But I never stopped to really look at the quiet stuff, the in-between, the pieces that make you want to keep waking up."
He reached out. For a moment, his scarred hand hovered in the air, just over yours—a mountain of strength held back by a sliver of restraint. Then his fingers settled over your knuckles, hot and rough, mapped with stories he never told.
"Most of my life, I thought strength was just about breaking things," he murmured, thumb rubbing a slow pattern over your skin. "But here, with you... it turns out the hardest thing I’ve ever done is try to be gentle enough for this."
He stared down at your hands, longing peeling him open.
"I don't want to go back to the way things were," he whispered, looking up. The soldier’s look was gone; his eyes were just a man’s now, desperate, hopeful. "I didn’t think anything in this world could surprise me anymore." He shook his head. "I was wrong."
The silence that fell wasn't heavy. It was soft, almost private—a secret you shared without words. He didn’t pull away, just leaned in, his scent a strange comfort, all woodsmoke and lightning.
"Tell me," he said, his voice rough but gentle, "what does someone like you see when you look at a ruin like me? Do you see something worth keeping?"
You answered softly, not looking away, "I see something I want by my side, until the end."
The whole room seemed to hush, even the wind outside slipping away. Conquest’s tight grip on your hand froze.
Your words hit deep—quieter than a shout but sharper than any blade. Until death. He knew death better than anyone. Had given it to billions, expected it for himself, figured that’s all that waited at the end of his road. But when you said it, death sounded far off. Peaceful.
You weren’t talking about endings. You were talking about staying.
He squeezed your hand, careful, but desperate underneath. "You have no idea what you’re saying," he said, his voice wrecked and rough. He stood, never breaking your gaze, and moved around until he loomed over you.
He was massive, shadow swallowing you up, breath coming hard and fast. All the restraint he’d held onto through the day broke loose in his eyes. He reached for your face, calloused hand trembling when he cupped your cheek, thumb brushing slow over your lip.
"To stay by your side..." He bent close, touching his forehead to yours. "I’d pull the stars down if it kept this house safe. I’d let everything else burn, as long as I had this quiet, with you."
He closed his eyes, breathing you in. That warmth—normal, human—had become his anchor. The monster inside, the thing built by Thragg and sharpened by war, was gone. Now there was just a man, scared not of pain or losing a fight, but of losing you.
"Don’t say that," he whispered, voice trembling against your skin. "Not unless you mean to keep me. Because if I stay, I’m all yours. For as long as I can breathe."
He waited, lips barely apart from yours, searching for any hint of fear.
Those words were it. The last wall. Conquest let out a ragged breath. He kissed you—not gently, but desperately, like he was grounding himself in you, clinging to the one real thing he’d ever known.
The kiss was hungry, full of smoke and want and years of longing. Even as he cupped your jaw with reverence, it was clear he was still learning how to give instead of take. Being chosen—promised forever—nearly undid him.
When he broke away, just a little, he searched your eyes like he needed permission to believe all of it was real.
"I’ve been a weapon for so long," he whispered, pressing his forehead to yours. "Didn’t think I had a soul left to give... but you found it, didn’t you?"
He let out a low, rough laugh thick with feeling, then slid his arm around your waist and pulled you tight to his chest. Wrapped in his embrace, you felt like nothing could touch you—like the world could end and all that mattered would still be here.
"I’ll hold you to that promise," he said into your hair, his voice rumbling in his chest. "Let the wars and empires fade away. As long as I’m here, and you’re with me, I’ve got everything I should have ever wanted."
He stayed there with you in the quiet farmhouse, amber light stretching soft shadows across the walls. For the first time in an age, Conquest wasn’t planning his next move or searching for another fight. He had everything he needed.
•••
The farmhouse had never felt so much like a safe haven as it did that quiet, golden afternoon. The ceremony wasn’t anything big—just a handful of neighbors, the woman from the bar, and the rolling hills as witnesses. To everyone else, a good, solid farmer named Carl had finally found his partner. But for the man at the altar, this felt like the biggest victory of his endless life.
Conquest stood at the edge of the porch, gazing out across fields he’d learned to work with his own hands. His suit was clean, though it barely contained his broad shoulders. He looked utterly peaceful.
You went out to join him, leaning your head against his arm. He didn’t need to look down—he knew it was you just by the weight of your step, the rhythm of your heartbeat, all of it as familiar as his own skin.
“One year,” he murmured, voice low and full of contentment. He wrapped his arm around your waist, pulling you closer into the warmth radiating off him. “I used to think a year meant nothing—a blink for a soldier. Now… every day feels like a lifetime I actually want to live.”
He glanced at the gold band on his finger. It looked odd there—a ring of precious metal on a hand that had once destroyed worlds. For him, it was heavier than any planet, a grounding point.
“You did the impossible,” he said quietly, turning to face you. His thumb lifted your chin, his gaze tracing every bit of your face like he was memorizing it for eternity. “You took a man who only knew how to break things and taught him to grow. You gave a monster a name, a home… a reason to be good.”
He leaned down and gently kissed your forehead. The “Carl” mask wasn’t just a mask anymore—it was who he was. Memories of the Viltrumite Empire, of Thragg, and all that endless bloodshed faded, just echoes from a past that didn’t matter now.
“I told you I wouldn’t leave,” he whispered into your skin, holding you just a little tighter—this time not with force, but with the raw ache of someone who had finally found what he’d been missing. “And I meant it. Till death and whatever’s after. You’re my world now. My only conquest.”
The sun started to sink, painting the farm in long, purple shadows. You stood together, silent. For Conquest, that old emptiness had vanished, filled up entirely by the person in his arms.
•••
The air felt sharp and clean, carrying that wet earth smell, a hint of winter on its way—the kind of quiet Conquest had finally come to trust. He wandered along the edge of the north field, hands buried deep in his pockets, letting the silence seep in and calm him down. His thoughts were on you, waiting back at the house, and the dinner you’d promised. He thought about a life that felt real.
Then the wind switched.
That sharp, acrid smell hit him—a mix of burning cedar and dry insulation. His heart, frozen for ages, jolted with terror. He didn’t turn. He didn’t need to. He didn’t run either. He exploded upward, smashing the ground under his boots as he tore through the sound barrier in a desperate rush.
The farmhouse was nothing but a skeleton of orange and black, the flames so loud they drowned everything else out.
“No,” he hissed, not even sure his voice reached past the blaze.
He tore straight through the front wall, the heat meant for mortals barely touching his Viltrumite skin. He plunged through thick smoke, shouting your name, his voice cracking with panic.
He found you in the kitchen, slumped on the floor, firelight showing the brutal wound in your stomach.
Conquest gasped—a sound that twisted itself into a gut-wrenching wail. He dropped to his knees as the floorboards crumbled away, cradling your limp body in his arms. He tried to stop the bleeding, but there was nothing left to save. You lay cooling in a room that boiled.
“How pathetic.”
The words sliced through everything, cold in the heat. Conquest froze. He didn’t have to look.
Grand Regent Thragg hovered a few inches above the burned floor, his cape stirring in the hot air. His right fist dripped with familiar crimson. He looked on with a kind of bored disgust.
“You leave the Viltrum Empire to live like them,” Thragg spat, his voice bouncing through the gutted home. “You had a mission, Conquest. You were made for war, and you threw it all away for… this. For a slab of meat.”
Conquest pulled you closer, his knuckles white, face pressed into your shoulder, sobbing without a sound.
“I’m still giving you a chance,” Thragg said, his shadow looming over both the dead and the broken. “When you’re done here, when you remember what you are… come back home.”
Thragg didn’t wait for a reply. He shot up, slicing through the roof, vanishing into the cold blackness of space without a glance back.
Conquest was alone. The fire had eaten everything it could. All that was left were the charred scraps of a dream. He carried you out of the ruins, moving like a machine. He didn’t cry anymore. He’d run out.
Under the old oak, where you’d sat together not long ago, he started digging. No tools, just his own hands—hands that couldn’t save you. He laid you down, covered you with the earth you’d taught him to care about.
But he didn’t walk away. He couldn’t.
Conquest lay down on top of the fresh grave, blocking the wind and rain with his massive frame. He closed his eyes, breathing heavy, waiting for a heartbeat he’d never hear again.
Weeks blurred into months. Seasons slipped past. Snow covered him in silence, then spring melted it away. His suit fell apart; his hair tangled in weeds. He turned into part of the landscape—a grey monument to loss.
He never went back to the stars or to Thragg. He stayed, just like he’d promised.
Right there with you. Until the world ended.
•••
The quiet of the graveyard got blown apart by the brutal sonic boom as a Viltrumite landed hard. The air actually shook when General Kregg arrived, his boots sinking deep into the wild weeds that had taken over the old farm. He stood there, staring at the gray, weathered figure sprawled in the dirt—a man who looked less like a living person and more like some ancient statue forgotten by time, even though he was once the Empire’s most feared executioner.
“Conquest!” Kregg’s voice cut through the silence, sharp and edged with disbelief. “God, look at you. You were supposed to come home years ago.”
Conquest just lay there, unmoving. For a moment it seemed he might never move again. Eventually, though, he sat up, and the earth shifted under him. His suit was torn to shreds, his beard was a wild mess, and his eyes—once blazing with battle—were empty, deep wells of darkness.
“I finally found someone who brought a little light into my life,” Conquest managed, his voice dry and rough, barely more than a whisper. “And he took that from me.”
Kregg moved closer, hand reaching out. “Thragg’s the Grand Regent. His orders—”
“I don’t care about the Grand Regent’s orders,” Conquest barked, his voice blasting through the trees and making them quake. “What’s the point? I finally found something worth holding onto... and now it’s gone.”
He glanced at the simple wooden cross he’d carved, faded and gray from all the seasons that had passed.
The scent of you, the warmth of your hand in his, that promise of forever—all of it crashed back through his mind, tangled up with the image of Thragg’s fist slick with blood.
Conquest’s huge hand moved, his fingers clawing at the dirt over your grave, then curling up, trembling and tight. The ground around him started splitting, cracks crawling outward, and the air just felt heavier as raw power simmered beneath his skin.
People talk about the five stages of grief. Conquest spent years stuck in the cold, silent fog of denial and drowning in the emptiness of depression. But when he looked toward the horizon, toward the stars where Thragg ruled from his throne, something snapped.
The pain didn’t go away—it changed. It burned hot, wild, and dangerous.
He straightened, rising like a mountain that shouldn’t move. The “Carl” mask didn’t just fall off—it was gone, obliterated. His peace had died. The longing faded, replaced by a single, dark purpose.
He finally felt that first stage.
Rage.
•••
Present Day
The throne room felt like a mausoleum, marble cracked and stained with cooling blood. The air shoved copper and ozone down your throat, thick enough to make you gag if you weren’t strong. Right in the middle lay Thragg—once untouchable, now just broken pride scattered on the floor, brought low by a man who’d already lost everything.
Conquest’s breath rasped, wet and heavy. He stood over Thragg’s body, his hands—the same ones you’d held across a dinner table once—trembling as blood dripped from his fists. No rush of victory. Just the crushing silence that follows.
He turned away, dragging a battered leg, his cape torn and trailing behind like a rag.
“Conquest!” Kregg’s voice cracked the quiet, laced with both horror and duty. He blocked the path of the wounded giant. “This is unacceptable. The Empire… the succession… you can’t just walk away from this blood!”
Conquest stopped. He didn’t raise his fists. Didn’t even look angry. Just empty.
“I don’t have a life anymore,” he said, voice rough, like rocks grinding underwater. “Not as a Viltrumite... not as Carl.”
He stared past Kregg, eyes fixed on something far beyond the ruined palace walls.
“Without her, none of this matters,” he whispered. His gaze finally met Kregg’s, a flicker of raw, haunting pity in those worn-out eyes. “Someday, Kregg, you’ll see it too. Life is hollow without love. All the power, every world—it’s dust in the vacuum if there’s no one waiting for you.”
Kregg reached out, maybe to stop him, maybe just to comfort—but Conquest was already gone.
He took off, ripping a trail of white light through the shattered palace and into space. He kept flying—fast enough so the stars twisted, so sunlight itself bent toward a single, terrifying point ahead.
A black hole. An endless, hungry void.
As the event horizon drew close, huge and black, Conquest didn’t slow down. Let the tidal forces stretch him. Let the gravity take hold—the same pull he'd felt for thousands of years. He didn’t fight.
He closed his eyes. And in one last microsecond, before everything faded, he didn’t see Thragg’s blood or the fires of war.
He saw a farmhouse. He saw a deer in the mist. He saw you, smiling across that old wooden table, promising you’d stay by his side until the end.
Coach! Negan x Student! F! Reader
summary You have some follow up questions after Coach Negan's sex ed class
tags student teacher relationship, age gap (reader is 18 negan is like pushing 40?), blowjob, pet names
wc: 1.9k
note i tried a little something new when writing this, can you tell what it is?
*you are responsible for your own content consumption. if this is something you DO NOT like, simply DO NOT read or interact! :) *
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Negan glowers at the students of his gym class sitting in the bleachers before him. They're all laughing like fools and making crude jokes that only displayed their immaturity. Seniors, they were supposed to be, but a majority of them acted like foolish middle schoolers.
"Listen up you dumb little sacks of shit!" he shouts. The students all quiet down, some getting startled by the loudness of his voice before doing so.
"I know a majority of you kids, well, technically young adults, are too immature to handle this shit, but the displeasure of teaching it to you has unfortunately been bestowed upon me." He slams his large hand on the whiteboard on wheels, bringing his students' focus to the topic of today's lesson; sex ed. His hazel-green eyes scan his audience with distain, daring them to say anything stupid- nobody did, which is a relief. But that relief instantaneously turned into dread when his eyes landed on her. From her seat in the center of the bleachers, she stares at Negan while seductively biting her finger and giving him sultry bedroom eyes.
He sighs to himself, quickly averting his gaze. She was always, always looking at him like that. Like she's an apex predator and he's the prey she'd been stalking, waiting to pounce and feast on his flesh. At first, it freaked him out, constantly feeling her eyes boring into his skin. But it quickly became flattering to know he had a little admirer. She's always the first to his class, the first to pay attention to him, the last to leave, and the only student to frequent his office. If that's all she did, she would have been just been a girl with an innocent little crush. But her crush was anything but little or innocent. He should have been able to realize that when she'd show up to every gym class in the world's tiniest shorts. If not then, he should at least have noticed when she'd spend excessive amounts of time in his office. He brushed all that off, though, assuming the shorts weren't for him and that she just liked his office for the air conditioning and bowl of candy on his desk.
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The lesson went by fairly smooth. Not many stupid joked were cracked, which was a win for Negan.
"Grab a complementary condom on your way out," he says as students get up from the bleachers, "and if you have any extra questions, you can come see me." He internally cringes at that last part. The internet was a thing and if students wanted to know something, they should look it up themselves instead of prolonging this awkward moment for him. But he had to do at least the bare minimum of what his job required him to do.
Thankfully, the students were just filing past him, some stopping to grab handfuls of condoms, and none of them stop to talk to him. The gymnasium is finally empty without a student in sight. Negan's honestly surprised she didn't stick around after class like she usually did, but he couldn't complain. He pushes his whiteboard back into his office and shuts the door behind him, ready to wind down and catch up on some work.
"Hey Coach."
"Jesus H. fuckin' Christ, kid!" A startled Negan shouts, hand clutching his heart. He finally notices the girl sitting at his desk in his chair with her feet propped up comfortably on the desk. He can't keep his eyes from scanning her legs, the smooth skin fully exposed from upper thigh to ankle.
She lets out a little giggle before her face returns to that usual seductive look.
"I had a question 'bout today's lesson," she tells him. Negan sighs and rubs a hand down his face, anticipating something wildly inappropriate to come from her mouth.
"Goddammit, kid, what is it?" he asks hesitantly.
"First off, stop calling me kid. I am eighteen," she explains, holding up a finger. "Second," she puts up another finger, "I want you to teach me something."
"That's not a question." She rolls her eyes at him and takes her feet off the desk.
"Will you teach me to give a blowjob?" Negan's eyebrows shoot up at the same time his eyes widen. She's dead serious too, looking at him with wide, hopeful eyes. Those same eyes drift from his down to the growing bulge in his gym shorts. She squeezes her thighs together and bites her lip.
"Darlin', you do know that what you're askin of me is wildly fuckin' inappropriate, right?" He's supposed to be serious, but the dimpled smirk on his face sends another message.
"You're supposed to be teaching sex ed, ain't ya?" she argues. His tongue swipes across his bottom lip, only riling up the oversexed girl even more.
"Inappropriateness aside, you couldn't handle all this," he says, motioning to his growing boner.
A smug smile makes its way across her face. She gets out of his chair, kneels in front of it, and pats the cushion, silently demanding him to take a seat. He takes a peak at her cute little ass that her tiny gym shorts were barely doing anything to cover. He figures that if he gives in to her demands, she'll realize that she, in fact, cannot handle what he's packing and will back off. He didn't particularly want her to shy away from him, but her forward behavior would pose a threat to his job sooner or later and he's not eager to get fired.
Fuck it. He locks the door to his office and sits in his chair. She's looking up at him through her long lashes, excitement radiating off of her.
"Well, ya can't suck my fuckin' dick through my fuckin' shorts."
"Oh. Right!" Her shaky hands reach toward the waistband of his gym shorts and he lifts his hips so she can pull them down just enough to free his cock. She lets out a little gasp when the large member springs up and slaps his abdomen. For the first time, her seductive, siren-like facade starts to slip, revealing a nervous, inexperienced girl. With a smug smirk on his face, he looks down at her. She talked so much game, but when it came time to play, she didn't even know how.
"I...I asked you to teach me, didn't I?!" she squeaks. She's embarrassed at how dumb she's sure she looks and even more so at the fact Negan's getting a kick out of this.
"Spit in your hand, doll. Then stroke it a few times," he instructs. She apprehensively spits a glob of saliva into her palm before gently wrapping her hand around him. She's mesmerized by his size, so thick her fingers couldn't touch. As she shyly moves her hand up and down his shaft, she occasionally glances up at him in search for his approval. There is none. He's unamused as he watches her. His wraps his larger hand around her smaller one and squeezes it tighter around his dick.
"Gotta put more presser than that, sweetheart, 'cause I can't feel a damn thing."
She nods her head and he removes his hand, letting her try again on her own. With her hand wrapped more tightly around his cock, she can feel every ridge of his veins rubbing against her fingers. Negan lets out a seemingly satisfied sigh which encouraged her to go faster. Her mouth makes an 'o' shape when she sees precum leaking from his reddening tip. She impulsively brings her head down to him and experimentally kitten licks the precum, before taking the entire tip into her mouth. She looks up at him again, but he's already looking down at her with lust darkened eyes.
"Go on, baby, you can fit more of me in that sweet little mouth of yours," he taunts. She lowers her head until his tip makes contact with the back of her throat, but even then he's not all the way in. His thick, throbbing member fills her mouth, resting heavily on her tongue. With more confidence, she begins bobbing her head up and down. Negan's hand grips a handful of her hair and stops her.
"Don't use your teeth," he corrects her. She chokes a 'sorry,' out from around his cock, the vibration from it feeling good. In her effort to not use any teeth, she hollows her cheeks, the spongy flesh of their insides caressing Negan as she bobs her head. With the hand that's still gripping her hair, Negan forces her to go a little faster, but doesn't push her all the way down on his cock. She picks up the pace on her own, causing Negan's grip to relax.
"That's it, darlin', you're takin' my cock so fuckin' good right now." Her nails dig into his thighs as she continues despite the pain in her tired jaw. His praise sends a wave of heat directly to her core causing her neglected cunt to clench over nothing. But his praise wasn't enough. She wants to hear his pleasure, to hear him moan and come undone in her mouth. She forces the remaining inches of him down her throat, but she immediately regrets it when she gags around him. But she's already in too deep and wouldn't dare dream of quitting now.
"Holy fuckin' shit, doll!" he pleasurably groans, "you are a goddamn dick suckin' natural!" She can feel him twitch inside her mouth, a telltale sign that he's close. Her own cunt throbs, despite receiving no attention. Both of his hands grip her hair as his restraints come undone and begins fucking her face. Exasperated profanities and moans fall from his mouth as she takes him so well.
"Want me to cum inside your throat, doll?" He gets out between pants. She hums an 'mmm hmm' as she tries to move in time with his thrusts. His head falls back against the chair and eyes slightly roll back as his hips rut into her mouth, burying her nose in his dark curls. As he shoots his hot load into her mouth, a guttural moan claws its way out of his throat.
He pulls his softening dick from her mouth and tucks it back into his shorts. He leans down and grabs her jaw so he can admire her pretty, cock drunk face. The trails of dark mascara tears dried on her cheeks and her lips are slightly swollen and her hair is a mess. She looks perfect.
"Open," Negan commands. She opens her mouth, showcasing to Negan his cum resting on her tongue.
"Now swallow." She does and maintains eye contact with him the whole time.
"That's my good fuckin' girl," he praises, causing heat to spread on her cheeks and down to her pussy. She stands up, using the desk behind her as support. Her knees are slightly bruised, a delicious sight to Negan.
"Thanks for teaching me, Coach," she says, her tone slightly teasing.
"Yeah, alright. I gave you want you fuckin' wanted, so get outta my goddamn office." He means what he said, despite how playful he sounded.
"But wait," she says stepping closer to him. He raises an eyebrow in response as she grabs his hand and brings it close. She puts his large hand in between her legs, forcing him to feel how wet he made her. He looks up at her , his face morphing into a dark smirk.
"Don't you wanna return the favor, Coach?"
note and the answer is....present tense! i wrote this in present tense instead of my usual preferred past tense. thoughts?
