You can't just write "model nude for Vincent which of course led to passionate, mind-melting sex" and never mention it again! WHERE BLEASE BLEASE BLEASE
𝐎𝐧𝐞 𝐨𝐟 𝐘𝐨𝐮𝐫 𝐅𝐫𝐞𝐧𝐜𝐡 𝐆𝐢𝐫𝐥𝐬
Vincent Sinclair x F!Reader
Ask and you shall receive!
wordcount: 4k words
warnings: fluffy smut, body worship, lovesick corny bastards
Candles sway gently as they cast an orange glow throughout the room. The darkness mixed with the low light perfectly heightens the dips and curves of your body. Bare skin sparkles and your most private areas are hidden by shadows. Enough to tease while still leaving room for imagination.
“More to the left?”
You await further instruction with bated breath. Half from the innate eroticism of what you were doing and half because of how hot the basement is. A light sheen of sweat has accumulated over your body. Although paired with the lighting it only made you look more breathtaking to the man in front of you.
Vincent turns his head to the side while silently evaluating you. Unconsciously he begins to tap the eraser part of his pencil against his masked lips. He was a true artist hyper-fixated on his craft; or as you’ve come to learn, his muse.
This was so tender and passionate and intense AND VINCENT’S CHARACTERISATION WAS SO ON POINT I COULD VISUALISE HIM SO CLEARLY AND NOW I GOTTA GO REWATCH THE FILM HHHHHH HES SO PERFECT 😍😍😍😍🔥🔥🔥🔥
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Can you do another story with Cameron Cade and plus size reader?
natural high ❥ tyriq withers
PAIRING: tyriq withers as “cameron ‘cam’ cade” from “him (2025)” x black!fem!plus-sized!reader
SUMMARY: inspired by “Natural High (Even Higher Learning)” by Freddie Gibbs + this edit + in which Cameron comes home from late-night football practice with only you on his mind. 🩷
AUTHOR’S NOTE: i was initially saving this req for a different fic i’ve been working on (which is also a req) but i wanted to put out another filler chapter while i finish other drafts, so enjoy ☺️
the front door opening and closing was what shifted you from half-asleep to a bit more aware of your surroundings. you stirred slightly in bed and peered over to the alarm clock on your nightstand, ‘3:15 A.M.’ staring back at you in LED writing.
before you could move further, the sound of heavy footsteps caught your attention and you turned your head just in time to see none other than Cameron Cade standing at the doorway shirtless and in a pair of sweatpants with his gym bag thrown over one of his broad shoulders.
“did i wake you?” Cameron asked lowly, his voice surprisingly rough, as he walked over to his closet and tossed his gym bag inside with a soft huff.
“no,” you answered softly as you shifted onto your back to properly watch him, “i been awake for a while now.”
“i told you ‘bout staying up late waiting on me, ma,” Cameron sighed as he pulled back the covers and climbed underneath them, pulling them back into their original place while he moved to climb on top of you, “don’t want you losin’ sleep ‘cause i’m at practice so late, baby.”
“i’m sorry,” you murmured, your hands instinctually moving to rest against his upper arms, as Cameron carefully lowered his weight onto you and pressed his body against yours, a soft hum of contentment falling from his lips at your warmth, “how was practice?—”
“don’t wanna talk about it,” the words flew quickly from Cameron’s mouth as if they’d already been sitting at the back of his throat the moment practice ended, and he pressed two soft pecks against your lips before lowering his head to rest in the crook of your neck, “need you to make me feel better.”
this wasn’t an unfamiliar situation when it came down to Cameron and football practice. he was unethically overworked, and as a QB, it seemed as if he was always carrying so much more on his shoulders than he needed to — so much more than a person could mentally handle.
you were his anchor through it all. you kept him grounded and gave him an outlet to let out his emotions, along with helping him relax when his body was coiled tightly with tension.
“i’ll be quick, baby,” Cameron whispered against your neck, sliding his hands under the oversized shirt on your body that was technically his, as his large palms tenderly caressed your chunky waist and his thumbs grazed the waistband of your underwear, “promise i will… just… can’t sleep without feelin’ you around me first.”
“you don’t have to rush, Cam,” you reassured him softly as you cradled the back of his head and he groaned quietly at your touch, “take what you need from me, baby.”
Cameron inhaled sharply from your words and you felt his body go stiffer as he raise his head from your neck and took a hand off your waist to pull your panties to the side, a string of arousal clinging to them and making him groan desperately at the sight.
“oh, baby…” Cameron sighed deeply as he held your panties aside with one hand and used his other to push his shorts and boxers down enough to expose his dick, “so grateful for you… and this pussy. so grateful for my pretty girls. so fuckin’ grateful.”
before either of you could utter a word, Cameron was already pushing inside you, a guttural moan falling from his lips at feeling your pussy greedily swallow every inch of him and pull him deeper and deeper inside your slick walls.
your breathing hitched and a broken gasp fell from your mouth as you watched his hips slowly push forward before your eyes flickered up to Cameron’s face, taking note of his glossy eyes and blown pupils.
the moment he was buried to the hilt was when his tension suddenly washed away, and he stared down at you reverently as he leaned down and pressed his forehead against yours, his big hands finding your chunky waist through the shirt on your body and firmly holding onto it.
“i love you,” Cameron moaned roughly as his hips slowly pulled back before roughly snapping forward, earning a squeal from you while your hands grabbed ahold of his back, “fuck, i love you so much, baby… don’t know where i’d be without you.”
despite Cameron’s sweet nothings, his hips seemingly had a mind of their own. he fucked into you like a man starved, the bed creaking rhythmically underneath the two of you while he deeply pounded your pussy.
his nose occasionally brushed against yours and his groans mingled with your moans as you clung to him and he clung to you right back, his hands now tightly gripping your thick hips to pull you into his quick thrusts and maintain his rhythm while your nails sunk into his back to hold him against you.
“C-Cam!—”
“i k-know, baby. fuck, i know,” Cameron moaned pathetically as he suddenly wrapped his arms around your body and held you against his body, his hips flush against yours while he rocked them back and forth and ultimately created friction between his pelvis and your clit, “you takin’ it so good f’me, mama, just hold onto me… i got you. i always got you.”
to Cameron, you were more than his girlfriend. you were almost like a drug. something that kept him grounded, but also kept him calm and at peace. something that kept him relaxed and let his mind find tranquility in silence. something that gave him a high, but it wasn’t the typical high that anyone would get from a standard drug.
you might’ve felt like a drug, but you gave a better high than others did — a natural high that had Cameron dependent on you to destress him from the trials and tribulations of his life.
“Put your hands against the wall” Cameron commanded you “don’t move that shit” he barked, delivering a harsh smack to your ass. “Doing all that playing, this what you wanted right?” He grabbed your braids as he rammed into you, pulling you so harshly you were reminiscent of a bow and arrow. “Ngh— Cam!” You moaned as tears brimmed at your waterline, he had been pushing your limits all night just because of some slick comment you made hours ago. Guess you know better now right? Your palms began to sweat as you struggled to keep your hands on the wall, the force of his dick brushing against your cervix was too much and you had to push him back.
Bad idea number 2.
“What I say about them fucking hands?” He barked, grabbing both of your arms and forcing them behind your back, your head forced into the pillow. Your cries, moans, and screams barely audible anymore. “That’s a good girl, you know you can take it” he cooed stroking the side of your face with his free hand “you look oh so pretty taking daddy dick”
The science of love is complex, interpersonal. Like a mathematic equation, unconquerable, impassable. It's as loud as the whistle of a bitter storm and as quiet as the flow an of unwinding stream. Love, so intense and so sincere; an almighty force we all revere.
pairing: Cameron Cade x Black!Reader
content: Fluff. Falling. Lots and lots of kissing, making out. 2.2k w/c.
author's note: I want to thank everyone who interacted with my last post, whether it was simply just liking, reblogging or leaving a comment. I'm really really happy that you all enjoyed my fic, despite it ending so abruptly and its motivated me to write some more. So I made this here as a thank you to everyone who has shown love these past few days. It's been a while since I seen such a response to my work and its put a smile on my face. and I would like to say a give you all a huge thank you, even if you skip this and jump straight into this fic.
Like cherry blossoms budding from bloom, a strewn of confetti down poured from the sugar-spun night sky. They blew down like floating platforms, brilliant and vivid and painted the field in garlands of yellows and purples. Fluttering beneath the stadium lights as the crowd above screamed, hollered and stomped as one giant pulse. Their cheers, loud, deafening. Their joy, undeniable.
The football field, a once earthen floor, coated in garlands of tulle was marred with the signs of war. Blood had been spilled, scars had been forever tattooed onto skin and the stench of loss reeked. And like wounded soldiers, the defeated army of eleven were hobbling off the field. Their faces were solemn; the gripe of defeat was a bruise no man could heal. They filed back into their locker room, casting their final looks of longing, regret and envy to the field before disappearing into the mist, forever deemed a washout.
The heavy pounding of hooves on packed dirt hung heavy in the air as the triumphant eleven galloped across the field. They were screaming, yelling and praising in worship, running buck wild. Their excitement, palpable.
On the sidelines, coaches and staff celebrated, exchanging their headsets and clipboards for burly embraces and words of congratulations.
Tonight, they were to be crowned champions. The number one college team in the entire nation and they were proud, overwhelmed and relieved– the coin had flipped on their side.
Dumbstruck and glad, Cameron’s eyes glossed over, dazzling like glowing embers. A steaming sigh breached his lips as he tossed himself around in gentle strides. He was stunned, the feeling engulfed him like a tsunami. The cool caress of its icy brine rooting down his spine.
“Oh my god…” He murmured, eyes wide like saucers, his mouth hung slack.
He held his helmet between his hands as if his head were about to combust and looked heavenward at the sky, lost for words. He’d prepared for this moment, the brutal drills on the field after hours, the gruelling sessions at the gym, the insistent lectures and the arduous tapes he had studied under the watchful eye of his head coach.
Everything, all the sacrifices he had made, had led to this exact moment.
At the last hurrah, he had done it. He had curled his fingers around the ball, feeling its cool dampness and wheeled his arm backwards. He paced his feet back hurriedly, his eyebrows softly twitching as he tunnelled in on his teammate charging down on the field, yards ahead. He exhaled slowly, eyes shut as the rest of the world dissolved around him and twisted his hips, digging his feet into the ground. He opened his eyes and quickly flitted over to the figures of blue stampeding towards him and gritted his teeth. He twirled his wrist, curling his hand upwards and bared his teeth wildly, before throwing the ball long.
It propelled in the air in a measured dance, whipped by a howling gale and pirouetted downwards into the catching hands of his receiver. He palmed it, the cowhide in his hand and pivoted aside, kicking his feet into gear.
The soles of his boots felt the earth as he ran, the charge of the light brigade near. It pumped its own rhythm, his thoughts, his desperation and the thirst Cameron had transmitted through his throw– became his lyrics. His touchdown, his song.
Cameron breathed in a good lungful of air, his mind settling at ease as he breathed out, a wide grin wreathing at his lips. He strode across the field, taking in heartfelt embraces, pats and laughs with his teammates and coaches, their joy, their relief infectious. He tossed a wave up at the crowd as they bellowed above him.
He did his best to analyse each of their faces, taking in the semblance of smiles and jeers that appeared to him as tiny specks. He clapped, giving his thanks to his forceful audience and continued down the field, wreathing through his teammates and staff alike as they celebrated.
And as he made his way towards his side of the field, Cameron caught a glance of his family above. They were sitting in the bleachers a few feet away from the sideline. His mom, his brother and his girlfriend, decked out in his school’s colours and painted with his jersey number.
“Cameron, look here! Cameron! We’re over here!” Shouted his mom. She cupped her hands around the side of her mouth, swinging her other hand in the air and pressed herself against the bannister, calling for his attention.
With bright eyes, Cameron jogged over. He stood just a foot before the bleachers, looking almost heavenward at his family.
“Hi mom– hold on!” He yelled, his voice above the crowd’s. He tugged off his helmet, almost catching his head between the cage of his face mask and chin strap, and tossed it aside, leaving it to stagger across the astroturf.
He took three strides back, cricking his head to the side and carefully flapped his arms. He waded on his feet momentarily, rocking on his heel and forefeet, and paced himself to jump. He bounced forwards, bending his knees and leapt. Clinging onto the bleachers, he hoisted himself, swinging his legs. He ascended up, scaling up the walls and palmed for the railing above, propping his foot against the base of the bleachers.
His mom let out a sharp yelp, her hands snapping to his own. “Cameron, that's dangerous!”
She peered down at him, her eyes rattling in alarm and clasped her hands around his wrists, worried he’d slip and fall.
“Mom– it’s okay. I’m fine,” Cameron soothed, peering up at her from between his eyelashes.
“I just wanted to see you.” he murmured, his voice soft and silken. His eyes held a solemn, soulful look to them like those on a child yet to learn the dangers of the world.
A soft look painted over Mrs Cade’s features, her words breathy. “Cam…” She sighed exasperatedly, helplessly succumbing to her son’s whims. “Congratulations.”
She leaned over the railing just enough to press a warm and tender kiss to his hairline, bending down closer to place a kiss on his forehead, her clutch on his wrists tacky like glue.
“I’m so proud of you, baby! You were amazing out there!” She praised, her voice lilting.
“Aye man, we made it!” Drew hollered. He clambered over their mom, stretching his arms over her shoulders to grab his brother’s jersey and rustled him back and forth. He wore a toothy smile and held his phone overhead, recording.
“We’re going to the fucking league!”
“Drew!” Mrs Cade hissed. She curled her lips inward, lowering her eyebrows and squinted her eyelids, her face stern. “Cut it out! You’re gonna make your brother fall!”
“My bad.” Drew shrugged, pulling his phone close to his chest.
He shifted from behind her back and pressed his front against the balcony railing, leaning forward. He swarmed his free arm around his brother’s shoulder and angled his phone to fit both of the faces in the frame, shouting. “Tell them your Him!”
A look of carnage, his nostrils flared, his teeth snarled and bared, overtook Cameron’s features. His eyes shining with a golden twinge of light. He dropped his hand from the balcony railing, balling his fist and pounded his chest carnally, howling. “I’m Him!”
“Tell ‘em what?!” Drew jeered, screwing his face together.
“I’m Him!”
“But seriously man,” He drawled, a hint of relief colouring his tone. “I’m proud of you. You deserve this.”
Cameron’s brows drew together gently, his expression accentuating his gratitude for his elder brother’s praise. A small smile budding on his lips.
“Thanks man.” He hummed, dapping his brother up.
“Baby,” Her voice was like a gentle stream, soothing and effortlessly persuasive to the naked ear.
Turning his gaze from his brother, Cameron’s eyes honed in towards his girlfriend.
She peeked out from behind Drew, slipping between him and his mother, and wore a beam, her pretty eyes flitting over his frame. He looked so attractive all sweaty and hot, his muscles taut beneath his tight uniform and his gold jewellery on show.
“Congratulations.” She cooed, placing her hand atop of his. She steered them down his arm and hovered above him, pressing her front against the railing.
A light chuckle spilled out from Cameron as he swiped his tongue across his bottom lip.
“You proud of me?” He asked, his eyes low. They flitted over her plump, glossy sheen lips, almost desperately, bating for a chaste kiss.
“Uh-huh,” She nodded, tilting her head to the side. “So proud.”
A slow, flirtatious smirk crawled across his face as he adjusted his grasp on the bannister, revving his palm against the metal piping. He tipped his head back, raising his chin and puckered his lips mischievously, beckoning (name) closer. “Gimmme some sugar.”
She leaned in, draping her hand around his shoulder to grasp his nape and pressed her lips together tightly. She closed her eyes, bracing her hand around the railing and kissed him on the lips. At the touch of his lips, mouth to mouth, her heart burst, her breath perishable. She was astonished, the force of their kiss, so rich with heart and fever. Her body sweltered under its heat, his kiss, a force of burnt radiance.
Moving his arm, he clasped her waist and pulled her in closer. Their kiss, unbroken.
He reeled her in slowly, blocking out the sirens of the world surrounding them, and clung to her, like a bee to pollen.
Enraptured in a haze of bliss and fierce passion, Cameron failed to notice his grip on the bannister falter. And under a single swipe, his hand slipped, collapsing to his hip.
He came plunging down to the ground, the force of his fall toppling (name) over him.
She let out a startled yelp, his mother and brother shrieking above, and the crowd on the stands watching in near horror as their star quarterback and his girlfriend plummet to their deaths.
Cameron faltered from the bleacher, his clutch on his girlfriend tight as he pressed her into his chest in a panic. He toppled onto his feet, standing in place for a moment before staggering to the ground, his fall cushioning hers.
Left astray on the ground, (name) atop of him, still, Cameron raised his head. A small laugh easing from his lips.
(name) lifted her head. Her mouth hung open loosely, and a look of pallor wore on her face. She stared down at her boyfriend, dismay lingering in her eyes and shot him a pointed glare, raising a brow.
“What’s funny?” She questioned, her fresh install laying tousled and ragged over her face.
But Cameron didn’t answer. Instead, he inclined closer, brushing her hair away from her face and pressed a kiss to her scowling lips.
His kisses were like little bursts of bubbles, bright and airy, and blew out between his chorus of giggles and heaves.
He kissed her, then kissed her again, placing a wet smooch to the corner of her mouth, the bridge of her nose and to the apple of her cheek. He made love to her, his hands scoring between her waist and spine in tender like licks.
(name) couldn’t deny the rush of fervour she felt pump through her blood. Cameron’s tentative touch, his sweet-like mouth, the scent of dizzying cologne and musky sweat, and the ardor that radiated from him was too much of a force to deny. So, she succumbed, melting into him as he rolled them over. Their embrace ceaseless amidst their song and dance as they tumbled across the floor, Cameron above and (name) below.
Pressing his chest against hers– Cameron’s soft lips against the bite of sugary coke on her tongue, their mouths fell sleepily together. Her doll-like pucker against his pillowly lips. He nudged their noses together, his eyelids shut and cupped her cheek. She brought her fingers up to his hair, feathering them over his short cut and curled her hand around his nape.
Lost in their lovestruck cloud, they failed to notice the pile of feet boarding around them. There were murmurs in the air, gasps, hollers and whistles. The quiet shutter of expensive cameras with highly polished lenses, clicking and whirring. Sounds gone unnoticed by the couple below.
It wasn’t until a line of voices and the shutter of a picture being taken sounded from above did their lips part, a single string of saliva following them.
“Aye man, slow down! Nobody wants to see y’all kissing like that!”
“Y’all can stop now! We get it!”
“Oooh, you guys are so nasty!”
With half closed eyes, Cameron peered up. Standing above him, stood his teammates and a ward of photographers. Their eyes honed in towards him, glass lenses and the naked eye. They wore a mixture of smiles, lighthearted grins and knowing smirks. But their eyes showed their true emotions; they glittered with envy.
He flitted his eyes down to (name), whose eyes burnt into him, her face hot with shame, and physically brightened. He looked back up at the row of players, staff and photographers before him, and smiled, displaying all thirty-two of his pearly white teeth proudly.
It was in that moment, that a camera whirred and churned its cogs, shuttering to capture this moment behind a sleeve-buffed lens. The photo, a capture of Cameron Cade, star quarterback of the year and his girlfriend, (name). Its unruliness, the lack of structure and positions was both exigent and arousing. Its rawness, its un-scriptedness and its ray, sung the beauty of a soul. A jubilant champion, his sea-foam eyes ripe with promise and glee, and strung with chords of a youthful devotion.
cam in the inside series is a very specific kind of fuckboy. the, like, he can fuck whoever he wants but you cant even have male friends sort. trust me when i say you lot are really gonna hate him after this next chapter. the party foul he does is almost unforgivable.
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He pull you back by the waist, chuckling at how you whined from the fill he gave you. Stack had you bent over in a deep arch, screaming his name into the sheets of your bed.
"Oh c'mon now, ain't you the one that said–shit– you can take it?"
He groaned, slowing down his thrusts to get a better view of him dissapearing inside you, the thick ring of your juices rimmed around his base, some of it running down your shaking thighs.
"Mmm-fuck! Stack–waitt.!"
You tried grabbing at his hand to slow him down, only for him to grip at your wrist and use it as an anchor, pulling you slightly back to get a deeper arch and deeper range inside you.
"Allat' talk, look where that big mouth got you!"
He hissed out, grinding his hips oh so painfully against yours, managing to wrap his other hand right under you and rub at your clit, drunk on the way you clenched around him.
"Mnghf–fuuck! I'm gon' cum, Stack pleaseee!"
You cried out, body pushing right back against his in pursuit of your orgasm, the man above you only pressing his fingers down as he drew faster circles while drilling himself into you.
"I ain't stack 'round here baby, you know my name pretty."
It's cruel the way he had you right on edge, holding back from letting you burst–oh but you loved it, drooling into the pillow beneath your head from this.
"Mm..Elias—please, Elias!"
He groaned out, satisfied with the way his name was sung from your swollen lips, eyes rolling back as he gave a few weak thrusts. Your breathe caught in your throat before you broke out in curses and moans.
He had pulled out and layed next to your numb body, thumb rubbing at your shoulder after he presses delicate kisses.
Savoring the moment of his skin on yours and the intimacy of his embrace.
Welp, it's been months and Sinners ain't going nowhere. I'm just disappointed I didn't write for Smoke first 🫤 | smut | 18+ | minors dni |
wc: 1186
Your thighs sat heavy in his hands, his stare warm and steady. You could feel his thumbs smoothing over the skin of your thighs and the scrap of his calluses over the sides. The air was heavy, and as he let go of one leg to lean over your body, you took in a small breath, bracing yourself for his next move.
“You know I love you right?”, his voice was a murmur. His thick lips barely moved as he crooned to you under the warm light of the bedside lamp. The pink of his tongue poked out as he licked them. Priming them for his kiss.
“I–do. That doesn’t mean I’m not nervous though.”
“Mmm.” His long lashes blinked at you and he leaned closer, his forehead touching yours. His eyes were intense. A swirling of brown and deep black barely illuminated under the dim light. His thumb still moving on that one thigh.
“I know, and I’m sorry. But I’ma make you feel good–and I’ma take care of you.” You believed him. His care was the reason you were splayed out for him now. Hole soft and achy for him. Nipples wet and drying from his kisses; but it was still weird. To be so exposed to somebody. Especially somebody as fine as Elias Moore. It was still so hard to believe he had chosen you over a woman as pretty and sharp as Mary. Before you could even hold a man's attention you had almost convinced yourself you were pining for her. But here you were, laid up under her ex man. Life was a trip. You let out the breath you realized you were holding.
“Okay–I love you too.” E. grunted affirmatively deep in his throat, and before you knew it his lips were on yours. You barely had time to close your eyes. His nose bumpig yours. His kiss wet. The cushion of both lips smothering your top lip in a heavy peck.
He moved closer and sat up, the hand not on your leg moving from the mattress to your waist. Pulling you higher up into his lap.
Grabbing his dick, he pumped slowly. The thick tip looked bruised under the dim lighting. Pearly beads adorning its head like a crown. He groaned low in his throat again, and you couldn’t help but squirm. You could feel your pussy fluttering, weeping for release as your need swirled achingly in between your lower lips. The fingers of one hand rubbing nervously at your temple, the other on his knee tracing over the grooves; surely tickling him gently.
“Yeah–you know I’ma fuck you good right? You not gon ever have another dick in this belly. Pretty girl.”
You watched as he lowered his tip, softly mushing your folds as they splayed around his dick. Watching as his crown of pearls was wiped from the head. Blending with your wetness. You couldn’t help but groan. You could probably cum just from the feeling of his tip playing in your wetness alone.
He moved his hips slowly, his dick scraping through the mess of you and wetting the length of his member. You couldn’t stand it. And neither could he with his grip biting into your thigh, and the moans pushing heavy past his lips.
He kept gliding though. Back and forth. Never breaching your hole and as he humped against you. Your squirming was getting worse, wiggling as the man you loved touched you so intimately. Soft skin kissing and mushing in a mess that proved he loved you too. God he was—
SMACK
The tap was sharp against your thigh as you whined out an ow. The pout immediately heavy on your bottom lip as low lashes fluttered up and over his face.
“Girl, quit moving ‘fore I bust.” You halfheartedly dug your nail into his knee then, not to hurt him, but to get him back for popping you.
“Then stop playing E., please…I’m ready now.”
His grinding slowed to a stop, his breath even heavier than before. The hand on your knee finally let go as it grazed your side, slipping down your waist to your hip. His thumb tickling the short curls along your pelvis as he stared down at your eyes then your center.
He stayed quiet as he tapped your swollen clit…once…twice, before dragging his tip further until he found your weeping hole. Testing its resistance as he pushed gently, then harder.
Reaching a hand to his wrist, you held on and reached up to cup your chest with the other. Your soft skin grounding as he pushed forward. The burn was instant as you hummed. A red hot burn as he opened you up to him. A short ow as he pushed through a tight, stinging barrier. A deep gurgle refusing to escape your throat as he groaned and sank deeper.
“Eli–Oh my God!”
“I know, baby. Fuck, you tight.”
Letting go of the base of his dick he reached up to your hand, pulling it away from your chest as he found your nipple with his mouth. Entwining your fingers with his own. Gluing you to the mattress. He didn’t move as he sucked on your tit. His tongue persistent in its effort to taste you. Thick lips distracting you from the fact he hadn’t dropped any of his weight down into his hips, or that he wasn’t even half way there yet.
Letting go of your nipple and kissing up your chest, he gently rocked into you. Slow movements getting you used to the dick plugging you up. The burn wasn’t burning so much now as it was a deep and heavy stretch. Warmth enveloping you as his chain twinkled over your face in the low glow. Letting go of his wrist you reached up and around to his back. Fingertips light as you rubbed over his warm skin. You could feel him tense under your touch and he kissed your cheek as he spoke low in your ear.
“You gotta let me know when to move baby. I’m trynna be a gentleman and not tear you up…but I need you to communicate too.”
Your breath is hot as you breathe out, nodding your head before you speak into the skin of his shoulder.
“Okay E., you can move.”
He tenses further and you could tell by the shift in the air he was about to play with you. He looks up into your face, eyes glinting as he smiles. His grillz winking at you.
“Nah. Tell me to fuck you.”
You tense up then too. Breathing heavy under his stare and the weight of his dick pressing up into you. His lips twitch as he feels you tense. His eyes look sharp as he stares at you. Dead serious.
“C’mon girl, let's go. I’m not ‘gon tell you again.”
Wetting your lips with your tongue, you watch him as his eyes follow the movement, just to peer back into your own. Swallowing heavy you speak.
“Elias, fuck me please.”
He smiles full on then. Eyes shining as his hips draw back.
“Bet.”
🤷🏾♀️: no condom but my headcanon is that she was on birth control for hormonal acne 👅
WARNINGS: smut (18+), p in v, unprotected sex, vulgar language and dialogue, creampie, maybe inaccurate translations
A/N: as always, the race/ethnicity of the reader is not disclosed and does not pertain to the story. smut is not my specialty and i wrote this up super quick but i thought i’d share 😌
likes, reblogs, and comments are always and greatly appreciated!
After two semesters of Italian and a year of studying, i’ve been loving the idea of Stack knowing some Italian during his time in Chicago…
Maybe you speak some, maybe you don’t. Maybe you’ve spent more time in Chicago than you’d planned and picked up a few words along the way. Enough to understand what the men on the street were saying when they called after you.
So then maybe…you have just enough knowledge of it to understand what Stack whispers lowly in your ear with his fingers in your hair, pulling you to him as he plows into you from behind.
“Questa dolce figa.” You can feel his breath on your ear coming from his chest in heavy pants. He almost always does all of the work, but you’ll never hear him complain. “Così stretto che mi sta baciando.” This sweet pussy…so tight that it’s kissing me.
His hand drips the flesh on your hips like you’ll disappear if he doesn’t hold tight enough. Something inside you flutters at the sound of those words tinged so slightly but the swing of his accent. He must’ve been from somewhere deep in the South. You haven’t heard a voice like that in Chicago.
“You feel me, baby?” He asks as if you can answer. A broken moan croaks from your throat, earning a deep chuckle from Stack. “Esatto. Mi senti.” That’s right. You feel me.
Maybe he’ll flip you over so he can see you in all of your glory—head thrown back against the mattress, your tits bouncing along with every thrust he gives you. In between your legs is the sweet ache of a stretch you’d never felt before, not with any other man. Your hand reach for his shoulders, sweat lining his back. Stack knew that good things didn’t come easy; he works for what he wants.
And right now, your pussy is about the only thing in the world to him. To have your warmth practically consuming him to the point where he’d be cold as soon as your touch was gone.
“What’ya say about doing this every night, darlin’?” He says without halting or even slowing down his movements. He’s sitting up now, back straight with one of your legs pulled flat against his chest, reaching even deeper inside you. Stack pushes his thumb against your pearl. When he rubs, you swear you could’ve died right there. “Oh, beautiful girl,” he grins as you look up at him with heavy lids. “Ti farò mia.” I’m gonna make you mine.
Unable to let out anything coherent, he knew that he didn’t need to from the feeling of your grip clenching even more around his length before it began to flutter like a scattered pulse. Stack laughs, “Oh, wait. I already did.” He doesn’t pull himself from you or cease his movements. With sharp thrusts of his hips, he rides out the euphoria coursing through your body until he reaches his own.
You feel the mixture of your releases inside of you. Not a single bit drips out. When he goes to move, you grab his arm. “Wait,” you tell him, pulling his arm even tighter around you. He smiles. “I just wanna feel you.”
How can he say no to that face?
Stack doesn’t move. He’s got his arms wrapped around your torso. Keeping himself warm for as long as he wants, and you let him.
content disclosure: smut, black!reader, fem!reader x smoke, language
author’s note: just a quick little smoke sunday blurb i wrote on the fly :-) somewhat inspired by warmth by janet jackson
“S-Smoke—”
“C’mon, baby, you know that’s not my name.” His left hand gripped beneath your thigh tighter, yanking your body down the bed and closer to him as his hips picked up their pace. The slow, delicious rhythm of his hips was driving you crazy, teasing you with the idea of a release that would never come. Your legs were at the mercy of Smoke, one folded in his palm and the other tucked around his hip. The tip of his dick kissing your cervix just enough to take your breath away, eyes rolling to the back of your head as Smoke kissed down to the base of your neck. “Don’t get shy now, hm? What’s my name, baby?”
Your body was on fire, and Smoke had lit the match. Every now and then, Smoke would come home positively insatiable. He’d look at you, sweeping your body from head to toe like he was memorizing every bend and scratch and curve; like he was trying to discern if you’d changed since he’d left that morning, only to discover you were the same. The same beautiful, intoxicating, heavenly woman who he’d left wrapped in your shared bedsheets, hair free and skin glistening with the sweat of the Mississippi heat. He'd never learned to resist you and he sure wasn’t gonna learn to now.
“Elijah!”
Where he began and you ended, neither of you knew. All that mattered was the way he bit at your earlobe, growling his approval straight into your ear. “Mmm.” He sighed with pleasure, pride swelling in his chest at how pliable you were. How you bend to his every whim or will. How you trusted him. You were his. The primal instinct the very thought ignited in him drove him to kiss you, abandoning his hold on your leg to cradle the back of your neck. His lips hovered over yours tracing the shape of your mouth, breathing in the air you exhaled as your hearts raced in sync. Like he was savoring the moment just before your lips pressed together, relishing in the climb that came before the crash.
He shivered, swallowing the sighs of pleasure that dripped out of you as you fought to kiss him back. Any words he wanted to speak were coiled at his throat, paralyzed by the glory of kissing you. Tongues dancing around one another as your nails clawed at his back, trying to pull him impossibly closer. The sticky slick of his skin made him inseparable from you, enmeshing you two as one. He couldn’t get enough, and you couldn’t stop giving.
And suddenly, time moved again. The urgency with which he moved before was back lighting a fire beneath him, and his unquenchable thirst was back in his throat. You nearly flinched as his hands flew to your hips, pulling them up just enough to change the angle— and your body jolted. Blinding, white hot ecstasy shot through your veins as his thrusts washed over your sweet spot, your jaw dropping open in rapture. It was too much and not enough all at once.
“Look how pretty you are, all fucked out for me,” A kiss to your jaw, your nose, and a taunting tug at your bottom lip. You could still taste yourself on him. “Give it to me.”
Your eyes fluttered open, tears flowing down the sides of your face. He always looked so handsome when he was fucking you. The furrow of his brows, the sweat dotting his hairline, the flush across his chest. The way his skin bloomed copper beneath the surface, like he became a God of love and desire when he was inside of you. This look in his eyes that made you quiver from its eroticism. It strikes you with awe every time you see it, every time he makes love to you. He’s the smoke that thunders.
His lips locked with yours as the coil of tension brewing inside you snapped, your legs wrapping around him in a vice grip. “Fuck, Elijah, I—” The name rolled off your tongue like molasses, sticky and slow against the crescendo of your chest. Heartbeat thudding in your ears as the edges of the world fade away, the murmur of Smoke’s sweet nothings bringing you back to earthliness. The breeze of the wind through the leaves. The chirping of birds echoing through the humid air. The plush security of the mattress around you. The caress of Smoke’s lips on your throat peppering wet kisses to the tender skin. Floating from euphoria and back.
“How you feelin’, baby?” His thumbs brushed back and forth over whatever part of you he could reach, cock still wedged between your legs as your breathing started to even out.
You cracked a grin, cheeks raised and rounded as your eyes landed on his. “You didn’t cum,” The drowsiness was lifting from you as your hand snaked between your bodies, pulling his cock out of you and wrapping your palm around it. He hissed, eyes searching yours with frantic anticipation as your thumb swiped over his tip. “Think I’d feel a whole lot betta if you did.”
Call of Duty: Modern Warfare [Continued Masterlist]
Ghost:
Ghost w/ a Zombie! S/O
Father's Friend! Simon "Ghost" Riley Headcanons
Virgin! Simon "Ghost" Riley
Simon Riley is a Messy Eater
House Husband! Simon who...
Simon Riley's Breeding Kink
House Husband! Simon w/ a Wedding Ring
Just House Husband! Simon Things
Cosy Hours with House Husband! Simon
Things Simon Loves About You
House Husband! Simon vs. Home Invaders
Competition
His Favourite
Bimbo Barracks Bunny
Ghost, Simon & You [SMUT]
A Gift for Simon
König:
Virgin! König
Giant! König Headcanons
Giant! König when You're Pregnant
Overstimulating König
Bimbo Barracks Bunny
Coquette Thoughts
Soap:
Competition
Bimbo Barracks Bunny
Price:
Father's Friend! John Price Headcanons
Competition
Bimbo Barracks Bunny
Graves:
Graves w/ a Breeding Kink
Gaz:
Competition
Bimbo Barracks Bunny
All:
MW2 Reaction To You Being Their Controversially Young Girlfriend
MW2 w/ a Sex Slave
MW Reaction to You Taking the BDSM Test
Who Jerks Off the Most in the 141 + König
MW Reaction to You Leading Them On
Masterlist (part 1)
Masterpost
Modern Warfare AI Masterlist
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!! angst; canon-compliant // i rlly loved this one but writers block hit me bad every time i try completing it :< might pick it up one day (hopefully!!)
there’s a new medic in the base – a pretty girl with a pretty smile, pretty eyes, pretty laugh. she’s beautiful, perfect with her auburn hair and her chestnut eyes; striking with her trimmed waist and sloping curves.
you’ve only met her once when you needed an aspirin for your fever and never more after that, after all, there’s really not much of a reason for a base assistant like you to visit the station. so all that you’ve heard about her came from privates and base operators, greedy in the way they took in the sight she makes and how darling she looks. you can’t really blame them, not after seeing her; seeing how she is a beam of something soft and tender amidst their chaotic group.
it had been soap who started giving you the specifics.
her name’s erin, a lass hailing from yorkshire. the only family she’s got is a younger sister, anna, who is in university for astrophysics.
“they’re a family of smart nuts,” johnny mused as he spun his shot of whiskey. “can you believe it? she’s pretty and wise.”
you oohed and aahed before telling him to remember to keep it in his pants because erin, beautiful and darling and gentle erin, is an important member of the squad. that she is necessary in the base; having been sought out for the very reasons that got johnny acting like a fool.
“of course i’ll keep it in!” johnny whined, bumping his head on the counter. “i don’t want to anger LT, y’know?”
cold dread washed over you upon hearing what he said, the quiet thrum of the alcohol being chased away by the slice of his words. you felt like bleeding, like you’ve been cut open and doused with ice, blistering chill creeping up from the softness of your lungs to your stuttering heart.
“oh?” you remember asking, your voice startlingly void of emotions. “why would he be angry now?” your hands trembled and so you hid them from view, clenching them on your lap instead.
johnny turned to you and quirked up a secretive smile. “why else?”
the weight of your grief pressed onto your chest, threatening to crack the columns of your ribs. you felt afloat, untethered, and you blinked back the sudden prickling you feel in the back of your eyes.
you laughed with johnny, trying to smother the ache. trying not to drown in the harsh pools of your heartbreak.
because of course.
of course.
you and simon are friends, but nothing more. nothing beyond the hushed voices and whispered ‘i’m glad you’re safe’ pressed onto each other’s cheeks because neither of you made things official anyway. no risks were taken, no promises to break.
everything with him was just physical – chasing the cold nights away with the warmth of each other’s bodies pressed onto each other, fighting nightmares with each other's touches.
sure simon cradled you in his tender embrace but that was all. just a temporary passion despite your everlasting yearning.
“y’ready to go back to the base?” johnny asked and you said yes, another lie that dribbled from your trembling lips. because after that night, you knew that things were never going to be the same.
—————
ignoring simon was easy. it’s not like you needed to do much to avoid him, anyway, not with the way he was gravitating around erin. any other day it would have been laughable how simon followed her around like she’s got a bear of a man for her shadow but, well. seeing him be so taken by her makes you ache.
the sparse moments he has that were sometimes spent with you were now overwritten by his visits to the facility where erin usually is. everyone who didn’t know that ghost was smitten over the new medic certainly knew now; he had long stopped making it a secret and instead, began to posture over those who tried pursuing erin.
he was never a jealous man. that was until her, you guess.
and it’s not like you can fault erin for how simon acts, because could you blame him? could you blame anyone for that matter?
erin was, is, beautiful. she had a laugh that sounded like wind chimes and had a sparkle that perpetually made her eyes look brighter. she was soft even after seeing everyone’s troubles or their anger, always a beacon of tenderness amidst their bleeding wounds. but she was also fierce, a fighter with a bite that no one expected, but maybe you all should have because no one would ever survive being out in combat if one isn’t strong, anyway.
erin was, well, she was someone you knew simon needed in his life.
so, again, could you really blame him?
you have always known simon. you have always understood past his pretences – he wanted to settle. he wanted a life beyond the fight; wanted a family to come home to.
he’s told you this so many times, hasn't he? murmured his wishes and desires at the top of your head as he cradled you in his arms, letting the exhaustion of the day bleed away from your pores as you shared a breath with him; he had waxed poetries for a distant future, one you have always thought you would have been a part of.
one you thought you would have shared with him.
but you knew. despite your self-reassurances that you meant something to simon, you knew that when he envisioned his life, his future, it was one that did not include you.
it hurts, you thought to yourself as you pressed the back of your palms over your eyes. it hurts.
but how could it? how could you hurt over losing something that you never even had in the first place?
it turned to smut in seconds, i cannot control my own hands, ok. 18+ (implication of breeding kink or something and simon's a jealous boy)
ex-husband simon who signed the divorce papers without a fight. it'd stung, you're not gonna lie, but it needed to be done and the fact that he didn't make a big fuss about it made things easier for you physically. (emotionally you were in shambles because did he not even want to try and fight for you?)
he comes over only on the weekends when he's on leave.
he's a good father to his boys. he takes them to their softball games when he can, buys them the ice cream and takes them toy shopping.
and then there's a sharp knock at your door on a wednesday afternoon.
"simon?"
he walks in like he owns the place, which technically he does- even pays the mortgage because there's no way you would be able to afford living here with your own measly income.
"what's this the boys are tellin' me 'bout a man bein' in here?" his voice is calm, steady. but you know simon better than you know yourself, and he's furious.
"i- i'm not sure-" he swipes his hand in the air and your mouth clicks shut.
"don't lie t'me, poppet, or i'll be findin' him myself an' you really don't want tha'."
what man? there hasn't been any since the divorce! you're digging through your memories, scrambling to find what the hell he's talking about when-
"oh! it's the plumber!" you take steadying breath. "i called a plumber on sunday. i needed the kitchen sink fixed."
his dark eyes are piercing, so sharp they could cut. simon's always been a walking lie detector, and it's unnerving to be on the opposite end of that analyzing stare.
he nods imperceptibly, then flicks his gaze to behind you, over your head. "show me."
you scoff indignantly. "show you what? the bloody sink?"
simon wordlessly heads to the kitchen and his knees pop as he kneels-
he's actually checking the fucking sink.
with a grunt, he leans his head into the cabinet and twist awkwardly which is no doubt causing a familiar pain to flare up in his lower back. you can't help but wince in sympathy.
lo and behold, there's a shiny, white elbow in the middle of the rest of the dirty, scratched pipe.
he hums, and rises to his feet, closing the cabinet with his leg.
simon approaches you slowly, fingertips touching the kitchen island as he rounds it. "palms flat on the counter, sweetheart."
oh. oh you know exactly what that means, and your pussy throbs almost in reflex. months without his touch and your body still responds the same.
your protest already at the tip of your tongue, almost involuntarily because principles, but he sees right through you, as he's always done.
"jus' a reward for all o' your hard work. takin' care o' the boys is a stressful job all on its own." his worn hand cups the underside of your jaw tenderly. "aren't i always good t'ya?"
your exhales are weak, just like your resolve. "okay."
simon's eyes glint with satisfaction as he lifts his hand, index pointing upwards and twirls it in a slow, deliberate motion.
your palms are flat on the counter when he curls his fingers into the waistband of your shorts and knickers, tugging them downward.
they're flat on the counter when he lowers himself to his knees and taps the inside of your foot, indicating you to widen your stance.
they're curled into fists when his breath puffs against your slick cunt and his warm tongue slides through your folds, drawing lazy circles around your bud. a tingle of arousal shoots up your spine, his mouth sparking a fire right under your navel.
they're reaching for simon, nails sinking into the delicate skin of his wrist as your back bows when you come on his tongue, vision spotted with black, blurry dots and white hot ecstasy coursing through your veins.
your hands are now crossed at the base of your spine, your cheek pressing into the cool kitchen counter as he bends you over it.
"15 minutes before the boys are home from school. tha's plenty o'time, yeah?"
a rhetorical, if you've ever heard one.
your knuckles stain white as you clench your fists at the heavy, hot weight of his manhood stretching your walls to take him in, a sweet burn that you've always loved. he's gentle but sure, bottoming out in one smooth stroke that pushes the air out of your lungs. the sibilant hiss simon lets out is never fails to elicit a whimper out of you.
"fuck," he groans. "i could stay inside this pretty pussy forever."
and the dirty talk. how much you've missed it.
"would you like tha', pet? be inside of ya til you don't know where i end and you begin?"
a garbled mhm slips past your lips. your head already empty at just the sensation of being so unbearably full that it feels like you're tearing at the seams.
"another time, then, since the kids'll be home soon."
he begins to move, shallow but firm thrusts that drag his cock along your nerves deliciously- a sure fire way of getting you to climax around him in minutes.
your walls begin to squeeze down as the knot in your stomach tightens, and he lets go of your wrists, looping an arm around your waist and straightens you- his broad chest to your much smaller back.
his clever fingers wind downwards, and rub precise, little circles on your slippery clit, and it's all too much, you're hurtling toward the precipice at neck break speed- "god, simon, please-"
his pace never falters, not his hips nor his fingers as your moans begin to rise in pitch. "i'll get ya there, love."
he does, he gets you to your highest peak- blindingly intense- one that chokes the very breath out of you and slackens your knees. "i've got ya."
there's no strength left in you to brace for the spine-jarring thrusts he gives after, the only thing keeping you from sprawling forward is the arm that's looped around you as he pulls you to him.
"on anything?" he rumbles.
your ears ring at that because he can't possibly- your head shakes unbidden.
"good."
the last four thrusts are heavy, backed by his weight, and he smothers a loud groan into the junction of your shoulder as he finishes inside of you- thick, viscous cum filling you until it begins to drip and fall to the floor with an audible plop.
he presses tender little kisses to your sweaty shoulder and nips the side of your neck. "just in time."
the clock on the stove says 5 minutes before the bus gets there.
he helps you redress, chuckling under his breath when you won't look him in the eye. "i'll get the kids, go get cleaned up."
the knot in your chest loosens when you hear the boys' laughter at seeing their father on the driveway. it loosens when simon picks both of them up, one in each arm, and glances up at you as you look down at them from the window.
heat licks up your cheeks when he gives you a smarmy little grin.
what needs to happen is situationship simon like washing his face in your bathroom or something and steps out with a razor.
a straight razor.
envy clings to each syllable when he asks you if it's one of your other hoes boyfriends.
"no. it's mine. used it back when i cared to shave."
why not use a regular razor?
why should i use a regular razor, simon?
now he's got you proving it by shaving his scarred face as you straddle his lap. his eyes lose the hardened edge when you actually do know what you're doing.
hot towel or hot shower (where he folds you in half, again) to soften the hairs and open the pores.
pre-shave oil to protect, shaving cream you lathered up sitting in a bowl, a strip of material he used to think was for kinky shit (it's a sharpening strop, simon) and another bigger bowl full of hot water.
your hands are steady, as is your gaze when you start by his ear and go downwards with short strokes.
i'm at a very delicate angle-- move again and i won't be held liable for taking a chunk of meat off your face.
wouldn't be the first time, pet.
johnny notices in the showers and whistles low. "the cleanest shave i've seen on ye probably ever, LT."
been thinkin about the polar opposite of bimbo reader for price so i raise yall: ‘weird’ fiancee gf x price <33
you’re into vulture culture and are probably hoping to actually get into taxidermy too. you’re also into crowcore.
you have a cat, but john never knows which one it is because every time he comes back, it’s a different one (it started with a birman and the recent one is a british longhair. for some reason, all these cats answer to the same name – cecil).
john had, one time, walked into your office only to see a horrifying long furby snaking around your computer setup.
you describe colours in hex codes. john admits it’s actually so useful, especially for missions, so he picked up the same habit. ghost and soap absolutely hate him now, but kyle rides his wavelength so he’s unofficially been dubbed as price-translator.
you have different aesthetics, and john adores all. he first met you when you were in your goth era. currently you’re in your cyberpunk era.
…you’re in this RP discord and it’s all about lovecraft monsters. you’re abhoth.
and john? john indulges you. he would be cthulhu in your guys’ chat box if you need to use him as a soundboard to see if your silly little writing is making sense. he gifted you your most extensive toolkit for your interest in bone collecting. he buys you limited editions of furbies — you don’t know where he even gets them but you’re not complaining, of course!!
all he asks is that you marry him. pretty, please?
p link! STARED AT THIS BUG-EYED?? AYOOWANFHEHD no yea that is so simon im gonna screammmm xp
just. you have always had a thing for hands and arms. the arms is obvious, you know, with the tattoos or the scars or, and especially, the veins. but the hands? this one is a whole lot trickier to explain – how do you even begin to tell people that you fixate on the way the fingers could look bony and ridged, or how the palms are often calloused and rough, or how a knot tightens in your stomach when you see split knuckles?
perhaps the actual reason as to why you like hands is because of what they entailed – control. strength. power.
dominance.
those that simon does too well.
his hold tightens around your neck where his palm lays flat along your throat, feeling the way it quivers with your every moan. his thick fingers spread your folds apart, teasing along your slit and your labia, and then pinching your erect clit, before plunging deep in your cunt.
he crooks his fingers just right, prodding against your gummy walls, forcing more of the sticky wet mess to gush out of you. and all you could do was sob your moans, unable to escape the crescendo of your pleasure; unable to thrash from where he continues to pin you with his bigger and stronger body.
you’ve lost count of how many times you’ve cum now. your overstimulation has long ebbed into another rising euphoria, the flames of your desire racing from the tips of your toes to the synapses on the base of your neck. you feel so exposed to simon; so vulnerable to his promise of making you feel good.
he listens to every hitch on your voice. every whimper. every moan. and his hands, his glorious and thick and strong hands, shift the way they touch you as though feeding off of your pleasure. he is still so gentle even as he tightens his hand around your throat, the other increasing its pace as it fingers you. as it fucks you.
your hips lift from his lap, your abdomen clenched as another crashing wave of your pleasure licks up and threatens to spill over. simon senses it because of course he does – he has been so attuned to your reactions; so endearingly focused on the hitches of your breath and the tightening of your pussy.
he presses a kiss on the valley of your shoulders. “jus’ one more f’r me, sweetheart,” he says.
you garble out a reply, you think. a mixture of yes-es and too much’s and simon.
simonsimonsimon-!
this one was. holy shit. just. im actually so speechless im-
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would you be able to expand on simon being on the receiving end of aftercare? it’s so so precious and i would love to hear more of your thoughts on it ): he deserves all that love and soft gentle touches and making sure he’s okay too
YEAHHHHH IM SO GLAD U SEE MY VISION!!!!!
i just think simon isn't used to thinking of himself as someone who needs care. he's the trained killer. he's the one with near impenetrable armor surrounding himself from years of bloodshed, torment, and torture.
he stopped viewing himself as someone who needs to be checked in on a long time ago.
so receiving aftercare will only come if he's in a deeply established relationship with someone who can be vulnerable with without a care.
even once he finds someone like that, it'll usually be a battle to get him to just lay down and reorient himself.
usually once he's had his orgasm and taken care of you, he scurries to the balcony or front porch the second he gets a chance to have a smoke. his hands shake, his heart pounds, and he just has so much pent up energy left over that he doesn't know what to do with. so he just busies himself with something until he's back on solid ground.
but sometimes he lets you ease him back into bed, lets you wrap yourself around him and hold his head to your chest so he can listen to your heart beat — he loves that, loves being reminded that you're there, alive and safe. with him.
sometimes he lets himself become pliant and lets you roll him over onto his stomach — vulnerable. lets you straddle his lower back and work your fingers into the tense muscle you find. he allows himself to close his eyes and lets you work away at his tension.
his heart rate always goes back to normal so quickly under your caring touches. a lot of the times he falls asleep right then and there. he doesn't usually sleep thru the night but those times when he lets himself be under your care, he does. he sleeps so soundly.
when he doesn't want to fall asleep, you talk to him. your soft, sweet voice telling him what you did and didn't like and asks the same of him. 'sort of like s debrief' he had joked and it made you throw your head back in a laugh.
he doesn't always relay his thoughts after sex but he listens to you, enjoys the way you trust him enough to convey any feelings you have honestly and wholly. makes him feel more human.
all in all, he only really lets himself be on the receiving end if hes not all muddled in the head. but when he lets himself he's pliant and softened around the edges — something only you get to see <3
did you write a valentines day or anniversary fic about simon riley x reader who have a unestablished relationship and the reader is pining after him and he forgets their anniversary i think. All i remember is Simon has custody of his brother and towards the end of the fic he calls reader his girl
hi my love! i did not :( i also tried searching it up using key words but nothing shows up, im sorry i cant be of any help. hopefully someone who knows the fanfic sees this and help us!!
